Chapter 24 – Sins Time Cannot Erase
The torches along the ancient walls flickered with golden flames — not fire, but reverence, as if the light itself honored the truth hidden within the scroll. Stone shelves loomed like guardians, bowed in silence, and even the air grew still. A sacred tension settled over the room, thick and timeless, as though the temple itself held its breath, waiting.
Adrian (watching Cordelia intently):
— "Can you read it, Cordelia?"
Cordelia (still touching the scroll, her eyes glowing faintly):
— "Yes… I can."
Adrian (stepping closer):
— "Then tell me."
Cordelia inhaled deeply. Her voice deepened, growing steadier, as though it no longer belonged entirely to her.
Cordelia:
— "I'll begin."
As she spoke, the golden glow of the scroll spread outward. The chamber dimmed, and the temple itself seemed to listen.
> "I am a sinner writing this scroll not in hope of redemption, but to speak a truth buried in shame. What we did cannot be undone. So let it be known—what happened in the time when gods, demons, and monsters reigned with fury over creation…"
Suddenly, the walls shimmered with ethereal light. Murals bloomed to life — not painted, but alive. They moved. They bled. Colossal beings tore the skies apart. Mountains crumbled under their steps. Cities vanished in waves of divine fire.
> "In a world where human life meant nothing, we lived like shadows — crawling, starving, begging the gods to forget we existed."
The murals shifted. Human figures appeared: ragged, bloodied, lost in the wreckage of divine wars.
> "But then... something changed. One day, Mary — a humble, honest woman — was touched by divine power. And through that miracle, she conceived. Afraid, she hid the child until the day he was born."
Cordelia hesitated. The moment felt too sacred to rush. A warm breeze stirred through the chamber, carrying with it the scent of incense and myrrh — blessings from a memory long buried.
> "He radiated light — not wrathful, but pure. Mary named him Jesus. And though divine, he was born of a human mother… and that humanity would change everything."
The murals showed a child with glowing eyes, kneeling in ash, his hands healing a dying bird. Light bloomed wherever he walked.
> "He grew. With each year, his power multiplied. He healed the broken. Raised the fallen. Rebuilt what war had shattered. But no matter how many lives he saved… there were always more to mourn."
Jesus walked through battlefields with the calm of eternity. Monsters fell at his presence. Cities ruined by wrath stood again at his will.
> "He realized healing was not enough. If he truly loved mankind, he had to change the world itself. So, he sought gods who still remembered compassion. Among them, he found a brother."
Cordelia's voice wavered. Adrian stood rigid beside her, his grip tightening on the hilt of his blade.
> "Together, they forged a plan: to create a sacred barrier that would separate humanity from gods and demons — to exile all divine conflict to the outer planes and spare mortals the price of divine war."
The murals exploded with light. Celestial weapons circled the Earth like rings. Among them, one gleamed brighter than all: the Spear of Longinus.
> "But then... mankind betrayed him."
The light in the chamber flickered violently.
> "They took hostages. Threatened innocents. Forced him to surrender. He — who could erase armies with a word — laid down his arms for humans the gods called insects."
Cordelia trembled as she read.
> "They chained him. Judged him. Crucified him. And I… I was given a divine weapon to pierce his chest."
Adrian (softly, stunned):
— "He was betrayed… because he loved them."
> "Even then, death did not claim him. So, he gathered within himself all the sins he could carry. With his final breath, he completed the barrier — a wall of sacrifice to protect the race he died for."
Cordelia wiped a tear that fell unbidden. Her hand trembled, but her voice did not.
> "This is the confession of a traitor… My name is Judas. May I burn in sin eternal unless someone ends this cursed existence."
The name Judas echoed through the chamber like a blasphemy spoken aloud. The flames dimmed for just a moment.
> "Even in death, Jesus's spirit guards this place. If you can defeat the final monstrosity and claim his legacy… you will set the innocents trapped in this divine prison free."
Cordelia lowered the scroll. The glow faded. The silence returned, but now it was different — heavier. Not empty, but full of history, pain… and hope.
Cordelia (barely above a whisper):
— "He… knew they would kill him. And he chose it anyway."
Adrian (eyes locked on the scroll):
— "He died to protect us all… even from ourselves."
The sacred light faded, but the weight of truth remained, etched into their hearts forever.
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