Succumania

Author's note : (Don't hesitate to tell me if things are going too fast or if it's not understandable enough. It will help me gauge the amount of information I need to give during moments like these, especially with the magic stuff happening.)

The Holy Sanctum was no secret, but it wasn't an ordinary place either. Visible to all, it sat in the heart of the Vatican, a towering structure of divine architecture. Yet, it existed within a subspace, a sacred realm known only to those who were part of its hidden order.

The Holy Knights, however, were not all united by faith in the same way Ntwali was. The order was diverse, comprising several branches, each with its own sanctuary. These branches, though working together under the banner of the Sanctum, upheld distinct beliefs, traditions, and practices. Some of them, like Ntwali's own branch, were deeply tied to Christian doctrines. Others had different foundations, drawing on other types of faith that aligned with the sacred mission they all shared.

To fight the unseen and protect mankind. 

It was the complexity of these alliances that made the Holy Knights both a powerful and feared organization. Although, their unity, while formidable, was often more tumultuous than most realized. An immense inner power struggle between each faith, but that wasn't important for now.

Ntwali moved through the streets, the weight of the child in his arms reminding him constantly of what was at stake. 

Still, the man beside him was only making this worse. He was nervous, to say the least. Ntwali hadn't expected to get teleported here out of the blue, without any preparations. If he had chosen to accompany the Hatman, it was only to ask him to come later so that he could prepare with the knights. 

But now, that preparation time was gone. Still, he had an idea.

"I will hand over the kid to the people over there," Ntwali said, gesturing toward a small, unassuming building nestled in the heart of Rome. It was a safe house, one of many maintained by the Holy Knights for situations like this. "Wait for me here."

The Hatman tilted his head, his grin widening. "Okay, buddy!" he said, his tone dripping with mock cheerfulness. He leaned against a nearby wall, crossing his arms as if he hadn't a care in the world. "Don't make me wait too long."

Ntwali shot him a wary glance but said nothing. He didn't trust the Hatman—not fully, at least—but he also knew better than to provoke him. The man wasn't feared throughout the underworld for no reason. 

With the child still in his arms, Ntwali approached the safe house. The building was nondescript, blending seamlessly with its surroundings, but its plain exterior belied the security measures hidden within. As he reached the door, a small panel slid open, revealing a pair of watchful eyes.

"State your business," a voice demanded, low and guarded.

"I am a priest sent by the order," he replied, his tone firm. "I have a child in need of sanctuary."

There was a pause, followed by the sound of locks disengaging. The door swung open, revealing a dimly lit interior. A woman stood in the doorway, her expression stern but not unkind. She wore the simple robes of a caretaker, her hands clasped in front of her.

"Bring him in," she said, stepping aside to allow Ntwali entry.

Inside, the safe house was warm and inviting. The walls were lined with shelves filled with books, and multiple women in white robes were chatting. 

Ntwali handed the child over to the caretaker. "I do not know his name, but he has been in contact with multiple demons. Make sure to purify him just in case."

The woman nodded, cradling the boy with a practiced ease. "We will," she assured him. "He'll be safe here."

Ntwali lingered for a moment, watching as the caretaker carried the boy deeper into the safe house. He felt a pang of guilt, a nagging doubt that he was abandoning the boy to an uncertain fate. But he pushed the feeling aside. This was the best he could do for now. The boy would be safe here, and perhaps he would find a family willing to accept him.

Then, he turned to a nun at the reception who was busy writing note on the desk. She glanced up at Ntwali and welcomed him with a stern expression.

"Is there anything you need, Holy Knight?" she asked, her pen clattering on the wood.

"The Hatman is here."

The nun's stern expression faltered for a moment, her eyes widening slightly at the mention of the Hatman.

"The Hatman?" the nun repeated, her voice low and measured. She set her pen down carefully, her fingers trembling ever so slightly. "Are you certain?"

Ntwali nodded, his expression grim. "I'm certain. He's outside, waiting for me. I need you to send an alert to the Vatican immediately. The Sanctum must be prepared for his arrival."

"An audience," Ntwali replied. "He didn't say with whom, but it's clear he's not here for pleasantries. We need to be ready for anything since he cannot die by normal means."

The nun nodded, her professionalism overriding her unease. She reached for a small communication device on the desk, her fingers moving swiftly as she began to relay the message. "This is Sister Margherita at Safe House Delta. Urgent message to the Vatican: the Hatman has been sighted in Rome. He is en route to the Holy Sanctum and demands an audience. All units, prepare for possible host—"

Before she could finish, the door to the safe house creaked open, and a cold draft swept through the room. Ntwali turned sharply, his hand instinctively clenching and ready for combat. But it wasn't the Hatman who entered. Instead, a young novice stood in the doorway, her face pale and her eyes wide with fear.

"Sister Margherita," the novice stammered, her voice trembling. "There's… there's a man outside. He's asking for the priest."

