A single story can take on entirely different forms when told by different people.
Everyone believed that the previous Pope was dead—or rather, according to the story told by the new Pope, he was dead. In truth, he had never died. Instead, the new Pope had secretly imprisoned him in this filthy, forgotten place, where no one would ever know he remained, and even if someone did, no one possessed the power to come here and save him.
Because this was no place a mortal could reach. It was Hell itself, hidden within the mortal world.
The refinement of Secret Blood was built upon demons. Their powerful blood was sublimated, while their discarded, useless flesh was cast into the Ascension Well. Countless demonic corpses had accumulated here. Some had not even truly died, surviving by feeding upon the bodies thrown down alongside them. And this had continued for nearly a thousand years.
As a result, too much madness and too much strangeness had gathered here. The deeper one descended into the well, the stronger the corruption became. At the very bottom, only a Witch Hunter could preserve his sanity long enough to reach this place. Any ordinary mortal who ventured into the depths would become twisted and mad long before reaching the bottom.
The new Pope was immensely satisfied with his handiwork. It was a perfect prison, one designed to punish those he despised.
Hundreds of meters beneath the surface, the air reeked of blood and decay. Darkness surrounded everything, darkness that no light seemed capable of dispelling. The accumulated "filth" of the Gospel Church, gathered over nearly a thousand years, lay buried here. The old Pope had survived in this darkness all this time. It was impossible to imagine how he had endured those endless, maddening nights.
"I don't know…"
Like a fool, the old Pope repeatedly forced those same words through his withered throat.
But it was not an answer the new Pope found satisfactory.
The new Pope's grotesque features revealed almost nothing. He lowered his head and stared at the old Pope's disordered expression before slowly releasing his grip.
"Why? Why won't you tell me anything?"
There was genuine confusion in his voice.
"If you had only told me back then, you might be lying on some luxurious bed right now, holding a woman in your arms and drinking fine wine. I promised you. If you were willing to tell me everything, I would guarantee that you could live out the rest of your life in peace."
His voice gradually hardened with anger.
The nail-sword was pulled free, only to be driven back in again. Again and again, it pierced the old Pope's body. His ruined flesh was repeatedly torn apart, grotesque wounds opening across him, yet not a drop of blood flowed. The damaged flesh healed again in moments.
The old Pope seemed to have become numb to pain. He felt nothing anymore. He simply continued repeating the same words.
"I don't know."
The new Pope's cruelty soon came to an end. He knew that such pain no longer meant anything to the old Pope. And, if he was being honest, he had already exhausted the methods by which he could torture him.
The old Pope had once been a devout and pure believer. He, too, had despised the power of Secret Blood.
The irony was that he had needed that very power.
So the new Pope had granted him the strength of a demon. He had injected him with Secret Blood, watched him writhe in agony, and then thrown him into this Hell.
The servant of Heaven was now covered in filth. His once-radiant wings had grown heavy, as immovable as mountains of stone.
"Kill me!"
The old Pope suddenly went mad.
His emotions fluctuated wildly. After so many years of suffering in a world without daylight, he had long since descended into insanity.
His stiff arms weakly clawed at the new Pope's robes. Then the old Pope began to weep.
He sobbed like a broken man, begging for death. To him, death was now the only salvation left. The head that had once been held so proudly lowered itself, striking the ground again and again.
"Please… kill me."
But the new Pope showed no intention of granting his wish. He merely watched the pathetic spectacle in cold silence.
"How could I?" he asked. "Why do you wish to die? Your Holiness, isn't this what you have always longed for?"
The new Pope knelt beside him. He reached out and gently lifted that loathsome head, his gaze strangely tender.
It was not a gaze that brought comfort.
To the old Pope, those eyes belonged to a devil. Mockery and ridicule lurked within them.
"Your Holiness, after becoming Pope, I started reading the Gospel as well. I never cared for that book before. I thought it was nothing more than the nonsense of a bunch of holy men. But now…"
He smiled faintly.
"Now I realize that the truth lies within those pages."
The murderous tension that had filled the air moments ago disappeared. He spoke as though he were merely chatting with an old friend.
And somehow, that calmness was far more terrifying.
"Yes. Demons were born in the shadow of God. In truth… the two are symbiotic, aren't they? It is precisely because demons are so loathsome that God's greatness can be revealed. But if that is true, then isn't it also because of God that demons exist?"
