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November 20th, 2004, Vatican City.

An atheist had once told him that though he never believed in God Almighty, the Chapel Sistine made him doubt.

How could anyone question the existence of God in this room? Cardinal Andreas Torque had seen many sinners repent in tears the moment they raised their head at the ceiling, to witness the glorious work of Michelangelo. No man’s heart could remain unmoved at this architectural and visual perfection. Most only remembered the Creation of Adam part of the frescos, but Michelangelo had painted many more stories, each marvelous in their own way. The Cardinal could spend hours marveling at this divine feast for the senses; and the sight of tourists taking pictures of this wonder without appreciating it made him weep inside.

But these were not the opening hours of the Vatican Museums. Only a single man’s footsteps echoed in the chapel to join his superior, as the clock struck midnight.

“Father Torque,” Inquisitor Ambrosio greeted the Cardinal, dressed in the black garments of the Roman Catholic Church. Ambrosio was more than twenty years Andreas’ senior, his head balding, his golden beard falling off at the edges. Yet his green eyes shone with the same witch pyre that warmed Andreas’ heart.

Andreas Torque was one of the youngest Cardinals in the Catholic Church, by decree of His Holiness Jean-Paul II; he had not yet reached forty. Many had questioned his appointment, his virtue, and his achievements. He had no great deed to his name, and he liked it this way.

His work was best done in the shadows.

The Malleus Maleficarum, the Vatican’s secret service, did not exist, even to most of its members. The Church was officially neutral in world affairs, and only worked through its extensive diplomacy network.

It was a lie, of course. The Catholic Church had many enemies, and needed fiery swords as much as quills. The Malleus Maleficarum’s purpose was to keep His Holiness aware of all dangers threatening the true faith, and to advance the Catholics’ interests across the world.

When Andreas had joined the service, he had been nothing more than an Inquisitor, the lowest rank of this secret fraternity. The future Cardinal had spent most of his career undermining the communist plague that had infected Eastern Europe, and revitalizing the Church’s influence in the broken USSR’s regions. When he eventually became the organization’s Inquisitor-General seven years ago, Andreas Torque had worked on His Holiness’ behalf to check the influence of terrorist groups in the Middle East. Even though Jean-Paul II was on his deathbed, surrounded by scheming Cardinals, the Malleus Maleficarum worked tirelessly to fulfill the Pope’s wish of universal peace.

In short, Andreas Torque was used to fighting human evil.

But the horrors they were facing nowadays… were something else entirely.

Something unnatural.

The two priests sat on a bench, with Ambrosio giving his superior a twenty-five page long file. Only two words were written on the cover.

‘Stanford Incident.’

Andreas’ eyebrows furrowed deeper with each line he read, and the priest outright scowled when he reached the first picture. “Who else knows?” Torque asked.

“Only the Americans for now. And us.” Father Ambrosio joined his hands, a thoughtful frown on his face. “But a video already made its way on the internet. It’s only a matter of time before MI6 and the Russians find out too.”

The internet made keeping secrets from the world harder than ever. The Cardinal was surprised the Americans could keep something that big under wraps, but he wondered for how long.

They could hide a village’s destruction, but not a roaming monster.

The photo showed an abomination straight out of the deepest pits of Hell. A white-skinned, faceless beast lifting a car as easily as a chair. The arms were abnormally long, and a luminous light glowed where the face should have been. Considering the height difference with the man it crushed underfoot, the monster had to be six meters tall at the very least. A shroud of blue mist surrounded it like swirling winds.

All his life Andreas had only ever seen the hand of man at work. But that thing… what could it be but a true demon of flesh and blood, as described in the Holy Scriptures?

“This is Satan’s work,” Andreas declared firmly. “A demon.”

“This was a man, Father,” Ambrosio replied grimly, sending shivers down the Cardinal’s spine. “Keep reading.”

Andreas skimmed the report’s content, summarizing it out loud. It helped him memorize information. “Stanford, Nevada, two-hundred and two inhabitants. On its way to becoming a ghost town since their iron mine dried up. Half of them are dead or missing, and the other half in government custody.”

The event happened on November 14th, six days before the report reached the Cardinal. According to survivors, the monster had burst out of the local clinic at around seven and a half in the evening, and gone on a rampage. The beast tore men apart with its bare hands, and breathing the mist that followed in its wake turned people feral. By the time survivors managed to contact the authorities and the government quarantined the area, the monster had escaped into the Mojave Desert.

The lack of internet and telephone coverage had made it hard for the government to respond quickly, but easy to cover it up afterward. Always the same pattern.

“All the previous incidents took place in similarly isolated areas,” the Cardinal noted.

“But never with such deadly consequences,” Ambrosio replied. “The monster is out there, and the USA’s government hasn’t caught it yet. It won’t stay hidden forever.”

“No, it won’t.” Whoever was responsible was getting bolder, more reckless. Andreas flipped the page, until he found the picture of a thuggish-looking man so skinny, that the Cardinal wondered if he suffered from malnutrition. “James Poole?”

“Some dirt poor repairman,” Ambrosio said. “He was due to receive a second shot of Tetanus vaccine, after the first was found to be a placebo. The town’s doctor, Jason Hopfield, was supposed to receive him at seven and thirty.”

The report indicated that the doctor’s body had been found in the wreckage, gutted chin to groin like a fish.

“Both the vaccines came from a private company called New H,” Ambrosio continued. “You know the Americans, they always mistrust their healthcare. Some think their government puts microchips in them, and so they look for ‘alternative’ sources.”

A microchip would have been a kinder fate than turning into a monster. Andreas offered a prayer to both the doctor and patient. “What do we know of this company?”

“Little, except that that paper trail leads nowhere.”

The Cardinal grit his teeth. “So it’s another dead end?”

“Not quite,” Ambrosio said, as his superior flipped the report’s pages. “The town’s sheriff took a picture of the vaccine’s deliverer. Something about her behavior unsettled him.”

Her.

That woman again.

Andreas quickly found her photo, and scowled. It was her, short black hair, blue eyes, eminently plain, thirty-something. She had worn a cap when she made that delivery, but it was the clearest picture of her that the Malleus Maleficarum had found so far.

November 14th, November 14th… A doubt wormed its way into the Cardinal’s mind. “At which hour was this photo taken?” he asked his fellow priest. “Universal Time Coordinated?”

“One AM UTC, I think.”

Torque closed the file, clenching his jaw. “Inquisitor Silus sighted her near an illegal laboratory in an Uzbekistan frontier town at two AM UTC, before he went silent.”

They hadn’t yet recovered the body, but though the Cardinal prayed for his agent’s survival, he knew better than to expect it. The laboratory had turned into a smoking ruin by the time reinforcements arrived, with Silus nowhere to be found.

Ambrosio registered the words and frowned. “Are you sure it was her?”

“Silus’ description matched that photo.” The agent had been tracking that individual down for a year, since she had been sighted during the Burning Woman incident in Tajikistan.

“How can a woman move between two sides of the Earth within an hour?”

“Or she was in two places at once.” Who was that woman? What was that woman? Some kind of witch or demon? “Have you used our facial recognition software on the photo?”

“Yes, and it came up with a name,” Ambrosio replied. Though most priests were too old to understand new technology, the Malleus Maleficarum had invested heavily in them, to always keep an advantage. “Combined with the previous sketches, the program came up with a name: Eva Fabre.”

Eva Fabre, Eva Fabre... The name sounded familiar. Thankfully, Andreas had a prodigious memory, and he quickly remembered where it came from. “The GEIPAN French files,” he said. “The Antarctica mass-suicide of 1992.”

