[Asheville, North Carolina (May 2023)]
The Basilica of Saint Peter Martyr sat hidden beneath the mountains outside Asheville, partially concealed from the rest of the world by layers of secrecy, faith, and paranoia. To the outside observer, it was nothing more than an ordinary religious retreat flanked on either side by the forests of western North Carolina. But beneath the surface, however, it was something else entirely.
A fortress.
A sanctuary.
A war room.
A bastion of faith in a world ruled by demons.
For months, the basilica's halls had been consumed by preparation. Maps had been drawn and redrawn. Surveillance reports had been compiled. Equipment had been tested, modified, and tested again. And every detail of the upcoming operation had been scrutinized by minds devoted to a singular purpose.
Now, only weeks remain until the long-awaited day.
The strike against Elaine MacNamara was approaching.
And with it, the possibility that the hidden war between humanity and sorcery would finally be dragged into the light. Just as it should've been many years ago.
-(o)-
Eric Peters sat alone in one of the basilica's briefing rooms, staring at the operation files spread across the table before him.
In truth, the papers had blurred together a long while ago in the young Inquisitor's mind. Nothing but names, schedules, contingency plans, and evacuation routes. In reality, none of it held his attention for long. Mainly because his thoughts kept drifting elsewhere.
Back to Myrtle Beach.
Back to the humiliation he had suffered.
Back to the twins, Evan and Elizabeth MacNamara. Along with their group of lackeys, whom he only recently found out were their personal bodyguards, thanks to a bit of scouting from one of their members who was currently in Charlotte.
The memory still burned.
He could remember his last encounter with them with painful clarity. The casual confidence they had displayed despite him holding them at gunpoint. The effortless way they had made him look incompetent just before they knocked him out and threw his body near a dumpster.
Powerless.
Weak.
Pathetic
Eric's fingers tightened around the edge of the table. He hated remembering it. He hated remembering how powerless he had felt back then. A part of him knew he should focus on the mission. The operation was bigger than personal grudges. But another part of him just couldn't let it go.
This was his chance, and he knew it.
His chance to prove he belonged among the Inquisitors. His chance to show everyone that he wasn't just some inexperienced initiate who had gotten lucky on his first few missions.
And maybe, just maybe, his chance to settle an old score that was long overdue.
The thought made him uncomfortable. Revenge wasn't supposed to be his motivation.
Duty was.
Faith was.
The mission was.
Yet the possibility lingered all the same.
Eric exhaled slowly and looked back down at the operation files.
'Please let this work.' He thought. 'Please let everything go according to plan.'
-(o)-
Several floors below, Pamela Testaferrata practically bounced in her chair as rows of monitors illuminated her face. Her personal command center was alive with activity. And streams of data scrolled across screens as she reviewed the information in front of her for what felt like the hundredth time in the last few days.
Satellite imagery.
Communication intercepts.
Security layouts.
Digital maps.
To Pamela, it was beautiful, and she loved every second of it.
While most Inquisitors preferred weapons and combat drills, she preferred the technological certainty of computers. The redheaded woman always had a talent for this kind of thing, even back when she was just a child growing up in her family's estate back home in Italy. And the fact that she got to put her skills to use in ways that could benefit the order was just the icing on the cake.
Information was power, and she had spent months collecting every last bit of it that she could get.
Her fingers danced across a keyboard as she reviewed another set of system simulations. Everything looked good. Better than good, actually. To her, it was nothing short of excellent.
A grin spread across her face. This operation was going to be historic. Not merely successful.
Historic.
For decades, sorcerers had hidden themselves from the rest of humanity. Walking among the rest of them as if their presence wasn't an affront to the lord that had granted them life. They had built secret societies, manipulated governments, and established bloodlines that held power in places where they had no business being.
And now?
Now the world would finally see them.
Pamela could already see the headlines that would soon dominate the press. The news broadcasts alone would be monumental. The chaos was no doubt going to spread all over the world. And the revelations that beings who had no business existing would surely usher in a new age for their organization.
Humanity would finally learn the truth. And when they did, people would remember who helped expose it.
The Testaferrata name would be remembered.
Her family would be remembered.
Back in Europe, generations of Testaferratas had dedicated themselves to the Church long before the Inquisition was reinstated. They had a long and storied history of dedicated service and nobility that went all the way back to the days of the Roman Empire. And a legacy of excellence that was almost unrivaled across the continent.
Pamela, of course, intended to add her own chapter to that legacy. And if her technological expertise played the decisive role, as she believed it would, then well…that certainly wouldn't hurt her reputation.
Pamela's smile widened.
The future looked very bright indeed.
-(o)-
In a training hall deep within the basilica, Arnold Cassidy methodically checked his equipment as he took a break from one of his grueling training sessions.
His movements were precise, efficient, and unhurried. Every weapon had its designated place. And every tool had been inspected dozens of times over already. Yet he checked them again.
And again.
And again….
This wasn't because he doubted the equipment. Quite the opposite, actually. He did this mainly because preparation was a habit he had long since grown accustomed to.
The upcoming operation weighed heavily on his mind. Not because he feared failure, of course. Failure wasn't something he allowed himself to consider. What concerned him were the civilians who were no doubt going to get caught up in this whole debacle.
Hundreds, if not thousands, of people were going to attend Elaine MacNamara's concert in a couple of weeks. Just like they had done every year for the past half-decade. Most of them would have no idea what was about to happen. Most of them would simply be fans caught in the crossfire.
Nothing but a group of ordinary people caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Arnold stared at the blade resting on the workbench before him.
The mission was necessary. At least, that was what Rome believed. It was what Patrick believed. And it was what most of the organization believed.
