Chapter 126 – The Bishop's Secret
On the outskirts of the city, nestled within a quiet little town, stood one of the mission districts under the jurisdiction of Dey Cathedral.
Nearly all of the town's residents were devout believers — the kind of faithful who greeted every sunrise with prayer and every sunset with hymns.
At the town's entrance stood a gray-white building, simple yet solemn.
The sign by the gate read:
"Parish Relief Home."
It was usually peaceful here. But today, the front gate was crowded with people — mostly children. Their laughter echoed faintly against the stone walls.
Moments later, a small truck pulled up, and Archbishop Hans Hermann stepped down from the passenger seat.
"Please, unload the food crates over there," he instructed with a gentle nod to the volunteers.
A young nun hurried toward him, gathering up her skirt as she ran.
"Archbishop Hermann! You shouldn't be doing this yourself," she said breathlessly.
Hans chuckled softly.
"Sister Heidi, how have the children been lately?"
"Busy!" she replied with a smile. "The community festival is coming up, and everyone's preparing their performances."
As she spoke, Heidi waved toward the crowd behind her.
A small girl shyly approached, clutching a wooden-framed picture in her arms.
Heidi made a few graceful gestures with her hands, and the little girl signed back enthusiastically.
"Archbishop, this is Mira," Heidi explained. "She's made a gift for you."
Mira lowered her gaze and carefully handed the picture forward.
Hans took it gently and glanced down.
It was a hand-drawn portrait — of himself.
Though sketched in pencil, the proportions and shading were strikingly accurate.
Whoever this child was, she clearly possessed real talent.
Hans smiled warmly.
"My, that's quite a likeness," he said, eyes softening. "I like it very much."
Heidi grinned and signed a few more words to the girl.
Mira's face lit up in a bashful smile. Even without hearing a word, she could tell she'd been praised.
Having achieved her purpose, Heidi stepped back.
"Archbishop Hermann, Mr. Juan is waiting for you in his office," she said respectfully with a bow.
"Thank you, Sister," Hans replied kindly, nodding.
As he passed Mira, he slipped the framed drawing into his robe — a deliberate gesture, as if to say he would treasure it.
The children followed him excitedly down the corridor toward the administrative wing, their chatter fading only when he disappeared into the office area.
Knock, knock.
"Come in," called a voice from inside.
Hans opened the door and stepped in.
Sitting behind the desk was a man in a dark suit, spectacles glinting under the afternoon light.
"Juan, my friend!" Hans greeted cheerfully, spreading his arms as though to embrace him. "How are you?"
Juan Perkovich, around his mid-forties, adjusted his black-rimmed glasses.
His expression was cool, detached — the face of a man not easily swayed by pleasantries.
He gave a curt nod toward the door.
"Close it," he said flatly.
Hans complied, shutting it softly behind him.
Juan then crossed the room to a tall wooden cabinet.
He pressed a small, ornate symbol carved into one of the drawers — a decoration that didn't quite fit the furniture's style.
With a faint click, a hidden mechanism unlocked.
The drawer slid open with a low creak.
With a faint mechanical click, a section of the wall slid open, revealing a narrow stone staircase spiraling down into darkness.
Juan descended first, his footsteps echoing coldly against the stone.
Hans followed, still wearing that calm, kindly smile — the one everyone in the diocese trusted.
Once the two men disappeared into the shadows, the hidden door sealed itself shut.
---
Beneath the Relief Home, deep under the foundation of faith and innocence, lay a secret chamber.
The walls were bare except for a strange pair of horn-shaped ornaments hanging above a long wooden table.
A few white candles flickered faintly on its surface, casting shifting shadows that seemed to breathe.
There was no other furniture. No cross. No sign of the Lord.
Juan turned toward Hans, his tone sharp.
"You're telling me those two came back alive?"
Hans's warm demeanor vanished. He tossed the framed drawing onto the table with a hollow thud.
"Don't look at me like that, Juan — as if I tricked you." His smile curled, but there was no kindness in it.
"My information was correct. That place was one of Hell's outposts. I just didn't expect that couple to actually complete the commission."
Juan narrowed his eyes.
"They're only proxy exorcists. Armed with nothing but scripture and a few names — they shouldn't have been able to purify a demonic avatar of Hell itself."