The French kept a not-so-secret archive about UFOs sightings, and Andreas heard rumors that they intended to make a few of the files public… but none of the truly interesting ones, of course.

France might have split from the Catholic Church a century ago, but the Faith still had friends in high places. A French general had shared with the Malleus Maleficarum a copy of the GEIPAN files, some of them were quite disturbing.

Much like many countries in the world, the French maintained a presence in Antarctica. They had an official research station there, studying penguins... but Torque knew for a fact that France once had a second, secret laboratory deeper inland called Station Orpheon. Secret, because the station had been dedicated to studying bacteriological weapons away from civilization. Eva Fabre had been the base’s lead geneticist.

“On the night of December 12th, 1992, Station Orpheon contacted the French Ministère de la Défense to inform them of a peculiar event,” Andreas whispered. “The scientists saw a flash of purple light in the skies, and then an unidentified object crashing in a glacier nearby. The French authorities had lost contact with the station two days afterward. When French soldiers reached the station to investigate, they found twenty-two of the twenty-three researchers dead.”

An experimental, deadly bacteria had escaped and infected the staff. The soldiers thought it had been an accident, until they checked the radios and found them sabotaged. Though almost all the researchers had been accounted for, Eva Fabre’s body was never found.

The French government quietly covered up the incident, and after five years of searching for the missing scientist, closed the file. Eva Fabre had probably caused the outbreak before killing herself, they figured. Isolation drove men and women mad. Neither had the investigators found any trace of a meteorite impact, not even with satellite surveillance. The event had joined the other strange tales of the GEIPAN files, and been forgotten.

Ambrosio searched inside his garment for a photo, which he handed to his superior. Torque raised an eyebrow, before comparing it to the sheriff’s snapshot.

Not only could Eva Fabre teleport, but she hadn’t aged in nearly twelve years either.

Somehow, the Cardinal wasn’t even surprised.

“How cold?” Andreas asked, after putting all the pictures inside the file and closing it. “The New H lead, I mean?”

“The Americans couldn’t find anyone employed by this company, but my informers had more luck with the vehicle used for the delivery,” Ambrosio explained. “It was purchased through an American shell company, owned by a Swiss bank.”

Probably the same bank that funded the illegal lab in Uzbekistan. “Find someone and make them talk,” Andreas ordered. “These incidents are escalating in severity, which means they’re building up to something.”

“A confessor informed me that one of the bank’s administrators could be… open to collaborating with the Church’s investigation.”

“For the sake of his soul?”

“For the sake of his bank account.”

In this era of greed, Mammon ruled absolute. “How much?” The Cardinal asked, and scowled deeply when his agent told him the amount. “That’s a hefty price. Even Judas only asked for thirty silver coins.”

“Traitors are more expensive than ever nowadays, Father Torque. Supply and demand.”

“I will have to ask for his help then.” Thankfully, he was the next appointment. “I will wire the money to the usual account. Do not fail.”

Ambrosio took a deep breath. “If I may ask, Inquisitor-General… what are we investigating?”

“I don’t know,” the Cardinal admitted, “and that’s what I’m afraid of. Communists, terrorists, they’re all humans in the end. But that woman, and these abominations… they’re something else.”

“You think time is running out?”

“How can you doubt it now?” the Cardinal asked. “If this snapshot made it to us, then it means she isn’t hiding anymore. His Holiness will perish soon, and then there will be a time of crisis. The Church must act now, before it is too late.”

“May the Lord be with us,” Ambrosio prayed before taking his leave, leaving the Cardinal alone in the chapel.

Andreas’ eyes wandered to the ceiling, to the sight of God’s hand reaching for the first man. He pondered how events had progressed to today, inexorably.

A string of disappearances in early 2002, all in the southern hemisphere. Brazil, South Africa, Australia, Tanzania… hundreds had vanished without a trace with nothing to tie them together. Nothing, except the fact they happened in isolated areas, and the same woman had been sighted in three of the cases. Then people started vanishing in the northern hemisphere too.

2003. A woman spontaneously caught fire in Tajikistan, killing fourteen. A laboratory was discovered in Siberia, with human test subjects found inside. Some had extra organs, or limbs, and all were missing people from last year. A scaled thing capable of turning invisible was caught on tape in Utah.

As for 2004… A man had shot a Serbian war criminal in his own home, only for authorities to learn that the killer had been made of bolts and wires. Sarajevo suffered from unexplained earthquakes, people swearing that they heard gears moving below the earth.

And now this?

Andreas Torque was finally starting to see the bigger picture, the trend that united all these events into a coherent narrative. It clicked when he had heard the word ‘vaccine.’

Tests.

Eva Fabre was testing something on people, turning them into monsters. That was the only explanation that made sense to Andreas Torque, though he couldn’t understand whatever science or sorcery made it possible.

Whatever the case, this wicked woman was a threat to the world’s natural order, and she had to go.

The Cardinal would find Eva Fabre before she claimed more victims. He would listen to her tale, let her confess her sins so that she might earn absolution from the Lord. And then he would burn her like a witch.

Andreas looked away from the ceiling, as he heard new footsteps. Ambrosio’s had been soft, careful; these ones were firm, heavy with power and purpose. The man that walked in the chapel was in his mid-fifties, a veteran of half a dozen mob wars, a titan in a red suit bought with drug money. The Cardinal could almost hear the blood dripping from his hands, though they looked clean. His cold, heartless eyes didn’t hide anything. One couldn’t see this man and not doubt for a second about his true nature.

“Janus,” the Cardinal said.

“Andreas,” the man answered with a shark-like glint in his eyes. “You look concerned.”

“I am. We live in strange, dangerous times.” The Cardinal invited the mafioso to sit down, but he declined. “The bench is warm.”

“I would prefer we meet in the classical art gallery,” the mob boss replied. Unlike any sensible soul, he didn’t even bother looking at the ceiling.

Janus Augusti was a godless man, but he served the Lord all the same.

“What is on your mind, my friend?” Janus asked, looking down on the seated priest. Though many men would have shaken in dread at this man’s presence, Andreas Torque remained serene. “I assume this must be urgent to organize this meeting so late.”

“I will go straight to the point.” The Cardinal took a deep breath, having hoped not to resort to this. “I need millions.”

“You will have your funds. If you clean them.”

Of course. Some officials in the Vatican Bank laundered mafia money to fill their pockets, but Andreas Torque did it for a higher cause. The Malleus Maleficarum needed a black budget, independent from the Holy City’s finances to maintain plausible deniability. It was a dirty job, but all was forgiven if done in the Lord’s service.

Janus was no member of the Malleus Maleficarum though, and the less he knew about the Vatican’s secret activities the better. Andreas could tell that if he let this man sink his claws into the organization, he would corrupt it as he did with many others. His influence over the Neapolitan Camorra was almost unmatched, and from what Andreas had heard, he intended to expand. Nobody was able to resist him for long.

Unfortunately, Janus Augusti smelled weakness like how a shark could detect blood from miles away. “The situation must be dire for you to ask for so much,” he said, examining the priest suspiciously. “If you need my protection, you only need to ask.”

“The Lord protects me.”

“He would not protect you from me, if I wished you harm.” A blasphemous boast, but the man was not to be underestimated. He had filled entire cemeteries, cementing his empire of sin with blood and tears. “But I am genuine. You are almost a friend now, and I need men with your talents.”

