The hall thundered with applause.
The doors of the inner chamber opened, and out stepped the leaders of Christendom: Pope Julius II in his crimson robes, Martin Luther standing rigid with stern eyes, the solemn Patriarch, and beside them Maximilian I, his imperial bearing heavy with the weight of kingdoms. Aurelius walked in their midst, silvered hair gleaming beneath the torches, his presence sharp as a drawn blade.
The nobles rose to their feet. The air vibrated with cheers, the hall ringing as though all of Rome itself had been summoned into this moment of fragile unity.
Emperor Maximilian started to give some pompous and solemn speech. However Azazel didn't listen to it.
Through the crowd, Aurelius made his way to Azazel. He bent slightly, enough for only his pupil to hear.
"How is everything?"
Azazel's voice rasped behind the mask. "Exhausting. And how is—"
And then—
Everything went blank.
A roar like fire in his ears. An explosion that shattered thought itself. Azazel staggered—yet the floor beneath his boots was gone. He blinked and found himself standing in a void of shifting gray, where fragments of light hung like dust in water.
Aurelius stood before him. His expression was carved from iron.
"What happened?" Azazel staggered, heart hammering.
Aurelius remained silent for a minute.
"A sudden attack," Aurelius finally said, his tone clipped, forced. "How…"
He hit the air with his fist sending cracks across the realm.
"We didn't expect them to be bold enough. Not here." He muttered low, more to himself than to Azazel:
"How in God's name did they infiltrate the Vatican itself…"
Azazel shook his head violently. "Demons? Here? That's impossible. This is Rome. This is the seat of the Churches. Right now all the Wardens of Order—"
"—which is precisely why they came." Aurelius cut him off, voice as sharp as steel. "Listen, boy. Once I release this pocket dimension, you need to retreat at once. Do you understand?"
"Retreat?" Azazel's voice cracked. "What are you saying?"
Aurelius's eyes blazed. "If they attacked now, it means Rome itself is surrounded. Their plan is clear: destroy all the leaders of the demon resistance in one strike. The Vatican has become a trap."
Azazel's hands clenched. "But why? What reason for the sudden—"
"It doesn't matter." Aurelius's words thundered, final and merciless. "Whether tied to the initiation, or some deeper plot, their true purpose is the same: to shake the foundations of the world. To break hope. This…" His voice lowered, a growl in the void. "This is the beginning of full-scale war. Perhaps greater even than in the days of your grandfather."
The air rippled.
Out of the emptiness appeared two wheel-lock pistols, their black steel veined with faint holy light. Azazel knew these pistols too well.
They hovered, waiting. Alongside them a heavy leather satchel drifted down, its clasp engraved with runes. Aurelius gestured.
"Azazel, take them," he said. "These are bullets—crafted with blood and ashes, enough to scar even a high-ranking demon."
Azazel reached out.
"Grandfather…" he whispered inside his own head.
Aurelius's eyes closed, his form trembling slightly as cracks split the air around them.
"I'm releasing the dimension. Prepare yourself. When you wake use the powers of the Codex instantly."
The void shattered like glass.
"And run. That's not the trial you can compete in."
Light, screams, and fire poured in.