Luxury is the best anesthetic there is. More potent than morphine, more addictive than mana. If you dress people in pure silk and serve synthetic caviar canapés, they don't ask why the sky is glowing the color of ionizing radiation.

  I was wearing a white Italian-cut suit (stolen from a Helix lobbyist's closet), fitted by Valéria with hidden safety pins. Luna wore a silver gala dress that reflected the barrier's light, looking like a true elite debutante. Valéria, uncomfortable in a black pantsuit, acted as our "executive assistant."

  We were in the middle of the nave of the Metropolitan Cathedral of Brasília.

  Niemeyer's structure, with its curved white columns rising to the sky, had always been impressive. Now, it was terrifying.

  The colored stained glass had been replaced by transparent Mana Crystal panels. And hanging from the ceiling by gold chains were not sculpted angels.

  There were Taxidermied Seraphim.

  Winged monsters, white and gold, preserved in poses of eternal adoration. Their glass eyes seemed to follow the faithful.

  "The smell here..." Luna whispered, keeping a fake smile for a passing cardinal. "It's sweet. Too sweet."

  "Pacification Pheromones," I muttered, pretending to adjust my cufflink (which was actually a Geiger counter). "They're pumping oxytocin and mana vapor through the AC. Everyone here is chemically induced to feel happy and submissive."

  The cathedral was packed. Sovereignty's cream of the crop. Generals, corporate CEOs, media celebrities. All looked at the central altar with fanatical devotion.

  In the center of the altar, the Pillar of Light rose.

  Up close, it wasn't just light. It was a stream of particles.

  Arthur (the Parasite) shrank into my liver, terrified.

  [ANALYSIS: FLOW OF VAPORIZED BIOMASS. DIRECTION: OUTER SPACE.]

  "Ladies and gentlemen," a soft but omnipresent voice filled the space.

  The lights dimmed. A spotlight descended on the papal throne.

  He entered. Or rather, floated.

  Emperor Pontiff Aurelius.

  He appeared to be thirty years old. His skin was golden, literally—he looked like he had been bathed in gold dust. He wore simple white robes, no jewelry, projecting an image of manufactured humility.

  He didn't walk. His feet were five centimeters off the ground.

  "My children," Aurelius opened his arms. His aura wasn't aggressive like Miguel's. It was... empty. "Today, we celebrate the Ascension. Today, we renew our pact with the Stars."

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  "He has no heartbeat," I whispered to Valéria. "I used my thermal vision. He is at room temperature."

  "An undead?" Valéria asked out of the corner of her mouth.

  "No. A puppet." I narrowed my eyes. "He is a construct. An avatar. The thing ruling isn't in that body. That body is just an antenna."

  The ceremony proceeded. Chants, hallucinogenic incense.

  Then, the moment of the "Sacrament" arrived.

  Lines of young people, dressed in white, began to ascend the altar. They were the "Chosen." Winners of genetic lotteries, children of the best families, all beaming with joy.

  They thought they would be blessed with powers, transformed into new Paladins.

  The first youth, an 18-year-old boy, knelt before Aurelius.

  The Emperor touched his forehead.

  "Flesh is fleeting. Light is eternal. Do you accept becoming the fuel of our protection?"

  "I do!" the boy wept with emotion.

  Aurelius smiled. He pushed the boy gently... into the Pillar of Light.

  I expected to see the boy float. I expected to see wings sprout.

  What I saw was nuclear physics applied to biology.

  The moment the body touched the beam of energy, it was deconstructed.

  There was no blood. The skin, muscles, bones... everything dissolved into glowing particles. The boy was atomized instantly. His matter was converted into pure energy, which shot up into the sky, feeding the barrier and the signal to space.

  The crowd sighed in ecstasy.

  "He has Ascended!" they shouted.

  "They're eating people..." Luna gripped my arm so hard her nails tore the fabric of my suit. "Arthur, they're sacrificing children to keep the barrier on!"

  "It's not just the barrier," I said, feeling bile rise. "The barrier is the side effect. The main goal is to feed the Signal.

  "My father was right. Earth is a farm. And Brasília is the luxury slaughterhouse."

  The Emperor continued. One by one, the youths stepped into the light and ceased to exist.

  With each sacrifice, the Pillar pulsed stronger.

  Out there, in space, something was receiving this "meal" via delivery.

  Suddenly, I felt a gaze.

  Not from the Emperor.

  But from someone in the shadows, near the choir.

  I turned my head discreetly.

  There was a man leaning against a column. He wore a hood over ceremonial armor. Half his face was covered by synthetic bandages and crude cybernetic implants, as if he had been rebuilt in a hurry.

  But the visible eye... that cold blue eye I knew.

  Miguel.

  He survived the explosion in Curitiba. But he didn't escape unscathed. He was broken, burned, and emanating a hatred so palpable it soured the air around him.

  He saw me.

  He didn't scream. Didn't alert the guards.

  He just smiled. A smile of scars.

  And he pointed to the side exit, which led to the underground crypts. A silent invitation: "Come finish this in the dark."

  "We've been made," I spoke low and fast. "Miguel is here."

  "The Angel?" Valéria moved her hand to the pistol hidden in her thigh holster. "Here? In the middle of mass?"

  "He won't attack in front of the cameras. He wants personal revenge." I looked at the side exit. "And that's exactly where we need to go. The crypts must lead to the base of the Pillar of Light."

  "It's a trap, Arthur," warned Luna.

  "I know. But it's the only open door we have." I took a vial from my pocket. Concentrated Armadillo Adrenaline. "Get ready. Mass is ending, but the wake is about to begin."

  We started moving through the crowd, pretending to be moved, heading toward the side.

  As we passed the rows of elites applauding the genocide of their own children, I felt a cold clarity.

  I wasn't just going to turn off the signal.

  I was going to bring this entire Cathedral down.

  We entered the side corridor. The sound of the chants became muffled.

  The crypt door was open. Spiral stairs descended into darkness.

  Miguel wasn't there. He had already gone down.

  "Valéria, radio Gristle," I ordered, taking off my tie and undoing my collar buttons. "Tell her to bring the truck to the side entrance in 20 minutes. And tell her to come running things over."

  "And us?" asked Luna, lighting her baton crystal.

  "We're going down to hell." I looked into the abyss of the stairs. "They say the Devil lives in the details. Let's see if he knows how to handle a sanitation crew."

  The Parasite covered my skin with black armor. The white suit tore.

  Diplomacy was over.