As he spoke, his fingers gently caressed the old Pope's skull-like face.
A tiny flame flickered between his fingers, leaving scorching scars across the old Pope's already ruined face, like trails of tears burned into flesh.
"We have already captured the source of the demons. The thing called the Holy Grail. All of this could have ended if you had simply killed it. So why? Why did you allow them to fight over it? And why did you eventually take part in that struggle yourself?"
His voice rose with anger.
The old Pope let out a mournful cry. His fingers slowly dug beneath his own skull beneath the searing pain, leaving a bloody indentation.
"Yes. Demons were born in the shadow of God. So it should hardly be surprising that desire eventually took control of the very heart of faith, the sacred core of the Church itself, should it?"
It was because of those so-called saints that everything had ended up like this.
"Please… kill me."
The old Pope wept as crimson blood seeped from the hollow sockets of his eyes.
"Why? You wanted immortality so desperately. You refused to kill the Holy Grail because of it. You despised the Witch Hunters, yet yearned for a life as long as theirs…"
The new Pope gritted his teeth.
"Everything has a price."
Human desire had driven humanity into a dead end.
The pursuit of power. The pursuit of wealth. The pursuit of immortality.
One desire after another became entangled until, at last, they brought about the tragedy of the Night of Advent.
"I was wrong… Kill me…"
The old Pope begged.
"No, no. It's too late, Your Holiness. You already have immortality."
The new Pope smiled cruelly.
"You can't die anymore."
Once again, he drove the nail-sword into the old Pope's body and violently dragged it through his flesh.
"How can a human being survive in a place like this? How can anyone endure this suffering and still remain alive?"
He leaned closer.
"There is nothing more cruel than humiliating a saint by turning him into the very thing he hates most."
The new Pope whispered beside his ear.
"Congratulations, Your Holiness."
"You have become a monster."
The old Pope froze.
Slowly, he raised his hands and covered his eyes. His entire body began to tremble violently.
No one could tell whether he was crying or laughing.
The new Pope rose to his feet and lifted his lantern.
Its light illuminated what lay behind the old Pope.
An endless mountain of flesh.
It rose like a hill, covered with countless bodies. Most had long since died. The few that remained had lost their minds, reduced to nothing more than living corpses.
The mountain of flesh merged with the ground, filling the entire bottom of the well.
A Messiah-class Containment.
A demon known as Leviathan.
The new Pope was standing upon the largest demon ever recorded in history.
It had been born from the filth cast into the bottom of the well. For nearly a thousand years, it had continued to grow, spreading until it occupied the entire underground world.
No one knew its true form.
Even now, it continued to grow, slowly and silently.
It was the embodiment of every sin gathered here.
Fortunately, it possessed no consciousness of its own. Unlike ordinary demons, which were driven by bloodlust and madness, Leviathan possessed not even the instincts of a living creature.
It simply existed.
Leviathan was not even its true name. Within the Gospel Church, the word was used to refer collectively to all enormous demons. Yet throughout recorded history, creatures of this magnitude had appeared only a handful of times.
"The feeling of immortality must be wonderful."
The new Pope looked toward the old Pope.
"It has lived for a thousand years. And if nothing unexpected happens, you will live alongside it for another thousand."
Under the lantern's light, it was possible to see that the old Pope's lower body had already fused with the mass of flesh.
The bottom of the well resembled some enormous digestive tract, endlessly swallowing the filth that had been abandoned within it.
The old Pope could no longer speak.
But then the new Pope slipped a cigarette between his lips and lit it for him.
"Enjoy it while you can. Once I die, no one will know that you are here anymore. And during the long life you have left, opportunities to smoke will be exceedingly rare."
The old Pope remained silent, as motionless as a stone statue.
The new Pope did not care.
He stared at the flesh stretching endlessly into the darkness and felt a chill run through him.
"But don't worry. We will all revere you."
He paused.
"After all, you have become a part of it."
"Power really is a wonderful thing."
The new Pope looked into the darkness.
"When you stand at the very top of the world, you begin to learn things that are even more forbidden. I never would have imagined any of this before. Who would have thought that this was the true Silent Sanctuary?"
"Or perhaps I should call it the Heart Nexus."
He stamped his foot against the flesh beneath him.
The Leviathan beneath his feet was the source of everything.
