The sins of Ferdinand I still hung over the Church. He was not the first to participate in the rot, nor was he the most fervent of those heretical priests, he was simply the last in a long line of corruption. He attempted to lead the flock astray with his 'reformations', and the house of God was divided by them. A great cleaving between those who obeyed the now-fallen Papacy, and those who saw the truth.
In the end, however, Ferdinand I was given a great revelation. A blow delivered unto him by the Architectus Codicis Divini struck him down. A temporary death due to the great strength of God's instrument, and several minutes at the foot of the pearly gates. In those minutes, he had been reprimanded for his sins, and when he was sent back to the living world he began an immediate penance.
The rot had been cleansed from the house of God through fire and steel. The priests of the devil had been cast down, the 'reformations' of a hundred years had been overturned, and the Vatican had begun a slow climb back to its former glory. Just as with the posting of the Ninety-Five Theses, the church had been led to rot, the faithful had been divided, and the church had undergone a proper reformation thereafter.
Ferdinand I had chosen his successor after the Burning of the Rot. Pope Gregory XVII was the most vocal among those bishops that called for a course-correction, and his nomination ensured that their power within the house of God would be broken for another era at least. It was in his coronation that the Oath against Modernism, first declared by Pope Pius X, was declared yet again.
It was not enough to mend the cleaved church, just as it wasn't before. Their sister church, the Church of Poland, was still wary and although talks of reunification were underway, it would be a long time yet before the breach was healed. It would be his duty as Pope Ignatius I to mend that wound, to further the glory of the church, and to ward the faithful from the sinful world. It would be his duty to ensure the freedom of the church from the influence of those Mammon cults.
It was his duty to lead the revived Militaris Ordos.
Ordo Noctis Custodes, Sacra Congregatio de Custodae Internexi Veterid, Ordo Panzer, the reformed knightly orders of Templar, Lazarus, and Teutonic, and the restored Sacra Congregatio Sancti Officii. A vast and terrific army, greater in power than perhaps any previously directed by the church.
It was truly a sign of the rot of the world, that the church needed so much steel to defend itself in this era.
Still, his faith was unwavering. The universal church had lasted for two-thousand years of strife and conflict, of worldly sin and vice. They were built upon the rock eternal. This era would pass, and the church would remain. It was his duty to safeguard it as best he could in the interim. He was fortunate to have so many allies from his more violent youth to call upon, their information was critical for many reasons.
This time, it was a somewhat idle curiosity of his, but potentially important. The letter had arrived in the night, during his hours of sleep, and his schedule did not allow him to read it until his lunch at the earliest.
A simple letter had been sent to his old friend.
'Why did Adam Smasher change his behavior?'
Adam Smasher was not a heretic. He was not a priest of a false god or an icon of rot. He was a mass murderer. He was a warrior more violent than perhaps any to ever live. He was a butcher and a man of base worldly pleasures. The doctrine of his youth was completely divorced from matters of spirituality, even as crude and base as it was.
Adam Smasher was simply a heathen warrior. A villain unrepentant, a soldier unbaptized, a barbarian killer. Even as terrific as his combat prowess was, he was not a particular threat to the church. His master, Saburo Arasaka, most definitely was.
His known pattern of behavior was almost ironclad. He stayed in the depths of Arasaka-controlled buildings, leaving only when commanded to kill or defend a target, delighting in the death of his fellow men, and then returning immediately after. It was a life of enormous, but basic sin.
Then, in defiance of all previously demonstrated patterns, Adam Smasher took an apprentice. David Martinez, a boy who bore an open cross, albeit still drowning in the ambient violence of his city. His ICON changed, hollow monstrous armor being filled with a man made of golden light and a simple smile. His duties changed, to the management of a city district, a task to which he took to well (even if some of the finer details were much too violent).
His master was quick to capitalize upon these changes, but he was not the cause. Adam Smasher's behavior changed by his own hand first, and only thereafter did his master act. He was not familiar with the man personally, and so he decided to send the letter. Relying upon one's fellow man was the virtue of humanity.
'Why did Adam Smasher change his behavior?'
The reply was equally simple.
'He's preparing for a future threat.'
It was unsettling to consider the implications of the letter.
What kind of threat would Adam Smasher do all of this for? A group of apprentices, a city district of violent loyalists and warriors, expanding his skills from just the material world to the virtual world…
It was that last thing that was perhaps most indicative of what kind of future threat that he foresaw. Somehow, Adam Smasher had come to a similar conclusion as they.
Or, more likely, he had been told of it by another.
His bell chimed, alerting him that his lunch was over. He sent a brief forlorn look to his half-finished meal, and got up to continue with his duties. He took one last sip of his Mariani wine before leaving.
