Dim light fell from the dark dome above, like countless withered petals or soft, light feathers. They landed on the hideous and terrifying remains, softening the sense of hatred slightly. He half-kneeled before the pitch-black deep well, resting on his mottled sword blade, like a tombstone covered in a sea of flowers.
"So... is this the reason the old Pope always stopped us from seeking the [Truth]?"
The new Pope murmured softly, as he slowly raised his head, his steadfast gaze becoming muddled, and even his iron-like will showed cracks at this moment.
In the face of such facts, anyone would be shaken, their minds wavering, and their understanding of everything becoming blurred.
"What will you do? What can we do?"
The new Pope said somewhat powerlessly. His gaze was always fixed on the deep well below, and all his emotions at this moment were mixed into an indescribable monstrosity.
