VII
VII
"You are Peter, and on this rock I will found my church, and the gates of hell will not prevail against it." The San Pietro Cathedral, built on the gravesite of Saint Peter, who was Christ's first disciple and the very first Pope, resembled a huge gravestone.
Laid to rest there were many famous papal leaders: before the Armageddon, Johannes Paulo II, who fought against communism, a political doctrine based on revolutionary Marxian socialism, which was adopted by half the countries of the world; as well as Innocentius XVI, who was said to have been martyred during the Dark Ages, when the war with vampires began; not to mention Sylvester XIX, who led the eleventh crusade. Most of the successive generations of Popes were at peace in the underground tombs. Large enough to rival any cathedral on Earth, the underground church, furnished with a ceiling nearly ninety feet high, was divided into dozens of rooms. Each Pope's gravesite had a sarcophagus and a tombstone.
Five years ago, Pope Gregorio's grave was constructed, using extremely magnificent decoration, in accordance with all the wonderful achievements he'd made during his lifetime. Now, Caterina stood before the small mountain that was her father's grave marker, silent.
In truth, she hadn't harbored familial feelings toward that man. Ten years ago, she'd come from Milan to Rome; she was fourteen years old at that time. During the last five years up until Gregorio's death, they rarely had spoken to each other.
What about my father? Had he held affection for the daughter that one of his many lovers had borne? Although . . . it doesn't matter now.
"Forgive me for keeping you waiting, Caterina. Sorry for summoning you so early in the morning." A broken voice interrupted her silly thoughts. The corridor's door opened slightly and closed immediately after.
Caterina respectfully bowed her head. "I apologize for last night, Your Grace."
"Please, don't be so formal, my niece. We're the only ones here." Alfonso smiled generously as he took Caterina's hand. "Sorry for summoning you so suddenly. Haven't you rested yet?"
"No, I ... never mind that, Uncle. Are you all right?"
It was ten minutes before dawn. Although she was under house arrest and therefore couldn't go, Alfonso should attend the morning mass. She wondered what his motive was in summoning her now.
"All the messenger told me was that you wanted to speak to me confidentially. What could you want of me, Uncle?"
"My niece, what do you think of the current Vatican?"
"Well, if you ask me that ..." Caterina knitted her eyebrows, not committing to an answer. She couldn't guess what was on her uncle's mind. Why would he want to gossip with his imprisoned niece at a time like this? She was at a loss for words, which was a rare thing.
Finally, she said, "The five years since the former Pope died have passed without any serious errors, but what of it?"
'"Without any serious errors'? Do you really think so?" Alfonso looked up at the tombstone overhead. Thanks to the complex air conditioning system, the underground church's temperature seldom rose above forty degrees Fahrenheit. As the Archbishop of Cologne growled his harsh opinions, his breath puffed out in white clouds. "Cologne is a remote place, but rumors of Rome's bad reputation reach me there, as well. They say that the church workers are morally corrupt, that the church is flattered by gifts and bribes from the common lords, and that the Pope—who should be God's representative on Earth—is little more than a puppet to his older brother and sister."
"Uncle!" Caterina interrupted the archbishop's declaration with a sharp rebuke. "Uncle—no, I mean Archbishop d'Este. Your opinion is impious. Please, be silent."
"Niece . . . Caterina . . ." His curved back suddenly straightened, and the old vigor that once belonged to II Furioso now returned to his voice. "I'm buying your brain, Caterina. It's too precious to let it rot under a leader like Alessandro. If I add your wits to my ideals, what could be more heartening? How about it, Caterina? Won't you come with me? By all means, I want you to exert your powers and participate in our new Vatican."
'"New Vatican'?" What is he saying?
Alfonso's face was sincerity itself as he stared at her stumped expression. "Caterina, come with me. Let's destroy this rotten Vatican and build a new world together. By all means, I want you to take part in the new order I'm going to establish."
These were the rash remarks of a madman. Caterina ought to have laughed at him and then summoned a guard. Stunned, she simply stared, pale and frozen, as her uncle fervidly told her his deluded notions.