The [Gap] that connected every Witch Hunter—
It was this creature.
Such an enormous and ancient body possessed a [Gap] vast enough to contain countless consciousnesses.
He did not know how the Gospel Church had accomplished it, but they called this system of communication the Heart Nexus, issuing commands directly through the [Gap] by means of the Silver Bindings.
"How… how do you know about this?"
The old Pope slowly raised his head.
"I destroyed all those records."
"But something is always left behind, isn't it?"
The new Pope lit another cigarette.
Once again, the flame illuminated his grotesque face.
"The Gospel Church really is strange…"
He exhaled slowly.
"Even after becoming Pope, even after learning so many of its secrets, I still feel a profound sense of helplessness whenever I face things like this."
The old Pope remained silent.
The new Pope continued.
"Lloyd Medici. This time, I came only to ask about his secrets. According to what I have gathered, toward the end of his life, his control over the Gospel Church gradually weakened. Eventually, he had no choice but to withdraw into seclusion."
"Then you became Pope."
"You never relaxed your vigilance toward him. You continued your struggle with him in secret."
"What is the Scabbard Treaty?"
The new Pope suddenly asked.
The withered figure before him seemed not even to have heard.
It remained silent.
"You don't have to answer. I've already figured out most of it anyway…"
The new Pope watched the old Pope from the corner of his eye before continuing.
"Lloyd Medici pursued power far beyond reason. He controlled not only the Gospel Church, but the Witch Hunter Order as well. And yet…"
"He really was an extraordinary man."
"A born ruler."
"Under his leadership, we entered an age of gold. It was an era that rivaled even the glory of our eastern crusades a century ago."
"He was much like you, yet different."
"You fear death. You cling to this world overflowing with desire. But he…"
"He simply refused to die because he wanted to preserve that beautiful golden age."
The new Pope suddenly seized the old Pope's withered skull, staring directly into those empty sockets.
"Lloyd Medici is still alive."
"Isn't he?"
After a long silence, the corners of the old Pope's mouth pulled upward into something resembling a smile.
"He died."
"He died on the Night of Advent."
"His body was buried in the Seven Hills, alongside the saints of previous generations."
"You know that very well, don't you?"
"Oh?"
The new Pope smiled as well.
He regarded the old Pope with amusement.
"Your Holiness, you are an excellent keeper of secrets."
"No matter how I tortured you, even after I threw you into this place, you never gave me a single answer. You refused to reveal any of your secrets."
"You disguised yourself well back then."
"But things are different now."
He leaned closer.
"Your Holiness, look at yourself. In this miserable state, your attempt to keep pretending is almost laughable."
The new Pope had seen through the lie in an instant.
"He survived."
"And you know that too, don't you?"
"Perhaps you don't know the exact details, but you know he would never have died so easily."
"You were once his rival, yet now you are protecting him."
"Because this involves you as well, doesn't it?"
"And if there is something important enough to make you lie to me…"
"It must have something to do with the 'truth.'"
The old Pope's voice trembled.
"No… That's not…"
"Actually, I already know."
"At least part of it."
"Lloyd Medici is still alive."
"He obtained immortality as well."
"Only…"
"He achieved it by taking possession of other people's bodies."
"Gabriel…"
"That is what you called this Authority, isn't it?"
The old Pope froze completely.
After so many years in this place of despair, he had believed that he could never feel fear again.
Yet now that unfamiliar sensation returned.
It closed around his throat.
"No…"
"Let me think."
"This so-called Scabbard Treaty must have something to do with the Authority known as Gabriel."
"Lloyd Medici obtained it near the end of his life. Through its power, he seized another person's body and continued living, while his original body died on the Night of Advent."
"Impossible!"
The old Pope suddenly roared.
"That Authority was sealed away! And Lloyd Medici was already so old! His body could never have endured Secret Blood!"
His voice fell away.
He stared at that devilish face in disbelief.
"You lied to me…"
"Yes."
The new Pope's expression became almost sorrowful.
"This long torment really has worked."
"At least your mind is no longer as sharp as it once was."
The once-powerful Pope had been broken by years of suffering at the bottom of this well.
He had gone mad.
He was no longer anything like the man he had once been.
"All those records burned to ashes on the Night of Advent. Even after I became Pope, I was only able to recover fragments."
"But you know that I'm clever."
"If I weren't, I never could have become Pope."
