"The Light God is dead, but darkness endures forever."
The cathedral was empty.
The Black Cloaked Man was speaking with the Pope.
No one here knew who the Black Cloaked Man was, yet he was everywhere.
"You can still wield Darkness Power?" the Pope asked doubtfully.
"Yes. Light is only temporary. The sun will go out, and the stars will explode. Only darkness is eternal." The Black Cloaked Man smiled.
The Pope fell silent.
The Light God was gone, and the divine power of light was dwindling by the day.
There was enormous consumption every day, but no replenishment.
Though he still relied on the reserves of divine power accumulated in the past to preserve the Church's dignity and appearance, deep down, he had long been riddled with holes and left without support.
The lofty Pope's mind was now less resilient than that of a wanderer.
"I won't believe it unless you can prove to me that Darkness Power can still grow." He stared fixedly into the Black Cloaked Man's eyes.
"What is so difficult about that? As long as you pray to darkness, it will respond to you."
The Pope seemed thoughtful. Then he lowered his head and prayed toward a shadow in one corner of the cathedral.
At first, nothing happened.
After an unknown amount of time had passed, his skin began to bulge. Black patterns appeared across his body—first in the most hidden places beneath his arms, then on his chest, and finally on his face.
"Ah! I don't want to become this ugly!" the Pope cried.
The black faded away, concealing itself within his muscles, beneath his skin, and inside his veins...
"Do you feel it? That power is stronger than light and more enduring than light. Wherever darkness exists, it will flow without end." The