Chapter 19: Babylon has Fallen

Summoning at the Vatican

The marble halls of the Vatican stretched on in silence, broken only by the echo of footsteps. Mr. X walked with his usual unhurried gait, his cane clicking lightly against the floor, while Megumi followed at his side, her eyes sharp as if expecting an ambush even here, in the heart of Christendom.

“Why do you think the Pope summoned us?” she asked at last, her tone casual, though her hands never strayed far from the hilts of her blades.

Mr. X smiled faintly, the corner of his mouth curving with amusement. “Because of the Order’s visit,” he said. “He wants to verify if what John spoke of is true—or if the Vatican has been made a fool.”

Megumi let out a sudden laugh. It startled him—rare, quick, and sharp, like glass cracking.

He glanced at her, eyebrows raised. “What’s so amusing?”

She shook her head, still smiling. “I just can’t imagine it. Believing in something your whole life… pouring every prayer, every ounce of faith into it—only to discover it isn’t real. That has to be a kind of torture no words could ever explain.”

Her words lingered in the air, heavy despite the softness of her tone.

Mr. X tilted his head, studying her. “Have you ever believed in something, Megumi?”

She grinned, her usual edge returning. “Hunters don’t believe. We don’t have that luxury. We just execute.”

Mr. X’s laugh came low and warm, echoing faintly in the gilded hallway.

 “Then do yourself a favour. Fall in love. Or at least get drunk. The world is ending, child—your discipline means little against oblivion.”

Megumi smirked, about to retort, when the grand doors ahead of them creaked open. The chamberlain bowed, his voice carrying like a whisper in a cathedral:

“Enter. His Holiness is waiting.”

The two stepped into the Pope’s residence, the weight of centuries pressing in with the scent of incense and candle wax.

 

The chamber smelled of incense and old candle wax, its walls lined with paintings of saints and martyrs, the weight of centuries pressing in on the room. 

The Pope sat waiting at the far end, his posture upright but his eyes carrying both caution and weariness. 

The cardinals flanked him, their red robes like streaks of fire against the marble.

Mr. X and Megumi stepped inside. At the Pope’s gesture, they were offered chairs.

As she sat, Megumi’s eyes wandered—not at the men, but at the details. A crucifix carved in ivory. Oil paintings of angels locked in battle. Furniture gilded, every surface whispering of opulence.

The Pope noticed. “Tell me, child,” he said, his voice deep and measured. “What do you think of this room?”

Megumi tilted her head. “Interesting,” she replied simply.

Mr. X leaned forward, cutting across the moment. “Why have you summoned me, Your Holiness?”

The Pope exhaled. 

“Because of the Order of Gnostics. Because of their words spoken in this very city. They spoke of a seal, of a covenant, of an… ‘witness.’ I want to know—” 

he hesitated, the weight of the question choking him, “—is it true?”

“It’s true,” Mr. X said, without hesitation.

The Pope let out a short, bitter laugh, but the chamber erupted in shouts. Cardinals argued with one another—some demanding silence, others condemning the words as heresy.

Mr. X stood, walking to the tall window. His silhouette framed against the night sky—the stitches unraveling in what was once heaven. He spoke softly, but his voice filled the chamber.

“Human history is a cycle. Since the days of Adam and Eve, the pattern repeats. A covenant is made. One party breaks it, then comes judgment. Then comes the renewal of that covenant.”

He gestured to the heavens beyond the glass, where the sky itself seemed to split at the seams.

“The great cataclysms of the past are evidence of it. From the Garden to Noah. From Abraham to David. From Babylon to Rome.”

“And He shall wipe away every tear from their eyes… and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain. Do you know what that means, Your Holiness? The end of this cycle. The end of all cycles.”

One of the cardinals leapt to his feet, his face red with rage. “And what of us? What of our faith? We sacrificed everything for what we believe in!”

Mr. X turned, eyes gleaming with something like pity. He raised a finger toward the trembling threads unraveling above.

“Unfortunately,” he said softly, “your faith isn’t enough to comprehend that.”

The cardinal fell to his knees, his body shuddering, as if the weight of those words crushed him. Around the room, panic broke loose. The Pope clutched his rosary, his voice breaking:

“There shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth.”

Megumi glanced at Mr. X.

He gave her the smallest nod, a gentle smile on his lips.

The atmosphere shifted at once. Everyone in the chamber felt it—the unmistakable weight of death pressing down on their souls. A dark, violet aura unfurled around Megumi, curling like smoke and swallowing the light. The scent of iron and ozone filled the hall.

