The Grand Cathedral fell completely silent. The sound of Lucifer's words hung in the vast, incense-filled air.
Three hundred million Contribution Points.
The dozen bishops kneeling near the High Altar froze. The withered old man who had called for the guards lowered his trembling finger.
His mouth hung open. The amount of wealth required to reach that number was astronomical. It was more than the entire Royal Treasury.
To the Lumina Order, Contribution Points were absolute law. They dictated rank, power, and access to holy artifacts. Lucifer was not a heretic; by their own rules, he was practically a demigod.
Lucifer ignored the stunned silence. He continued his slow, measured walk down the center aisle.
Elara followed closely, her hand resting on the pommel of her sword, her golden eyes scanning the high balconies for hidden archers.
He stopped at the base of the High Altar. He looked up at the balcony where Lyra, the Dawn Saintess, stood.
She looked perfectly serene. Her heavy, white silk robes cascaded down the marble steps.
The massive golden halo hovering behind her head hummed with dense, oppressive magic. She was a beautiful, flawless statue placed on a pedestal for the masses to worship.
But Lucifer saw through the illusion.
He activated his Void Arcanist sight. He looked at the golden halo. It was not a divine blessing. It was a parasitic mana construct.
Thick, invisible tethers of holy magic dug into the back of her neck, constantly draining her immense power to fuel the Cathedral's defensive wards. She was a living battery.
"High Inquisitor Lucifer," a smooth, oily voice echoed from the side of the altar.
Archbishop Malcor stepped out from behind a marble pillar. He was a tall, excessively thin man draped in immaculate white and gold robes.
A heavy, jewel-encrusted staff rested in his hands. He smiled, but it was the smile of a snake cornered by a lion.
"We received the raven from Bishop Thomas," Malcor said smoothly, bowing his head slightly. "The Holy Council was... astounded by your generosity. We did not expect you to arrive in the capital so soon."
"I do not waste time," Lucifer said coldly. He turned his attention away from Lyra and locked his eyes onto the Archbishop. "I have business. I require immediate access to the restricted armory."
Malcor's smile tightened. He clutched his staff a little harder.
"Of course, Your Eminence," Malcor said. "With three hundred million points, the armory is open to you. However, standard protocol dictates a formal review period.
The Council must catalog the items you wish to requisition, and the High Pope must sign the release orders. It usually takes a fortnight."
It was a blatant stall tactic. The corrupt Church officials wanted time to hide their most valuable artifacts and inflate the prices of the remaining stock before Lucifer could spend his points.
Lucifer knew this game perfectly.
Not today.
Lucifer stepped onto the first tier of the High Altar. He closed the distance between himself and Malcor.
The Warlord's aura flared. The physical pressure of Sovereign's Weight slammed into the immediate area around the altar.
Malcor gasped, his knees buckling. He caught himself heavily on his jewel-encrusted staff, his face turning pale. The heavy incense smoke in the air was instantly forced to the ground, dispersing rapidly.
[System: Intimidation Check Passed.]
[Target: Archbishop Malcor (Level 40) - Status: Suppressed.]
"I am a High Inquisitor," Lucifer whispered. His voice was a deep, resonating rumble that vibrated through the stone floor.
"Protocol does not apply to me. I am the law of this Church. The armory opens now, Archbishop. Or I will open it myself."
Malcor stared into Lucifer's eyes. He saw the swirling, infinite voids. He felt the terrifying, crushing weight pressing down on his lungs. The Warlord was not bluffing.
"Y-Yes, High Inquisitor," Malcor stammered, sweat beading on his forehead. He struggled to stand upright. "Immediately. The Master of the Vault will escort you."
Malcor weakly gestured toward a heavy iron door set into the back wall of the Cathedral.
Lucifer withdrew his aura. The crushing gravity vanished instantly. The bishops on the floor gasped for air, scrambling away from the altar in terror.
He turned away from Malcor and looked back up at the balcony.
Lyra had not moved. She had watched the entire exchange with a calm, unreadable expression. Her blue eyes remained locked on Lucifer.
He walked up the marble steps, bypassing the groveling Archbishop. He ascended to the balcony and stopped two feet away from the Dawn Saintess.
Up close, the heavy, oppressive magic of the golden halo was stifling. It hummed with a harsh, grating frequency.
"You are Lord Lucifer of Obsidian," Lyra said softly. Her voice was musical, but completely devoid of emotion.
It sounded practiced, like a line she had repeated a thousand times to visiting nobles. "The Light blesses your path. The Church thanks you for your monumental offering."
"Drop the act," Lucifer said bluntly.
Lyra blinked. Her perfect, serene expression faltered slightly.
"Pardon?" Lyra asked.
"I said, drop the act," Lucifer repeated. He crossed his arms over his dark breastplate. He looked at the heavy, restrictive robes binding her arms, then up at the parasitic halo behind her head.
