Chapter 156 — The Anomaly
The Attic Above the Ceremony Hall:
The attic above the hall was spacious,
but only a tiny portion was actually safe to stand on.
Everywhere else were exposed steel beams and concrete support bars.
Creak—
The narrow door leading into the attic slowly swung open.
Mashal stepped in, dropping a bundled cloth bag onto the floor.
"Next time," he growled,
"have your assistants carry this junk, Abraham."
The man addressed as Abraham wore a simple shirt and thin-rimmed glasses,
the very picture of a scholarly researcher.
"They're just test subjects," Abraham replied calmly.
"And I used up the last batch two days ago."
He pushed his glasses upward with a light tap.
"How's your part of the ritual?"
Mashal clicked his tongue unhappily.
"As long as you don't mess up,
no one in that hall is getting out."
Abraham pointed down toward the ceremony below.
"But remember—
a Holy Court agent is stationed here today.
Your ritual may not affect him."
"That's all thanks to that incompetent fool."
Mashal's eyes chilled.
"If he hadn't gotten sloppy,
the Vatican wouldn't have sniffed us out so quickly."
A low chuckle came from him.
"Still… that Holy Court hound only suspects we'll act.
I've already left him a few distractions—
that should buy us some time."
Abraham nodded.
"Good."
"By the way," Mashal added, narrowing his eyes,
"the Demon Sect found one of the runes. They may be preparing countermeasures."
"Perfect."
Abraham's glasses glinted.
"Reasonable men, once driven mad,
cling even tighter to what they think they see."
Mashal frowned.
"You researchers always love saying cryptic nonsense."
He checked a pocket watch.
"The choir goes on in ten minutes.
The demons might be expecting us to start early—
so go ahead."
Mashal turned to leave, but paused at the door.
"Xila's on her way too.
She'll handle the Holy Court dog."
Bang.
The small door slammed shut.
Abraham stared at it for a moment…
then pulled out an empty plastic bottle from his coat.
He blew gently into it.
Hooo… hooo…
From the deep shadows of the attic,
the same eerie sound echoed back.
A thrill crawled up Abraham's spine.
"The mental cage is ready," he murmured, excited.
"Just a little longer…
and all these people will become part of you."
He quickly opened the cloth bundle.
Inside were dozens of similar plastic bottles—
the kind homeless wanderers carried for scraps.
To anyone else, he would look like a deranged vagrant.
Abraham dragged the bag to the edge of the beam.
Directly below was the packed audience hall.
The mayor's speech had just ended;
the honor guard outside had taken their positions.
Bang… Bang—
Gunshots thundered.
The audience, fully absorbed moments ago, jolted in shock
as plastic bottles suddenly rained from above.
They hit seats and shoulders with loud, clattering thuds.
"Hey! Which idiot is pulling pranks right now?!"
"Ugh! My new suit—disgusting!"
---
Monitoring Room
"Send someone to check the attic,"
Jolan ordered sharply, frowning as he approached the bank of screens.
"Report all zones immediately."
He lifted his communicator.
"Sector A clear. Honor guard has secured weapons."
"Parking lot clear!"
"Reporting in—
Bishop Hermann appears to be leaving the hall…
and he's taking a young girl with him."
Jolan's expression darkened.
Jolan immediately pressed his comm button.
"Stop him—tell Bishop Hermann I need to see him right now."
Then he gestured toward Caroline.
"Where's Haggai? Has he cracked those items yet?"
Earlier, Jolan's team found several suspicious ritual components beneath the stage.
Haggai—their main analyst—was assigned to decipher them.
The young scholar was also from the Vatican, handpicked by Jolan for his exceptional grasp of theological structures.
Caroline puffed up her cheeks.
"No idea. He wouldn't let me stay—said I'd interfere with his workflow."
She huffed.
"I even wanted to help him. Hmph!"
Jolan didn't have time to entertain her fussiness.
"Go find him. Tell Haggai to monitor the situation from the control room."
He pushed the door open and strode out.
---
Inside the Hall
The venue had been thoroughly screened before the ceremony began.
Which meant—
those falling bottles were definitely not normal.
Jolan didn't hesitate.
This was the "Old God's Wing" cult making their move.
"But what can plastic bottles possibly do…?"
His mind turned rapidly.
With their usual modus operandi, it should have been magic circles—runes—mental traps.
Jolan opened [Spiritual Sight], scanning the entire venue.
At first, nothing seemed unusual.
But then—
The entire hall trembled.
A thin shimmer of light spread from the ceiling, blooming into a dome over the crowd.
At the same time, dark green liquid seeped up through the gaps in the tiles.
People panicked, clustering toward the center to avoid the strange substance.
One man—braver than wise—leaned down and touched it.
The liquid leapt.
It crawled up his hand
—into his mouth and nose—
And within seconds…
He was dead.
But that was far from the worst.
The viscous green mass began boiling,
frothing up into grotesque shapes.
From within, creatures dragged themselves out—
stitched together from mismatched animal flesh and twitching organs,
radiating a suffocating, unnatural malice.
"A summoning formation…"
Sister Bettice narrowed her eyes.
The creature's aura was so potent that the physical world itself rejected them.
Her assessment was immediate and precise.
She already held her exorcism text in one hand, cross in the other—
three monsters nearest her had already been purified into smoke.
"Oh dear—so the cult really is attacking the venue."
Archbishop Mattheus scratched his thigh leisurely.
A heartbeat later, several audience members were swallowed whole.
"Your Grace, please stop talking…"
Father Roderick whispered urgently.
More beasts charged at them.
Bettice uncorked three vials of holy water.
Ssszzzt—!
The monsters shrieked as they burned.
"Three- to five-year consecrated holy water works.
One-year grade is useless."
Bettice analyzed calmly even as she fought.
"With this many monsters, staying here is unwise."
She motioned for her companions to retreat—
But the crowd suddenly shifted.
People stepped out from among the audience.
Their expressions were blank.
Each one held an empty plastic bottle.
Bettice' eyes sharpened.
In the next moment,
every one of them lifted the bottles to their lips…
…and blew.
Hoo— Hoo— Hoo—
The eerie synchrony echoed across the hall.
Even the monsters paused.
The scene was so unnervingly wrong that Bettice felt her stomach knot.
Archbishop Mattheus's expression finally hardened.
A faint glow lit up behind the seats.
Bettice glanced over—
Runes.
Strange glowing symbols carved into the metal frames.
"What are these?" She reached out—
Mattheus caught her wrist.
The old man's face had gone grim.
He clutched his cross like a weapon.
"…We're in trouble."
Bettice stared at him, baffled.
"Archbishop Mattheus—what are those things?"
Roderick leaned closer too.
Mattheus took a slow breath.
"If I'm right…
they're mental corruption sigils."
--