"What a bother," Ntwali sighed. "He's waiting for me. I told him to stay put but it seems he enjoys bothering people." He gave one final look at the nun at the desk. "Be ready, I'm going there with him."

The nun nodded, her eyes dark with worry as she watched him leave.

Once he stepped outside into the cool night air, he found the Hatman standing in the middle of the street, his hands in his pockets. 

"Sorry, I couldn't resist giving her a little scare," the Hatman said with a chuckle, tipping his hat in mock apology. "Is the kid okay now?"

"He is," Ntwali replied, his jaw tightening. "Now, let's go."

The Hatman gave a theatrical bow, his eyes gleaming with something dark. "After you, priest," he said, voice dripping with mock politeness.

Without another word, Ntwali began walking, the Hatman trailing behind him like a shadow. The streets of Rome were eerily quiet, save for the sound of their footsteps echoing off the cobblestone.

They passed through the entrance of the Vatican, the majestic architecture looming in the distance. The towering spires of St. Peter's Basilica were bathed in the soft light of the streetlamps, casting long, stretching shadows across the cobbled paths. As they entered St. Peter's Square, they immediately headed toward the obelisk sitting high in the middle.

When they reached it, Ntwali paused, his eyes narrowing slightly as he laid his hand on the cold stone, grounding himself. His expression was focused, a slight frown creasing his brow. His fingers tingled, the weight of his task pressing against his chest. He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the ancient power that pulsed from the monument, the connection that would open the way into the Sanctum.

The Hatman, ever watchful, grinned from the side, watching Ntwali closely. "Ah… Always a pain to get inside. It really sucks that I lost all authority on you guys. Back then, I could enter the Sanctum whenever I pleased."

"Be quiet," Ntwali muttered under his breath, his voice low and edged with frustration. "We're going in."

"Aye, aye," the Hatman grinned as the hand of Ntwali slightly pulsed. In an instant, the whole square shifted colors and the surrounding architecture morphed.

The true nature of the Holy Sanctum revealed itself.

It was a Vatican inside the Vatican. A hidden space, layered beneath the mundane world, protected from any outsider's gaze. The towering stone columns of the Basilica faded into the walls, replaced by arcane symbols, ancient runes glowing faintly along the edges of the stone. A sacred energy lingered in the air, filled with centuries of history, woven into every brick and beam. This was the true heart of the Vatican, a place known only to those initiated into the highest ranks of the Holy Sanctum.

It was still night, even in this subspace, but the small lanterns gave enough light to see around. The both of them stood near the obelisk, when—

A shifting, a sound of metal and clothes rustling. They were surrounded.

"I didn't expect a surprise welcome party," the Hatman mused, raising an eyebrow, his voice dripping with amusement. Slowly, he turned to face the gathered knights, all of whom were watching him with intense, unwavering gazes.

Ntwali sighed in relief. Good, they were quick. He had hoped they would be ready.

Through the gathered knights, an old man was wheeled forward in a chair. His eyes were riveted on the Hatman, filled with a sharp, penetrating scorn. His age was apparent, the lines of time marking his face like the wrinkles of a long-forgotten book, yet his presence held authority here. Pushing the chair was a young man, barely in his twenties, with a mix of white and purple hair cascading down his shoulders. His skin was pale, almost ethereal, and his blue eyes were so striking they seemed to glow in the dim light—like an angel come to pass judgment on the damned.

The old man's voice cracked as he spoke, but there was no mistaking the venom in his tone.

"Hatman," the old man croaked, a scornful sneer curling his lips.

"Cardinal Aurelius Valtieri," the Hatman replied, his voice cool and unbothered, tipping his hat in mock respect. "It's been a while."

Ntwali stood still, his heart racing but his outward appearance calm. Seeing the cardinal standing ready meant that they took his call seriously. 

The young man beside Aurelius remained silent, his gaze hard and unyielding in the distance. There was something in the way he stood, something unnervingly composed, that suggested he was more than just an ordinary servant.

"What do you want?" the Cardinal rasped. "It's not every day a stranger like you comes here."

The Hatman chuckled darkly. "Stranger? Now, Cardinal, I thought we were good friends you and I." He straightened, his gaze cool. "I've come for an artifact you possess. And I firmly believe our goals align for once."

Aurelius scoffed, his eyes narrowing as he tilted his head. "What artifact? We don't hand over our sacred relics."

"Right, right," the Hatman chuckled again, as if the Cardinal's reluctance were something amusing. "I already know how you proceed, Cardinal. You won't simply give up such treasures. But what if that artifact could… I don't know… resolve the current matter of succubi invading this world? Would you reconsider?"

A tense silence followed his words. The young man beside Aurelius tensed, but the Cardinal remained still, his gaze piercing and calculating. Cardinal Aurelius leaned forward in his wheelchair, his gnarled hands gripping the armrests tightly.

"The succubi?" Cardinal Aurelius's voice was laced with doubt, but a flicker of curiosity shone in his eyes. "What do you mean by that?"

