[The Sacristy of the Fire Cathedral]
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"We stand alone, Matheus, as humanity always has."
BOOM.
The massive tremor hit before the echoes of her words had even faded. The ancient foundation of the Cathedral of Fire screamed in protest. Dust rained from the vaulted ceiling in a thick, choking sheet, a gray blizzard settling instantly over Benedict's crimson robes. The impact felt physically closer than the last.
Matheus stared at the ceiling, his jaw clenched tight. "They are advancing."
"He does not just conquer," Benedict said, her voice dropping to a harsh, rasping whisper that cut through the settling dust. "Conquest implies a desire to rule the living. He desires only to consume."
"The necromancy..."
"It is entirely political," Benedict snapped, stepping closer to him. "Do not mistake it for mere dark magic. It is a calculated, psychological weapon. He raises the City Watch not just to bolster his ranks, but to break the minds of the men standing behind the Inner Gate. He forces fathers to drive spears through the rotting chests of their own sons."
(Ainz Ooal Gown does not want our land. He wants our despair.)
"He weaponizes our grief," Matheus breathed, the absolute horror of the strategy dawning on him.
"He weaponizes our very souls," Benedict corrected coldly. "He knows our soldiers are deeply faithful. He knows they revere the cycle of life and death. So he forces them to hack their resurrected commanders to pieces. He broke the Baharuth Empire with a single spell on the Katze Plains, not because he needed to win a battle, but to break the Emperor's mind. To prove that human resistance is biologically impossible."
Matheus shuddered, his grip tightening on his weapon.
"And the Re-Estize Kingdom," Benedict continued, the hatred vibrating in her chest. "He starved them, turned their own nobles against each other, and then marched his undead through their streets to ensure not even a rat survived. He is applying the same methodical butchery here."
He wants us to know we are nothing. He wants us to watch the absolute futility of our existence before he snuffs it out.
"What do we do, Cardinal?" Matheus asked. He drew his ceremonial mace, the heavy steel head scraping harshly against the stone floor. "I have trained my entire life to fight the enemies of humanity. Do we stand here? Do we fight?"
"You go to the tunnels," Benedict ordered, pointing toward the heavy blast doors. "You guide the flock."
"I am a priest of the Six—"
"You are a shepherd!" she cut him off, her voice cracking like a whip. "Someone must lead them in the dark, Matheus. Someone has to keep them from turning on each other when the rations run low, and the air grows stale. They are terrified, entitled, and weak. They need a conscience down there. That is your duty."
Matheus stared at her, the fight draining from his shoulders. "And you?"
"I have a war council to attend. I must meet with Cardinal Raymond and Marshal Beren."
(We have one final card to play. A weak card, a bleeding card, but I will play it.)
"Let Raymond command the rearguard," Matheus pleaded. He stepped closer, dropping the mace to his side. The formal distance between High Priest and Cardinal collapsed instantly into the terrified, desperate space between two old friends. "Come into the dark with us, Benedict. The Church needs its leaders to survive."
"The Church needs a martyr tonight," she said softly.
Matheus reached deep into his ash-stained robes. His hand trembled as he pulled out a small, charred wooden sigil of the Fire God. The edges were worn completely smooth from decades of anxious touch. He reached out, took Benedict's hand, and pressed the cheap wood into her palm.
"You carved this for me," Benedict whispered, staring at the small token.
"Forty years ago," Matheus said, his voice thick with unshed tears. "We were sweeping the southern courtyards. The High Inquisitor had just reprimanded you for reading forbidden texts. You were crying by the fountain. I gave you this to remind you that the Fire God's warmth is for comfort, not just punishment."
Benedict closed her eyes. The memory of the sunlit courtyard, the smell of fresh bread from the lower kitchens, the absolute, fragile innocence of that day—it felt like it belonged to an entirely different species of human.
"I kept it," Matheus said. "Every day since you ascended to the Cardinal seat, I carried it. Take it. Bring it back to me in the Sanctuary."
(If I run, the fire goes out. If the Cardinal of Fire hides in the dirt, the Theocracy is already dead.)
Her fingers curled tightly around the wooden sigil. The smooth edges pressed into her skin, anchoring her to the waking nightmare.
"I cannot promise that," she said, her voice fracturing. "I will not let this city fall without making the Sorcerer King bleed for every inch. I will make him remember that humans are not just numbers on his ledger."
"You will die, Benedict."
"Then I will burn brightly before the end."
She stepped back, the mask of the Iron Cardinal sliding flawlessly back over her features. The vulnerability vanished, replaced by the terrifying, incandescent resolve of her office.
"Go!" she commanded.
Matheus hesitated for one final second. He looked at her, committing the sight of her in her crimson robes against the ancient stone to memory. Then, he bowed deeply, a gesture of absolute reverence.
"May the Six watch over you."
"And you, Matheus. Keep the seed safe."
He turned and ran into the shadows of the tunnel entrance, slipping through the small access door beside the main gates.
Benedict stood alone in the sacristy.
(If we fail, there won't even be bones left to bury. Just an eternal, silent foundry of the dead.)
She turned and walked briskly toward the private exit. The heavy, iron-bound oak doors led to the Bridge of Purity, the high, sweeping aerial walkway connecting the Fire Cathedral directly to the Earth Cathedral.
She threw her shoulder against the wood, bursting out onto the open bridge.
The wind hit her first. It was hot, blisteringly dry, and carried the thick, nauseating stench of sulfur, ozone, and burning hair.
She looked to the north.
The horror was breathtaking.
The Outer City was completely gone. Where homes, markets, and cobbled streets had stood for centuries, there was only a glowing, jagged ring of dying embers. The Middle City was currently being devoured. A wall of viridian fog, hundreds of meters high, was rolling over the stone buildings like a sickly, unnatural tide.
Within the glowing cloud, she could see them. The massive, lumbering silhouettes of abominations. Death Knights marching in perfect, terrifying lockstep. Soul Eaters trailing black miasma. Between the creeping fog, sharp flashes of desperate, dying spellfire erupted—the City Watch and the Paladins screaming into the void, dying in vain.
It wasn't at the doorstep of the Inner Sanctum yet. But it was coming. The green horizon swallowed another block of housing with every heartbeat.
"Undead," Benedict hissed, gripping the smooth stone railing of the bridge until her knuckles turned white.
(A hundred generations of faith, reduced to ashes by a skeletal god.)
She turned away from the mesmerizing destruction. She pulled her heavy crimson robes up, freeing her legs, and began to run across the suspended bridge toward the Earth Cathedral. The hot wind whipped the surrounding fabric, tearing at her hair, but she did not slow down.
(Hold on, Raymond. Hold on, Beren. I am coming.)
The Cardinal of Fire ran toward the heart of the command center, ready to face the end of the world.
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