Darkness cloaked the sky, dyeing it a deep blue around the majestic Domus Dei, the tallest building in the capital. As the light of dawn was gradually swallowed by clouds signaling a change of cycles, three of the nine council leaders gathered on the 81st and final floor to discuss the growing crisis on the borders of Crea.
The room, luxurious and owned by Kyotaka Shibata—a man as influential as the emperor himself of the verdant lands of Aija—became the stage for intense debate. A TV broadcasted news about issues caused by the spiritual world, further heightening the tension.
"Was it Gabriel who told you that?" asked Kyotaka to Hugo Moreau as he reclined on his luxurious black ostrich leather sofa, matching the other furniture that adorned his apartment.
Seiji, a religious leader and influential figure whose words shaped the destiny of the Church of Elum and its followers, remained silent beside them, reflecting on the revelations. He wore a traditional green kimono, representing his clan, the Watanabe.
While the two conversed, the priest finally found his words. His breathing echoed with the crackling of the fireplace, which suddenly flared more intensely.
"It's hard to believe… Just yesterday we were praising him for his contributions, and now we're thinking of eliminating him…" he murmured, stroking his gray beard with unease. "But he was always too utopian in his analyses, never liked the way we handled problems…"
As he spoke, Kyotaka watched the accuser without breaking eye contact—the one who had urgently summoned the meeting after learning of three more exorcists defecting. The urgency contrasted with the usually patient and thoughtful temperament of the leader.
"Yes, Gabriel knew I was the only one capable of warning the council and ensuring we treat this seriously" he replied, glancing at a bottle of wine on the shelf beside the small wine cellar.
His dry lips yearned for the alcohol as the discussion escalated. He tried to settle for a glass of water as if it were vodka, to maintain his abstinence.
"It's tragic. I always thought Romero was a good young man. This world drives even the noblest hearts mad… But to eliminate him?"
"Hold on!" Seiji interrupted, his voice firm. "We can't afford to mourn! He's become a threat. Alone or with other defectors, he could be the end of the Order!" casting a serious look at the others.
Moreau smiled with a triumphant air at hearing this and stood from the sofa. He adjusted his green bowtie while wearing a purple suit, confidence radiating from every move.
"Exactly. Besides the public reputation problems, we're dealing with the Darkness Syndrome and the earthquakes caused by Masaru!" he complained, shooting a sharp look at the leader. "If they find out what this lunatic is up to, they might demand our heads!" waiting for a response.
"I agree with you, Moreau. We need to act before it's too late! The empire never liked revolutionaries!"
But they were not the voice of reason.
"And the other leaders? We're just three of nine here!" questioned Kyotaka in response, confused by the pressure he felt.
Hugo let out a sigh of frustration. Meanwhile, Seiji placed a hand on the leader's shoulder.
"You know some leaders have harmful policies and wouldn't agree with extreme decisions. It's up to you to decide, my friend…" he encouraged.
"So you're talking about executing the boy discreetly, in silence, aren't you?" though he already knew the answer.
"Is there another option? Even with an investigation, two or three days is too long to wait while things unfold!" he responded firmly.
"And if more defectors are with him? One rotten apple can spoil the rest…" pondered the other.
Both were determined to convince him, but tired of words, he slammed the gavel on the table, signaling the discussion was over.
"I understand, but we need to follow procedures. If Romero is a threat, we'll face him!" he affirmed, turning off the television decisively after grabbing the remote. The TV noise, along with his companions' voices, had kept him from making a clear decision. "However, I don't want to make rash decisions. We need to call a meeting with the other leaders to discuss the matter together. This meeting is over for today; tomorrow I must give a speech and meet with the city's governor… everything will be resolved in due time. I hope you understand, my friends!" he said with conviction.
"Damn… Can I at least take that wine of yours?"
He then walked toward the shelf as he asked, looking dissatisfied, though his eyes softened when he saw the aged bottle.
"Be my guest, Moreau. Now, I'll take my leave. Good night!" he said, leaving for his quarters.
"Good night…" came the reply.
Seiji also rose and, without looking back, left the room, his thoughts heavy with the decisions ahead. His footsteps echoed through the corridor, followed by his lord's, who ascended the stairs.
"May Elum bless you, my leader. Good night!" he said before leaving, his gaze steady, anticipating an uncertain future.
As soon as he did, Moreau left too, closing the door with a thud. A moment when the two were finally alone.
"What shall we do?" holding the wine bottle.
"Isn't it obvious!? Find a good assassin, sir. We have one day until the meeting, so… good luck!" heading left, while the other went right, clearly annoyed.
Old fool! Well, now it was time to drink and relax. Tomorrow, I'll hire someone… Seems there's no rest in this public servant life, for Elum's sake!
As he thought that, he noticed the grumpy old man entering the elevator. That lifted his mood, and he pulled out his smartphone, ready to call his first contact: Adrien Dubois.
"Salut, petit chat!"
Lust gleamed in his eyes.
The meeting had ended for the leaders' convenience, but it brought a rising anxiety. Everyone felt the world was collapsing rapidly—or at least, those who cared felt it, while the fools drank and indulged in pleasure until they passed out.
The following morning, on the 31st, around 2:54 a.m., Rasen emerged from a dark alley and walked toward the subway tracks. Located beside a residential area in a little-known suburb of the capital, just a few blocks from the place where he had executed his revenge…
His feet hit the rails, producing a chilling echo that harmonized with the songs of owls and crickets. As he waited for something to happen, he leaned against a metal sign and read a news article on his smartphone:
"Elderly man dies after having his head, genitals, and an arm destroyed…"
The title caught his attention, and he read the rest aloud, triggering a whispering, grim laugh—as if it were comedic or thrilling enough to bring him to the brink of a breakdown.
"Suspected to be the work of an exorcist, according to an anonymous report…"
He kept whispering the news. He gave life to the painting through his emotional voice, drinking from the waters of pleasure, and found his recognition in the darkness of anonymity. Would spotlights be the predator's fear? Only if he were foolish enough to leave bloody footprints, which he wasn't.
"The flame has spread… now it's time to hunt the fire and dig through its ashes!" he said, turning off the device as he stared into the darkness ahead.
A large tunnel projected a sinister atmosphere, sending shivers down his spine. There was no end in sight, no sound at all in that darkness.
As he stared into the abyss, he realized that the void before him was staring back too, piercing his eyes and merging with his soul. Like a spiral, it intertwined with his essence, dividing into two in a mystical dance of union and separation. It was like a mirror reflecting what lay beyond—but though so distant, it connected to his nature and pulled him into that place, in a trance.
It wasn't just a sensation; it wasn't mere mysticism…
"Asmael, so it begins now?" asked a figure, observing from the other side, as if watching a screen that split the two realities. He sat on a throne made of human bones, yet his appearance was celestial.
His four wings gleamed in the dark, while his blond hair flowed gently over his naked body, brushing against his silk skin. And two majestic horns, like those of an oryx, adorned his head.
"Yes, my lord, from this fragment of time forward, everything will move toward the end!" responded the other, dressed in an elegant suit. "This will be the fool who will lead the court into its days of laughter! The messiah among men… and the prophet among demons…"
His appearance was nearly human, except for the wildebeest horns adorning his head.
He looked like an adult man, with red hair and expressive lines on his face. None other than the infernal king and lord of lust, the serpent that strangles man and circles the apple of sin.
And on his face was an expression of expectation—but what it was, I could not tell you.
"Excellent… let the games begin!"
Was that the voice of his king? No—his emperor!