"So I pieced together the story from those fragments."
The new Pope smiled.
"Of course, I already knew you would never tell me anything."
"I didn't come here for answers."
"I only wanted you to confirm whether my story was true."
"And it seems…"
"It was."
"Lloyd Medici is still alive."
The more he spoke, the more madness surged across the old Pope's face.
"What surprised me most was that you actually tried to protect him."
"You don't want me to know any of this."
"So…"
"The Authority Gabriel is connected to the 'truth.'"
Is was the final spark.
The old Pope exploded into madness.
He clawed and bit at the new Pope like a rabid beast, but his attacks were pitifully weak. Every movement was futile.
He wailed.
He sobbed.
And finally, he collapsed, his voice filled with agony.
"Why?"
"Why are you so obsessed with the 'truth'?"
The old Pope could not understand.
"I never cared about it before."
"I used to take things lightly."
"A Witch Hunter was nothing more than a job."
"But the Night of Advent changed everything."
"So many people died."
"People I knew."
"People I liked."
"People I loved."
"And I nearly lost my life that night as well…"
As he spoke, the new Pope could not help touching his grotesque face.
Then he smiled.
It was a twisted smile.
"After that night, I began wondering…"
"What exactly was I fighting for?"
"We say we fight to preserve human sanity."
"But we don't even know what our enemy truly is."
"So tell me…"
"What exactly are demons?"
"Why did they appear in this world?"
"If they are the shadows of God…"
"Then where is God?"
"What are demons?"
"What is this world, really?"
His voice remained calm.
But beneath that calmness burned an anger that could never be extinguished.
"Everyone died so easily."
"And we don't even know what we died for."
"How laughable…"
The old Pope stopped crying.
For a fleeting moment, something resembling reason returned to that broken body.
Here, at the bottom of this hopeless well, he was lucid again.
"But it is not a good 'truth.'"
"You will not like it."
"It will only create an even greater mistake."
"I don't care."
"You will die."
The new Pope froze.
For a moment, something seemed to come back to him.
Then he asked:
"Do you know of Jiuxia?"
"The nation in the Far East?"
"Yes."
"There is a saying there."
"What saying?"
"Seek the Dao at dawn, and you may die at dusk."
The new Pope tossed a cigarette box onto the ground.
A few cigarettes still remained inside.
They were nothing expensive.
Yet in this place of despair, they were treasures.
"Make them last."
"Who knows? The next time I come here might be decades from now."
"After all, we Witch Hunters can live for a very long time."
With that, he turned and walked away.
His lantern illuminated the path ahead.
Blood continued flowing into the darkness, stretching endlessly forward like a crimson sea.
The old Pope stared blankly before slowly picking up the cigarette box.
As the departing figure grew farther away, a profound terror suddenly seized him.
The light kept retreating.
The darkness slowly dragged him back into its embrace.
And he went mad once more.
"Come back!"
"Please! Come back!"
It was too dark here.
Too lonely.
"Please!"
"Kill me!"
This immortality was unbearable.
Yet the old Pope could not die.
He had become fused with that colossal mass of flesh.
He would thirst.
He would hunger.
But he would never die.
The new Pope ignored him.
He simply seized the chain he had used to descend and began climbing back toward the entrance.
The point of light grew smaller and smaller.
Until it nearly disappeared from sight.
The old Pope finally broke.
He had endured endless darkness.
At last, he had seen the light.
And now that light was leaving him.
He screamed curses into the abyss.
"Do you really think taking a human name will make you human?"
"You're a monster just like me!"
"A monster through and through!"
His venomous voice echoed through the deep darkness.
"You'll die here with me one day too!"
"Raphael!"
Raphael stopped.
He turned his head, but he could no longer see the old Pope.
There was nothing there but darkness, slowly writhing in the distance.
His lantern illuminated the world around him.
Countless corpses.
One after another.
Hundreds.
Thousands.
People who had been thrown down into the Ascension Well and left here.
Over the long centuries, their bodies had accumulated into mountains.
"Of course."
"I will die here."
Raphael spoke softly.
His expression was filled with sorrow as he looked upon the dead.
They were not ordinary people.
They were Witch Hunters.
Every corpse here belonged to a Witch Hunter.
And this…
Was the final destination of every Witch Hunter.
They came from the Ascension Well.
And in the end, they would return to the Ascension Well.