“I may serve as your wife’s confessor, but you are a necessary evil as far as I am concerned, Janus,” the Cardinal replied. “Let’s keep it that way.”

The mob boss chuckled. “A necessary evil you say? I suppose it is appropriate. I do separate the worthy from the unworthy. Truly good and strong men wouldn’t need my services.”

Andreas didn’t miss the not-so-subtle taunt. “Do you think of me as evil, or weak?”

“There is no good or evil, Andreas, but I do wonder what your pope would think upon seeing us together. Somehow I doubt he would approve of your work.”

“What His Holiness does not know cannot harm him,” the Cardinal replied, though his resolve was slightly shaken. “I do the dirty work needed to keep his hands clean. For the greater good.”

Janus clearly didn’t believe him, if the amused look on his face was any indication. “No matter,” he said. “So long as you clean the blood off my family’s money so I may pay for my daughter’s birthdays, I will let you cling to your delusions.”

Andreas ignored the taunt, remaining dignified. “How is little Livia?”

The mob boss’ face softened. “She asked me for a pony.”

The Cardinal couldn’t help but smile. “She is wise beyond her years, but still a child in the end.”

“My wife says that I’m spoiling her rotten. What would you have me do, Father? Is it a sin to indulge a child?”

“I cannot say. I never had one.”

Janus searched inside his suit. “Speaking of gifts, I have one for you.”

He threw a small bag full of colored crystals at the priest, who caught it on instinct and immediately frowned in disgust. “What is this?”

“Our new product,” the mob boss replied with a smile. “I heard you were interested in… mind-opening experiments.”

Andreas flinched, and a smile appeared at the edge of Janus’ lips.

Many cultures used drugs in an attempt to contact the higher realms of existence, and the Cardinal had wondered if perhaps they had stumbled on to something. He had never dared to test his theory on himself, since it would have been a sin, but he couldn’t suppress his curiosity.

How did Augustus know though? Did he have the Cardinal under surveillance?

“Take it back,” Andreas said. It was all a power game of some kind. “I don’t need it.”

“Is that so? In that case, you can simply toss it in the nearest trash can. If you truly are the good man you believe yourself to be, you will.” His smirk widened. “But if I am correct about your true self… then when you are ready to accept your true nature, I will welcome you with open arms.”

Augustus walked away, leaving Andreas alone with his poison.

---

March 27th, 2005.

Last Easter.

They were inside the Vatican, looking for him.

He could hear them behind the chapel’s doors, which Andreas had barricaded with benches. They would get through, he knew. None of his agents had been able to evade them for long, and they had kept the Cardinal for last.

He had failed, and the world had gone mad. The world didn’t know it yet, but iron pillars had risen from beneath Sarajevo and half a dozen other cities in the Balkans, pouring out metal men and drones. Other human monsters she had released in the wild. The prototypes, the early test subjects, those who kept their wits.

His Holiness had died of natural causes. The Lord had mercifully recalled him to spare him the horror ahead. Father Ambrosio had perished too, but his demise had been less kind. Eva Fabre had him shot, alongside his Swiss informer. But before he died, he had sent Andreas enough information to start figuring it all out.

But he had never imagined. Couldn’t imagine, just how deep it went.

So they had started hunting him. They had wiped out the Malleus Maleficarum in days, before the Church could stop the worldwide distribution. They had known. They had known all along and never cared.

Even six months ago, Andreas Torque was already too late.

Now, the Cardinal understood why he could never find a lead. It was an organization, yes, but an organization of one. They were legion, for they were many. The others were catspaws, dupes, tools to provide her with money and equipment, but never trusted, never knowing anything. She had hired hundreds of companies to make the deliveries, none of them aware that they carried bottled poison to millions across the world. He had tried to warn others, but she was everywhere, always getting in his way. Intercepting his messages, making him fear for his life. Anyone he confided in vanished without a trace.

She was not human anymore.

Was she ever?

He should have gone to Augustus. It all made sense now. Who better than a fiend in human skin to ward away demons?

His hand reached for the gun beneath his black garment, and he pointed it at the barred door. The noise on the other side stopped. Had they heard him? Did they know?

Andreas Torque saw the flash of blue light behind him, and turned around in panic.

There were dozens of them in the chapel. Women in blue suits with strange weapons that looked like rifles made of both flesh and metal. They all were her, but not exactly the same either. Some had eyes of a different color, others different hairstyles. It was her, but in countless variations.

“Eva Fabre.” Andreas Torque tried to hide the fear in his voice, but didn’t quite succeed.

They all smiled, but only one of them spoke. “That was my name once,” she said, her voice so deceptively banal. “But I go by the Alchemist nowadays.”

He heard them break the barred door and surround him. “Satan would have been more appropriate,” the priest replied, trying to keep the legion at bay by threatening them with his gun. But there were dozens, maybe a hundred, and he had only five shots.

“I was as human as you are once, but you are onto something. There are demons out there, Father. But they are not below our feet.” Some of them looked at the ceiling. “They are above our heads, in the grim darkness of space.”

“One day they will come for us,” another Eva said, with burns on the left side of her face. “In other worlds, they already did.”

Other worlds? What was this madness? “Stay back!” Andreas warned, his finger nearly pulling the trigger. “Stay back!”

But the circle grew tighter. “To take its rightful place as the universal master race, mankind must evolve,” one of the mad women said, so close he could almost feel her breath. “Surpass the theory of natural selection, and enter the realm of intelligent design.”

“Our design,” another Eva Fabre added, her voice masculine.

Torque pulled the trigger, and shot one in the head.

She collapsed into blue particles, as if she had never existed.

The others were onto him immediately afterward. He thrashed and shot and raged, but in the end, they forced him to his knees and disarmed him. They searched his garment for hidden weapons, and only found the drug Augustus gave him months ago.

“What is this?” Eva Fabre asked while they examined the substance, though Torque couldn’t tell which one. “Hallucinogenic drugs?”

He… he had kept the substance yes, but only to study it. Never to use it on himself, no.

The madwomen started arguing. “Did we try that during the bonding process?”

“I don’t think so.”

“We should have.”

“We can still. Results should be interesting.”

Andreas Torque furiously tried to think of a way out. Why hadn’t they killed him yet, like the others? Why did they keep him alive instead of slicing his throat?

But then they brought the blue syringe, and he understood.

“No,” Andreas pleaded, his voice dying his throat. The fluid swirled inside its container, as if alive and hungry. “No, please. Just kill me. Don’t make me… don’t make me one of those things…”

“This is a blessing,” one said, forcing Augustus’ drug through his mouth. It tasted of salt and mushrooms and chemicals.

“A reward for your persistence,” another added, rolling up his sleeve.

“We should have buried you with your secrets,” a third said, stabbing him with the syringe. “But killing you would be a waste.”

“Your mind will shatter,” a fourth declared. “But you will live.”

The world turned blue as the Blue Elixir entered his veins, and Andreas Torque screamed.

His mind was on fire. The drug and the blue substance in his body reacted together, reality crumbling around him. The chapel’s ceiling swirled like an azure whirlpool, shapes collapsing. Colors danced at the edge of his eyes, and the pictures of angels started to whisper to him.

Hallucinations. These were hallucinations, nothing more. A dream.

But… he sensed something else. Something different, something… something wriggling inside his brain and neurons. The Alchemist’s poison traveled through his nerves, infecting him like a plague. His whole body seemed to have caught fire, his skin flayed to expose the raw flesh underneath.

The pain was excruciating, maddening!

