The spear and cross—a supreme ritual rooted in Jesus Christ's crucifixion.
More than physical, it was a clash of divine essence.
Mars's Sword couldn't withstand it for a moment.
The Book of Enoch, not a weapon or shield, held its ground.
The only pity: the ritual's ceiling was piercing the Son of God's body.
The Book of Enoch alone wasn't enough.
Lucius remained calm.
Before the spear reached him, he drew an object from his chest, placing it before the spear.
No clash—the Spear of Light stalled before the bottle.
"It… blocked it?" The youthful Pope, posed as a cross, awaiting the spear to pierce both him and Lucius, gaped in shock.
This ritual, gained from fusing thirteen saints' powers, was clear in its might.
Yet it was stopped?
Was the earthly Devil King this powerful?
His face fell, disheartened.
Prepared to return to the Lord, his failure despite full effort left him bitter.
The spear, locked with the bottle, gradually dissipated as its power waned.
No—the youthful Pope's strength was spent.
"As expected, old tricks never fail," Lucius said, eyeing the bottle with a satisfied smile.
In any pinch, this bottle was his ultimate defense.
"Wow, acting all composed seconds ago, now resorting to 'bottle, save me'? So lame!" Mozlis, the loli demon inside, jeered sharply.
Lucius shrugged it off.
A scholar's tactics weren't "lame"—they were strategic unity!
Tools were extensions of the self; he had no qualms about using them.
Some scoffed at relying on weapons, claiming they'd be lost, as if hands and feet couldn't be.
Thinking this, Lucius lifted the bottle, kissing near its rim.
"Pervert!" came Mozlis's indignant retort.
"Another victory for you, earthly Devil King," The youthful Pope said, smiling bitterly, bowing slightly.
"But I'm free now, no longer of the Vatican or the Church. The Catholic Church, and all Christianity, will fully obey your will. They won't face your wrath, will they?"
He forced a smile, weary.
His physical radiance faded.
Though youthful, he knew his body neared death.
He felt no fear, only peace.
He was bound for the Lord's embrace.
Even if the Lord cast him to hell for yielding to a heretic—he'd considered that.
But even then, the Lord was with him.
Believer or not, the Lord was with His lambs.
In his final moments, his only worry was who would spread the Lord's glory, sing His name.
No—it was the Lord's plan, all prepared.
He smiled, heart light.
Consciousness faded, a gentle exhaustion rising.
The Lord's call?
Lord, I offer this body—
Then, he opened bleary eyes.
"Is this heaven?"
His voice strained.
"No, you just took a spin at heaven's gate," A playful voice replied.
That unforgettable voice made him snap upright.
The heretic Devil King who defiled the Lord's glory idly flipped through the Book of Enoch.
"You, a mad dog of the Lord, bared your fangs at me with wisdom, courage, resilience, and faith," Lucius said, closing the book and stowing it.
"In some ways, you stole victory from me."
His smile was feral, yet satisfied.
"I acknowledge your courage, wisdom, strength, and faith."
"So, your reward is to live after defying a Devil King. How's that?"
What?
The youthful Pope's eyes widened, disbelieving.
"You—" He stammered, "what are you saying?"
Not joy, but anger surged.
His face flushed with rage.
His body, just pulled from death, coughed violently.
He'd staked his life for the Lord's glory, challenging the Devil King.
This was a trampling of his devotion, his faith.
He'd used a suicidal attack, expecting to return to the Lord.
And his enemy saved him?
"I've done what I came for," Lucius said, adjusting his clothes, tone light.
"If you end your life now, I won't care."
The Lord forbade His people from suicide.
"A guy like you dying is a bit of a waste—that's all I thought. Someone with your conviction is rare in my eyes."
"Even if you're just the Lord's mad dog, it's enough to amuse me."
"What—" The Pope gritted his teeth, struggling to rise.
But his efforts failed.
"Oh, right," Lucius said, stepping forward, turning back with a thought.
His smile dripped malice.
"If you can't accept this outcome—"
He paused, malice deepening.
"Then call it the Lord's will. He's all-knowing, all-powerful."
"Your survival, the Book of Enoch's inclusion, acknowledging Metatron—it's all His will."
"It's the Lord's will—" The Pope, sprawled on the ground, stared blankly.
His eyes reflected Lucius's malicious grin.
"All… the Lord's will?" He murmured.
***
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