When the blood moon painted the cobblestones like raw meat, Leo was dismantling a crucifix on the bell tower.
"You steal the Pope's mistress, his holy water, and now God's screws?" The mechanical witch's voice came from behind. Her prismatic eye projected a hologram: last night's tavern fight in slow motion, blue light pulsing under Leo's skin as he caught the demon's blade barehanded.
Leo tossed her the gilded cross. "Still using RFID tech? This won't survive an EMP."
The cross shattered, exposing a circuit board. The witch's eye flared red.
"Not our make." Her voice glitched. "The Church's bootleg—"
The city's bells exploded into cacophony. Twelve Inquisition knights crashed through the roof, their steam-powered armor glowing like dead fish under the moon. Their leader's visor slid open, revealing a half-mechanical face: "Leo Bloodedge, you stand accused of possessing forbidden tech."
Leo sighed—then hurled the cross remnants through the stained glass.
Shattering crystal merged with the pipe organ's roar.
Leo's fists hammered the opening chords of Symphony No.5, the soundwaves knocking knights off-balance. But the real kill was the ultrasonic pulse from the pipes—parasites hiding in their armor seams popped like grapes.
"Watch and learn!" Leo stomped the bass pedal, the whole tower groaning. "This is sonic warfare, not your 'God's Wrath' bullshit."
As the cyborg knight's armor fried, the witch jacked a cable from her spine into the organ. Her projection flickered through the smoke:
Hiroshima 1945.
Apollo 11 1969.
A star battle from 2024 that Leo couldn't remember.
"Three memory wipes." Her voice buzzed. "I'm your ship's AI—designation Pandora."
The Cleaners crawled out like roaches.
Clad in grease-stained robes, they scrubbed away blood and tech with acid-soaked rags. Their bald leader eyed Leo's rusted sword and grinned: "We'll record this as 'demon attack'. Just hand over the hologram whore."
Leo's blade left its sheath for the first time.
No flashy strike—just a dial-up modem screech. The Cleaners' rags burst into flames. The bald man gasped as his own memories dissolved; he forgot how to breathe.
"Anti-tech?" Leo ground his boot on the twitching hand. "This is just magnetized medieval iron. Retro enough for you?"
The witch pulled Leo into the fire. "The Black Moon docks in 48 hours—don't you want to see who's in the cryo-pods?"
Moonlight turned data-green. Words burned across Leo's vision:
[Welcome back, Captain]
(End of Chapter 2)