Arnold believed it too.
Mostly…
Even so, the blonde man couldn't completely silence the nagging concern in the back of his mind.
If things went wrong, innocent people would suffer. The possibility was unavoidable. But even so, his expression remained unchanged. Duty required sacrifice. And no matter how much he preferred to do something like this under more favorable circumstances, he always did his duty no matter what.
He had been raised within the Inquisition. He had devoted his entire life to its cause. It has been his life ever since his parents were struck down right in front of him by a lone sorcerer for reasons he still did not know.
And now he had been entrusted with leading the assault team.
The responsibility was enormous. And Rome would be watching. Every decision, every success, and every mistake he made would be under far greater scrutiny than before. And although he had long grown accustomed to that kind of pressure, he knew that this time would be different.
Arnold carefully secured the last piece of equipment and stood.
Whatever doubts lingered within him, they would not interfere with his performance. When the time came, he would do his job. And he would show everyone that he was exactly the kind of man that they all knew him to be.
As he always had. And as he always will….
-(o)-
Martin Pierce stood alone on a balcony overlooking the basilica's central sanctuary. His hands resting calmly behind his back as he observed the beautiful chaos unfolding before him.
Below him, his fellow Inquisitors moved through the cathedral-like inner chamber. Some prayed. Some trained. Some prepared equipment. But each and every one of them carried the same sense of anticipation behind their movements.
The mysterious man watched them silently.
Although he would never admit so out loud, the operation that he was tasked with overseeing fascinated him. Not because of its political implications. Not because of its historical significance. But because of its uncertainty.
Operations such as this one rarely unfolded exactly as planned, something that his superiors back in Rome knew all too well. No matter how thorough the preparations may have been, no matter how detailed the briefings were, human beings always became unpredictable the moment shit went sideways.
And sorcerers? Even more so.
A faint smile touched his lips. 'Elaine MacNamara, huh? The Sky Queen herself.'
This was certainly going to be an interesting job for him.
Reports described the world-famous pop star as extraordinarily powerful, just like her father and grandfather. She was touted as one of the strongest sorcerers in the world. Perhaps stronger, if the most recent rankings were to be believed. And from what little he knew of her exploits, she had the skill to back up all the hype.
Martin had spent many years fighting sorcerers from all corners of the globe. Most were nothing to write home about. And some had given him a run for his money. But few ever managed to intrigue him in a way that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
Elaine, however, was one of the exceptions.
If circumstances aligned, perhaps he would have the opportunity to test himself against her.
The thought held a certain appeal to it, but only a small one. After all, it wasn't every day when he got the chance to test himself against one of the world's best. But personal curiosity was secondary in his line of work. The mission always came first.
His superiors had entrusted him with operational command. His responsibility was ensuring success. Everything else was irrelevant. And as long as no unforeseen complications emerged, the plan would proceed exactly as intended.
Martin's smile faded.
The challenge now was ensuring that reality agreed with their assumptions.
-(o)-
Far beneath the basilica's vaulted ceilings, Patrick Lynch knelt before the sanctuary altar of his private chambers.
The chapel was empty. Silent, save for the sound of his own measured breathing. Only candlelight flickered against decades-old stone walls. And while his hands were clasped tightly together, his eyes remained closed as the words of scripture ran through his head so vividly that he could see them in detail.
Prayer had become nearly constant in recent months.
Every morning.
Every evening.
Every spare moment.
He had prayed for guidance. For strength. For victory. And now, at long last, the moment he had waited for was drawing near.
For years, he had dreamed of exposing sorcerer society for the plague that it was. Of forcing humanity to acknowledge the threat hidden among them. In his eyes, too many people remained blind to the truth. And too many people were living completely unaware of the influence that sorcerers wielded behind the scenes.
Patrick viewed that ignorance as dangerous.
A disease.
One that had spread unchecked for generations.
The coming operation would change everything. A way to correct what many, including himself, saw as a great injustice to the purity of God's children.
The consequences would be immense; that much he already knew. Governments would react. Media organizations would react. Entire nations would react. And the world itself would change overnight.
Patrick understood that.
In fact, he welcomed it.
Truth was worth the upheaval.
Truth was worth the sacrifice.
Opening his eyes, he looked toward the crucifix hanging above the altar. His voice emerged as little more than a whisper. "Let your will be done."
The words echoed softly through the chapel.
And soon enough, he would discover whether or not those prayers would be answered.
-(o)-
The days continued to tick away with a steady rhythm as the group continued their long march toward the day of reckoning. Preparations intensified. Briefings multiplied. Equipment stockpiles grew. And the entire basilica seemed to pulse with anticipation.
Every hallway carried the same energy.
Every conversation eventually returned to the same topic.
The operation.
The unveiling.
The confrontation that would reshape the future.
Eric studied. Pamela refined systems and contingencies. Arnold trained his assault teams. And Martin coordinated logistics and strategy. All while Patrick prayed and prepared.
Each one of them carried different hopes. Different concerns. Different ambitions. Yet, all were united by the same purpose.
As night settled over the mountains surrounding Asheville, the hidden fortress remained awake. Lights burned deep beneath the earth. Computers hummed. Weapons were inspected. And plans were reviewed one final time.
The Inquisitors believed that they stood on the threshold of history. That a divine mission awaited them. A mission that they believed would expose a hidden enemy and alter the course of the world forever.
And as the final preparations continued within the Basilica of Saint Peter Martyr, every man and woman involved understood the same truth.
Failure was not an option.
Too much had been sacrificed.
Too much had been invested.
The moment they had spent months preparing for was finally approaching. And soon, the world would learn whether their faith, their conviction, and their plans were enough.