"Oh, I'm sure you've noticed by now. Otherwise, you wouldn't have sent my dear friend Ntwali to Japan to deal with one," he nudged the priest on the side with his elbow. "I know of a way to make them disappear for good." He leaned a bit further, his grin widening. "But for that, I need that artifact, Cardinal."

Aurelius's gaze flicked toward the young man at his side. Their eyes met, exchanging a quiet, almost imperceptible glance that spoke volumes. Something passed between them, an unspoken understanding of the gravity of the situation.

Aurelius's lips twisted into a smirk, his voice thick with sarcasm. "You can go to hell," he chuckled darkly. "Even if you knew of a way, there is not a single chance we would give you what you want."

He raised his hand, the action deliberate and commanding, and with cold finality, he pointed directly at the Hatman.

"Kill him!"

The knights surrounding the Hatman all sprang into action. Swords were drawn, their blades gleaming in the dim light, and the air was filled with the sound of steel scraping against scabbards. The Hatman, however, didn't seem the least bit concerned. He chuckled, his grin never faltering as he turned to Ntwali.

"Well, negotiations failed," he said, his tone light and almost amused. "Will you fight me as well?"

Ntwali's response was immediate. His fist shot forward with lightning speed, connecting with the Hatman's head in a sickening crunch. The force of the blow sent the Hatman staggering backward, his hat flying off and landing several feet away. But even as he stumbled, his grin remained intact, his eyes gleaming in an almost crazy light.

"Nothing would make me happier," Ntwali said, his voice cold and determined. He stepped forward, his fists raised and his stance solid, ready for whatever the Hatman might throw at him.

The Hatman straightened, rubbing his jaw with a mock wince. "Ouch," he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "You've got a mean right hook, priest. I'll give you that."

The knights closed in, their swords raised and their expressions grim. The Hatman glanced around, his grin widening as he took in the sight of his would-be attackers. "Well, this is going to be fun. I never thought wannabe crusaders like these before."

But before the battle could begin, a sharp crack echoed through the air. A spear pierced the Hatman's back, blood bursting from the wound in a spray. Another spear followed, and then a sword struck through his heart. His brown trenchcoat turned crimson in an instant.

The Cardinal tensed, his eyes narrowing as the sight unfolded before him.

"Wait! Killing him that way doesn't work!" Ntwali shouted in horror.

But before the words could sink in, the body of the Hatman flickered out of existence, vanishing into thin air. He reappeared almost immediately, right behind Ntwali, his form unscathed and his grin wider than ever.

"So that's what he meant," Cardinal Aurelius muttered, his voice tinged with a mix of realization and frustration. "What happened to the Hatman?"

"Quite practical to come back with your clothes on, don't you think?" He straightened up, dusting off his coat with exaggerated care, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. "Still, being stabbed hurt like hell. You'd think they'd kill me faster than that."

Before anyone else could react, Ntwali charged with a quick punch, but the Hatman sidestepped effortlessly. The priest's fist barely missed as the Hatman spun, his elbow jamming into Ntwali's midsection. The air seemed to vibrate with the force of the blow, but before the Hatman could take further advantage, a fresh row of knights surrounded him, their spears piercing him once more.

The Hatman paused, momentarily still. The knights' cold steel lodged deep into his body, but he only laughed. "Well, it's not every day I get to be a pin cushion."

"Also…" he sighed. "Where are the true knights? Not those wannabe novices." 

In a blink, the Hatman's hand moved in a blur, pulling a gun from inside his coat. Before anyone could react, he aimed it at one of the knights' heads, the cold metal of the barrel gleaming in the dim light.

"Careful! He's armed!" one of the knights shouted, twisting his spear to block the Hatman's line of fire.

But the Hatman wasn't deterred. With casual ease, he pulled the trigger.

The sound of the shot echoed throughout the Sanctum, but the bullet ricocheted harmlessly off the knight's armor, unable to penetrate the blessed metal. The knight staggered, more surprised than injured, but before he could react, another knight leapt forward, sword raised high, aiming for the Hatman's head.

One slice was enough to cut it off, but again, he disappeared as if he weren't there a second ago, only to reappear again.

"Well, guns don't work," his voice came through, again in the center of the square. "Your armors are blessed, right?"

The knights turned in unison, trying to track his movements. More of them began to charge with their blessed weapons. 

"Blessings, enchantments, can't we all agree on the same name for Christ's sake?" The Hatman's smirk deepened as he pulled something from his coat. Another weapon, yes, but also—strangely—an ornate stopwatch, as though the space within his coat had no limit, no end. "Let's try out Nina's weapon!"

With a quick flick, he pressed the button on the stopwatch. Time stopped, and when it resumed, an explosion of sound shattered the air. The sharp reports of gunfire rang out from all directions, deafening and disorienting, reverberating off the walls of the Sanctum. Blood sprayed, staining the cobblestone square in violent arcs.

