Saint

As soon as the Werewolf Fritz finished speaking, the entire cavern erupted in a powerful chorus of cheers. The voices of the crowd rose in unison, filled with fury, excitement, and a shared sense of vengeance. Everyone present seemed united by a deep, personal grudge against the masked "heroes" who had invaded their lives and left their worlds shattered.

Fritz's words were clear and filled with conviction, echoing through the cave like a call to arms. Dante felt a dozen questions bubbling up inside him, but he held them back, intimidated by the crowd's intense energy. The cavern was filled with so many powerful people hanging on Fritz's every word, and Dante knew that interrupting was not an option.

He glanced around, taking in the faces in the dim, flickering torchlight. To his surprise, he recognized a few of them. Just a few feet away stood a former underboss from one of Wendelani's notorious crime families. Dante thought the whole gang had been taken down by Green Arrow the previous week and that anyone associated with them was either locked up or in hiding. And yet, here this underboss stood, alive and clearly part of the gathering.

Dante's eyes swept the room again, this time landing on a bruiser he'd seen before. The man had once served as a personal bodyguard to a local power broker in Wendelani—a man who, until recently, had practically run the city's underworld. When the authorities brought down his employer, Dante assumed this bodyguard had been taken along with him. But here he was, blending into the shadows like he belonged.

Then, Dante noticed a figure he recognized from a few past dealings—a mercenary who had made a name for himself as a reliable and ruthless enforcer. Although Dante had never gotten close to him, their paths had crossed enough times to be considered acquaintances. 

These weren't just petty criminals or small-time thugs. They were seasoned professionals, each one with their own grievances, and each one united by a shared anger against the so-called "heroes."

As the shouts and cheers gradually died down, a new voice, calm and cold, rang out from above, silencing the crowd instantly.

"This better be important," the voice said, cutting through the air with a strange authority.

Dante's head snapped upward, along with the heads of nearly everyone else in the cavern. Hovering several feet above them was a figure wrapped in shadow, his form illuminated by the faint light below.

The man was dressed in an elaborate, flowing robe that reached down to his ankles, hanging like a ghostly shroud. His arms were mostly hidden within the wide sleeves of the garment, but a pair of pale, almost delicate hands protruded from the fabric. His fingers were long and thin, each one as precise as a blade.

What immediately caught Dante's eye, however, were the strange, dark bracelets around the man's wrists. They were unlike anything Dante had ever seen—bumpy and rugged, as if made from some ancient, unknown material. The bracelets extended up the man's forearms, twisting and bulging as though they were made of piled-up stones. The shapes they formed seemed almost intentional, creating the grotesque face of an unknown creature. 

A mysterious, invisible force radiated from the bracelets, keeping the man suspended in mid-air. He hovered above them like some kind of angel—or perhaps something far more sinister.

Dante's stomach tightened. Could this man be like the "gifted" superheroes he'd heard so much about?

"Saint," Fritz said, addressing the floating man with surprising calmness.

"I've heard," Fritz continued, his voice steady, "that if someone proves their loyalty and strength to the organization, they can earn a blessing that grants them a place in the headquarters—and that the most exceptional among them are chosen as 'Saints.'"

The man, who Fritz had referred to as a Saint, remained motionless in the air. His voice, when he spoke, was cold and dismissive. "First, you must prove yourself worthy."

Dante listened intently, realizing that this organization was far more widespread and organized than he'd imagined. It wasn't just a gathering of criminals driven underground by recent events. It was a shadow network, stretching across cities and possibly countries, filled with people who operated outside the reach of the authorities and even the heroes.

The structure was carefully designed. Each branch was independent, with its members aware only of the existence of other branches but not of their locations or members. Orders came from a central headquarters, which provided support to the local cells, keeping them hidden and safe. This way, even if one branch was discovered and dismantled, the rest of the organization could continue on, unaffected.