"You are paraded out here like a doll. You smile for the crowds, you bless the gold, and then they lock you back in your gilded cage.
You are the strongest holy magic user in this kingdom, and they treat you like a battery."
Lyra's breath caught in her throat. Her blue eyes widened in genuine shock.
For her entire life, from the moment her immense holy power manifested, the Church had conditioned her. They told her she was a vessel. They told her silence and submission were her highest duties to the Light.
Every noble, knight, and king who visited her only saw the Saintess. They only saw a tool to be worshipped or manipulated.
No one had ever spoken to her like this. No one had ever called it a cage.
"I... I serve the Light," Lyra stammered, falling back on her ingrained training. She looked nervously down at Archbishop Malcor, who was watching them with wide, terrified eyes from the base of the altar. "It is my duty to sustain the Cathedral's wards. It is an honor."
"It is a slow death," Lucifer corrected her. His voice was cold, stripping away the religious delusion.
He stepped closer. The void magic swirling in his irises seemed to pull the harsh, yellow light of her halo into the darkness.
"I've seen the future, Lyra," Lucifer said, his voice dropping to a whisper meant only for her. "I've seen what happens when the real war comes.
The Abyssal hordes will tear down these white walls. The Royal Army will run.
The High Pope and the Holy Council will grab the Cathedral's gold and flee. And they'll leave you chained to this balcony to die, forcing you to power a shield that can't save you."
Lyra stared at him. The serene mask completely shattered.
She felt a cold chill run down her spine. The absolute certainty in his voice terrified her, because deep down, beneath years of brainwashing, she knew he was right.
She had felt the rot within the Church. She knew Malcor's greed. She knew the High Pope's cowardice.
"Who are you?" Lyra whispered, her voice trembling slightly. "You carry the sigil of the Light, but you have the eyes of the Void. You are a Warlord, yet you speak of the end of the world."
"I am the man who is going to burn this corrupt system to the ground," Lucifer replied.
He reached out.
Lyra flinched, expecting him to strike her or grab her.
Instead, Lucifer placed his heavy, armored gauntlet gently on her shoulder.
The physical contact sent a shockwave through the parasitic magic binding her. Lucifer channeled a microscopic pulse of Void Arcanist magic into the heavy golden halo hovering behind her head.
The Void did not destroy the halo, but it disrupted the continuous flow of parasitic energy draining her core.
For the first time in years, the crushing, oppressive weight on Lyra's soul lifted.
She gasped loudly, her chest heaving as pure, unrestricted mana flooded back into her veins. Her blue eyes flared with brilliant, blinding white light.
[System: Parasitic Bind Suppressed.]
[Target: Dawn Saintess Lyra - Status: Awakened.]
The sheer rush of power was intoxicating. Lyra staggered forward, her knees buckling as her body adjusted to the massive influx of raw holy magic.
Lucifer caught her. He supported her weight effortlessly with one arm.
He looked down into her wide, glowing blue eyes.
"Do you want to be a statue, Lyra?" Lucifer asked softly. "Or do you want to save the world?"
Lyra looked at the Warlord holding her. She felt the terrifying, dark power radiating from his chest, but his grip was surprisingly gentle. He was a monster, but he was offering her the one thing the Church had stolen from her.
Freedom.
"I... I want to fight," Lyra whispered. The musical, practiced tone was gone. Her voice was raw and desperate. "I am tired of the cage."
Lucifer smiled. It was a cold, satisfied Warlord's smile.
"Good," Lucifer said. He released her shoulder and stepped back, allowing her to stand on her own. The white light in her eyes stabilized, burning with a fierce, newfound intensity.
"Stay here," Lucifer commanded. "Do not let them place the bind back on you. When I am finished in the vault, you are coming with me."
Lyra nodded once, firmly. She straightened her posture. The heavy silk robes suddenly looked less like a restriction and more like armor.
She gripped the marble railing of the balcony, glaring down at Archbishop Malcor with an expression that made the corrupt old man flinch.
Lucifer turned away from the Saintess.
He walked back down the marble steps. Elara waited for him at the base of the altar, her golden eyes gleaming with approval.
She understood what he had just done. He hadn't just secured an incredibly powerful ally; he had stolen the Church's greatest weapon right in front of them.
Lucifer walked toward the heavy iron door leading to the restricted armory.
Archbishop Malcor scrambled out of his way, pressing himself against the pillar.
"Open it," Lucifer ordered the terrified Master of the Vault standing by the door.
The Master fumbled with a massive ring of keys, shoved one into the heavy iron lock, and hauled the door open. A blast of cold, stale air rolled out from the dark, spiraling staircase leading deep beneath the Cathedral.
Lucifer did not hesitate. He walked into the dark. It was time to spend his points.