Vacations could be rather enjoyable, Sozo decided.
The Imperatrix’s influence was surprisingly pleasant, although he didn’t want to live under it forever. It wasn’t quite mind control: he could still make decisions, but there was no temptation to do anything wrong. Any desire to indulge in his favorite vices had all but disappeared, having been replaced with a muted sense of bliss. As pleasant as it was, Sozo had never deluded himself into believing that he was a saint, and he fully intended to have a bit of selfish fun before his short span of life was finished.
But selfish or not, he was certainly having fun. The Vatican was beautiful, and the city’s loveliness had only increased in the two millennia that the Imperatrix had ruled it. There was a distinct absence of street vendors, enveloping the city in an odd quietness that would have been eerie had it not been so calm, but there were plenty of sights to see on every corner.
In the shadows of an ancient building, a theological debate was being held regarding the value of good works in comparison to faith. Even the Imperatrix didn’t have all the answers, so minor differences in belief still gave rise to religious sects. Sozo himself didn’t pretend to know what to make of the theological minutia, since after seeing dozens of faiths across dozens of worlds, he’d decided that most of them had the same core values regardless of what name they used for God. In any case, all of them agreed that Sozo’s soul was going to need a lot of purification before it could get into heaven.
Continuing his walk, Sozo found himself returning to the cathedral where he’d met the Imperatrix. The angel wasn’t anywhere in sight this time, but there was a sign on the door saying that she was presiding over a mass. The sign requested that visitors attend confession before entering, and a priest was helpfully posted outside the door to assist.
Instead, he turned the corner and admired some of the stained glass art on the windows. One whole wall was dominated by a scene depicting the Imperatrix’s legendary battle against Whitewasher. A demon that had deluded herself into believing she was still a holy angel, Whitewasher’s goal to lead people to salvation had been corrupted, as she realized that while forgiving a person’s sins was helpful, the person would inevitably sin again. Whitewasher’s quest to save their spiritual purity had led her to a disastrous conclusion: by slaughtering those whose sins she had forgiven, she deduced that she could send their souls on a quick path to heaven. Using this philosophy, she had spread death on an unimaginable scale to her home realm. Once her realm had been purified, she had turned her many eyes to other realms in the hope that other souls could benefit from her philosophy.
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Almost a thousand years past, the stars had been right and the Whitewasher had breached into Sozo’s realm. The Imperatrix had fought to defend her people, with their battle raging in the upper atmosphere for days. The Imperatrix had emerged victorious, but the fight had not been without casualties. Many who had looked at the battle had been struck blind or mad with rapture, and a continent that had been south of America had been utterly destroyed.
On a side note, the survivors of that former continent were presently thriving. The north had been relatively untouched, and its people had eventually spread to the collection of islands that had formerly been one contiguous landmass. The corpse of Whitewasher, strangely immune to decay, had attracted both tourists and researchers alike in the present day. Occasionally, those living closest to the fallen angel’s corpse would experience an epidemic of nightmares, and the Imperatrix would need to visit and bless the site with holy water. A watchful eye was kept on the area at all times, for to such higher beings, were sleep and death really so different?
Certain creative liberties had been taken with the picture Sozo was viewing, as illuminated manuscripts from the time had described Whitewasher appearing like interlocking spirals of razor-sharp white wings and the Imperatrix as looking like a seven-pointed triangle, both of which were difficult to represent in stained glass. Still, the artist had done an excellent job depicting the ethereal brilliance of the battle.
He passed by more stunning pictures, most of which depicted solemn-eyed saints and martyrs, or scenes from the life of Christ. Even though the Imperatrix was a perfect charity, passing any monetary gifts she received on to those in need, many artists begged her to keep the works they gave her. The Vatican endured while countries rose and fell, and the art it held would be preserved long after contemporary pieces had been destroyed by wars or fires or time.
Finally, he stepped into the chapel. On a bench by the door, a man was quietly praying for a safe flight home. Not wishing to eavesdrop, Sozo quickly made his way across the room to another bench. He knelt down and muttered a request for peace, mostly within his head. He knew that divine intervention was spectacularly rare since the Creator respected the free will of all Its works, but it was a comfort to know that someone was listening.
