Within a religious sanctuary lies what is said to be the most sacred place, for it stands closest to the long-acclaimed God revered by all.
Yet not even such sites are impenetrable. Demons, through their sin, can defile even the purest lotus, staining it with the emptiest and deepest darkness.
María Rosario Bianchi, a sovereign of the Argentine people, lay within this temple in prayer, searching for the final sign from God. The church had been built by her own command: the largest and most "celestial" structure humans could achieve in both art and architecture.
A weary voice rose into the air:
—Oh my God, I implore you. As your subject, answer me. I wish to know whether my entire journey has been worth it, whether all the sacrifices and losses you imposed upon me… were they worth it?
The silence was palpable; the atmosphere stood empty of any presence.
The woman's voice murmured:
—I, your devoted follower, beg for your presence. Please.
A profound silence followed. María, taking the necessary time, raised her voice once more:
—Everything I have built—my reign and my homeland… will my legacy endure for a long time? Will my people remember me in glory?
Expecting the silence to continue, María closed her eyes…
But, against all expectations, the church doors slammed shut as a sudden wind roared through the hall, its sound flooding the space.
A voice filled with excitement echoed throughout the sanctuary:
—María… María… María…
María opened her eyes, thinking it might be an attack by some organization, but what she saw instead was darkness. The entire hall was engulfed in shadows, as if the sunlight itself had vanished.
She was bewildered, for even at night the moonlight should have filtered through the great stained-glass windows adorned with biblical figures.
The entity, upon seeing her confused yet steadfast expression, burst into laughter.
María frowned and asked:
—Who are you?
The voice, tinged with something sinister, replied:
—Were you not calling for me, my Mari?
María regarded him with a measure of respect, mixed with curiosity:
—I was praying to God, yet you carry a far more demonic presence.
The entity made a thoughtful sound, then clarified the situation:
—That is true, but this form is not my true appearance. I merely wished to frighten you.
The entity shifted shape, revealing a young man of about twenty years, bearing both human and vampiric traits, though his complexion was vibrant and alive. His long, straight hair was crowned with a Chinese hanfu-style coronet adorned with laurels and, at its center, a black lotus. His crimson eyes, like living fire, radiated an unsettling calm. On one ear were two moles resembling piercings. He wore black garments of an eastern, mystical design, as though taken from a Chinese fantasy film. Everything about him seemed to proclaim divinity.
María gazed upon his hypnotic appearance and struggled to maintain her composure.
—Then… are you God?
The entity clicked his tongue in displeasure:
—I am neither demon nor god. In this existence, where I hold dominion over all things and all beings, I would rather not be defined. To you, I am Caelros—though that is not my true name. Only the first three existences have the right to know it.
Curiosity overcame María:
—Then… does God not exist? The God we all know?
Caelros replied:
—I do not know. What I can say is this: this world is a copy of my true world, set within a universe isolated from my other domains. In this existence, there is no such god. If gods do exist, they are creations of my second creation.
María fell silent, pondering truths that no other mortal would ever come to know. Even if Caelros were lying, what would he gain from deceiving a fragile, insignificant human such as herself? If his words were true, then God could not compare to him.
Amid the storm of her thoughts, one idea took hold: if this world was a copy of his true world, then… was this world false? No. He had said a copy. That meant it must exist independently.
Caelros cut through her thoughts:
—To be precise, it is not a parallel universe, for that would imply a direct connection to my own. It is better understood as an imperfect copy, as there are factors that differ from one world to another. Your world is not false—it exists. Your existence is just as valid as mine. We both exist on different planes, without any binding ties between us.
"Damn… he read my thoughts," María realized.
She felt invaded, defenseless, and exposed, fully aware now that Caelros was something far greater—something immensely powerful. Still, she gathered her courage and spoke with nervous respect:
—Lord Caelros, I do not believe it is appropriate for you to peer into my mind.
Caelros smiled apologetically:
—I am sorry, but it is unavoidable. I cannot prevent it.
María exhaled in frustration.
—Very well… it is fine. Then, did you come to answer my prayer?
Caelros swept his palm over the altar where sermons were once preached, reshaping its structure into ascending steps and a throne. Calmly, he seated himself upon it and snapped his fingers forward. All the pews vanished, leaving behind a single chair.
—Sit. It is better than kneeling.
María, slightly embarrassed, stood, brushed the dust from her knees, and sat down with confidence, crossing her legs with the composure befitting a ruler.