Chapter 183

Chapter 183

The nun's name was Nara, an ordinary nun in the Order of the Savior. Her daily task was to tend to the Saint's needs. As one of the older members of the Church, she had witnessed many dark aspects and knew what was appropriate and what wasn't.

Thus, as the Saint spoke to the empty air around him, chattering away, Nara pretended not to notice and calmly led the way forward.

"Mr. Demon, look, this is the Church's courtyard. Isn't it beautiful? They say it was modeled after a royal palace."

"On this side, the rooms hold the wealth exchanged for indulgences, and they're not enough to contain it all. On the other side, there's a separate room specifically for storing these riches."

"And over there, that safe contains the compromising evidence the Church has collected from the upper echelons. You must keep this confidential."

At that moment, beads of cold sweat trickled down Nara's forehead. For the first time, she wished she were deaf, so she wouldn't know about these secrets she shouldn't be privy to.

Why would the Saint speak to the air like this? Was he perhaps addressing her, planning to eliminate her discreetly?

As the nun's thoughts spiraled, her face turned ashen with fear.

Unseen by her, Lane wore a helpless expression. While Amos had indeed mentioned introducing him to the Church, he certainly didn't expect such an introduction.

Observing the nun leading the way, one could tell she was utterly terrified.

Fortunately, every journey has an end. Soon, the nun led the Sacred Son to the innermost chamber of the church. As they approached, the boy's lively voice softened, "Up ahead is where the church holds its most significant atonement rituals. Though I prefer to call it the Sacrificial Chamber."

Speaking of which, the child suddenly crossed his arms behind his back and stepped in front of Lane, looking up at him curiously, "Mr. Demon, in the picture books, demons are said to bring death, pain, and despair. So, do you enjoy seeing humans suffer?"

Lane pondered for a moment, "No, I don't."

"?"

"Well, that's just a misunderstanding people have about demons," Lane said nonchalantly, "Both gods and demons make deals for souls. Why is God's reputation so much better? In the Bible, more people have died by God's hand than by ours. Human sacrifices to river gods, gladiatorial battles – those were all acts of deities. So, what's the fundamental difference between serving a demon and being a divine hero?"

"At least with a contract with a demon, you might get some potentially tampered protection. Believers endure endless suffering, offering everything to their gods, yet whether or not they receive a response depends on the deity's mood."

Amos stared blankly, likely hearing such an unconventional perspective for the first time. His young mind was deeply shaken. After a moment, he suddenly covered his face and burst into a heart-wrenching laughter.

Lane froze, and Sister Nora, who had seen nothing and heard nothing, was startled by the Sacred Son's sudden outburst of laughter, taking a fearful step back.

"Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Yes, yes, what's the difference between gods and demons...?" Amos laughed through his tears, his eyes shining as he looked at Lane, "I suddenly find myself liking Mr. Demon very much."

"So, would you make a pact with me? It doesn't matter if you manipulate things. Please, let my soul join you in Hell after death. I have no desire to end up in a paradise filled with false gods."

The nun standing by was utterly shocked, while the Pope, sensing the commotion outside, stormed out with a grim expression and shouted at Amos, "What nonsense are you spouting?! I see that you've been deceived again!"

The bishops behind the door lined up, looking at Amos with peculiar expressions. Clearly, they had heard young Amos's words as well, which made the Pope feel both ashamed and furious. He dragged Amos forcefully by the arm and handed him roughly to a group of waiting believers. "Hurry up, start the ceremony! Don't dawdle!"

The believers hastily took over Amos, bustling to restrain him, though Amos didn't seem to be resisting. As he was lifted onto the cross, he kept glancing back at Lane, as if awaiting his response.

The white puppy at Lane's feet sighed, "As expected of you, sir."

Lane: "Hmm?"

The puppy raised its head and said, "I was wondering how to hint at you about conquering me now, but it seems you don't need any guidance."

"Look, even my younger self has already 'fallen'."

Lane: What gibberish are you talking?

Frowning, Lane looked in the direction of the child. Bound in an odd position on the cross, it was easy for Lane to recognize this iconic pose – the church was mimicking the crucifixion of Jesus.