For the select few who proved themselves, there was the possibility of being "blessed," transforming them into permanent members of the headquarters. The best of these were chosen as Saints, individuals believed to have a direct connection to their god. These Saints were the organization's strongest members, its leaders and most powerful agents.

The Saint's voice interrupted Dante's thoughts. "The situation is critical," he announced, still hovering above them. "War is coming. Our god is preparing for his arrival."

His gaze swept across the crowd, filled with an icy disdain. "We Saints have been tasked with overseeing this entire world. Our responsibilities are endless, and our god has countless missions for us to complete. You had better have a very good reason for calling me here, or you'll regret it."

Fritz, unfazed by the Saint's imposing words, met his gaze directly. "I assure you, there's nothing more important than this," he replied confidently. "In fact, this is the single thing that matters most to our cause."

With that, Fritz clapped his hands, giving a silent signal to someone in the back of the cavern. The crowd parted as a man carrying a metal box stepped forward, placing it carefully on a table in the center of the room before stepping back into the shadows.

Fritz approached the box, pressing a hidden button on its side. A small panel slid open, revealing a combination lock. After entering the code, the lock clicked, and he opened the box, turning it so the Saint could see its contents.

For the first time, the Saint's stoic expression cracked. His eyes widened, and he seemed to stop breathing as he took in what lay inside.

Within the box was a small, intricately shaped device. It looked plain enough at first glance, but anyone familiar with it knew the immense power it held. Even the normally aloof Saint seemed overwhelmed by its presence. Slowly, he descended from the air, his feet touching the ground as he approached the table. He lifted the device with trembling hands, cradling it as though it were a priceless artifact. He closed his eyes, focusing on the energy it emitted.

The entire cavern fell silent, every member watching with bated breath.

After a moment, the Saint opened his eyes, his face filled with awe. "The Core of Descent!" he breathed, barely able to contain his excitement. His expression softened with a reverence that was rare to see.

He turned to Fritz, this time with a newfound respect. "How did you acquire it?"

"Skill, and a bit of strategy," Fritz replied, his voice as calm and steady as ever. "Is that proof enough of my abilities?"

The Saint nodded slowly. "Yes. This is exactly what the organization has been searching for. I will report your achievement to our god. Your efforts—"

But Fritz interrupted him. "Actually, I have a better idea. I'd like to accompany you when you deliver it."

The Saint's face fell, his expression turning cold and stony as he stared down Fritz.

"No one but a Saint has ever been allowed to speak with the Lord," he said icily.

"And no one else has ever brought back the Core of Descent," Fritz countered, meeting the Saint's gaze with an unflinching stare.

The tension in the room grew thick, and the Saint's eyes narrowed in fury. "Are you questioning the authority of a Saint?" he asked, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper.

"No," Fritz replied calmly. "I'm simply asking for a chance to prove my loyalty. I've already demonstrated my strength. Now I want to prove my dedication to the cause."

Murmurs rippled through the crowd as they watched the exchange. Many of the members in Wendelani's branch had no other place to go; driven underground by the heroes, they had joined the Rebels out of desperation.

But Fritz wasn't like the others. He had been one of the earliest members to join, earning the respect of many as a leader. In Wendelani, he was practically a legend, and the crowd's support for him was clear.

The Saint scanned the room, taking in the crowd's loyalty to Fritz. The Core of Descent was a rare and precious find, one that even the other Saints would envy. If granting Fritz this opportunity could unite the Wendelani branch more firmly, it might strengthen the entire organization's power.

"Fine," the Saint said at last, his voice echoing through the cavern.

"Then prepare yourself, Fritz," he continued, his tone both ominous and grave. "You are about to meet the greatest presence in existence. If our Lord deems you worthy, you may join the Saints," he warned, his eyes narrowing. "But if he is displeased with you…"

The Saint's face hardened, his gaze turning cold as ice. "You will regret your foolish arrogance."

Fritz merely shrugged, undeterred. "Then let's not waste any time," he replied. "Lead the way, and we'll see what happens."

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