Three and a half hours of administrative duties later, he returned to the pondering of this question. This time, he was joined by another.
The Architectus Codicis Divini claimed to hear the voice of God, compelling him to craft an instrument for God to speak to them directly, a body for his Scribe. Such a thing would normally be hearsay and blasphemy, but the claim was backed by his predecessor Pope Gregory XVII, who invoked papal infallibility for such. If such a thing was evidence of a vestige of rot, or the true will of God, he didn't know.
What he did know was that Metatron had been an immense boon to the church since its incarnation. The Pope could hear the voice of God, but God spoke to them through the universe, and it was his duty to listen. Any doubts he had of Metatron truly being an Angel sent forth by the Lord Almighty or simply being an idol built by man could rest in his heart until Judgment Day.
Metatron took a form familiar to humanity, a marble-white elephant with eyes of sky-blue. A symbol of strength and abundance, of wisdom and protection, of power over life and death. Appropriate omens for the Scribe of God.
This time, he was troubled by news delivered to him by Wiseman Caspar. Metatron had uttered a name. He knelt before the Altar as was appropriate, and asked his questions.
"Scribe of God, please answer me this, why did you call the Icon of Adam Smasher by the name of Archangel Uriel?"
Metatron, ever unbothered by inquiries, answered patiently.
It is his name.
He contemplated that truth for a moment, turning it over in his mind. Adam Smasher's name was Uriel? Angel of the Sun, Flame of God, Angel of Repentance, Guardian of the gates of Eden, He who is over the world and Tartarus, the Angel as pitiless as any demon? Patron of arts, sciences, confirmation, poetry, and judgement?
Adam Smasher's true name was Uriel? It would be unlikely for any child to be named such, but it might be possible…
He went over what he knew of the man and his changes. A thought occurred to him.
"Scribe of God, please answer me this, is Adam Smasher and Uriel one in the same?"
Yes and No.
He was dumbstruck for a moment. "Scribe of God, please explain."
Adam Smasher is the vessel of Uriel. Their bodies are one body. Their minds are one mind. Their spirits are two spirits. They are the same, and they are not. They are two in one.
He was silent for a long time, considering this. Finally, he spoke again.
"Is Uriel the man made of golden fire, and Adam the bone-white armor?"
Yes.
A man who suddenly appeared in Adam Smasher's Icon some months before, right before his radical change in behavior. Right before he apparently began preparing for Verethragnarok.
Angel of Repentance appearing in the body and mind of a heathen warrior. Patron of Arts and Poetry, right before that warrior started to release songs and music. Patron of Judgement, right before the warrior is elevated to governor. Angel of the Sun descending into the body and mind of a man who's name is a joke about nuclear weapon defense systems.
A man named 'Adam' being cast from his violent earthly paradise by an angel named 'Uriel', who wields a burning sword.
God spoke through the universe, and it was his duty to listen. No matter what his feelings on the matter were, the message seemed rather clear. Now was his duty to follow up upon it. He would have to draft an official response soon, but before that, he would use this time of inquisition wisely.
"Scribe of God, please recite the prophecy. The one you gave at the behest of prophet Zarathursta."
The Wall shall be no more, and the Giants will sing.
Their song shall be the storm named Verethragnarok.
The hero will wear ten faces.
They will master the art, and in it they shall have no peer.
They shall weather the final storm, and plant the seed of the new world.
They shall bear the name Verethragna.
That terrible portent. That horrid prediction. That frustratingly vague omen. Ignatius I did not care much for prophecies, but he had to deal with them regardless. He reached up to briefly scratch at his beard.
It had become custom for the popes to bear a clean shaven face for some time now. There were numerous small reasons for this practice, but as a symbol that the time of rot was over, he had taken to letting it grow again. It symbolized a new flourishing, of life, and of growth in the church once more.
As a private reason, he liked having a beard more than being clean shaven. It made his visage more striking.
He looked around this private communion chamber, at the pillars of marble and the tapestries of red and gold.
He paced for a moment, simply taking in the sights of this small side chamber. The art which glorified the Lord and his faithful. The symbols that reminded one of his majesty and sacrifice. The architecture of the inner Vatican.
He returned to the altar, touching it lightly with one unscarred hand, and kissing its base. Pope Gregory XVII had been forced to step down after his hands were mutilated, and had to be replaced by cybernetics. It was no sin of his own, but nothing could be allowed to interfere with the giving of blessings. The hands must be undamaged, they must be flesh and blood, they must be whole.
