Intermission

That was certainly interesting. I didn't know such customs and traditions existed, but that's to be expected; they're a part of the supernatural.

They're also a part of the Devil's influence within Christendom, corrupting what it stands for. I can sense the Mark of the Beast present upon everyone involved in such an affair. This recruitment system is downright heretical - for reasons other than the fact that Protestantism and Orthodoxy are a choice, of course. My current main point is of the other aspect: choosing a denomination based on earthly desires rather than your beliefs.

If a denomination practicing sodomy as a part of its core beliefs offered enough benefits, they'd become prosperous and influential - think about it. A blasphemous Jewish Marxist denomination could infiltrate the Papacy and spread Satan's governance among the good - if a bit lacking - Christians of this world.

The Accuser is called the Father of Lies for a reason.

My example is strange, but it makes perfect sense, in my opinion. Well, the adjective preceding 'Marxist' is fairly self-explanatory, but I'm referring to the latter. The truth of Marxism is hidden and hard to grasp without a critical eye.

'Marx' is a name derived from 'Marcus', which means 'of Mars', thereby proving that Marxists are impious pagans spreading falsehoods and heresy - which, in and of itself, is the nature of paganism. Just look at the communists and their atrocities; such things could only be done by uncivilized barbarians, which a Christian nation could never be composed of by its very nature.

Well, other than the societies in the western hemisphere, at least.

Anyway, allow me to get back on track. I've already lectured my inner Angels [1] about the sacrilege currently present within the house of God.

"Ioann, Priska, don't get distracted." Leonidas disappeared and reappeared behind us, lightly pushing our course to the right. "I understand that the paintings surrounding you are more valuable than everything you've ever seen in your entire life put together, but we can't fall further behind schedule."

"I was simply beholding the beauty borne of Raphael's psyche," I stated. Which is a complete lie, as I don't enjoy art that much, plus the German girl was doing the same. I'm appealing to his high-born nature - what with his high-ranking uncle - with my vocabulary and reasoning. "I can't be faulted."

"I could say much the same, although this brute cast his shadow over its beauty with his mere presence."

How ridiculously petulant. At least I hide my spite, as all courteous men should. Also, why is she smiling like she's defeated me in some ephemeral, womanly way?

I'll need to remedy that however much I can.

"I didn't see you, what with how inferi- I mean lesse- I mean… allow me to start over. How much smaller you are compared to me."

That surely fixed it. She's fuming now.

"Stop arguing. Keep walking," Leonidas said, prodding us in the back like cattle. "I didn't know that you two took an interest in art. Are you interested in the history and context behind it all as well?"

I nodded.

Thanks to my father and his books, I'm essentially a historian, so I would say so.

I appreciate the historical context behind everything, personally. It runs deep into everything, whether you realize it or not, so being knowledgeable of it makes one feel like they see entirely different sides of things.

Feeling smarter than the ignoramuses surrounding me in my daily life has always been something I enjoy partaking in.

"Would you two like to know something about the paintings you were looking at?"

It's an obvious attempt at deescalation, but whatever. Maybe it's something that would be useful to know. "Sure."

"They were painted by Angels. Seraphs, to be specific. Or Archangels, according to some people," he spat, "but reality uses the hierarchy known to normal people as Pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite's, which was communicated to him through Divine Revelation and places Seraphs at the top. Well, you get what I mean without the explanation."

Next he'll be telling me that Charlemagne was actually the Second Coming of Christ.

Does he really think I'll believe that? The plaques literally stated that Raphael and Michelangelo were the painters of these.

Priska, however, was the first to express her doubts in physical form: "Don't lie so blatantly."

"Firstly, keep walking, and secondly, I'm not. You're thinking, 'Those were made by Raphael and Michelangelo', or something of that nature, but that only proves what I'm saying. Raphael and Michael are two of the Four Great Seraphs - along with Uriel and Gabriel - and are featured in scripture… enough times that I can't count them on my hands."

Hmm. This sounds like Apocrypha.

I'm willing to believe it wholeheartedly upon getting some proof; there are many records of Michelangelo and Raphael's lives available to mankind, so suddenly saying they were actually Angels is stretching the imagination. Until then, I'll begrudgingly keep it in mind.

"Lord Raphael didn't want to use a pseudonym out of reverence for the fact that God gave him his name, while Lord Michael did change his name around a bit, but they were both active in response to Europe's dearth of intellectual activity."

"Why?" I asked, curious.

"It was never confirmed, but it's believed to be caused by the Dark Ages. The Dark Ages weren't as bad as certain historians and popular belief make it out to be, but Europe was behind everyone else in terms of progress - or, in blunt terms, weaker - which couldn't be tolerated in their eyes. Since Christendom's home base wasn't progressing, they decided to influence and prop up the significance of the Italian Renaissance, leading to the Age of Enlightenment."

The reasoning is fairly solid. I would even call such a move genius - which is to be expected from God's perfect creations - since it worked, from what I can see. Look at a map concerning the spread of Christianity after the Middle Ages versus the spread of any other religion. It's honestly sad to compare, kind of like the amount of societal advancements perpetrated by men versus the amount done by women.

I would like to know why they took disguise to help, or even why they didn't do so before the Renaissance, but it's pleasing to know the Heavenly Host is watching out for the people of Christendom and doesn't care about the other 'people' of God's world.

It's especially gratifying to me because I know the history; there was definitely much more at play than just making some art. Raphael and Michelangelo didn't kickstart the Age of Enlightenment by themselves - there were many factors and people involved - so the Heavenly Host did much more than just some artistry.

They are truly God's army.

