Rewrite That Witch
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Chapter 352: Illusion (Part II)

Mayne could not take his eyes away.

His heart moved in ways it rarely did. The incarnation ceremony — created by witches, to defeat demons. And they chose this willingly. Every one of them.

He had come into this room expecting history. What he had been given was something worse: motive. The God’s Punishment Army was not an invention of cruelty, not a political instrument, not the product of doctrine. It was the considered decision of a room full of women who knew exactly what they were choosing, and chose it anyway.

How many of those present would have stood up to condemn Alice? After all — she had killed witches with her own hands, and still spoke of it as serving the continuation of witches. Was there anything more absurd?

But the elderly witch’s response had followed without hesitation: We are born of mortals. If mankind is destroyed, witches cannot survive either. Conversely, no matter how many witches the incarnation consumes, new ones will always be born to replace them. The more mortals there are, the more witches there will be.

Is it certain that the God’s Punishment Army will defeat the demons?

And Alice: I don’t know. Before we try, nobody knows. The defeats in the first two Battles showed that demons are stronger than us, and our only effective constraint on them has been the Red Mist. Even with a large number of God’s Punishment Warriors, the final victory is not guaranteed. She had paused. But you know how I do things.

Even if the odds are small, we must try.

I’ll follow you anywhere.

For the continuation of witches.

I refuse to admit defeat.

One by one, the women had risen. The last on her feet was the one who had argued most fiercely — she stood, finally, and said aloud what her face had been saying since the beginning: Hopefully you’re right.

So it’s decided, Alice had said. Unsurprised. She had understood the answer before she asked the question. What we must do now is convince the rest of the Union.

They may not simply agree, the elderly witch had replied. If we carry out the incarnation without resistance, witches cannot continue in their position of privilege. The Union must be disbanded, and the past buried completely.

I’ll do everything I can to convince them, Alice had said. If they won’t accept it, Starfall City will proceed alone, and build a new order.

The scene dissolved. Darkness. Then light — the circular room, the stone bench, the highland in the window.

Mayne became aware that his back was soaked through. His head was ringing.

“You look tired. Shall I help you outside?” Zero appeared beside him.

“Open the door.” He stood.

He came through the gate and across the prayer hall to O’Brien, and knelt. The nausea rose on the way, and he covered his mouth with one hand.

“When the Magic Stone activates, the scene maps directly into the mind. Some discomfort is normal.” O’Brien’s voice was patient. “My first time, I reacted the same way. Rest — you’ll recover.”

“Why wasn’t I affected at all?” Zero asked, curled against the Pope’s side.

“Because you’re a witch. Your body has been accustomed to the operation of magical power for a long time.” He settled a hand on her shoulder. “In both endurance and resistance, witches are simply far superior to mortals.”

It took a long time for Mayne’s breathing to settle. “This is the Church’s origin.”

“Yes. After that meeting, Alice led the witches of Starfall City — and two other city-states — into the war. They prevailed, and laid down the new order. Witches ceased to be the chosen ones. They became the fallen, the demon-lured, the corrupted. That war lasted nearly a hundred years. History calls it the Battle of Faiths.”

“Did Alice live to see it end?”

The Pope shook his head. “Not long after she established the Church, she perished alongside another Transcendent. The second Pope carried her will forward, leading the Army until the remaining two factions were subdued. But the battle had devastated all three city-states — they lost effective control over the world. The mortals who had taken no part in the struggle began to settle in the narrow coastal lands, working alongside the indigenous people. Over generations, this became the Four Kingdoms.”

Something was happening to O’Brien as he spoke — the presence that had been draining from him was returning by degrees, like heat returning to a stone after nightfall. His voice had regained coherence. His eyes had cleared.

“After that, the Church attempted many times to destroy what remained: holdouts from the other factions, mortal populations that had not belonged to Starfall City’s domain. But the world order had already taken shape, and the Church lacked the strength to complete the work. All of this traces back to Alice’s early death.” He sighed. “Natalia — whom she regarded as a friend — refused the plan and then attacked without warning during a meeting. This is recorded in the unabridged Canon. If Alice had survived, the Battle of Faiths would have ended fifty years earlier, and once all witches were inside the Church, unifying the continent would have been effortless. No one expected the war would remain unfinished today.”

Mayne wiped the sweat from his forehead. “There is something I don’t understand, Your Holiness. The early Popes were all witches — and then at some point this changed entirely. When did it happen, and why?”

“Zero,” O’Brien said. “You should head back first.”

“Yes.”

Only after her footsteps had faded and the space around them was fully quiet did O’Brien speak again: “Because of weakness and cowardice.”

The phrase arrived in Mayne’s chest like something cold. “I — what was that?”

“You heard correctly.” Something returned to O’Brien’s eyes — not the full authority of decades past, but a close relative of it: the precision that visited old men in the intervals between exhaustion. “Alice decreed that the Pope’s position must be held by an Extraordinary Witch. But Extraordinaries were rare, and suitable candidates could not always be found. So during the gaps, several prominent non-Extraordinary witches served as Pope. And one mortal Archbishop — afraid of what the witches might one day do to him — did not wait for that day.” He held Mayne’s gaze. “He took the position. And all the Popes who followed him were his successors.”

Mayne’s breath came out of him in a slow, flat stream. “Then the later Popes were all—”

“All of us. Cowardly descendants who profited from the witches’ sacrifice.” O’Brien let out a long and quiet sigh that seemed to carry something with it — something he’d been carrying a very long time. “Whatever happens, the Church must keep this secret buried forever.” He paused. “The truth of the Battle of Divine Will is recorded in the Pivotal Secret Temple. The responsibility is now yours. Bear it. Carry it forward.” The words slowed, became deliberate. “Even giving up, if it comes to that — may also be the wise choice.”

As the last word left him, his whole body seemed to release something. The alertness that had gathered during his telling — that brief return to strength — went out of him as though a lamp had been turned down. He lay back against the cart. His eyes stayed open. His muscles were slack.

“Your Holiness.” Mayne reached for his shoulder and shook it. “Your Holiness O’Brien.”

O’Brien’s gaze was on the ceiling. His mouth was moving, almost soundlessly, and Mayne leaned close and watched the shape of it.

Child. I am sorry.

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