“Please!” he shouted, and the hallucination of angels answered with a screaming chorus. “Make it stop!”

And something listened.

His spirit left his kneeling flesh, his mind free of the shackles of a body. His immortal soul was dragged into a great blue vortex, into a place unlike anything he had ever seen. He couldn’t see with eyes, no, but… but images filled his mind. The pain was gone, replaced with ethereal numbness.

He had become a thought, an ascending consciousness entering a bright blue world.

A realm of numbers and letters, an organized archive of smells and scents and sounds. Books without pages, drives of stray thoughts. A mental world without flesh or blood, where minds were no longer constrained by the storage limits of neurons.

This strange dimension had a powerful force at its center, ruling from a throne of information. Andreas’ disembodied mind couldn’t make sense out of it. It was so large, so big, so complex. Geometric shapes and equations and swirling sentences unified into a single, divine whole.

“Lord?” the Cardinal asked, and though he had no mouth to speak with, words came out nonetheless.

No.

It was God, but not the Lord of the scriptures. It was neither male nor female. It hadn’t created man in its image, for there was nothing human about it. It was a sentient thought, a divine mind without a body, knowledge without a container. A being of pure blue, a psionic force of the cosmos. All the universe’s information, focused into a singularity.

The entity noticed Andreas.

And studied him.

Andreas screamed, as the entity ripped his mind open with a stray thought. It shattered the Cardinal’s brain into a million tiny thoughts, flipped through the man’s memories like a child through a book. There was no pain, but no comfort either. For the being, this Ultimate One, felt neither love nor hate.

Only curiosity.

It disassembled Andreas Torque down to his molecules, to figure out the way he worked. Why did it need a heart? Why a brain? How did it fit together? What did Andreas fear? Why did he prefer apples over cheese? Why did he live? What was the underlying logic?

Why, how, what?

It asked all the questions, and got all the answers.

The entity recorded every thought that ever crossed the Cardinal’s mind, every sensation he ever felt. It broke down his existence to its foundations, to figure out how it all fit together. Andreas Torque didn’t know how long it took, perhaps centuries or minutes, but in the end, the Ultimate One understood him more than the human ever knew himself.

And then, it cobbled Andreas Torque’s mind together.

But instead of shoving it back into the human’s tiny brain, the Ultimate One shared back.

Mysteries of the stars and cosmic principles were revealed to the priest. His questions about man’s origins and purpose were answered. The entity taught him the true history of the saints and the prophets he had worshiped all his life. And when it found that the priest wanted more, It taught him mathematics, botany, and chemistry. The knowledge was imprinted into the Cardinal’s neurons like burning letters.

There was no word to describe the experience. It was an unimaginable pleasure, a rapture. Andreas’ small, weak human mind briefly melded with the divine consciousness of the supreme entity, basking in its limitless knowledge. For a moment, the human felt whole, truly whole, stripped of all his doubts and fears. He was one with something greater than himself, his sense of self dissolving like a droplet in the ocean.

This…

This was Heaven.

This was God. This was the entity that Andreas had yearned to serve all his life. This was the afterlife he desired, for his mind to meld into this divine consciousness, to become a new neuron in a universe-sized brain.

And then it ended, as abruptly as it had begun.

The mental connection with the Ultimate One collapsed. His brain was cast down to Earth, back into his limited brain, back into his flesh, back into this prison. He was cast out of Eden, the bliss of perfection replaced with the cold sensation of the chapel’s floor.

Andreas didn’t know how long he remained on the floor, crushed and destroyed. He felt numb. He felt numb inside.

He was breathing, but he felt dead.

Eva Fabre was long gone, but he wouldn’t have cared even if she had remained behind. His eyes wandered to the Sistine Chapel’s ceiling, but all he saw were the human imperfections now. The slight, nearly invisible mistakes in the design, the errors, the ugliness. The work of Michelangelo now looked as crass and disordered as horseshit.

Andreas Torque had tasted Heaven, and now he found Earth hideous.

He rose back to his feet, his gun laying on the ground next to the empty drug bag. “No!” His fingers immediately grabbed the container, his tongue licking the plastic in search for a taste, just a taste of paradise. “Send me back! Send me back!”

He tore the empty bag apart in his despair, and scratched his skull with his fingers. He felt his mind struggling against this bone-shaped prison, trying to escape, trying to ascend, trying to go back. By the end, he felt the blood dripping on his fingernails.

He breathed heavily, in despair and tiredness.

His mind was clear as water, possessed by one single purpose.

His thoughts were no longer splintered, pulling in all directions. Now, he could only think of one thing.

Going back.

Andreas Torque stumbled out of the chapel, his eyes unblinking, his senses assaulted by the disordered universe around him. The Vatican, the Holy City, was trembling, crumbling. But he didn’t care. He didn’t care anymore about the Church, the world of suffering, or Eva Fabre. He had to go back to the Blue World, back to his new God, back to this blissful afterlife.

He walked outside, into the Vatican’s gardens, and looked at Rome. It was night, though he couldn’t tell if it was still March 27th, or some other night. Whatever the case, he could tell that the Alchemist’s plan had gone off without a hitch. Everywhere he looked, he saw the signs. Flames spreading out of Saint Peter’s Basilica; giant mushrooms growing out of the old historical district; the ICBMs flying through the sky north, towards the Balkans and Sarajevo.

The old world was ablaze, and a new world would rise from the ashes.

And Andreas Torque couldn’t care less.

2004年11月20日，梵蒂冈城。

曾有个无神论者对他说，自己虽然从不相信全能的天主，西斯廷礼拜堂却让他动摇了。

身处这座殿堂，谁还能质疑天主的存在？安德烈亚斯·托尔克枢机见过许多罪人，他们一抬头望见穹顶，目睹米开朗琪罗那辉煌的杰作，便流着泪忏悔。面对如此完美的建筑与画作，没有人的心能无动于衷。大多数人只记得壁画中《创造亚当》的那一部分，可米开朗琪罗还描绘了许许多多的故事，每一幅都有独到的妙处。枢机能一连几个小时沉醉于这场神圣的感官盛宴；而看见游客们对着这奇迹拍照，却不懂得欣赏，他便在心中落泪。

不过，此时并非梵蒂冈博物馆的开放时间。午夜钟声敲响，礼拜堂内只回荡着一个人的脚步声，来人正走向他的上司。

“托尔克神父。”审判官安布罗西奥向枢机致意。他穿着罗马天主教会的黑色教袍，比安德烈亚斯年长二十多岁，头顶渐秃，金色胡须的边缘也已稀疏。然而，他那双绿眼睛里，仍燃烧着与安德烈亚斯心中一样的猎巫烈火。

安德烈亚斯·托尔克受教宗若望·保禄二世陛下亲自任命，是天主教会最年轻的枢机之一，尚未年满四十。许多人质疑过这项任命，质疑他的德行与功绩。他没有任何广为人知的伟业，而这正合他意。

他的工作，最好在暗处完成。

梵蒂冈的秘密情报机构——女巫之锤——是不存在的。就连其中大多数成员也不知道它的存在。教会公开宣称在国际事务中保持中立，一切活动都只经由庞大的外交网络进行。

这当然是谎言。天主教会树敌众多，既需要鹅毛笔，也需要烈焰之剑。女巫之锤的职责，就是让教宗陛下知晓一切威胁正信的危险，并在世界各地维护天主教徒的利益。

安德烈亚斯加入这个机构时，不过是个审判官——这个秘密兄弟会的最低阶成员。这位未来的枢机在职业生涯的大部分时间里，都致力于削弱蔓延东欧的共产主义瘟疫，并在苏联解体后的各地重振教会的影响力。七年前，安德烈亚斯·托尔克终于成为该组织的总审判官，此后便代表教宗陛下，着力遏制中东恐怖组织的势力。即使若望·保禄二世已卧于临终病榻，周围满是各怀鬼胎的枢机，女巫之锤仍在不知疲倦地工作，力求实现教宗普世和平的心愿。

