Consciousness surfaced like breaking through deep water.
Weight pressed against my temples. Something heavy, metallic, cold. My hands rested on smooth white fabric.
The world came into focus piece by piece. An ornate throne beneath me, carved stone and precious metals that should be in a museum. Cathedral ceiling soared overhead, ribs of stone reaching toward stained glass windows. Silence filled the space, but it felt expectant. Waiting.
I tried to remember sitting down. Nothing.
My fingers encountered sticky wetness on the white robes. Blood but, I felt no pain, which meant it wasn't mine. The metallic smell made my stomach turn.
Something heavy lay across my lap. My hands found carved wood and metal—a weapon disguised as a ceremonial staff. The moment I touched it properly, energy hummed through my bones. Made my teeth ache. Visions flashed behind my eyes—faces I didn't recognize, places I'd never been, words in languages I couldn't understand.
I jerked my hands away.
Blue text materialized in my vision. Translucent, floating, impossible.
[DIVINE MANDATE SYSTEM ACTIVATED]
Congratulations! You are now the Pope.
I blinked. The text remained.
[Current Status: Faith: 100, Influence: 50, Power: 75]
Numbers that meant nothing but felt significant. Like test scores for a class I'd never taken.
More text scrolled past:
[Tutorial Mode Activated]
Divine mandate established. Survival depends on maintaining legitimacy.
Basic commands: Status, Inventory, Skills.
Awaiting command to access information.
I thought "Status" experimentally.
[Leonardo Morningstar - Level 1 Pope]
Health: 100/100
Mana: 150/150
Location: Grand Cathedral of Sanctum Regalis
Immediate Threats: Unknown forces approaching
Leonardo Morningstar. The name felt foreign in my head. I'd been Marcus Vale just... when? Yesterday? A lifetime ago? The memories sat in my mind like dreams—university lectures, student debates, Sarah's silver cross catching light.
Distant sounds penetrated the cathedral walls. Screaming. Metal clashing against metal. The crackle of flames consuming buildings. Whatever had happened here, it wasn't finished.
I attempted to stand. The crown's weight nearly toppled me. Ceremonial robes tangled around my legs, heavy with embroidered gold and dried blood. I caught myself against the throne's armrest.
How did anyone move in this outfit?
"Inventory," I thought.
A new window appeared:
[Papal Inventory]
Equipped: Crown of Saint Peter (+10 Faith, +5 Influence)
Equipped: Papal Robes (+5 Faith, +2 Power)
Equipped: Scythe of Judgement (Artifact - Unknown Properties, Available: None)
The Scythe hummed again. I'd heard that sound before—in dreams, in nightmares, in moments between sleeping and waking. It wanted to be held. Used. Fed.
I pushed the thought away.
More memory fragments surfaced. A woman pressing her hands against a wound. The smell of cordite and blood. Someone screaming my name—but which name? Marcus or Leonardo?
The memories felt real and false simultaneously. Like watching someone else's life through thick glass.
Heavy boots echoed outside the cathedral doors. Multiple sets, moving with military precision.
I gripped the Scythe instinctively. The weapon's energy responded, flowing up my arms like liquid fire. For a moment, I saw through other eyes—ancient battles, demon armies, a figure in papal robes cutting through darkness with this same blade.
Then the vision faded, leaving me gasping.
Voices carried through the heavy doors. Muffled by stone and wood, but close enough to understand:
"…consecrated ground. We can't just…"
"Orders are orders. The coup needs confirmation."
"If he's really Pope, we're committing sacrilege."
"If he's not, we're ending a pretender."
My hands tightened on the Scythe. The System offered no guidance about handling armed soldiers. Or coups. Or whatever political nightmare I'd apparently inherited.
"Skills," I thought desperately.
[Available Skills:
Divine Rhetoric (Passive) - Religious arguments carry additional weight,
Papal Authority (Active) - Commands may compel obedience in the faithful,
Sacred Ground (Passive) - Enhanced abilities within consecrated spaces,
Scythe Mastery (Locked) - Requires combat experience to unlock]
Combat experience. Because apparently being Pope involved fighting.
The voices outside grew louder:
"Movement inside. He's awake."
"Form up. Remember… if he's legitimate, show respect. If not..."
"Understood."
I stood carefully, using the throne for support. The cathedral around me was magnificent—white marble columns, golden fixtures, artwork that probably cost more than most people saw in a lifetime. But scorch marks scarred the walls. Broken glass littered the floor. Whatever had happened here had been violent.
And recent.
The Scythe felt heavier in my hands. Or maybe I was just now noticing its true weight. The weapon was beautiful and terrible—carved obsidian handle inlaid with silver runes, metal blade that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it.
I'd never held a weapon before. Marcus Vale had been an academic. Soft hands, soft life, soft thoughts about hard realities.
But Leonardo Morningstar...
The name came with instincts I didn't remember learning. How to stand with authority. How to hold the Scythe without telegraphing intent. How to project confidence when terror crawled up my spine.
Footsteps approached the doors. Slow. Deliberate. The kind of careful movement that preceded violence.
I thought about Sarah's cross. Her unshakeable faith. The peace in her eyes even as her world exploded into chaos.
Faith.
Maybe that was the point. I didn't need to understand everything. I just needed to believe I could handle whatever came next.
The System chimed softly:
[Quest Activated: Survive the Night,
Objective: Maintain papal legitimacy until dawn,
Reward: Skill upgrade, increased stats
Failure Condition: Death or exposure ]
Death or exposure. Wonderful options.
The cathedral doors had intricate locks, but I heard metal sliding against metal. Someone was picking them. Professional work, quick and quiet.
I centered myself on the throne, the Scythe held like a ceremonial staff. If I was going to die again, at least I'd die looking the part.
The locks clicked open one by one.
Whatever was coming, I'd face it as Pope Leonardo Morningstar. Even if I had no idea who that was supposed to be.
The great doors swung inward with agonizing slowness.
Armored figures filled the doorway. Five soldiers in black plate mail, weapons drawn but not raised. Their leader stepped forward—tall, scarred, with gray eyes that missed nothing.
He looked at me. At the crown. At the blood on my robes. At the Scythe that hummed with barely contained power.
His expression was unreadable.
"Your Holiness," he said finally. "We need to talk."