The pistols clicked empty. Still Azazel fired.
Light burst from the barrels—not bullets, but fire ripped from the Codex itself. The flash scorched Balaam's cheek, searing the Seal of Solomon into his pale skin.
The chains cracked.
The marble groaned.
On the King of Hell's forehead, a pentagram blazed open, spilling molten darkness. His body tore apart, unfolding into his true form. His skin split into rivers of shadow, wings of void unraveling behind him—each feather a shard of night, its edges dripping fire. His voice rose in a chorus of damned kings and beasts.
Azazel stumbled, but another strength caught him.
A soul. Not his.
His veins flared with alien memory, his tongue spoke with two voices—his own and the one buried in his bloodline.
"Even after death… the devils will not let me rest."
[Even after death… the devils will not let me rest.]
Two voices from one person.
It was Johann Weyer.
The pistols steadied, glowing white-blue. Azazel's lips shaped words.
"Balaam. King of Hell. Lord of Lies and Broken."
And then—
The sky tore open.
From the horizon above St. Peter's Basilica, flames spilled into night, not dawn but something brighter, harsher. Holy fire crowned the skyline, devouring shadow where it touched.
Balaam reeled. "No… That light— There should be no one able to cast it…"
Johann laughed through Azazel's throat.
"Now I see your game, devils. You aimed for the Prison. Bold. But you overlooked something."
The boy's lips curled into a smile that was not his own.
"You thought there were only guards."
Johann mocked:
"Unfortunate for you, there are two Apostles at St. Peter's Basilica right now."
Balaam's roar shook the garden. "LIES! They should be guarding their dominions!"
Johann laughed so hard that even his eyes became teary.
The King stretched his void wings, tearing open the air with a command. Legions spilled forth—rivers of claw and flame, horns and blades.
But the portals snapped shut.
The Codex's chains lashed through every rift, binding them, devouring summoning sigils. Balaam's roar twisted into disbelief.
"NO! Why won't they answer me?!"
Johann's voice thundered.
"Your legions won't answer you until I am here."
The battlefield lurched.
Every knight who had buckled under Balaam's aura now lifted his blade. Priests who had suffocated now sang psalms of fire. Even the bleeding disciples staggered upright.
They charged.
"Attack!"
Demons moved, raising from their solemnly respectful position they took after Balaam appeared.
Steel, light, relics blazing.
The tide of men crashed into the wave of demons.