Reincarnated in a novel: I am the villain!-Chapter 323: Darkness hidden beneath the light

To the naked eye, the sheer, white marble wall of the Grand Cathedral was completely empty.

But a keen observer might have noticed a strange, shimmering distortion moving slowly up the side of the stone, like heat rising off a summer road.

Inside that distortion, three figures clung to the wall, suspended hundreds of feet above the heavily patrolled courtyard.

"Keep your breathing steady," Elena whispered, her voice barely a vibration in the dense pocket of air surrounding them.

Sweat beaded on the High Elf’s forehead. Her right eye, magnified by the silver rim of the Photon Lens, glowed with intense focus.

She was maintaining the [Vacuum Shroud] over all three of them, spinning the ambient air so violently that the holy magelights illuminating the Cathedral simply bent around their bodies.

"I’m steady," Lukas replied softly. He had jammed the thick, adamantine claws of his Magitech Gauntlets into the mortar between the marble blocks, serving as an anchor.

Below them, a patrol of twenty Crusade Paladins marched past, their Divine Armor clanking in perfect, terrifying unison. They didn’t look up. They couldn’t see the ghosts scaling their sanctuary.

Alaric hung below Lukas, holding on with one hand while the other balanced the immense weight of The Anvil strapped to his back.

He used the brutal Impact Calibration Damien had tortured him with back in school.

The Titan’s Capacitor in his chest hummed, regulating his kinetic output. He applied just enough pressure to hold his weight, treating the stone as if it were an eggshell.

"Balcony ahead," Alaric rumbled softly, pointing up with his chin. "Ten meters."

They moved with practiced, synchronized silence. When Lukas pulled himself up, Alaric followed, finding the exact same handholds. Elena trailed them, seamlessly adjusting the shape of the vacuum bubble.

They reached the ornate, stained-glass balcony of the upper cloisters. Lukas used a tiny, microscopic burst of blue plasma from his index finger to quietly melt the latch on the heavy wooden doors.

Click.

They slipped inside, and Elena finally dropped the Shroud, collapsing against the wall with a soft gasp.

"Three minutes to recharge," Elena murmured, wiping her brow. "The ambient Holy Mana in here is suffocating. It fights my wind."

"Take your time," Alaric said, his grey eyes scanning the dimly lit corridor.

They were in the inner sanctum of the Church. The air smelled of frankincense, burning wax, and ancient parchment. The walls were lined with statues of past Saints and tapestries depicting the Goddess of Light purging demons.

But beneath the smell of incense, Alaric caught something else.

"Do you smell that?" Lukas wrinkled his nose, the metal plates on his arms shifting as he raised his hands.

"Ozone. And... burnt meat."

A sudden, blood-curdling scream echoed from down the hall.

It wasn’t a human scream. It sounded like two voices overlapping—one terrified man, and one guttural, roaring beast.

Alaric drew The Anvil, the heavy mythril blade making no sound. He nodded to his companions, and the three of them crept silently down the corridor, following the agonizing screams.

They reached a grated ventilation overlook that peered down into a sunken, circular interrogation chamber.

What they saw made their blood run cold.

In the center of the chamber, chained to a massive cross of white-hot iron, was a man. Or, what was left of one. His right arm was grossly mutated, covered in shifting, black obsidian scales. Purple veins of corruption pulsed across his neck.

A Void Flesh-Crafter.

Surrounding him were five high-ranking Inquisitors, their silver masks reflecting the harsh light. Leading them was a towering Paladin Commander in full, glowing Divine Armor.

"The Void is a cancer," the Commander intoned, his voice booming with absolute, unyielding fanaticism. "It eats the soul. But the Light cleanses all."

The Commander raised his gauntleted hand.

[Holy Art: Purifying Pyre.]

A beam of concentrated, blinding white light struck the Flesh-Crafter’s mutated arm.

The cultist shrieked in absolute agony. The light didn’t just burn the flesh; it engaged in a conceptual war with the Void corruption. The black scales sizzled, popped, and turned to ash, but the cultist’s actual human flesh underneath was being incinerated in the process.

"Where is the Northern Cell?!" the Commander demanded over the screams. "Where is the Twilight Bishop hiding?!"

"I don’t know!" the cultist sobbed, his normal voice breaking through the monstrous roar.

"The Bishop abandoned us! The Pale Ghost, she destroyed the Ravine! We were just trying to regroup!"

In the vents above, Lyra’s old moniker hung in the air.

’Lyra’s been busy,’ Lukas thought, exchanging a grim look with Elena.

"Lies," the Commander said coldly. "The Light finds the truth."

He increased the output. The cultist screamed until his vocal cords snapped, his body going limp as the Holy Fire completely consumed him, leaving nothing but a pile of purified white ash on the floor.

The Inquisitors didn’t blink. They simply swept the ash away.

"Bring in the next one," the Commander ordered. "The Crusade marches in three days. We must root out the Heretics before we strike the Abyss Gates."

Up in the vents, the trio slowly backed away.

"They aren’t just hunting us," Elena whispered as they slipped back into the main corridor.

"They really are also fighting a full-scale war against the Void."

"They’re fighting the same enemy the Professor is," Lukas muttered, looking at his Magitech hands.

"But did you see their eyes? They don’t care who they burn. If they saw my arms, or find out an lf snaked into thier sanctum, they’d strap us to that cross too."

"The Church sees the world in black and white," Alaric said, his voice a low, heavy rumble.

"You are either a servant of the Light, or you are fuel for the pyre."

Alaric tightened his grip on The Anvil.

He remembered the soup kitchens Barnaby had set up in the slums. He remembered Damien pushing them through the portal to save their lives while staying behind to face a God.

The Professor wore the mask of a villain, but he saved people. The Church wore the mask of a savior, but they burned anyone who didn’t fit their mold.

"We aren’t going to let fanatics decide the fate of this continent," Alaric said, his grey eyes hardening into absolute granite.

"We need power that doesn’t answer to them."

He looked down the corridor, toward the heavy, magically sealed doors at the very end of the hall. The pressure radiating from behind those doors was ancient and overwhelming.

"The Deep Vault," Alaric said. "The Sword of Heroes is down there."

"My Shroud is fully recharged," Elena said, stepping up beside him, the wind beginning to hum in her palms.

"And my arms are running hot," Lukas grinned, the blue runes on his gauntlets pulsing with a dangerous, lethal light.

"Good," Alaric stepped forward. "Let’s go rob the Pope."

Author here: a thanks for reading, my exams end tomorrow so expect new character art then, also I’m so close to make the income goal to be able to complete to be able writing going forth

I need about 5450 coins worth of surpprt left, for any amount of support no matter what I’ll give 5 extra Chapters and even prepare ten if possible

I’ll also in produce characters of your choose and name and make sure to thank you in the authors note for the next ten Chapters🙏

Hope you continue to enjoy reading and thanks!