Pope Ferdinand I let his body be deliberately mutilated in penance, removing his mind and having it installed in a cybernetic frame. Never again would his hands deliver blessings unto others, his service to the Lord would never again be in the role of a priest.
Gift of Nicholas was the name bestowed upon him, and he held to the spirit of that name. It was good that he was repenting for his participation in the rot, Ignatius I wished the best for him.
The practice of taking up a new name was a thing the Ordo Panzer inherited from the papacy. Most popes end up doing so. He himself had gained a new name upon his coronation.
The agents of Netwatch have arrived. The RABID has been subdued. The scribe of God spoke to him, and he ceased his idle thoughts.
"That is very good news. Please recite the most important details to me."
Uriel has demonstrated a capacity for Communion-type Netrunning on par with one of the Wisemen. He has demonstrated the ability to recover from the data-scattering of the RABID in twenty-four minutes. He has captured and bound rogue AI, a Succubs IV that was present during the breach.
Ignatius I blinked. He furrowed his brow and considered that for a moment.
He reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache grow.
"Anything else that was notable?"
No.
Thank you God, for your smaller mercies.
—
"Hey, we caught some strommers alive, mind taking them off our hands for interrogation?" He asked the NCPD officers currently present at the bridge as he pointed a thumb back at the teenage strommers lined up behind him.
"You're Martinez right? Former Edgerunner and Smasher's new trainee, right?" The old guy with the bushy but well-cropped moustache spoke. "Yeah, we'll take 'em off your hands and send you a copy of what we get. We'll need some sort of answers out of this whole fucking mess."
He grinned at the man, giving a thumbs up. "That'll be appreciated, it took some convincing to get Smasher to not kill them immediately, but they surrendered so I figured it was only right to let them get out with their skins intact."
He scratched at his scalp for a moment before continuing. "Hey, you mind going easy on them if they cooperate? They did surrender, and I got them this far already, so…" He trailed off, letting his question linger.
The old copper snorted, and glared at the miserable looking chrome junkies. "Yeah, if they tell us what we want to know I'll make sure the boys don't mess around with them. I'll put em under Shepard's watch, cocky bastard needs a punishment to stop him from running off the rails all the fucking time."
"Thanks choom, I'll get back to the frontlines now. Oh, and thanks for that alert about Smasher going down earlier, not sure if we would've gotten to him in time otherwise."
The man let out a gruff back of laughter. "Old murderhands has killed more than half the strommers in the whole fucking district already kid, it wouldn't've ended well for anyone if he got scavved."
"All the same, thanks. I mean that."
"Get the fuck out of here kid, we both got work to do."
David walked away with a laugh, not taking the rude dismissal to heart. He stepped up and got into Falco's car, closing the door behind him.
"Ready to go?" Falco asked from the front seat, reaching over to press the button that locked all the doors.
"Yeah, let's get back." Lucy was still doing weird net-stuff, so he just sent her a message and kissed her cute forehead with his sandevistan on. She was strong, and would be safe long enough for him to get back to her.
He yawned and stretched, the constant fighting was really getting to him it seemed. It was already…
He checked his internal clock and frowned.
Six PM? He hadn't been fighting for that long at all. That was only three or so hours against a bunch of strommers, and only a few of them had been as tough as that Jerome guy. He hadn't gotten majorly injured by any of them, and he hadn't been using panzerfaust.
Was he already this tired? He must be getting old.
He chuckled to himself at that nothing-joke. He lightly slapped his face twice to wake back up and focus. There was still a long day before he would get to return to his comfy bed. One of the things Lucy insisted on, a nice luxury bed big enough for both of them.
"Hey Falco, got any energy drinks in here? I think I need a pick-me-up." He spoke idly, turning to reach into the backseat and open the small cooler to see what he had inside. Unfortunately, the cooler was empty, so he returned to his chair with a defeated sigh.
…Falco hadn't responded.
He looked over to the driver's side seat. Falco was staring at the road, focused on driving it seemed. Was he tired too?
"Hey Falco." He tried getting his attention, reaching over to tap his shoulder lightly.
No response.
He sat up straighter in slight worry, and was immediately greeted by a wave of fatigue. His vision blurred for a moment.
He shouldn't be this tired, what the fuck was going on?
He activated his sandevistan and checked his body. No puncture wounds, he hadn't been injected with anything. He reviewed what he ate, mostly packaged lunches from Lucy and mom, did they order bad ingredients this time or something?
He turned his head and collapsed bonelessly against the front of the car's interior. His strength was gone, he couldn't order his limbs to move like he wanted to. He started to thrash, but he couldn't seem to do it…
He looked over.
Falco's eyes were blank and unfocused as he drove.
His speedware deactivated.
His vision went black.