In the Hatman's hands, a shotgun now gleamed, a manastone embedded in the stock, faintly glowing with ethereal power. His grin widened as he surveyed the knights around him, their faces filled with confusion and terror.

"Since Niño used one, I figured it was a good weapon. Glad to see it works well," he said, voice dripping with satisfaction.

The knights froze, trying to make sense of what had just happened. But before they could react, the Hatman was already moving again. Four knights lay crumpled on the ground, their bodies shredded, torn apart by the sudden, explosive power of the twelve plasma bullets fired from the shotgun. The carnage was swift and brutal, too quick for them to even comprehend.

"Shit," Cardinal Aurelius cursed under his breath. His eyes darted around, looking for any sign of reinforcements. "What are the others doing? I thought they were coming!"

The young man behind him, the one with the strange hair and pale skin, simply shook his head. "They were all far away from here. We had sent all of them on a mission, after all." 

Aurelius's gaze hardened. His plan had faltered—badly. But desperation still held his mind together.

"Should I go?" the young man asked, stepping forward.

Aurelius didn't hesitate. "Yes. Go to the vault and bring the gloves of the damned. Seeing how he can come back from the dead every time, it might be the only thing capable of hurting him."

The young man nodded once, his eyes cold as ice. He bowed slightly, then turned and dashed toward the basilica, his footsteps swift and purposeful, disappearing into the shadows of the Sanctum as the sounds of battle raged behind him.

The Hatman exhaled, almost wistfully, watching him go. "Interesting," he murmured, twirling the shotgun in his grip before resting it lazily on his shoulder. He turned his gaze back to Aurelius.

"So," he continued, stepping over the still-smoking corpse of a knight. "How long are we going to play this little game, Cardinal?"

He gestured toward the bodies around him. "You keep throwing your little crusaders at me, and I keep mowing them down. We both know where this is going." His grin sharpened. "You can save yourself the headache and just hand over the artifact."

Aurelius's lips curled into a scowl. "Over my dead body, monster."

The Hatman's smile only grew. "Oh, Cardinal," he chuckled. "Don't make me do this."

Before he could raise his weapon, a sudden blur of motion crashed into him.

"Get away from him!"

Ntwali barreled into the Hatman, ramming him with a brutal shoulder bash. The impact sent him sprawling across the blood-slicked cobblestones, his grip on the shotgun slipping. The weapon skidded across the floor, spinning before clattering to a halt several feet away.

The Hatman blinked, momentarily dazed, before a low, amused chuckle rumbled from his throat. "Hey, priest," he muttered, peering up at Ntwali's furious expression. "Chill out."

Ntwali's eyes burned with rage, his breath heavy, his stance rigid with barely contained fury. "You're the one who's too 'chill,'" he snarled, his fist crashing down toward the Hatman's face.

The Hatman rolled just in time, the priest's knuckles slamming into the cobblestone instead. A sharp crack echoed through the square. If the punch had landed, the Hatman's skull would have split like a melon.

He whistled. "Damn, I forgot how strong you were."

But Ntwali wasn't listening. He was already coming down with another blow, faster this time. The Hatman barely managed to twist out of the way, kicking off the ground and flipping back onto his feet in one fluid motion.

Ntwali lunged.

The Hatman smirked, his hand pressing on the stopwatch again. The clock hands spun once over the entire dial.

And time stopped again.

When the world resumed, Ntwali was still standing, unharmed. But something was different. The air felt heavier, wrong.

Then—

A dull thud.

Aurelius's head rolled across the cobblestones. His body slumped forward in his wheelchair, lifeless.

Behind him, the Hatman stood, his fingers resting lightly on the wheelchair's handles. He tilted his head, watching Ntwali's expression shift from rage to horror.

"Whew." The Hatman exhaled, stretching his neck. "You priests and your speeches, always so dramatic." He gave the wheelchair a gentle push, rolling it forward slightly. "I think he needs some fresh air, don't you?"

Blood still dripped from his hand, the only evidence of what happened.

Ntwali's body trembled, but not with fear. With rage. His hands clenched into fists so tight that his nails dug into his own palms. His breathing grew heavy, uneven.

The Hatman grinned. "Oh? That struck a nerve?" He tapped his temple mockingly. "I thought you were a man of God. Shouldn't you be forgiving me?"

Ntwali moved. His heartbeat echoed throughout the whole square like a single powerful force. For a fraction of a second, it was as if a mountain itself had come alive and was charging forward at the speed of a car.

The Hatman's vision blurred as the force of the blow sent him hurtling backward, his feet leaving the ground.He crashed through the first stone pillar of the basilica. Then another. Then the wall itself, stone and mortar shattering like glass. His body kept going, skidding violently across the marble floor inside, gouging a path through the once-pristine sanctuary.

Dozens of meters passed before he finally stopped.

Silence.