简而言之，安德烈亚斯·托尔克早已习惯与人类的邪恶作战。

但他们近来面对的那些恐怖之物……却全然不同。

那是某种违背自然的东西。

两位神父在一张长椅上坐下，安布罗西奥将一份二十五页的档案交给上司。封面上只写了两个词。

“斯坦福事件。”

安德烈亚斯每读一行，眉头便皱得更紧一分。看到第一张照片时，他的脸色彻底阴沉下来。“还有谁知道？”托尔克问。

“目前只有美国人，还有我们。”安布罗西奥神父双手交握，皱眉沉思。“但已经有一段视频流传到了网上。军情六处和俄国人迟早也会发现。”

互联网让向全世界保守秘密变得前所未有地困难。美国人竟然能捂住这么大的事，令枢机颇感意外，可他也不知道他们还能瞒多久。

他们能掩盖一座村镇的毁灭，却藏不住一头四处游荡的怪物。

照片上的憎恶之物，仿佛直接来自地狱最深处。那头白皮肤、没有脸的怪兽，举起一辆汽车就像举起一把椅子般轻松。它双臂长得畸形，本该是脸的地方亮着光。拿被它踩在脚下碾压的那个人作比较，怪物至少有六米高。一层蓝色雾气如旋风般盘绕在它周围。

安德烈亚斯这辈子所见的一切，背后都只有人类的手笔。但那东西……除了《圣经》中描述的、真正有血有肉的恶魔，还能是什么？

“这是撒旦的造物。”安德烈亚斯断然说道，“一个恶魔。”

“它以前是个人，神父。”安布罗西奥沉声回答，令枢机背脊发寒。“继续看吧。”

安德烈亚斯浏览报告，一边出声概括内容。这有助于他记忆信息。“内华达州斯坦福镇，居民二百零二人。自铁矿枯竭后，正逐渐沦为空城。一半居民死亡或失踪，另一半已被政府收押。”

事件发生于11月14日，也就是报告送到枢机手里的六天前。据幸存者所说，怪物在晚上七点半左右从当地诊所里冲了出来，随即大开杀戒。那怪兽徒手将人撕碎，而吸入它身后雾气的人则变得如野兽般狂暴。等到幸存者终于联系上当局、政府封锁了当地时，怪物早已逃进莫哈韦沙漠。

网络和电话信号覆盖不足，令政府难以及时反应，却也方便了事后的掩盖。总是同一个模式。

“此前的事件也全都发生在类似的偏远地区。”枢机指出。

“但从未造成过如此惨重的伤亡。”安布罗西奥回答，“怪物还在外面，美国政府至今没能抓住它。它不可能永远藏下去。”

“是的，不可能。”无论幕后主使是谁，都越来越大胆，也越来越不计后果了。安德烈亚斯翻过一页，找到一张照片。照片里的男人一脸痞气，瘦得让枢机怀疑他是不是营养不良。“詹姆斯·普尔？”

“一个穷得叮当响的修理工。”安布罗西奥说，“他原本是去补打破伤风疫苗的，因为先前打的第一针被发现是安慰剂。镇上的医生杰森·霍普菲尔德，本该在七点半接诊他。”

报告表明，医生的尸体已在废墟中找到。他像鱼一样被开膛破肚，伤口从下巴一直裂到胯下。

“两针疫苗都来自一家名叫新H的私营公司。”安布罗西奥继续说，“美国人嘛，您也知道，总不相信自家的医疗体系。有些人觉得政府在疫苗里塞了微芯片，于是便去寻找‘替代’来源。”

比起变成怪物，被植入微芯片还算是仁慈的命运。安德烈亚斯为医生和病人祷告。“这家公司，我们了解多少？”

“很少，只知道从书面记录上什么也追查不到。”

枢机咬紧了牙关。“所以又是条死路？”

“倒也不全是。”上司翻动报告时，安布罗西奥说道，“镇上的警长给送疫苗的人拍了张照片。她的举止让他觉得不安。”

她。

又是那个女人。

安德烈亚斯很快找到了她的照片，脸沉了下来。就是她，黑色短发，蓝眼睛，三十多岁，平凡得不能再平凡。送货时她戴着帽子，但这依旧是女巫之锤迄今找到的、她最清晰的一张照片。

11月14日，11月14日……一个疑问钻进了枢机脑中。“这张照片是几点拍的？”他问另一位神父，“按协调世界时算？”

“我记得是协调世界时凌晨一点。”

托尔克合上档案，咬紧牙关。“西卢斯审判官在失联前，曾于协调世界时凌晨两点，在乌兹别克斯坦一座边境小镇的非法实验室附近发现了她。”

他们尚未找到尸体，但枢机虽然祈祷自己的特工能活下来，心里却清楚不该抱有期待。增援赶到时，实验室已经成了一片冒烟的废墟，西卢斯不知所踪。

安布罗西奥听明白了，皱起眉。“您确定是她？”

“西卢斯的描述和这张照片一致。”自从有人在塔吉克斯坦的燃烧女子事件中目击她以来，这位特工已经追查了她整整一年。

“一个女人怎么可能在一小时内从地球这一端跑到另一端？”

“或者她同时出现在了两个地方。”那个女人究竟是谁？究竟是什么？某种女巫，还是恶魔？“你用我们的人脸识别软件查过这张照片了吗？”

“查过，而且查出了一个名字。”安布罗西奥回答。尽管大多数神父年事已高，不懂新技术，女巫之锤却在这方面投入了重金，以求始终占据优势。“结合此前的素描画像，程序给出了一个名字：伊娃·法布尔。”

伊娃·法布尔，伊娃·法布尔……这名字似曾相识。幸好，安德烈亚斯记忆力惊人，很快便想起了出处。“法国GEIPAN的档案。”他说，“1992年的南极集体自杀事件。”

法国人保存着一批不怎么秘密的UFO目击档案，安德烈亚斯还听说，他们有意将其中几份公之于众……当然，真正有意思的那些，一份也不会公开。

法国或许早在一个世纪前就与天主教会分道扬镳，但教会在高层仍有朋友。一位法国将军给了女巫之锤一份GEIPAN档案的副本，其中有些内容相当令人不安。

和世界上许多国家一样，法国在南极也有驻地。他们在那里设有一座公开的考察站，研究企鹅……可托尔克确切地知道，法国曾在更深入内陆的地方，设有第二座名为奥菲昂站的秘密实验室。之所以保密，是因为那座站点专门远离文明世界，研究细菌武器。伊娃·法布尔曾是基地的首席遗传学家。

“1992年12月12日夜里，奥菲昂站联系了法国国防部，向他们报告了一起异常事件。”安德烈亚斯低声道，“科学家们看见天空中闪过一道紫光，随后一个不明物体坠入了附近的冰川。两天后，法国当局与考察站失去了联系。法国士兵赶到站点调查时，发现二十三名研究员中，已有二十二人死亡。”

一种实验性的致命细菌泄漏，感染了工作人员。士兵们起初以为这是意外，直到检查无线电设备时，发现它们遭到了人为破坏。虽然几乎所有研究员的下落都已查明，伊娃·法布尔的尸体却始终没有找到。