"We're actually going to Michelangelo's Gallery right now. In places like the Gallery and Aquinas Hall, the paintings are entrances to sub-dimensions."

Like the one I destroyed.

Does that mean I demolished the product of Michael, God's right hand? Am I that… powerful?

Personally, I believe that it was no sin to do what I did. There is no shame in me - how could there be, when I wasn't at fault?

In my opinion, everyone who set up that encounter between me and Vasco should be executed. Vasco too, for that matter, what with his incompetent handling of the situation and juvenile 'training' methods.

I view the end result of that action to be a testament to my power - my potential. It shows what will be done to the Bottomless Pit upon my ascension.

Just as Enoch walked with the Lord, so too will I.

Anyway, I want to test my ability more. I need to know its limits and actual level of power; as of right now, my view of it is very muddied.

"We're here. I don't recall the exact placement, but I do remember the general gist of where to go. It doesn't matter too much; it'd be difficult to miss the large, dark castle painting." Leonidas ushered us towards a direction, saying to follow him, and then blasted ahead with an unnaturally quick pace that we physically could not follow.

"...Say, are all Exorcists so superhuman?" asked the girl next to me, apparently having forsaken her hatred for a proper conversation. "Of course, I don't expect someone as incompetent as you to know, but I'm benevolent enough to give people chances."

If I tripped and fell on top of her, she would literally die, so where is her superiority complex coming from? I'm not sure of her arrogance's origins, but it must be quite a story if this is the way she nicely starts a conversation.

"Well, to answer a juvenile harlot such as you, I'd say that the last Exorcist I met one-on-one was just as fearsome. It was even in a combat scenario, although he wasn't serious."

"Are you sure?" She glanced up at me, her expression darkening when she realized that she did so. Does she also have a Napoleon complex? [2] "You're not supposed to have begun training yet. Is this some sort of con, or were you on cannabis? Although, I don't think a ham-fisted Moskal like you could afford anything like that."

She champions such unnecessary spite. Our Lord, Jesus Christ, said to be considerate of others - who am I to disobey?

"'But love your enemies, and do good, and lend, expecting nothing in return, and your reward will be great.' You must have studied scripture? And yes, I am sure. Simply asking Leonidas would affirm my statements."

I like taking notice of my manner of speech when with different people. It subconsciously changes; to oppose a snobbish elitist like this girl, who jousts with words, I speak in an equally barbed and eloquent manner.

Frankly, I'm surprised that her Latin is good enough to keep up with mine in that respect, although her accent is very noticeable.

While that's the case with her, to converse with someone like Alessandro or Vasco, I'm much more casual, if a bit less aggressive.

Correlations like these are interesting to think about, and engaging in an occasional, childish battle of language is actually quite fun.

However, right before her rebuttal, Leonidas came zooming back, interrupting the conversation.

Just as before and as shall be forevermore, I get the last laugh. I'll be sure to make that a trend in the future.

"I found it. Follow me." Leonidas began jogging in the same direction that he left, glancing back a few seconds later. He stopped, urging us to follow him with hands outstretched in the direction he was running. "Well? I'm not a patient man. Come on."

Bluntly, Priska replied: "It just so happens that we aren't speed freaks like you. Your 'brisk pace' for us to follow is the equivalent of an Olympic sprint to normal people. It has been less than three seconds since you told us to 'follow you', but you've already run a house's worth of distance."

For once, she's shown that her brain is capable of functioning.

It's a fair argument, and it's what was on my mind. It reminds me of watching Vasco run to get that rope, going from standing still to faster than a train in the blink of an eye, seemingly without even trying. Our standards are apparently very underwhelming compared to what they'll eventually end up being.

"What are you, a child?" Leonidas responded. "This isn't a 'brisk pace', it's a snail's speed. But, if you're going to throw a tantrum, I'll walk with you - on the condition that you keep your mouth closed."

Either he's in a bad mood, or he doesn't want to deal with her attitude, though I'd argue for the latter. He doesn't sound angry or frustrated; it sounds more like an excuse to get the Kraut to shut up.

She replied by calling him an 'olive-picker', since he's Greek, and henceforth refrained from starting any more conversations.

We continued like that until we reached where we were supposedly going: a 'large, dark castle painting', according to Leonidas, and I understand why he called it that now. That's really the best way to describe it in a few words.

"Alright. Both of you, touch me."

Truly Greek behavior.

I complied, however, as did Priska, and then my surroundings shifted in the blink of an eye. Instead of ornate marble flooring and pillars, I was in a castle courtyard; surprisingly, I didn't get nauseous from the sudden change, maybe because I'd already experienced it twice, according to my memory.

Well, those experiences aren't in my memory, since they both happened when I was unconscious, but I know that to enter and exit (read: blow up) that farmhouse sub-dimension, the same thing needed to have happened.

"Now, then. This is what will happen: We'll give each other proper introductions, I explain what your immediate future will entail, and then you settle your circumstances with Santiago whenever he gets back."

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[1] MC obviously has no inner demons; he has inner Angels, for whoever was confused about that phrase.

[2] A Napoleon complex is when you get angry when someone is taller than you.

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I didn't want to continue from here, since I'd rather have one boring chapter and one decently entertaining chapter than have one chapter that takes so long to become entertaining that it's actually bad. I named this chapter 'Intermission' because that's all it is; it's a slight break or pause between everything going on.

It is literally a walking sequence. A lesser author probably would've written 'and then we walked to the painting' - not me. I'll write out as many boring scenes as I have to, as long as it helps with fleshing out the characters or making the pacing feel natural/realistic. I guess a way I could put it is that this is a flowing story, not some strung-together events.

In other words, I'm coping. Leave me be.

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