I impersonated God in America

The light spread across the ground, illuminating the limestone surface on the front of the ridgeline.

Two sacred lamps were held aloft on tall bronze lamp stands, rising inch by inch from behind the ridgeline.

The light first spreads across the ridgeline, then focuses from the diffused light into two complete flames.

The lanterns were carried by two cardinals.

The flames of the lamp flickered on their chests.

Then the white-haired cardinal, carrying the spear of San Longino, stepped out of the horizon from between the two holy lamps.

His gaze remained fixed on the long spear he held in his hands.

The rust on the gun blade gleamed a deep red under the light of the holy lamp.

Then a whole forty cardinals marched down the ridge to the top of the mountain.

The cross points ahead, guiding the way.

Pedestrians on the road instinctively stopped and made way for the group.

Just like.

Moses parted the sea.

Two sacred lamps flanked the formation, while the spear of Saint Longinus was held in the very center of the procession.

The crowd behind them resembled a blood-red river surging upwards from an abyss, the hem of their robes brushing against the gravelly ground of Sardinia.

Each mouth slowly recited a passage of Latin at the same tempo and pitch.

“Et Verbum caro factum est…”

(The Word made flesh and blood)

Wen Ban moved his phone away from his chest.

He realized he hadn't been breathing and unconsciously groaned.

Hallelujah.

Chapter Twenty-Five: Urban IX

Papal States, Papal Palace, 4:30 AM.

The lights in the Pope's private study were adjusted to a warm yellow.

The Pope sat in a high-backed chair with a newly delivered handwritten report spread out in front of him.

Bishop Paul's signature is at the end of the page, and the handwriting is slightly illegible.

The lights of St. Peter's Square outside the window were blurred into hazy spots of light in the pre-dawn mist.

The Cardinal Secretary of State stood opposite him.

He had been standing there for almost ten minutes.

"Father, the solution provided by the Sibyl Bottle for dealing with the stone tablets was successful. After the shroud was placed on top, the stone serpent did indeed lose its lock on the stone tablets, and our intelligence was correct."

"But the other side's proposed plan to eliminate the stone snake..."

"The fact that so many bishops went to the scene is no small matter."

"If something really happens, it's almost certain that a huge gap has appeared in the church's upper echelons."

Are you sure you really want to do this? Isn't it a bit too risky?

He paused.

"What if the Holy Lance isn't as the prophet said..."

"The church will absolutely cause its credibility to plummet globally."

"It was absolutely a devastating blow."

The cardinal's voice was steady.

“I understand your determination in this matter. I just want to confirm where your trust in Sybil comes from.”

The Pope removed his hand from the handwritten report.

He did not answer directly.

He picked up the water glass on the table, took a sip, and then spoke.

"Speaking of which, do you remember the meaning of the name Francis?"

The cardinal remained silent for a moment.

He was no stranger to Francis.

St. Francis of Assisi, the saint who took off his fine clothes and went barefoot into the slums to share bread with lepers.

"Be poor, be humble, and stand with the weak."

“Yes.” The Pope put down his water glass. “And what about Urban?”

The cardinal paused for a moment.

The last time a pope used the name Urban was a long time ago.

Because Urban II had done something that was somewhat well-known before.

For example, the First Crusade was convened in Clermont.

Therefore, people's impression of this name is always associated with war.

Over time, as the church became increasingly secular, fewer popes were willing to use this name.

“Urban,” the cardinal began slowly, “during his reign he placed greater emphasis on the Church’s secular authority.”

"Yes."

"He used the Crusades to change the political landscape of Europe and the Near East, pushing the influence of the Papacy to its peak."

The Pope lightly tapped his finger on the handwritten report.

“The modern church has no shortage of Franciscans; we have been practicing humility for nearly a century. But the world we live in is being repeatedly rewritten by extraordinary events.”

"This is an opportunity."

"The dignity of the Papal States has been lost for far too long."

"The coming of the extraordinary era will mean an opportunity for the Church to stand on the world stage again."

He tapped it with his finger.

"If the ritual given by the Sibyl Bottle is successful, the Church will greatly enhance its prestige."

"You can imagine what will happen next."

"But if we fail..."

"The stone will fall on our own feet."

The cardinal remained motionless under the lamp.

"But if we don't try, the church will forever remain a museum's graveyard."

"I have made my decision. My name will be officially announced as Urban IX tomorrow."

"As a new pope, I want to convey to the secular world that the scepter of Christ still resides in the Papal States."

The cardinal gently placed his hand on the cross on his chest beneath his robes.

His fingers trembled slightly.

It wasn't out of fear, but because an instinct that had long been dormant within him was awakening.

For a pope, the choice of a name signifies his or her beliefs. For example, choosing Francis means that he will continue the principles and actions of his predecessor, Francis.

The pope before him chose Urban, a choice that had been made by no one for centuries…

"Deus vult (God will be so)"

Boom! ! !

Outside the window, the bells of St. Peter's Square rang out their first chimes in the pre-dawn mist.

------------

Rome, Ministry of Defense command center.

"The Papal States' transport planes have landed. They are lined up on the coastal highway."

General Cavalli placed his coffee cup next to the control panel without saying a word.

The scene shows a group of cardinals disembarking from cargo ramps, carrying large and small items, arranging themselves in formation, and then marching into the distance.

"what are they doing?"

The intelligence analyst in the back row took off his glasses.

"Let me see: the Forerunner of the Cross, the Holy Lamp, and the old bishop wielding the Holy Lance?"

"If I'm not mistaken, this should be the standard Pentecost Mass arrangement."

The adjutant stared at the queue on the screen.

"My God, are they planning to set up a makeshift mass in the middle of the road?"

"Is it effective?"

"We don't know, General."

Cavalli turned his gaze back to the screen.

The stone snake's head had already crossed the abandoned area from the edge of the crater zone and was now rolling into the low-rise commercial buildings along the coastal highway near the city end.

On the high-rise balconies on the outskirts of the city, tens of thousands of residents are using their mobile phone cameras to point at its enormous body.

------------

Coastal highway.

The stone snake opened its mouth.

Hissing.

A middle-aged woman who had just escaped from her broken-down car collapsed on the roadside. Just as she looked up to see the direction of the snake's head, gray light instantly engulfed her from the tips of her fingers, which were bracing herself on the ground, all the way up to her shoulders.

Her mouth was still open, and her eyes were still wide open, staring in the direction of the snake.

In less than three seconds, a gray-white stone statue kneeling on the ground looked up at the giant rock monster.

more than one.

Dozens of residents scattered along both sides of the road, unable to escape the stone snake's sensing range, collapsed, squatted down, and tried to get up in batches as the snake's hissing spread repeatedly.

Then it turned into stone.

The footage from Wenban's mobile phone live stream has been continuously transmitted via satellite signal to every home screen and the homepage headlines of every news website across Europe.

He turned his gaze from the church procession not far away back to the live broadcast room.

Looking at his arm, which was already petrified, he smiled bitterly.

"Friends, it seems I left a little too late."

The next moment, everyone heard a chant.

"My lord is here!"

Chapter Twenty-Six: The Taste of XX Was Really Good

The white-haired cardinal stood on the sandy ground.

He gripped the San Longino spear tightly with both hands, its iron blade pointing towards the pre-dawn sky over Sardinia.

His name is Giovanni Marchetti.

He is 73 years old this year.

He is neither the oldest nor the most influential among the cardinals.