Brightest light of the Citidel
The pope's reaction was swift and composed, despite the searing pain that shot through his shoulder. He jerked back in silence, a frown marring his usually placid features. His weathered hand moved to cover the grievous wound, and in doing so, the very air around him seemed to shimmer with a holy radiance.
With an almost imperceptible glow, the pope's palm emitted a radiant light that bathed the injured area. In a mere heartbeat, his hand withdrew, revealing the wound miraculously healed. The pope's expression remained stern, and his gaze, now fixed unwaveringly on Leo, held an unwavering resolve.
In a measured tone, the pope issued a chilling challenge to his adversary. "Unless you can sever my head," he proclaimed, "victory will elude you. My wounds will keep heal instantly until you exhaust yourself." It was a declaration of his indomitable faith and the boundless strength that resided within him.