Hans shrugged casually.
"Maybe Hell's natives have grown weak. You know how it is — ever since those angels fell a thousand years ago, their great lord down below hasn't been having the best millennium."
He chuckled darkly.
"Lost his dominion, lost his soldiers… maybe even his avatars are just hollow shells now."
Juan dismissed the thought with a wave of his hand.
"I'm not interested in Hell's internal politics."
He adjusted his glasses, his expression unreadable.
"What I care about is that once Lorraine Warren dies, the power of Lucia's Eyes will pass to her daughter. Only young eyes can restore what was once stolen from the Lord."
Hans placed a hand over his chest in a gesture that resembled a prayer — though it was not one the Church recognized.
"Of course. That has always been our sacred pursuit."
His tone was reverent, but his eyes gleamed with fanatic devotion.
"I've already guided them toward another exorcism commission," he continued. "A teacher from the academy has already died attempting it."
Juan smirked faintly.
"Excellent. The sooner we complete this, the sooner we can welcome His descent."
Hans nodded, then added casually,
"Speaking of descent — the Warrens brought back an interesting bit of news."
Juan raised a brow. "Oh?"
"They claim one of Hell's so-called Lords has already manifested in the human world."
Juan snorted.
"Please. More of those 'reincarnation tricks.' None of the factions — not Heaven, not Hell, not even the Church — can directly cross into the mortal plane before Judgment Day."
Hans smiled faintly.
"That's what I thought as well. I'll keep the matter quiet for now. Let Hell's lapdogs draw attention to themselves — it'll make it easier for us to move unseen."
Juan nodded slowly. Then his tone shifted.
"And the Exorcism Academy?"
Hans's expression soured.
"Ever since the appearance of the Holy Word, the Church has paraded those bastards into the public eye — calling it 'training' in the name of faith. Lately, quite a few of them have shown surprising talent."
He smirked.
"No one — not even we — wants to see them growing too bold."
He clasped his hands behind his back and began pacing.
"So I've increased their 'theological workload.' No more babysitting duties for those teachers. And as for the students…"
He paused, eyes glinting.
"Starting last week, the only commissions they receive are Class-Dangerous or higher."
Juan chuckled dryly. "Don't forget the 'merchants' on Dey Street. Those students often turn to them for help."
Hans's tone turned almost playful.
"That's where you come in. I'll give you the targets. You handle the rest. Sever their limbs, break their minds — do it however you like."
Juan said nothing, but his silence was acceptance.
Hans continued, voice smooth as silk.
"You can even stage a few 'robberies.' Destroy the holy relics those shops sell. I'll ensure you're… not disturbed."
He turned toward Juan with a cold smile.
"Take your time to plan, but don't forget about the Warrens."
Juan nodded once.
"Don't worry. They won't get a single drop of holy water."
A long pause followed. Then Juan picked up the framed drawing from the table — the one Mira had given Hans earlier.
"Those children seem to revere you," he said quietly.
Hans's grin widened.
"Isn't that exactly what we want?"
Juan's tone darkened.
"I've made contact with a faction that serves an angel. They're preparing some sort of ritual — and they'll be needing children. I'm planning to sell them a batch, in exchange for information."
Hans raised an eyebrow.
"I have no objection… though the old men in the Church are quite demanding these days. It might strain a few of my… arrangements."
Juan gave a dry laugh.
"Then do what you've always done. Draw in more believers — and slaughter them. Keep the children."
Hans chuckled, a soft, chilling sound.
"Such harsh words, Juan. I merely send their souls ahead — to meet the Lord sooner."
Juan's lips curled upward in something resembling a smile — but it was colder than stone.
"Mira's parents died that way, didn't they? Butchered like pigs. I wonder how she'll feel if she ever learns the man in her drawing is the one who killed them."
He handed the frame back to Hans.
The Archbishop's eyes narrowed, a glint of warning behind his calm expression.
"There's no need for games between us, my friend. Don't mistake this for a threat."
Juan shook his head.
"Not a threat. A proposal. I was merely thinking — that girl would make an ideal vessel for the next ritual sacrifice."
Hans's fingers tightened around the frame. His smile returned, cruel and composed.
"Oh, I'm afraid not. That little girl has already been promised to someone. And I have no intention of disappointing my guest."