"Great!"
Sensing something off in the priest's mood, Hili glanced at the fallen Novice Nun inside and started to take off.
Whirr, whirr, whirr!
The helicopter roared into the air, rising slowly through the open ceiling and away from the ruin-strewn ground.
York looked at Irene; recalling the imminent explosion, he casually fastened her seatbelt.
It was just as well she was still asleep—otherwise, to keep her from seeing what the Church mustn't see, he'd have had to knock her out again. Once the buckle clicked, York glanced forward: Hili was still sneaking peeks.
"Hili, forget everything you saw today."
As he spoke, York drew a custom remote from his robes.
The device could transmit up to twenty kilometres—well outside the blast radius.
If it blew, this distance was safe.
Hili's puzzled question slipped out.
"What is it, Father?"
The man felt the priest was growing more secretive by the moment.
"Nothing,"
York answered, voice grave, eyes locked on Hili.
"Just keep flying straight."
Meeting that stare, Hili seemed to read the unspoken order; remembering the earlier words, he pressed his lips and nodded.
"Yes, Father Yorkes."
He gripped the cyclic, stared ahead, and repeated solemnly,
"I'll fly straight on."
York gave a faint smile and turned his attention back to the remote.
In truth, even if they were found out it wouldn't matter—he didn't fear an inquiry; as long as no one saw him demonstrate, they could prove nothing.
"But it's still a headache best avoided…"
Mentally calculating how far the HH-60W had travelled, York murmured,
"Speed: 361 km/h."
He leaned out of the hatch, squinting into the wind toward Saint Kata Monastery.
The monastery had vanished from sight.
"Two minutes gone—about fourteen kilometres…"
He looked back at the remote in his hand.
To be honest, he was a little nervous; if his guess was right, the double-buffed Holy Bomb should be enough to shatter the Gates of Hell.
Recalling the state of public miracle, York exhaled, glanced at Hili—still staring forward—then again toward the monastery and gently pressed the red button.
A soft click.
The next second,
An explosion flooded hearing.
Everything went silent.
York' eyes widened, pupils shrinking.
Where Saint Kata Monastery had stood, a radiance like holy light eclipsed the sun, bright as noon, filling every inch of vision.
The light expanded; a searing sphere erupted, swallowing everything in its terror.
From the flames a vast mushroom cloud rose, its colossal cap climbing, spreading to cloak the sky.
Fierce fire rolled up black smoke into a scene grotesque and awesome. Boundless destruction rippled outward.
A shock-wave swept in, stealing all sound and sensation.
"Such power…" York murmured, watching the cloud that had scattered every wisp of vapour. At last he understood the nature of the force he wielded. The looming mushroom had come from a mere twenty-four kilos of C-4.
The blast rocked the helicopter, shaking it near to spin.
Hili yelped and fought the controls.
York clung to the frame, still staring at the towering cloud above the monastery.
No mission prompt had sounded—the Gates of Hell still stood.
"That tough? Even this isn't enough?"
His brows knit, body tensing, face growing stern—till a mechanical chime in his ear let him breathe again.
[…]
[Random Quest: Resolve the Sealed Land (completed)]
[Reward: +40 Attribute Points (granted)]
[…]
Listening to the notice, he gazed at the distant cloud with nothing but admiration.
He had birthed that mushroom himself—its meaning was different.
"Beautiful—truly beautiful! Yield is justice!"
Watching the cloud of holy light, flame and smoke, he could not help but exclaim,
"The greater the yield, the greater the justice…"
Yet distance has its limits; as they flew on the cloud shrank until it was only a speck. York loosened his grip and sat back.
He glanced at the still-sleeping Irene, then at Hili—and noticed the man's throat working, his eyes in the mirror gleaming with an odd light.
"What's with this guy?"
York felt a prickle of unease.
Hili licked dry lips and suddenly spoke.
"Father Yorkes, I'll forget today."
He paused, then added what York never expected.
"May I become your acolyte? I know you have none yet. If you permit, I will pledge my life to guard you and uphold your every command…"
He's serious?
York stared at the resolute, almost pious face reflected in the mirror; he had never thought the flighty Hili could wear the look of a paladin.
A brief silence. York' brows drew together.
"You mean it?"
Hili smiled, determination unshaken. "Yes, Father. I do."
"If Father Mike agrees," York answered, neither refusing nor accepting, eyes on the virtual display, "I'll consider it."
"Truly?"
Hili perked up inexplicably.
York sighed. "Mm."
Hili exhaled long. "Don't worry, Father—I'll get the old man's written consent."
York' gaze darkened; the man was clearly set on it.
Yet picturing Hili enrolled at Pluto Church, York mused,
"With his quirks we'd end up with odd but effective exorcism tools…"
With that thought he ignored Hili and returned to the hovering window.