The dust settled around him, and through the ringing in his ears, he barely registered the faint flickering of candlelight, the dim glow of ancient stained glass high above.

He lay there, staring at the ceiling.

A deep, throbbing pain spread through every inch of his body. He couldn't move—not immediately. His limbs felt heavy , like lead, his nerves still trying to process the damage.

Then, after a long moment—

He chuckled.

A dry, amused sound.

"Hm… nice art," he murmured, eyes tracing the intricate frescoes on the ceiling. He could appreciate the craftsmanship, at least.

Still couldn't move, though.

The sound of footsteps reached him. Ntwali stepped through the rubble, emerging from the gaping hole in the basilica wall. His shoulders rose and fell with steady breaths, his fists still clenched.

"You're still conscious?" he muttered.

The Hatman let out a breathy laugh. "Barely." He tried to sit up. Failed. "Man, you really don't hold back, do you?"

Ntwali's gaze was unreadable. The fury had settled, but something colder had taken its place.

"Good," he said.

The priest approached the man and sat down on a broken pillar, his breath labored. "As long as you are alive, you can't reappear whole and fine…"

"Yup," the Hatman tried to nod but failed.

"Once the fists of the damned touch you, this will be the end," He coughed into his fist, the dust thick in the air making it harder to breathe. He had to slow his breathing, had to stay sharp—this wasn't over yet.

Another set of footsteps echoed. The white and purple-haired man stepped forward, emerging from the basilica's deeper corridors. In his hands, wrapped in what appeared to be shimmering golden silk, were the gloves.

The Hatman felt it immediately—the way the atmosphere grew heavier, like an unseen force pressing down on his chest.

A surge of mana surrounded the area.

Ntwali felt it too. His grip tightened over his own knees, his breath evening out despite the dust clogging his lungs. 

The man unwrapped the cloth with meticulous care, his feet bare against the cold ground. Beneath it, the gloves were a deep black, almost like polished obsidian, yet translucent, like shadows made solid. Faint etchings pulsed along their surface, twisting runes that seemed to move when one wasn't looking directly at them.

The Hatman's smirk twitched.

Just a single look was enough to tell him. Those gloves were bad news. 

The man met his gaze with an expression that was neither smug nor cruel. Just… matter-of-fact.

"These gloves do not kill," he said simply. "They form scars on you."

Ntwali watched the exchange in silence, his hands resting on his knees, his body coiled despite his exhausted frame. He was waiting for something.

The Hatman sighed. "Scar, huh?" He let his head loll back against the floor, gazing once more at the ceiling fresco.

He chuckled.

"Now that's a problem."

Then, despite his broken body, despite the pain wracking his every nerve, he lifted a single finger to his chin.

A sharp glow.

A flash of light.

Then— boom .

The explosion was brief but violent, painting the floor with fresh red. The force sent bits of flesh and bone scattering across the ruined basilica, and in the aftermath, where his head had been, there was only a mangled stump of a neck, gushing like a fountain.

Ntwali was on his feet in an instant, his stomach twisting.

"Shit! He killed himself!"

"Now, why don't you show me what those gloves got, young'un?" a voice echoed in the basilica, along with footsteps.

Until a gunshot rang out. 

The young man blocked the bull by just raising his arm, smoke billowing from the impact.

"Holy shit!" the Hatman cackled. "You blocked that?"

"Hm," the young man smirked faintly. "No mere gun can hurt me."

Before the Hatman could respond, the young man moved. His body blurred, his movements so fast they were almost impossible to track. In an instant, he was in front of the Hatman, his gloved hand lashing out with lightning speed. The Hatman barely had time to react, his grin faltering as a punch connected with his left arm, the sound of breaking bone echoing through the basilica.

The Hatman's breath caught in his throat. A flicker of pain crossed his face as he staggered back, narrowly dodging the next strike. The young man's fist slammed into the wall instead.

Boom.

The impact left a crater in the stone, cracks webbing outward like shattered glass. Dust and debris rained down around them.

The Hatman's mind raced. He barely evaded that. That speed… that strength…

No time to think. No time to hesitate.

Shit—!

In a flicker of understanding, he raised his gun—and shot himself in the head. His body disintegrated into a burst of energy—only to reappear a second later, several meters away.

He clutched his broken left arm, his breath ragged and his grin strained. "Fuck… That hurts…"

Ntwali watched the exchange with a mix of awe and unease. The young man was unlike anyone he had ever seen—his speed, his precision, his calm demeanor in the face of the Hatman's presence…

Wait… Who is he? I've never seen him before!

The Hatman straightened, his grin returning despite the pain. "Okay… Wasn't expecting something like that…" he admitted, his voice strained. "Time to get serious, those gloves could be useful."

The young man didn't react. No gloating. No satisfaction. Just calm, eerie focus. His glowing blue eyes locked onto the Hatman with an intensity that sent a rare chill down his spine.

A flicker of irritation passed over the Hatman's features.

"Who are you?" Ntwali muttered, his eyes fixated on the young man. 