She noticed his shadow was pulsating. The strangely thick, dark form now stood up, drawing black lines around it. It reminded her of an animated corpse, rising out of a pitch-black swamp.
A grotesque swarm of noise and shadowed figures filled the graveyard. Caterina froze at the memory of such a sound. "Just as in Venice? Uncle, you couldn't have! You're not in league with the Orden?"
"Your subordinates are quite superb, Caterina. Last night, I was scared stiff by what they might have discovered."
The eyeless faces of the shadow demons known as Schatten Cohort turned toward Caterina, looking fiercely hungry.
Watching the grotesque demons surround them, the archbishop was very laid back. "I will win at last. Igne natura renovatur Integra—we will renovate the world with our flames. The history of this detestable Babylon will end at dawn. This city's skeleton will become the foundation for the world I'm planning."
"Uncle, do you know what you're doing?" Caterina shouted, instinctively edging backward. "To work with the Orden, of all people! To join forces with those terrorists! Have you made an enemy of the Vatican—of this entire world?"
"What of it?" His voice was free of doubt; in fact, Alfonso was proud of himself. "What kind of value is there to be found in this decadent world? People act like worms, the church is depraved, and the nobles do nothing but kill one another. Where is the sense in a woman as wise as you risking her life to protect such a world?"
She was so flustered that she couldn't immediately come up with a counter argument. After a moment's silence, Caterina decisively said, "Certainly, the world may be defiled. However . . ." Her beautiful face telegraphed her determination and confidence in what was right. With a look of scorn and pity, she mercilessly shouted at her uncle: "No matter how corrupt, it's our duty to protect this world—it's a sacred compact. I will carry out my duty!"
"I see. So be it." Alfonso snapped his fingers. The grotesque shadow demons raised their heads as if they suddenly had been released from chains.
'" Wer geboren werden will muß eine welt zerstören—those who are born must destroy the world'—Hesse. It's a pity, Duchess of Milan."
Caterina stood her ground as the demons rushed at her. Staring at her impending death, she didn't so much as twitch. While her slender body was swallowed up by black shadows, her razor-sharp eyes sparkled as if she were a total stranger to the concept of defeat.
Abruptly, the doors blew apart.
"Nanomachine Crusnik 02 forty percent limited performance—authorized!"
Caterina's expression brightened. "Abel!"
The demons pressing in on the cardinal were blown away like dry leaves. One looked like a lump of meat splattered against a wall; another smattered on the floor like a weird abstract painting.
"Are you all right, Caterina?" Amid the wind, noise, and screams, a tall man stood between the shadow demons and the beautiful cardinal. His crimson eyes surveyed the room as he raised his double-bladed scythe. "I made it in time. Are you hurt?"
"I'm unhurt. Be careful—my uncle . . ." Caterina shouted, secretly scolding herself for feeling such relief at the sight of Abel. "Capture Archbishop d'Este! He means to destroy Rome!"
"Your uncle?" Abel grimly gazed at the aging archbishop. "Caterina, that is not your uncle. How about if you stop pretending now?" He rotated his scythe through the stale air. The dark blade tore into the archbishop's body, stopping when it sliced into the stone wall.
"Hmph. Did the game go a little too far?" asked a low, laughing voice.
The archbishop stood still. His trunk had been slashed in two; however, blood didn't gush from the penetrating wound. Instead, black sand energetically poured forth, piling on the floor. The archbishop's smiling face wilted as though his corpse were being deflated.
"Archbishop d'Este already has left Rome. He's busy preparing for the establishment of the new Vatican. Before the destruction of Rome, he wished me to try to speak with his niece. Now, you've heard his words."
Instead of Alfonso, a shadow spread across the floor. The darkness writhed and thickened; a man in a black suit stood there, his long black hair waving elegantly.
The man smiled pleasantly. "Guten morgen, both of you. Wizard of Machines Isaac Fernand von Kampfer presents himself."