法国政府悄悄掩盖了事件，在寻找这名失踪科学家五年无果后，封存了档案。他们推断，很可能是伊娃·法布尔先引发了疫情，随后自杀。与世隔绝会把人逼疯。此外，调查人员也没有发现任何陨石撞击的痕迹，就连卫星监测都一无所获。这件事被归入GEIPAN档案里那些离奇故事的行列，从此无人问津。

安布罗西奥从教袍里翻出一张照片，交给上司。托尔克挑了挑眉，将它与警长拍下的照片作了比较。

伊娃·法布尔不仅能瞬间移动，近十二年来，竟然也不曾衰老。

不知怎的，枢机甚至都不觉得惊讶。

“线索断得有多彻底？”安德烈亚斯把所有照片放进档案，合上后问道，“我是说，新H这条线。”

“美国人没能找到任何受雇于这家公司的员工，但我的线人在送货车辆上有了些收获。”安布罗西奥解释道，“车是通过一家美国空壳公司购买的，而那家公司归一家瑞士银行所有。”

很可能就是资助乌兹别克斯坦那家非法实验室的同一家银行。“找个人，让他开口。”安德烈亚斯下令，“这些事件一次比一次严重，说明他们正在为某件事做准备。”

“一位听告解的神父告诉我，那家银行的一名管理人员或许……愿意配合教会的调查。”

“为了他的灵魂？”

“为了他的银行账户。”

在这个贪婪的时代，玛门才是至高无上的主宰。“多少？”枢机问道，听完手下报出的金额，脸色愈发难看。“价码可真不低。就连犹大也只要了三十枚银币。”

“如今叛徒的价钱比以往任何时候都高，托尔克神父。供求关系。”

“那我就得请他帮忙了。”幸好，接下来约见的就是他。“我会把钱汇进老账户。别让我失望。”

安布罗西奥深吸一口气。“恕我冒昧，总审判官……我们究竟在调查什么？”

“我不知道。”枢机承认，“这正是我害怕的地方。共产主义者、恐怖分子，说到底都是人。但那个女人，还有那些怪物……他们是别的东西。”

“您觉得时间不多了？”

“事到如今，你还能怀疑这一点吗？”枢机反问，“既然这张照片能落到我们手里，就说明她已经不再躲藏。教宗陛下不久便将辞世，届时必将迎来一场危机。教会必须立刻行动，趁一切还来得及。”

“愿主与我们同在。”安布罗西奥祷告后告辞，留下枢机独自坐在礼拜堂中。

安德烈亚斯的目光移向穹顶，望着画中天主向第一个人伸出的手。他思索着，这一连串事件究竟是如何不可阻挡地走到今天这一步的。

2002年初，一连串失踪案，全在南半球。巴西、南非、澳大利亚、坦桑尼亚……数百人消失得无影无踪，彼此之间毫无关联。唯一的共同点，就是都发生在偏僻地区，而且其中三起案件里，有人见过同一个女人。随后，北半球也开始有人失踪。

2003年。塔吉克斯坦一名女子突然自燃，造成十四人死亡。西伯利亚发现了一座实验室，里面有人体实验对象。有些人长出了多余的器官或肢体，而他们全都是上一年失踪的人。犹他州有人拍到了一个浑身鳞片、能够隐形的东西。

至于2004年……一名男子在一个塞尔维亚战犯家中开枪将其射杀，当局随后却发现，凶手竟然是由螺栓与电线拼成的。萨拉热窝遭遇了原因不明的地震，有人信誓旦旦地说，自己听见了地下齿轮转动的声音。

如今，又闹出了这件事？

安德烈亚斯·托尔克终于开始看清全貌，看见了将所有事件串成一个完整故事的那条脉络。听到“疫苗”这个词时，一切便豁然贯通了。

试验。

伊娃·法布尔正在人身上试验某种东西，把他们变成怪物。对安德烈亚斯·托尔克而言，这是唯一说得通的解释，尽管他无法理解，究竟是什么科学或巫术能够做到这一点。

无论如何，这个邪恶的女人威胁到了世界的自然秩序，必须除掉。

枢机会在伊娃·法布尔伤害更多人之前找到她。他会听她讲述，让她忏悔自己的罪孽，好有机会求得主的赦免。然后，他会像烧死女巫一样烧死她。

新的脚步声传来，安德烈亚斯将目光从穹顶移开。安布罗西奥的脚步轻而谨慎；这一次却沉稳有力，每一步都带着威势与明确的意图。走进礼拜堂的男人五十五岁上下，历经六场黑帮战争，是个身穿红色西装的巨人，那身衣裳是用毒资买来的。他的双手看上去干干净净，枢机却几乎能听见鲜血从中滴落的声音。那双冰冷无情的眼睛不作任何掩饰。任何人只要见过他，对他的本性就不会再有片刻怀疑。

“雅努斯。”枢机说道。

“安德烈亚斯。”男人应道，眼中闪着鲨鱼般的冷光，“你看起来有心事。”

“的确。我们所处的时代既诡异，又危险。”枢机请这位黑手党人坐下，对方却谢绝了。“椅子还是暖的。”

“我倒宁愿在古典艺术馆见面。”黑帮首领答道。凡是有点心的人都会抬头欣赏穹顶，他却连看都懒得看一眼。

雅努斯·奥古斯蒂是个不信神的人，却一样在为主效力。

“你在烦恼什么，我的朋友？”雅努斯俯视着坐在长椅上的神父，问道。许多人仅仅面对这个男人就会吓得发抖，安德烈亚斯·托尔克却依然平静。“这么晚还安排见面，想必事情很急。”

“我就开门见山了。”枢机深吸一口气。他原本希望不必走到这一步。“我需要几百万。”

“钱会有的。只要你把它们洗干净。”

当然。梵蒂冈银行有些官员替黑手党洗钱，是为了中饱私囊；但安德烈亚斯·托尔克这么做，是为了一项更崇高的事业。女巫之锤需要一笔不入账的秘密经费，独立于圣城的财政体系之外，以便事发时仍可撇清关系。这是脏活，但只要是为主效劳，一切便皆可宽恕。

不过，雅努斯并非女巫之锤的成员，他对梵蒂冈的秘密活动知道得越少越好。安德烈亚斯看得出来，一旦让这个男人把爪子伸进组织，他就会像腐蚀其他许多组织那样，将它一并腐蚀。他在那不勒斯卡莫拉内部的影响力几乎无人能及，据安德烈亚斯所闻，他还打算进一步扩张。没有谁能抵抗他太久。

可惜，雅努斯·奥古斯蒂嗅探弱点的本事，就如同鲨鱼在几英里外闻到血腥味一样。“你开口要这么多，情况一定很糟。”他狐疑地打量着神父，“如果你需要我的保护，只管开口。”

“主会护佑我。”

“如果我想伤害你，他可护不住你。”这番狂言亵渎了神明，但这个男人的确不容小觑。他杀的人足以填满一座又一座墓地，用鲜血与泪水浇筑了自己的罪恶帝国。“不过，我是真心的。如今你几乎已经算是我的朋友了，而我需要有你这种本事的人。”

“我或许是你妻子的告解神父，但在我看来，你不过是不得不用的恶，雅努斯。”枢机回答，“就维持这样吧。”

黑帮首领轻笑了一声。“不得不用的恶？倒也贴切。我确实能区分出谁配、谁不配。真正善良而强大的人，根本不需要我的服务。”