The young man spared him a glance, just long enough to register the question. "Call me Silas," he said, then turned back to the Hatman. "That's all you need."

"Silas, huh?" He tilted his head, grin widening. "Why don't you drop the act, kid?" His fingers twitched over the stopwatch. His smirk turned feral as he pressed the button.

But before the hands of the clock spun…

The young man was already inches from him. The Hatman dodged just in time, the shift in the air making his hat tumble from his head. And right before the time stopped, he felt a blow to the stomach, the knees of the young man finding him. 

A shockwave tore through the air.

The force ruptured his insides—he felt his organs burst from the sheer kinetic energy, blood exploding from his mouth.

His hat flew from his head, spinning wildly through the air.

The stopwatch slipped from his fingers.

Shit—

Then—he was airborne.

His body launched backward like a cannonball, shattering through a stone archway, debris collapsing in his wake.

He hit the ground hard, skidding across the cobblestones, plowing through the remnants of the square. His body finally came to a stop in a broken heap.

For a long moment, there was silence.

Then—laughter.

Wet. Raspy. Unhinged.

The Hatman coughed, spitting crimson onto the fractured ground.

"Well…" He wheezed, grinning even as blood dripped from his lips. "Ain't that somethin'..."

His fingers twitched, reaching for his hat but a foot came down, right onto his wrist. A sharp crack rang out as bone shattered under Silas's barefoot. The Hatman let out a sharp breath. Not a scream. Just a low hiss of pain. His fingers twitched uselessly, nerves screaming in protest.

Silas loomed over him, his expression blank, impassive.

Ntwali stood just behind, gaze locked onto the fallen trickster, unreadable.

The Hatman's grin didn't fade. If anything, it widened.

"You're quick, man," he chuckled. "But you're not that master of manipulation you think you are…Shit, I really didn't want to do this…"

"What?" For the first time, Silas's calm cracked—surprise flickering across his features as the Hatman's body flared with blinding light.

"HAHAHA! GET FUCKED!" he roared, eyes wild, a stone in his jacket glowing like a trapped star.

The explosion ripped through the square, a blinding eruption of light and force. The shockwave cracked the cobblestones, sent shattered stone and debris flying in all directions. A column of dust and flame shot into the sky, swallowing everything in its wake.

For a few seconds, nothing existed but pure destruction. Then, silence.

The smoke curled, thick and acrid. The square was barely recognized—charred, broken, its once-grand structures left in crumbling ruin. 

Ntwali groaned, struggling to his feet. His ears rang. His vision swam. He barely managed to catch himself on a jagged stone before he collapsed. His body hurt—but he was alive.

The young man stood in front of him, his arms spread wide to shield him from the blast. 

His gaze snapped toward the center of the blast.

The Hatman was gone. Or at least, most of him. The only trace of his presence was a streak of scorched earth, the lingering scent of blood and burnt fabric.

"That's nuke one!" a voice boomed in the square. "Did ya like it, Sacerdotes?"

Ntwali's fists clenched, nails digging into his palms as he scanned the haze.

Silas lowered his arms, the gloves' runes pulsing faintly as he turned to Ntwali. "I missed my chance, sorry."

"Don't be," Ntwali muttered, his gaze sweeping over the devastation. The ground was a scorched ruin, stone melted, buildings reduced to skeletal remains. Even the bodies of the knights who had stood in the square were gone—evaporated—leaving no trace but a sickening, charred scent in the air.

We should have died. Yet, this young man…

"I guess it's useless to hide myself anymore," Silas sighed. "I hoped to take control of this organization to gather information. But it looks like it's done for," the young man stood up, his form flickering in a haze as it slowly transformed into a more curved body.

Ntwali took an instinctive step back, breath catching in his throat. He had seen succubi before, but nothing like this.

She stood bare, save for a few thin bandages wrapped haphazardly around her form. They didn't conceal—only emphasized her inhuman perfection, her body a sculpted work of divine temptation and unearthly menace.

Six white devil wings of different colored membranes attached to her back. Long pointy horizontal black and red horns. Red eyes that seemed to pierce your soul itself.

And an aura that would make any man flinch in fear or awe.

"My true name is Minagi, ancestor of the succubi," she declared, her full form now revealed. "I shall kill you here and now, destroyer of my kind."

The scorched earth quivered, a faint ripple of mana stirring the ashes. Laughter—grating, disjointed—bubbled up from nowhere, the Hatman's voice splintering through the square. "Ancestor of Succubi? Now I understand a little better!" 

A flicker of light sparked at the blast's center, and his form began to stitch itself back together—patchy, unstable, like a broken hologram fighting to hold shape.

He emerged half-formed, one arm still a ghostly shimmer, his grin stretched too wide across a face smeared with blood and soot. The cracked stone in his jacket pulsed weakly, its glow faltering. "Nice trick, Minagi," he chuckled. "Using illusions to trick the mind of others to infiltrate this organization… What, were you intent on destroying it as well?"

