The Black Cathedral was no longer quiet.
Its halls howled with gunfire. The saints screamed. The sinners laughed. And in the middle of it all—Celeste walked barefoot, soaked in blood that wasn't hers.
She didn't flinch when it splattered across her cheek. Didn't blink when the ceiling cracked from explosives above. She kept moving, a blade in each hand, one mission clear:
Burn the crown.
Behind her, her mother barked orders in the old tongue, unleashing chaos with the same ease she once braided Celeste's hair.
But this wasn't mother and daughter anymore.
This was war.
And Celeste?
She was its fury incarnate.
—
Thirty minutes earlier.
Nathaniel and Alfreda stood at the edge of the Cathedral's entrance tunnel, both armed and dripping with vengeance.
"Once we go in, there's no diplomacy," she warned, eyes scanning the motionless guards lying at their feet.
"I stopped believing in peace the day my father taught me how to load a gun," he muttered.
Alfreda smirked. "Remind me to fall harder for you after this."
They breached the side doors in tandem—guns blazing, boots stomping through marble aisles desecrated by cruelty.
What they didn't expect… was who waited for them.
Dano.
He leaned against the altar, casual, like he hadn't just betrayed them.
"You followed the scent of blood well," he said. "But you're too late."
"Get out of the way," Alfreda hissed.
He smiled. "She's already in. And the Saint's already awake."
Nathaniel didn't hesitate. He aimed. Fired.
Dano dodged with a speed that didn't belong to a normal man.
"I took the last injection," Dano said, circling them like a beast. "The prototype's blood. I'm faster now. Stronger. Hungrier."
Alfreda shot him in the thigh.
"Not faster than bullets."
Dano dropped to one knee—but grinned anyway.
"Still… worth it."
And then he pressed a detonator.
—
BOOM.
Half the hallway collapsed behind them.
Dust. Screams. Rubble.
Alfreda pulled Nathaniel up, coughing blood from her lungs.
"Keep moving," he rasped. "We end this."
They ran into the fire.
—
Meanwhile, in the Cathedral's Heart.
Celeste reached the altar.
The Saint stood before it, shirtless, his chest marked with the sigils of old wars and lost dynasties. He stared at the giant cross above the altar.
"They turned faith into a weapon," he murmured. "Turned me into a ghost."
Celeste looked at him. "Not anymore."
From the shadows, her mother emerged with two black-clad elders—keepers of the original code.
"We have what we came for," her mother said. "The line ends tonight."
The Saint turned to her slowly. "No," he said. "The line evolves."
And then—he did something no one expected.
He slit his own hand.
And smeared his blood across the altar.
Immediately, the lights dimmed. The cathedral trembled.
A hidden vault opened beneath their feet—revealing the final protocol.
Inside: a throne made of bone and code. Designed for the true heir.
Her mother gasped. "It's real."
Celeste stepped forward.
And the throne… responded.
Lit up.
Accepted her.
The Saint smiled. "She is more than heir. She is the reckoning."
—
Elsewhere in the Cathedral.
Nathaniel and Alfreda fought their way through bloodied halls and whispering dead.
They reached the vault chamber just in time to see Celeste seated on the throne.
Her eyes glowed faintly. Her heartbeat matched the frequency of the cathedral.
She was no longer just a woman.
She was the machine.
The memory.
The myth.
"Celeste?" Nathaniel breathed.
She looked at him—and for a terrifying moment—he didn't see recognition.
Then her lips parted.
"You shouldn't have come."
Alfreda raised her gun. "We came to end this."
"No," the Saint said, stepping between them. "You came to become part of it."
And then he lunged.
Gunfire erupted.
Nathaniel tackled him.
Alfreda charged for the throne.
But Celeste… Celeste stood up.
And with a single thought—shut every light in the Cathedral off.
Pitch black.
Gunshots. Screams. Running.
And then—silence.
When the lights returned…
The Saint was dead.
Nathaniel stood over him, his chest heaving, bloodied blade in hand.
Alfreda was kneeling beside Celeste.
And Celeste… was crying.
"My mother's gone," she whispered.
"She ran," Alfreda said softly. "Left you when the tide turned."
Celeste laughed through tears.
"She always said I'd end up just like her."
Nathaniel came forward.
"You didn't," he said. "You ended up like you."
—
Later.
The Cathedral burned.
The throne melted.
The files were uploaded—distributed to every known crime syndicate in the world.
No more secrets.
No more gods.
Only the ashes.
Celeste stood outside, watching the final tower fall.
Alfreda joined her. "You sure you want to disappear?"
Celeste nodded. "The Saint was the last war. What's coming now… needs quieter leaders."
Nathaniel approached. "We're rebuilding."
Celeste kissed his cheek. "Then build better."
She turned.
And walked into the smoke.