安德烈亚斯没有漏听这句并不怎么隐晦的嘲讽。“你觉得我是邪恶，还是软弱？”

“世上没有善恶，安德烈亚斯。不过我倒很想知道，你们的教宗如果看见我们在一起，会作何感想。不知为什么，我总觉得他不会赞许你的工作。”

“教宗陛下不知道的事，就伤害不了他。”枢机回答，尽管决心已微微动摇。“必要的脏活由我来做，他的双手才能保持干净。这是为了更大的善。”

看雅努斯那一脸好笑的神情，他显然一个字也不信。“无所谓。”他说，“只要你肯把我们家的钱上沾着的血洗干净，让我能给女儿操办生日，你爱抱着那些幻想不放，就随你。”

安德烈亚斯不理会这番嘲弄，维持着体面。“小莉维娅怎么样？”

黑帮首领的神情柔和下来。“她找我要一匹小马。”

枢机忍不住笑了。“她比同龄人聪慧得多，但说到底，还是个孩子。”

“我妻子说我把她宠坏了。你说我该怎么办，神父？纵容一个孩子，也算罪过吗？”

“这我说不好。我没养过孩子。”

雅努斯把手探进西装。“说到礼物，我也给你备了一份。”

他将一小袋彩色结晶抛给神父。神父本能地接住，立刻厌恶地皱起眉。“这是什么？”

“我们的新产品。”黑帮首领微笑着回答，“我听说你对……开启心智的实验很感兴趣。”

安德烈亚斯瑟缩了一下，雅努斯嘴角随之浮起一丝笑意。

许多文化都尝试借助药物，与更高层次的存在领域取得联系。枢机也曾想过，他们是否真的无意间触及了什么。他从未敢拿自己验证这个理论，因为那是罪，但他无法压下好奇心。

可奥古斯都是怎么知道的？难道他一直在监视枢机？

“拿回去。”安德烈亚斯说。这无非又是某种权力游戏。“我不需要。”

“是吗？那你尽可以把它扔进最近的垃圾桶。如果你真像自己以为的那样，是个好人，你就会这么做。”他的笑容愈发戏谑。“但如果我没看错你的本性……等你愿意接受真正的自己时，我会张开双臂欢迎你。”

奥古斯都转身离去，留下安德烈亚斯独自面对他的毒物。

---

2005年3月27日。

最后的复活节。

他们已经进入梵蒂冈，正在找他。

安德烈亚斯用长椅堵住了礼拜堂的大门，却仍能听见门后的动静。他知道，他们迟早会闯进来。他手下的特工没一个能躲过他们太久，而他们把枢机留到了最后。

他失败了，世界也疯了。世人还不知道，但钢铁巨柱已从萨拉热窝和另外六座巴尔干城市的地下升起，机械人和无人机正从中蜂拥而出。还有她释放到外界的其他人类怪物。那些原型，那些早期实验对象，那些仍然保有理智的人。

教宗陛下已自然辞世。主仁慈地召回了他，让他免受即将到来的恐怖。安布罗西奥神父也死了，可他的死就没那么仁慈了。伊娃·法布尔命人枪杀了他，还有他的瑞士线人。但在死前，他已向安德烈亚斯发来了足够的信息，让他开始拼凑出真相。

但他从未想过。他根本无法想象，这件事牵涉得究竟有多深。

于是，他们开始追杀他。短短几天内，他们就摧毁了女巫之锤，教会根本来不及阻止那场遍及全球的分发。他们知道。他们从一开始就知道，只是从不在乎。

即便早在六个月前，安德烈亚斯·托尔克也已经来不及了。

如今，枢机终于明白，自己为什么始终找不到线索。那的确是一个组织，但却是个只有一个人的组织。她们名为群，因为她们数目众多。其他人不过是受骗的傀儡，是给她提供资金与设备的工具，从未得到信任，也从来一无所知。她雇了数百家公司负责配送，没有一家知道，自己正将一瓶瓶毒药送往全球数百万人手中。他曾试图警告别人，但她无处不在，总能拦住他。截下他的消息，让他惶惶不可终日，担心随时性命不保。凡是他吐露过实情的人，都消失得无影无踪。

她已经不再是人了。

她曾经是人吗？

他早该去找奥古斯都。现在一切都说得通了。要驱走恶魔，还有谁比一个披着人皮的魔鬼更合适？

他伸手摸向黑色教袍下的枪，举起来对准堵死的大门。门另一边的声音停了。她们听见了吗？她们知道了吗？

安德烈亚斯·托尔克瞥见身后蓝光一闪，惊恐地转过身。

礼拜堂里出现了几十个她。身穿蓝色套装的女人，手持奇异的武器，看上去像是血肉与金属共同制成的步枪。她们全都是她，却又并不完全一样。有的眼睛颜色不同，有的发型各异。是她，无数种不同的她。

“伊娃·法布尔。”安德烈亚斯·托尔克试图掩饰声音中的恐惧，却没能完全做到。

她们全都笑了，但只有其中一人开口。“我以前是叫这个名字。”她说，声音平常得令人难以相信，“不过现在，我叫炼金术师。”

他听见她们撞开了堵住的门，将他团团围住。“叫撒旦更合适。”神父回答，试图用枪逼住这群家伙，不让她们靠近。但她们有几十个，或许上百，而他只有五发子弹。

“我曾经和你一样，也是人。不过你猜中了一点。世上的确有恶魔，神父。但它们不在我们脚下。”其中几人望向穹顶。“它们在我们头顶，在太空那片阴森的黑暗之中。”

“总有一天，它们会来找我们。”另一个伊娃说道，她左半边脸上有烧伤的痕迹。“在别的世界，它们已经来了。”

别的世界？这是什么疯话？“退后！”安德烈亚斯警告，手指几乎要扣下扳机。“退后！”

包围圈却越收越紧。“人类要占据自己应有的地位，成为宇宙的主宰种族，就必须进化。”一个疯女人说。她靠得太近，他几乎能感觉到她的呼吸。“超越自然选择理论，迈入智慧设计的领域。”

“由我们来设计。”另一个伊娃·法布尔补充道，声音却是男性的。

托尔克扣下扳机，一枪击中了其中一人的头。

她崩散成蓝色粒子，仿佛从未存在过。

其他人立刻扑向他。他挣扎、开枪、怒吼，可到头来，她们还是将他按跪在地上，夺走了枪。她们搜查他的教袍，寻找藏匿的武器，却只找到奥古斯都几个月前给他的毒品。

“这是什么？”她们检查那东西时，伊娃·法布尔问道，但托尔克已经分不清究竟是哪一个在说话。“致幻药物？”

他……他的确留着这东西，可那只是为了研究。绝不是为了自己用，不是。

疯女人们开始争论。“我们在结合过程中试过这个吗？”

“我想没有。”

“早该试试的。”

“现在也可以。结果应该会很有趣。”

安德烈亚斯·托尔克拼命思索着脱身之法。她们为什么还不杀他，像杀其他人那样？为什么留着他的命，而不是割断他的喉咙？

随后，她们拿来了蓝色的注射器，他明白了。

“不。”安德烈亚斯哀求，声音几乎哽死在喉咙里。液体在容器中盘旋，仿佛活着，饥肠辘辘。“不，求你们。杀了我就好。别把我……别把我变成那种东西……”