 

The cardinals froze mid-breath, paralyzed, their eyes wide with horror. Even the Pope’s body stiffened, though his lips still moved soundlessly in prayer. Only Mr. X remained untouched, his faint smile steady as ever.

 

It all happened in three seconds.

In one smooth motion, she drew her blade and sheathed it again, the strike too fast for human eyes to follow. Silence held for a heartbeat. Then, one by one, the cardinals collapsed. Blood spread across marble like ink poured on parchment.

The Pope sat frozen, forced to watch as his entire council fell dead around him. His eyes broke, sanity unraveling, until Megumi’s strike reached him too. His body slumped to the floor.

The Vatican was no more.

Megumi looked down, frowning at the crimson stains splattered across her white kimono. “Damn it,” she muttered. “I actually liked this one …”

Mr. X chuckled, shaking his head as he turned to leave. “You realize you just killed over a hundred people, and that’s what you’re worried about?”

He laughed, his cane tapping lightly against the floor as they walked out together. Megumi followed, annoyed—at him, at the blood, and at herself.

The World After the Vatican

News of the Vatican’s fall spread like wildfire, too swift for governments to contain. Within hours, world leaders had been notified. Within days, the largest body of Christians on Earth—Catholics—fell into disarray.

Even the AZO, the symbol of order, staggered under the news. If the Vatican could fall, what hope did their order and power truly hold?

Faith, once an anchor, now tore free from its moorings. The faithful cried out in the streets. Pilgrims tore down their own shrines in despair. The remaining humans scattered across fractured nations fell into mass hysteria.

For the monsters that lurked in the ash and shadows, it was a feast. Panic bred carelessness, and the careless were easy pickings.

Churches, synagogues, mosques, temples—holy sites across the continents burned, some by monsters, many by human hands. Books of worship were piled in city squares and set ablaze, their flames mocking the prayers they once carried. In places where law once ruled, only lawlessness remained.

It was like the days spoken of in scriptures long forgotten: the days of Noah, of Jonah, of Daniel, of John. Humanity reaching the height of its wickedness. The covenant almost fully broken. Judgment pressing at the door.

The factions moved like pieces on a divine chessboard:

– The AZO struggled to preserve order, desperate to keep the seal fromsbeing broken .

– The Order fanned the flames, whispering that this collapse was necessary, inevitable.

– The Hunters did not care. They executed whoever they were paid to, their discipline colder than the ashes piling in the streets.

And for four young souls—Luna, Jordan, Richard, and Anya—this was not myth or prophecy. It was the only world they had ever known, and it was unraveling before their eyes. They were children forced to make sense of what no human mind could comprehend.

Cape Town, South Africa

The city was a wound that wouldn’t close. Buildings leaned half-collapsed against each other, smoke curling from gutted streets. Sirens no longer blared, soldiers no longer patrolled—there was no government left to command them. Cape Town belonged to monsters now.

A girl no older than eight ran barefoot across the cracked tar, her cries echoing in the ruins.
“Mom! Mama!”

Her voice broke when she saw the truth—her mother’s body lifted high, talons piercing flesh. A Carrion Hawk screeched as it tore into its prey, feathers slick with blood.

The child froze, horror rooting her to the ground. The hawk’s lantern-eyes turned to her. It screeched again, wings beating ash into the air, talons stretching wide as it swooped down.

The girl squeezed her eyes shut—

—then silence.

When she opened them, the hawk was gone. Nothing remained but drifting feathers, dissolving into ash-black fire. The flames licked the air, unnatural, burning not like heat but like erasure.

She gasped. A boy stood a few feet away, hand still raised, black fire fading from his skin. He couldn’t have been more than fifteen, hair unkempt, clothes tattered from days on the run. His eyes softened when they met hers.

“It’s okay,” he said gently. “You can follow me. I’ll take you to a safe zone.”

The girl’s sobs quieted. His smile—crooked, tired, but real—felt like safety in a world without it. He let the flame vanish completely, then held out his hand. She hesitated, then clutched it tightly.

As they walked, she peeked up at him, her voice small.
“Are you… an angel?”

He laughed, a short, boyish sound. “No. Far from it.”

“Then… a devil?”

“Nope.” He shook his head, almost teasing.

“Then what’s your name?”

“Kent.”

“How old are you, Kent?”

“Fifteen.”

Her eyes widened. “Is fire your superpower?”

Kent sighed, though a hint of amusement tugged at his lips. “You ask a lot of questions.”

She smiled through her tears, gripping his hand tighter. “Then I’ll keep asking—so you don’t disappear.”

His smile lingered, but his eyes — shadowed by the dying firelight — told another story.