Minagi's wings flexed, a ripple of power sending dust swirling around her. "It is of no concern to you," the gloves suddenly flared with dark tendrils of energy coiling around her hands. "None of your tricks will be able to kill me."

"But I barely showed you anything, sweetheart," he smirked. "To fight someone as strong as you, what an honor," he tipped his hat. "So I guess I should finally become serious."

"You were already serious," she narrowed her eyes. "You cannot escape this place without a Holy Knight and you I have more than those gloves to kill you. You still have the choice to end in bliss if you wish to."

"Nah, too boring," the Hatman waved his hand dismissively. "Not that you're ugly or anything, au contraire, I just don't want to die," he shrugged. 

"Too bad," Minagi grinned. She was about to jump toward him when—

He raised his hand.

"Didn't you forget something though?" he asked, his grin unflinching.

"Stop playing games, what could I possibly forget?" she spat.

"The Cardinal's dead, the whole Sanctum is destroyed… The vault is basically unguarded, right?"

Minagi froze, her wings twitching as the words sank in. Her grin vanished, replaced by a flicker of something rare—uncertainty. "The vault…" she muttered, barely audible, her gaze darting toward the basilica's shattered husk.

The Hatman's laugh rasped out, low and triumphant. "Oh, you didn't think I'd blow myself up for fun, did you? That nuke wasn't just for show—cleared the board, left the prize wide open." He tapped the cracked stone in his jacket, its faint glow pulsing like a heartbeat. "Distraction's my specialty, darling."

Ntwali, still braced against the jagged stone, felt a chill crawl up his spine. "Wait—!"

The form of the Hatman flickered. 

I knew the way he reformed was different than usual!

"Too bad!" the Hatman crowed, his grin splitting wide. "I'm just an illusion! Bleh!" He stuck out his tongue, flailing his hands in a mocking dance. "The real me's already at the vault!"

Minagi's teeth ground together, a snarl ripping from her throat. Her wings snapped wide, and she launched into the air toward the basilica's ruins.

Ntwali staggered forward, adrenaline overriding the ache in his bones. "He played us!" he shouted, voice raw as he broke into a run after Minagi. The illusion flickered once more, then dissolved into a burst of ash, leaving only the echo of the Hatman's taunting laugh.

But as soon as Minagi reached the entrance of the now ruined basilica, a beam of light struck her head-on.

"What?" Ntwali's gaze shot upwards, only to see some kind of blue blob floating in the air.

Minagi was not even hurt from that attack but she stopped herself to look at the thing in the air. After being in the vault once, she recognized it.

"That thing was sealed behind a sealed door," she growled, her body springing into the air.

As she closed in, the blob quivered, emitting a low, guttural hum—sounds that twisted into something almost alive, a chorus of distorted whispers.

The hum grew louder, warping into a cacophony of overlapping voices—some shrill, some deep, all unintelligible yet heavy with intent. The blob pulsed faster, its surface rippling like liquid glass, tendrils of blue light sparking from its core.

Ntwali skidded to a stop beneath it, fists clenched. "What the hell is that?"

When suddenly—

The voice all turned into an intelligible one, clear like crystal.

Installing defense system… Target: Minagi. Angel designation research. Lucifina matched but incompatible.

"Wha—" Minagi's eyes widened in surprise upon hearing the name of the angel.

Other angle designated. Micaela, Sword of the Heavens. 

A pillar of light erupted from the sky where the blob stood, filling the Sanctum into its warmth. 

The blob dissolved into the beam, its form unraveling into motes that fused with the radiance. The air thrummed with power, a hymn-like resonance vibrating through Ntwali's bones.

Minagi landed hard, wings folding as she braced against the glow. "Micaela…" she muttered, her voice tight with something between rage and disbelief.

"What is that?" Ntwali repeated as he shielded his eyes with his arms. 

"An angel!" the Hatman's voice rang out behind them, sharp and gleeful. "A soldier of God himself, ha! But since it can't take its own form, it mirrors one its enemy fears. Sounds like your world's a nightmare, ancestor."

Minagi whirled, her horns glinting as her gaze snapped to the Hatman. He lounged casually against a broken pillar, hat tilted rakishly.

"You unleashed this?" she snarled.

"Of course," he grinned. "I already got what I needed. I just let loose a few toys to keep you occupied while I make my grand escape!"

Minagi's gaze burned, but she held her tongue. The pillar pulsed once more, its light coalescing into a figure—an angelic presence taking form. Long blonde hair cascaded like silk past her ankles, light veiling her naked body in a shimmering haze, preserving her modesty. White feathery wings unfurled behind her, vast and pristine, while a glowing aureola crowned her head. In her hand, a blade of pure light hummed, sharp and lethal. Her blue eyes—cold, piercing—fixed on Minagi from above, unyielding.