So the ritual they mentioned must be...

As expected, Amos was bound to the crucifix, just as Lane had anticipated.

The hall's arrangement was peculiar, a blend of a dining room and a chapel. Before the cross stood a long white table, flanked by numerous seats. Stained glass adorned the upper walls, through which sunlight filtered gently onto the crucifix. One of the cultists brought forth a collection of tools.

Nails, hammers, thorns, a whip...

The sufferings Jesus endured, as recorded in the Bible, were now reenacted within this cult, only with a ten-year-old child as the central figure, making the scene horrifyingly grotesque.

Lane intended to intervene but was stopped by the white puppy at his feet. "Please continue watching, Lord Lane," it said.

Amos's wrists and ankles were pierced by nails, his face pale, yet he didn't utter a sound despite the inhumane treatment. Even when the whip lacerated his forehead, blinding one eye while the other remained open, it still stared resolutely in Lane's direction.

The demonic creature with a human face and sheep body maintained a silent gaze, seemingly unaffected by the scene before it, except for its slowly clenched fist.

Amos's smile grew brighter. The Pope, observing the ceremony in silence, paled and grabbed a spiky implement from the tray, violently stabbing it into Amos's abdomen, then pulling it out, the barbs dragging along strips of flesh and intestines. "How can you be so jovial in such a solemn setting?" he asked.

Only then did the child slowly shift his gaze to the Pope's face, studying the resemblance up close. His smile gradually faded. "Very well, Father."

"At this moment, address me as the Pope!" the Pope corrected coldly, though he was somewhat pleased with Amos's submissive attitude. He casually placed the instrument of torture back on the tray.

All the bishops and fortunate believers who served as assistants in such ceremonies watched in awe as the wounds on the crucified Son were almost instantly healed, as if the previous scene had never occurred.

However, only those witnessing this for the first time found it novel. The bishops who regularly attended the atonement rituals were numb to it, some even bowing their heads, afraid that their fear might show and displease the man.

This hellish sight left Lane, who had witnessed the depths of human sin, momentarily breathless. The image of the woman who had sharknadoed herself and the child who had killed its mother flashed through his mind. He turned to the white puppy at his feet and asked, "Was this ritual the reason your mother chose to sharknado herself?"

"Yes," the puppy replied calmly. "Her origin is 'Undying.' Whenever she's injured, her body accelerates its self-healing. The more severe and numerous the injuries, the faster she heals. At first, when my arm was cut off, it took three days to regenerate. But later, it only took five seconds."

Lane recalled how Amos couldn't die no matter how much he was battered, whether crushed into a pulp or beheaded, even his brain could regrow.

As the severity of the injuries increased, the owner of the ability would evolve closer to the legendary 'Undying.'

That was why the woman had let Amos kill her.

Because aside from Amos, who could steal her ability, there was nothing else in the world that could truly end her life.

But in exchange, after acquiring this ability, Amos would also face the same fate as his mother.

With what sentiments had that woman concealed a dagger within her womb, only to pass it on to her own child?

Lane exhaled softly, suppressing the sudden urge to slay everyone in the room. The white puppy, sensing Lane's emotional unrest, nudged his calf. "Patience, Lord Lane. Watch on, for 'I' have more to show you."

The Pope turned, his face shifting from a stormy scowl to a warm smile as if the brutal torture he'd just inflicted had never occurred. He addressed the congregation with a grin, "Well then, the Holy Son has borne our sins. Our Lord has forgiven us. Let us proceed with the Eucharist."

The acolytes who had earlier carried the trays set them down and took small knives, beginning to carve flesh from Amos's body.

A piece of flesh, accompanied by the flowing blood, was placed into golden cups, resembling wine yet resembling a deadly poison.

The bishops sat in their seats, while other worshippers moved between them like servants, filling each plate and golden cup with blood and flesh.

The Pope raised the golden cup, his face beaming. "Come, let us partake and drink of the flesh and blood bestowed by the Holy Son. We shall gain immunity to diseases. This power will infuse our very flesh, and we, in turn, will bestow it upon others."

Upon hearing this, the bishops' faces betrayed visible signs of despair and agony. The Pope, however, ignored their reactions and drained his cup.