“这是赐福。”一个女人说着，将奥古斯都的毒品强塞进他嘴里。那味道混杂着盐、蘑菇与化学药剂。

“是对你锲而不舍的奖赏。”另一个补充道，卷起了他的袖子。

“我们本该连你带秘密一起埋掉。”第三个说着，将针扎进他身体。“但杀了你未免浪费。”

“你的心智会崩溃。”第四个宣告，“但你会活下来。”

蓝色灵药注入血管，世界随之化为一片蓝色，安德烈亚斯·托尔克发出了惨叫。

他的脑海燃烧起来。毒品与体内的蓝色物质一同发生反应，现实在他周围崩塌。礼拜堂的穹顶像蔚蓝的旋涡般转动，一切形状都在瓦解。色彩在视野边缘舞动，画中的天使开始对他低语。

幻觉。这些只是幻觉，别无其他。一场梦。

可是……他还感觉到了别的东西。某种不一样的东西，某种……某种正在他的大脑和神经元中蠕动的东西。炼金术师的毒药沿着神经蔓延，像瘟疫一样感染他。他全身仿佛都烧了起来，皮肤被剥去，露出下面鲜红的血肉。

那痛楚撕心裂肺，令人发狂！

“求求你！”他喊道，幻觉中的天使用齐声尖叫作答。“让它停下！”

而某个存在听见了。

他的精神脱离了跪地的肉身，意识挣脱了身体的枷锁。不朽的灵魂被拖入一团巨大的蓝色旋涡，带往一个他从未见过的地方。他无法用眼睛去看，不，可是……可是影像仍然涌入了脑海。疼痛消失了，取而代之的是一种缥缈的麻木。

他化作了一个念头，一缕不断升腾的意识，进入了一个明亮的蓝色世界。

那是数字与字母的领域，一座井然有序的档案库，收纳着气味、芬芳和声音。没有书页的书，存着零散思绪的硬盘。一个没有血肉的精神世界，心智在这里不再受神经元储存容量的束缚。

这个奇异维度的中心，有一股强大的力量，端坐于信息的王座上，统御一切。安德烈亚斯脱离肉身的心智无法理解它。它太庞大，太浩瀚，太复杂。几何图形、方程式与盘旋的语句，统合成一个神圣的整体。

“主？”枢机问。他没有能说话的嘴，话语却依然发了出来。

不。

那是神，却不是经书中的主。它非男非女。它不曾照自己的形象造人，因为它身上没有半分与人相似之处。它是有知觉的思想，是没有躯体的神圣心智，是无需载体的知识。一个纯蓝的存在，一股宇宙中的灵能力量。全宇宙的信息，汇聚于一个奇点。

那个存在注意到了安德烈亚斯。

然后开始研究他。

安德烈亚斯尖叫起来，那个存在仅凭随意一念，便撕开了他的心智。它把枢机的大脑拆成百万个细小的念头，翻阅他的记忆，如同孩子翻书。没有疼痛，却也没有慰藉。因为那个存在，那个终极者，既不怀爱意，也没有憎恨。

只有好奇。

它将安德烈亚斯·托尔克拆解到分子层面，想弄明白他是如何运作的。这东西为什么需要心脏？为什么需要大脑？各部分又是如何组合在一起的？安德烈亚斯害怕什么？为什么比起奶酪，他更喜欢苹果？他为何而活？底层的逻辑究竟是什么？

为什么，怎么做，是什么？

它问出了所有问题，也得到了所有答案。

那个存在记录了枢机脑海中曾闪过的每一个念头，他曾体会过的每一种感受。它将他的存在拆解至最基本的层面，弄清这一切究竟如何拼合。安德烈亚斯·托尔克不知道这花了多久，或许几百年，或许几分钟，但到最后，终极者对他的了解，超过了这个人类对自己的一切认识。

随后，它又将安德烈亚斯·托尔克的心智拼凑起来。

但终极者没有将它塞回人类那小小的大脑，而是反过来，与他分享起自己的知识。

繁星的奥秘与宇宙的法则，向神父一一揭开。他对于人类起源与存在目的的疑问，都得到了解答。那个存在让他知晓了自己毕生崇敬的圣人与先知们的真实历史。而当它发现神父还渴求更多时，便又教给他数学、植物学和化学。那些知识如同燃烧的文字，烙印在枢机的神经元中。

没有任何语言能够描述这番体验。那是无法想象的欢愉，是魂飞天外的狂喜。安德烈亚斯渺小而脆弱的人类心智，短暂地融入了那个至高存在的神圣意识，沐浴在它无穷无尽的知识之中。有那么一刻，这个人类感到了完整，真正的完整，一切疑惑与恐惧都被剥离。他与一个超越自身的伟大存在融为一体，自我意识消融其中，如一滴水汇入海洋。

这……

这就是天堂。

这就是神。这就是安德烈亚斯毕生渴望侍奉的存在。这就是他想要的来世：让自己的心智融入这神圣的意识，成为那颗宇宙般浩瀚的大脑中一个新的神经元。

随后，一切结束了，与开始时同样突然。

他与终极者之间的精神联结崩断了。他的意识被打落凡间，塞回那颗容量有限的大脑，塞回肉身，塞回这座牢笼。他被逐出了伊甸园，完美的无上幸福消失，只剩礼拜堂地板冰冷的触感。

安德烈亚斯不知道自己在地板上待了多久。他被碾碎了，被摧毁了。他感到麻木，心里一片麻木。

他还在呼吸，却觉得自己已经死了。

伊娃·法布尔早已离去，但即便她仍在这里，他也不会在乎。他的目光移向西斯廷礼拜堂的穹顶，如今看见的却只有人类的缺陷。构图上细微到几乎不可见的失误，那些谬误，那些丑陋。米开朗琪罗的作品，此刻看来粗鄙杂乱，与马粪无异。

安德烈亚斯·托尔克尝过天堂的滋味，如今只觉得人间丑陋不堪。

他重新站了起来。枪掉在地上，旁边是已经空了的毒品袋。“不！”他的手指立刻抓起袋子，舌头舔着塑料，想再尝到一点滋味，哪怕只一点天堂的滋味。“送我回去！送我回去！”

他绝望地撕碎空袋，用手指抓挠头颅。他感觉到自己的心智正在挣扎，反抗这座骨头构成的牢笼，想逃出去，想升上去，想要回去。到最后，他感到鲜血滴上了指甲。

他沉重地喘息着，绝望而疲惫。

他的心智清澈如水，只剩下唯一的目标。

他的思绪不再分裂，不再被牵往四面八方。如今，他只能想一件事。

回去。

安德烈亚斯·托尔克踉跄着走出礼拜堂，双眼一眨不眨，周围混乱无序的宇宙冲击着他的感官。梵蒂冈，这座圣城，正在颤抖，正在崩塌。但他不在乎。他再也不在乎教会，不在乎这个苦难的世界，也不在乎伊娃·法布尔。他必须回到蓝色世界，回到他新的神身边，回到那个幸福无尽的来世。

他走到外面，走进梵蒂冈的花园，望向罗马。此时是夜晚，但他分不清究竟还是3月27日，抑或已是别的哪一夜。不管怎样，他看得出来，炼金术师的计划已经毫无阻碍地顺利实施。举目所及，尽是迹象。火焰从圣彼得大教堂蔓延开来；巨大的蘑菇从古老的历史街区拔地而起；洲际弹道导弹划破夜空向北飞去，飞向巴尔干半岛，飞向萨拉热窝。

旧世界正熊熊燃烧，而一个新世界将从灰烬中崛起。

可安德烈亚斯·托尔克毫不在乎。