The truth did not surface gently.
It rotted upward from the deepest layer of the Church.
---
The Chamber of Silent Confessions
Beneath the Grand Cathedral of Aurelia existed a place no scripture mentioned.
A circular chamber carved from black stone, sealed by thirteen holy sigils—each sigil representing a "purified" village erased from imperial records.
Candles burned with pale-blue flames.
At the center lay a ritual array, vast enough to swallow a cathedral choir whole. Its lines were etched not in ink, but in dried blood—blood that still whispered.
Cardinal Erasmus knelt there alone.
His hands shook.
"Your Holiness… the Blood Butcher has entered history," he said, voice breaking. "The empire trembles. Saints fall. Knights flee."
From the shadows, a frail figure emerged.
Bent.
Wrinkled.
Yet wearing the Triple Halo Crown.
The 68th Pope of the Church of Light.
Pope Altharion IX.
Once called The Eternal Shepherd.
Now, little more than a decaying shell wrapped in holy silk.
"…Good," the Pope croaked.
Erasmus looked up, stunned. "Y-Your Holiness?"
The Pope's clouded eyes gleamed unnaturally.
"Fear ripens faith," Altharion whispered. "And blood ripens miracles."
---
The Dream Demon's Name
The Pope raised a skeletal hand.
The ritual array ignited.
Visions flooded the chamber—villages burning, people screaming, holy knights marching through fire without hesitation.
Erasmus staggered back.
"These… these are the purifications," he whispered. "Thirteen of them…"
The Pope smiled.
"You finally understand."
Erasmus fell to his knees.
"Y-You ordered Rosenvale…?" he asked, voice trembling. "That village was peaceful. The commander had retired—"
"Precisely," Altharion interrupted softly.
"His bloodline was clean. His faith unquestioned. His despair… pure."
Erasmus's lips trembled. "Why…?"
The Pope turned toward a massive sealed altar behind the chamber.
Upon it was engraved a forbidden name—scratched out from every holy record, burned from every scripture.
ORZEK.
"The Dream Demon," Altharion whispered reverently.
"Lord of False Futures. Weaver of Reality Delusions. The one who can rewrite the soul's age."
Erasmus's heart stopped.
"A-A demon emperor…?"
"No," the Pope corrected.
"A god before gods learned fear."
---
The Ritual of Thirteen
Altharion approached the altar, leaning heavily on his staff.
"My body decays," he said calmly. "This shell cannot rule the coming era."
Erasmus realized the horror.
"You intend to—"
"Regain my youth," the Pope said simply.
"And then… rule the world."
Erasmus screamed. "This is madness! The Church exists to protect—"
"To control," Altharion snapped, suddenly sharp.
"Faith is a leash. And the world has grown restless."
He placed his hand on the altar.
"The ritual requires thirteen villages," he continued.
"Unnoticed. Isolated. Pure."
Erasmus whispered, broken, "…Rosenvale was the seventh."
The Pope nodded.
"And Demian Valen," he said softly, "was never meant to survive."
---
The Pope's Mistake
Elsewhere.
A ruined chapel beyond the Holy City.
Demian stood in darkness, his hand pressed against a trembling priest's skull.
The man sobbed uncontrollably.
"I told you everything! I swear!"
Lucifer's voice purred within Demian's mind.
"He speaks truth."
Demian's expression did not change.
"Say the name again," Demian ordered.
The priest gasped.
"P-Pope Altharion… the sixty-eighth! He ordered the sacrifices! Thirteen villages to summon the Dream Demon—Orzek!"
Something inside Demian went very still.
Not rage.
Not grief.
Focus.
Lucifer spoke slowly now.
"Orzek…"
Demian frowned. "You know him."
A rare pause.
Then Lucifer laughed—low, dangerous, amused.
"Know him? I watched him be chained."
Demian's eyes narrowed. "Explain."
"Orzek feeds on despair and unrealized futures," Lucifer said.
"Your village… your family… created a feast powerful enough to awaken him."
Demian's hand tightened.
"So my pain was… fuel."
"Yes," Lucifer replied calmly.
"And that makes you extremely inconvenient."
The priest screamed as Demian crushed his skull without ceremony.
---
The Dream Demon Stirs
Deep beneath the Church.
The altar cracked.
A voice echoed—not aloud, but inside dreams across the empire.
So much grief…
So many broken tomorrows…
I awaken…
Children screamed in their sleep.
Kings woke drenched in sweat.
The Pope laughed, coughing blood.
"Soon," Altharion whispered.
"Soon I will walk as a god once more."
---
Blood Butcher's Vow
Demian stood beneath a moonless sky.
The truth settled like iron in his chest.
"Thirteen villages," he said quietly.
"My family was one number in a ledger."
Lucifer's voice turned sharp.
"The Pope seeks to become eternal."
Demian looked toward the distant Holy City.
"Then I'll make him a warning."
His aura flared—black mist curling around him like a crown.
"I don't care about gods," he said.
"I don't care about demons."
He took a step forward.
"But anyone who uses innocent blood to chase immortality…"
His eyes burned.
"…will beg for death."
Lucifer laughed—genuinely this time.
"Ah… this hunt just became interesting."
Far away, the Pope sneezed violently, blood splattering his robes.
For the first time in decades—
He felt fear.
---
End of Chapter 6
---