"It's your turn now."

None of the bishops made a move to touch their utensils. The Pope's lips straightened. "How peculiar, my dear bishops. Don't tell me the Eucharist doesn't suit your taste."

"Pope... Your Eminence," a bishop stammered, trembling with fear, "we believe that the Second Feast... might not be necessary."

After one spoke up, the other bishops mustered their courage and chimed in, "Yes, we aren't the Saint Son. We don't have the ability to bear the sins of our followers."

"And we're mere mortals. Honestly, we suffer physically after each ritual."

"Already, some bishops have fallen ill. Our bodies can't take it. We can partake in the Eucharist, but the Second Feast... it's truly unnecessary."

The bishops grumbled in unison. Once someone had broken the silence, the rest couldn't hold back anymore, revealing their scarred bodies and arms covered in knife wounds. Most of them had pockmarked skin resembling the surface of the moon.

"Second Feast..." Lane observed the wounds of the bishops and the slices of Amos' flesh on their plates. The white puppy chuckled softly, "Ah, how childish and naive my revenge seems now. At that time, I only wanted these people to endure the pain I suffered, with smiles on their faces, forced to do so."

The pope's smile faded, his expression turning cold as he stared at the bishops below. A few perceptive ones fell silent, but an unfortunate bishop, pushed to both mental and physical limits, continued his tirade:

"The Saint Son's holy blood saved us from the Black Death, and we're truly grateful. But why is the Second Feast necessary, making us shed our own blood? The followers below are replaceable tools. Countless young people would flock to our doors if the Church advertised for them. What difference does it make if this batch dies? There will always be more."

"I think the old system was fine. It's regrettable that the Madonna is no longer with us, but she left behind a precious legacy. The Saint Son is unique; only he should conduct such a ritual. We could dilute his blood and distribute it to the followers. Of course, they'd have to donate... I mean, prove their devotion to God to receive the 'holy medicine.'"

"So, you believe your opinion is superior, that you're wiser and more rational than me, is that right?" The pope slowly curved his lips into a mocking smile. "In that case, why don't you take my position?"

"No, no, that's not what I meant!" The bishop finally realized his blunder and hastily covered his mouth. Trembling under the Pope's icy, lifeless gaze, he fell to his knees. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I don't know what's come over me these past few days, I...￥%*"

The bishop's words were cut short as a black object plummeted from the ceiling of the hall. It was too swift and too dark for anyone present to comprehend what had happened. In an instant, the bishop's head was violently severed, rolling onto the dining table.

Only Lane and the white puppy seemed to have seen it clearly. It was a semi-liquid, semi-solid black tentacle covered in horrifying eyes. If a regular player had witnessed it, they'd likely have to pass a sanity check. However, Lane simply found it eerily familiar.

"Shoggoth?" Lane asked.

The white puppy responded, "Yes, it's kept underground by the Church. It has a pact with the Pope. The Pope feeds it human flesh, and in return, Shoggoth must obey the Pope's commands when necessary."

Wait a moment. Suddenly, Lane recalled that back in reality, didn't Amos address this creature as "Dad"?

There seemed to be an unsettling truth hidden within.

The blood spewed by the deceased bishop splattered onto the surrounding bishops, staining their faces, bodies, and even the white vestments they wore with crimson marks. Yet, none dared to speak, nor did they attempt to wipe the blood from their faces. Instead, they bowed their heads silently, demonstrating absolute submission to the Pope's authority.

Even if the object of their obedience had transformed into a madman at some point.

Though the previous Pope was equally cruel and ruthless, he at least treated his bishops with kindness and was emotionally stable, always valuing their opinions. He was seen as a wise leader, which allowed the Church to grow to its current size.

The previous Eucharists were not like this. At least the bishops didn't have to cut flesh and shed blood for that so-called secondary feast. They only needed to marvel at the miracles displayed by the Son and be amazed by the wonders bestowed by God. Then, they would pretend to drink the Holy Blood. It never escalated to what it is now.

So who is standing here now? Where has that wise Pope gone?

