BOOM!
The fifth blast thundered.
This one was different from the earlier explosions.
The sound was louder, the shockwave stronger, and it carried a blinding flash of light.
This was the real Holy Hand Grenade.
To Hili's bewilderment, the shockwave even hurled debris across the corridor to smash against the far wall.
Judging by the aftershock alone, he felt the priest's grenade had been overpowered—absurdly fierce.
Before he could make sense of it, Father led the way out of the stairwell.
"Eileen."
At the word, Hili instinctively stepped aside and looked at the Novice Nun, whose bearing seemed subtly changed.
Eileen gave a nod, grasped the Cross at her breast, and moved to the front to lead.
Understanding, Hili followed with his SHAK-12 Heavy Assault Rifle at the ready.
Suddenly Father looked back.
"Hili, head back and prep the helicopter."
Hili met Father's expressionless gaze without question; he knew the priest had his reasons—and, unarmed, he had no wish to be a burden.
"Got it! I'll wait outside for your return."
York slipped the bandolier—still holding four grenades—over Hili's shoulder, then caught up with Eileen, already two strides ahead.
"Go. Watch yourself."
"I will, Father." Hili felt no burden… Eileen paused, glancing back; only Father was in sight—Hili, ever the rearguard, had vanished.
"It's fine; he's gone back."
York took the grenade bandolier from Eileen's shoulder—forty rounds, thank Heaven, or they'd be empty by now.
"Let's keep moving."
"Alright."
Eileen relaxed and pressed on along the route she remembered.
York followed… Under her guidance they wove through the labyrinthine tunnels.
Before long…
At a familiar junction, Eileen stopped dead.
"What is it?" York halted beside her.
"This is where I met the ghost nun," she said, tension tightening her face.
"Just across the junction."
York narrowed his eyes, patted her shoulder.
"I'm here."
Eileen drew a calming breath and stepped forward.
He matched her pace, thumbing a Holy Hand Grenade free as a precaution.
One step, two, three…
As Eileen reached the junction, a fierce gust erupted from the left, tearing her tightly-wrapped coif from her head.
Startled, she glanced left—but a broad figure blocked both her view and the wind.
York faced the corridor, watching a wooden door at its end creak slowly open.
To his mana-enhanced eyes, crimson script—matching his own power—glowed across the door.
[God stops here]
A smirk tugged at his lips as the door revealed the ghost nun against the darkness.
Big words. If the real God showed up, you'd be on your knees before He lifted a finger.
As the door neared fully open, York pulled the pin and hurled the grenade at the specter.
"Run!"
At his order, Eileen bit down her fear and sprinted.
York didn't wait; he spun and followed.
BOOM!
The explosion roared, answered by a furious scream.
Grinning, he lobbed a second Holy Hand Grenade behind without looking back.
Still no glance rearward.
The blast slapped his back yet failed to budge his tall frame.
Footsteps echoed—twenty-odd metres back.
Without turning, he thumbed out another grenade while checking the virtual window hovering before him.
Stats restored—only mana had dipped.
"Good enough."
Battle-lust flashed in his eyes as he tossed again.
BOOM!
Twenty metres away, holy light flared down the tunnel.
Another enraged, pain-wracked howl.
25 points of Holy Imbuement meant 25 points of armor-piercing, crit-boosted damage—enough to sting.
Sensing no further movement, he spared a glance at his Health.
A mere 0.5 lost to the shockwaves, already refilled.
"Almost there, Father!"
Eileen's call drifted back as she veered into a side passage.
He followed; in that instant he glimpsed the left corridor.
The ghost nun shot forward through the air, less than ten metres away—seemingly unscathed, contrary to expectation.
A projection? The seal at the Gates of Hell should bar a demon's true form.
Wall blocked sight; he ripped loose another grenade, mana surging.
[30 mana consumed]
Instant Enchantment. Calmly he armed the now 55-point bomb, flipped the pin, and lobbed it round the corner while keeping pace.
BOOM!
The blast outshone its predecessors, shaking the ever-stronger depths and bathing the tunnel in holy radiance.
SHRIEK!
The nun's cry turned longer, more pained—then silence.
Ten paces on, York glanced back; no pursuer appeared.
Confirmed: a projection of Valac. The seal on the Gates of Hell still held.
"Here, Father!"
Eileen, still running, shoved at a wooden door in the left wall.
It refused to budge; her strength met immovable resistance.
She tried again, to no avail.
"My turn."
York stepped up and kicked.
Full force shattered the door, shards flying, revealing a stone chamber.
Simple and brutal.
Before Eileen could react, he strode inside.
Aside from a statue of Saint Mary, the room was empty—no chest, no key.
"You sure this is the place?"
He looked to Eileen.
"Yes."
She studied the familiar statue she had seen in her vision.
"The abbess pointed to Saint Mary."
"Then let's look."
The statue was unremarkable, save its pose: left hand to breast, right outstretched.
York narrowed his eyes; simple logic—follow the pointing hand.
If fate had steered them here, the answer would be plain.
He traced the line from the statue's finger to the far stone wall.
Nothing else—so it had to be the wall.
A closer look revealed a Cross-shaped keyhole exactly where the finger aimed.
"How convenient."
He drew the key taken from the abbess's corpse; the match was perfect—and his gaze hardened with distaste.