The angel hovered, her presence a weight that pressed against the air itself. The blade in her grip flared, casting stark shadows across the ruined Sanctum. "Minagi," she intoned, her voice echoing with celestial clarity.

"A fake calling my name? How cute," she grinned, her wings snapping wide. "Let's see how long you last."

Ntwali stepped forward, fists clenched, the heat of the angel's light prickling his skin. "She's stalling us," he muttered, glancing at the Hatman. "He's getting away!"

The Hatman chuckled, pushing off the pillar with a theatrical stretch. "Smart priest! Enjoy the reunion—I've got places to be." He touched the Obelisk, or what was left of it and disappeared, leaving the three of them be.

Just like that, he'd slipped through their fingers.

Minagi snarled, spinning back to the angel, who had not moved—had not blinked.

But now—

She raised her sword.

The blade of light flared—

And Micaela descended.

Minagi's fists met with a resounding crack of energy, one hand wreathed in searing light, the other drowning in darkness.

A force beyond comprehension whirled around her, the air distorting, reality itself warping as she called forth her ultimate technique.

The World-Shattering Fist

A single strike. Pure, unbridled chaos unleashed.

Micaela countered, gripping her sword with both hands, its light swelling to a blinding crescendo that swallowed the ruins in white.

A fight of this magnitude could only be over in an instant. 

The sword of the heavens and the world-shattering fist clashed.

The impact erupted, a deafening boom that shook the Sanctum to its foundations. Light and darkness detonated outward, a shockwave tearing through the ruins—stone shattered, dust billowed, and the air screamed as reality frayed at the edges. Ntwali threw himself flat, the force slamming him against the ground, his ears ringing with the aftershock.

For a heartbeat, the world was nothing but chaos—blinding white and suffocating black warring in a storm of energy. Then, silence fell, sharp and sudden, the dust settling over a cratered battlefield.

Minagi stood at the epicenter, chest heaving, wings singed and trembling. Her gloves were torn apart from the sheer power she had unleashed. 

Across from her—

Was nothing. A gaping hole was tearing through the subspace itself, revealing the real Vatican outside, and Micaela the angel, was gone. 

Ntwali hauled himself up, grimacing as pain lanced through his ribs. "Is she… gone?"

Minagi dusted herself off with a weary sigh, her red eyes flicking to the rift. "Yes. Barely a challenge—a cheap imitation." She flexed her bare hands, the remnants of her gloves crumbling to ash. "To think I let that distract me."

Ntwali staggered to his feet, staring at the tear in reality. The Vatican's spires loomed beyond, impossibly close yet framed by the Sanctum's ruins—a bridge between worlds torn open by Minagi's strike. "You… punched a hole through space," he said, voice rough with awe and disbelief.

Minagi smirked, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Of course. This is my ultimate technique." She stepped closer to the rift, wings folding as she peered through. "But I failed to kill the man I needed to."

Ntwali joined her, the faint hum of the rift prickling his skin. "He's out there, then? In the real world?"

"Likely," she said, her tone hardening. "He took what he wanted and bolted through the Obelisk. Now, there's no trail left to follow."

Ntwali's fists clenched, the ache in his body drowned by a surge of helplessness. "I couldn't do anything…" His voice cracked, gaze dropping to the shattered stone beneath him.

"Don't tear yourself apart over it," Minagi sighed, her voice softening just a fraction. "You're still breathing. That's more than most could say."

"Thanks to you," he said, averting his eyes. In fact, he didn't even dare to look at her.

"How about this? Why don't you help me find him, hm?" 

Ntwali's head snapped up, surprise cutting through his self-doubt. "Help you?" He searched her face—her red eyes glinted with a mix of determination and something else, maybe amusement. "You're the one who punched through reality. What can I even do?"

"You've got grit, priest. And a knack for staying alive. I can't scour the world alone either." She flexed her bare hands. "Besides, don't you owe me something now?"

Ntwali exhaled, a faint laugh breaking through his tension. "Fair enough." He straightened his gaze following the destruction. "But first… Let me give a proper burial to all of them."

Minagi's expression shifted, stern but not without a trace of compassion. "Right. You lost a lot of comrades today."

"It wasn't my branch, and I didn't know many here, but…" Ntwali sighed, the weight of it settling on his shoulders. "None of them deserved this."

Minagi nodded, her wings rustling faintly as she stepped back from the rift. "Take your time, then. They've earned that much." She crossed her arms, her gaze drifting over the ruins—not impatient, but watchful, giving him space without leaving entirely.

Ntwali moved slowly, the ache in his body flaring with each step as he began the grim task. The Sanctum was a graveyard now—scorched stone and twisted metal marking where knights and priests had fallen. Some bodies were gone, vaporized by the Hatman's nuke, but others remained, broken and still. He knelt beside the first he found—a young knight, armor dented, eyes staring blankly at the sky. Ntwali closed them gently, murmuring a quiet prayer under his breath.

It was going to be a long night. But way more were to come.