"Very well, are there any more objections?" After getting rid of the troublesome bishop, the Pope's smile returned as if he hadn't just ruthlessly killed a bishop. This unpredictable terror put everyone on edge.

"If not, let's begin the Eucharist. Come, we still have the secondary feast tonight. We must eat well." The Pope picked up the raw meat on the white plate with a smile, sliced it with a knife and fork, placed it in his mouth, and occasionally sipped from the golden cup of blood as if he was enjoying a delicacy.

Everyone silently started cutting their food, their faces and hands marred with bloodstains. Despite being a sacred place, it resembled hell where demons feasted.

Lane watched the scene in silence. The white puppy's voice chimed in, "This is what I wanted to show you. I know what he's thinking. At this moment, I can't distinguish between heaven and hell."

"That's why I summoned a demon. I wanted to know if there truly are demons and hell in this world, and how a demon would perceive this crude imitation."

"The demon might feel ashamed," Lane breathed deeply but immediately regretted it. He inhaled the sickeningly bloody scent in the air, making him nauseous.

"Did you never seek help?" Lane asked.

"I did, but my mother's incident taught the Pope a lesson. Anyone who tried to get close to me was captured by him. He's a monstrous inhuman creature. He believes there must have been another man in the Church helping my mother escape, that she betrayed him. So, he bound every person who attempted to approach me before me and made me execute them personally," the white puppy said pitifully to Lane. "You know, such an experience is devastating to a child's mental growth. It's a miracle I didn't break down."

Lan En sighed. "Amos, do you know how I feel right now?"

"What?"

"I feel like a murderer is telling me they killed so many people because they were severely mistreated as a child." Lan En crouched down and, for the first time, stroked the little foxhound's fur. This bizarre display of tenderness made Amos feel uneasy, so he kept quiet.

"I'm not denying your past or the hardships you've endured, and I genuinely want to deal with these villains right now. But your past doesn't absolve you of your actions. So there's no need to pretend to be pitiful in front of me, trying to gain sympathy. It won't work."

Amos: ...

The white puppy whimpered. "But I am truly miserable now."

"Is that so?" Lan En's smile was laced with irony. "I wonder when you turned into a princess who can only wait for someone else to save her."

It was true that Amos had a terrible childhood and was likely a victim of a cult's persecution. However, he couldn't remain pitiable forever.

Just like how he could decisively stab his mother's heart with a dagger back then.

Or how he summoned a demon fearlessly in the room belonging to the Holy Son. And on his way here, he knew the church inside out, to the point that the nun guiding him didn't dare to resist. If Amos had run away, this poor nun probably wouldn't have dared to chase after him.

Lane had long noticed the anomaly but chose to remain silent, observing instead.

In this church, the righteous would suffer, but those born with abnormalities would feed off the wicked and grow into the greatest demons within this hell.

The white puppy gazed intently into Lane's eyes, then couldn't help but smile. "You truly understand me, don't you? What am I to do? I'm becoming even more enamored with you."

Not only was it the ultimate flower that Amos relentlessly pursued, but also his charisma and strength that captivated Amos's attention.

"Take a look, Lord Lane, this is what the young 'me' wanted to show you," the white puppy whispered.

Lane lifted his head to look at the communion table once more. The pristine white cloth was now soaked in blood and flesh, as the bishops dined in a pool of crimson, struggling to force the meat of their kind into their mouths. Their faces were contorted with conflict and pain, aware that the same torment would soon befall them.

Only the Pope, savoring the raw flesh on his plate as if it symbolized authority, envisaged the growth of the church with a smile that grew increasingly rigid and ecstatic.

None of them noticed, nor did anyone lift their heads to see the child on the crucifix silently watching them eat from above. His wounds had healed, yet the nails in his limbs remained embedded in his flesh, yet he seemed impervious to pain, a bizarre grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

As the feast continued, the Pope's expression grew more distant, and his movements stiffened, like a puppet controlled by unseen strings.

Suddenly, as if sensing Lane's gaze, Amos on the crucifix looked up, offering Lane a radiant smile.

Lenard let out an abrupt sigh. Upon that crucifix was no Son of God.

It was a diminutive demon escaped from the depths of hell, tormenting its kin.