Damien's body lay weakly against the ground of the white space, the faint golden layer around him flickering like a dying ember.
His lips parted slightly.
A strained breath escaped him.
"…You don't think you've won…" he said weakly.
"I live freely…" he continued, his brows tightening faintly as he forced the words out. "I serve no one…"
Each word seemed to take effort.
As though even speaking was draining what little remained of him.
The knight looked down at him.
Then—
She smirked.
A faint, confident curve of her lips as her silver eyes gleamed softly.
"We'll see about that…" she muttered. "Damien Voss."
The moment she said his name, his vision twisted.
The white space around him warped violently, distorting like shattered glass being pulled apart.
The knight.
The endless white.
Everything blurred.
Then—
It vanished.
*
Damien's eyes snapped open.
The familiar sight of the abandoned street greeted him once more.
The cracked pavement beneath him.
The scattered weapons.
The unconscious bodies of the men he had defeated earlier, still lying in the same positions he left them.
For a split second—
It felt like nothing had happened.
Like everything he had just experienced was nothing more than a strange illusion.
But then—
A sharp whistle cut through the air.
His eyes widened slightly.
'The sniper's bullet!' he thought, his gaze shifting towards the bullet that was still in front of him.
His outstretched fingers failed to catch it as it slipped past them, spinning rapidly as it headed straight for his forehead.
Everything seemed to slow down.
Damien reacted instinctively.
He tried to draw on his energy, in order to shield his body with it.
But the moment he reached for it—
He froze.
There was barely anything left.
The vast energy that once surged through him was now almost completely gone.
His face paled instantly.
'Shit!' he thought.
And the next moment—
THWIP!
The bullet pierced through his forehead.
Then—
Blood burst outward.
A dark red spray splattered into the air as the force of the shot snapped his head slightly backward.
His body went limp.
The strength left his limbs completely.
Then—
THUD!
His body hit the pavement heavily, lying still among the other fallen men.
A slow stream of blood began to ooze from the hole in his forehead, trickling down the side of his face and onto the ground beneath him.
His vision blurred, darkness creeping in at the edges.
But he was still conscious, albeit just barely.
His eyes remained open as he stared upward.
At the sky.
The pale, empty sky stretching above the abandoned street.
His breathing was shallow, slowly fading away.
His thoughts drifted weakly.
'The goddess of light… and that woman…' he thought, clenching his teeth faint.
"I'll never forget this…" he muttered under his breath, his voice barely more than a whisper.
"…light goddess…"
A flicker of anger passed through his fading gaze.
"You'll regret trying to force me to serve you…"
His lips twitched slightly.
Even now—
Even at the edge of death—
That same shameless arrogance remained.
"Instead…" he continued weakly.
"I'll make you submit…"
A faint, crooked smirk formed on his blood-stained lips.
"…to this disgusting pervert's cock."
Then—
A large white circle slowly formed beneath his body, shining with a bright white light.
It expanded outward, glowing brightly against the cracked pavement.
The light grew stronger, until it surrounded him completely.
*
On the rooftop above—
The sniper exhaled sharply.
Then—
He pumped his fist into the air.
A grin spread across his face.
"Got him," he muttered under his breath.
Through the scope, he had seen it clearly.
The way Damien's body dropped lifelessly to the ground.
There was no doubt.
The job was done.
Satisfied, the sniper lowered his rifle and reached into his pocket.
He pulled out a small, old phone.
The device looked worn, its edges slightly scratched from years of use.
He brought it to his ear.
After a brief pause—
"You don't have to worry, Mr. President," he said calmly.
His tone carried quiet confidence.
"Damien Voss… is dead."
He ended the call shortly after.
Then, out of habit—
He turned his gaze back toward the street below.
But the moment his eyes landed on the spot where Damien's body had been—
He froze.
His expression stiffened.
The smile on his face vanished instantly.
The body… was gone.
***
A dimly lit hall stretched out in silence.
At the center of the room—
A large white circle was inscribed on the ground.
It glowed faintly, intricate patterns woven into its design, lines crossing and curving in a complex formation that seemed almost alive.
Standing directly in front of it was a man clad in a long white robe.
The robe flowed down to his ankles, its fabric clean and unblemished, giving off an almost sacred aura.
His eyes were closed, and his face calm.
Clasped tightly between both of his hands was a shining white cross, its surface gleaming faintly under the dim light of the room.
His lips moved slowly.
Whispers escaped him in a steady rhythm.
Around the circle—
Six other men stood at different points, forming a perfect formation.
Each of them wore the same long white robes.
Each of them held a similar white cross in their hands.
Their eyes were also closed, with solemn expressions on their faces.
And like the man at the front—
They were all muttering strange words.
Words that didn't seem to belong to any known language.
Their voices overlapped, creating a low, continuous hum that filled the entire room.
Their bodies trembled slightly as they spoke, like the act of speaking those words placed a strain on them.
The air itself felt heavy.
Then—
The circle reacted.
Without warning, the white markings on the ground flared to life.
A brilliant light erupted from it, illuminating the entire hall in an instant.
The once dim room was flooded with radiance.
Shadows were erased completely.
The glow was intense.
Blinding.
Yet the seven men didn't stop.
Their voices grew louder.
Their chanting more urgent.
They tightened their grips on the crosses, their knuckles turning pale as the light continued to shine.
Seconds passed.
The brightness remained.
Filling every corner of the room.
Then slowly—
It began to fade.
The intense glow weakened, receding back into the circle as the light dimmed gradually.
The chanting slowed.
The trembling of the men lessened.
And as the last traces of light disappeared—
A figure stood at the center of the circle.
A man.
Tall, and extremely handsome.
Long black hair fell past his shoulders, framing his sharp features.
His eyes were pitch black, yet carried a faint trace of something unreadable within them.
This man was none other than Damien Voss.
He stood there silently for a moment.
Then—
A low grunt escaped his lips.
"Ugh…"
His brows furrowed slightly as he lifted his head, his gaze shifting slowly as he took in his surroundings.
The unfamiliar hall.
The glowing circle beneath his feet.
Confusion flickered across his face.
'Where… am I?' he thought, his eyes narrowing slightly as his gaze settled on the seven men surrounding him.
All of them were dressed the same, holding those strange white crossed in their palms.
The creepiest part about it was how closely they were watching him.
The air grew tense.
Then—
The man standing directly in front of the circle stepped forward.
He slowly opened his eyes, and a warm smile spread across his face.
He stretched his hand forward toward Damien.
A gesture of welcome.
"Welcome…" he said gently, his voice filled with a strange reverence. "Divine Exorcist."
A brief pause followed.
Then he continued.
"This world has been praying…" he said, his smile widening slightly. "…and waiting for your arrival."