Holy Archives

The archives were silent, save for the footsteps—though, in truth, there was no sound. The air was thick with dust, hanging motionless as if the room itself had been holding its breath for centuries. 

It was a place frozen in time, a labyrinth of knowledge and forgotten secrets. The shelves stretched endlessly in every direction, towering up to the ceiling and plunging into shadowy depths below. Books of every size and color lined the shelves, their spines cracked and faded with age. File cabinets, some rusted and others gleaming faintly, stood like sentinels in the narrow aisles. 

Belial paused, his sharp eyes scanning the room. He had seen many places in his long existence, but this one was... different. It reminded him of the Demon King's library, a place. That library had been vast, almost infinite, its shelves filled with forbidden books and cursed scrolls. But this place, though smaller, more alive in its silence. The weight of the knowledge here pressed down on him, as if the archives themselves were watching, waiting.

But as they delved deeper into the archives, they began to hear the voice again.

At first, it was faint, little more than a whisper. It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, echoing through the corridors like a distant memory.

Xin paused, his sharp eyes scanning the shadows. "Did you hear that?" He asked, his voice low.

Belial shrugged, his usual smirk plastered across his face. "Hear what? The sound of books? yeah I've heard of it."

Xin shot him a glare but said nothing. He adjusted the strap of her satchel, which was filled with data crystals and ancient scrolls, and pressed on. Belial followed, his hands in his pockets and his eyes darting around the room. He wasn't one to admit it, but the archives gave him the creeps. The place felt... alive, in a way he couldn't quite explain.

The voice came again, louder this time. It was a soft, melodic sound, almost like singing, but the words were indistinct. Xin stopped in her tracks, her hand instinctively reaching for the pulse pistol at her side.

"There it is again," He said. "You can't tell me you didn't hear that."

Belial rolled his eyes. "Oh, I heard it. Sounds like a ghost. You know, one of those spooky, 'boo-hoo, I'm dead' types. Probably just playing pranks on us. Hey, ghost!" he shouted, his voice echoing through the chamber. "You wanna mess with us? Come out and show yourself!"

Xin sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Bel, this isn't a joke. We're in the middle of an Weird archive, surrounded by who-knows-what kind of technology. That 'ghost' could be anything—a malfunctioning AI, a security system, or worse."

"Or worse?" Belial repeated, raising an eyebrow. "What, like a haunted toaster? Relax, Xin. It's just some old machine acting up. Probably got a screw loose or something."

The voice responded, this time with a low, mocking laugh. It seemed to come from right behind them, but when they turned, there was nothing there. Belial's smirk faltered for a moment, but he quickly recovered. "Oh, real funny, ghost. You got me. Now why don't you do something useful, like point us to the where we want to go?"

Xin, however, wasn't amused. He activated her wrist-mounted scanner, its blue light casting eerie shadows on the walls. "There's something here," He said, his voice tense. "I'm picking up faint sound feels like a living being."

Belial snorted. "Organic? You mean like a rat? Or maybe a really old sandwich?"

Before Xin could respond, the voice spoke again, this time in a clear, chilling tone. "You are not welcome here."

Belial froze, his bravado momentarily shaken. But then he laughed, out loud. "Oh, now it's talking! Great. Look, ghost, or whatever you are, we're not here to steal your precious junk. We're just looking for some answers. So why don't you stop wasting our time and let us do our job?"

The voice fell silent, but the tension in the air remained. Xin glanced at Belial, his expression unreadable. "We need to stay focused. This place is dangerous, and we don't know what we're dealing with."

Belial waved a hand dismissively. "Yeah, yeah, I get it. Danger, mystery, blah blah blah. Tell you what—why don't we split up? You keep doing your science thing, and I'll... look around. Maybe I'll find something useful. Or maybe I'll just find a way out of this creepy place."

Xin hesitated. Splitting up was rarely a good idea, especially in an environment as unknown and vast as the archives. But He also knew that arguing with Belial was like trying to reason with a brick wall.

"Fine," He said reluctantly. "But don't do anything stupid."

Belial grinned. "When have I ever done anything stupid?"

Xin didn't dignify that with a response. He turned and disappeared down a side corridor, his hax now out of range. Belial watched him go, then turned in the opposite direction. The voice, meanwhile, continued to whisper, growing louder and more insistent with each step he took.

But Belial ignored it. He had dealt with worse things than a disembodied voice, and he wasn't about to let some ghost—or whatever it was—get under his skin. He muttered to himself as he searched, his words a mix of sarcasm and bravado.

"Yeah, keep talking, ghost. You're real scary. Bet you don't even have a body. Probably just a bunch of hot air."

The voice responded with a low, guttural growl, but Belial paid it no mind. He was too busy rifling through a pile of ancient artifacts, his hands moving quickly and efficiently.

He didn't notice the shadows shifting behind him, or the faint glow that began to emanate from the walls. All he cared about was finding something—anything—that might make this trip worth his while.

Belial's fingers brushed against the spines of ancient books. The air was heavy with the scent of aged parchment and the faint metallic tang of old machinery. The room was a treasure trove of knowledge, a place where the history of Oasis and the Holy Order had been meticulously preserved. But it was also a place of mystery, its secrets guarded by time and silence.

His eyes fell on two books in particular, their covers worn but still bearing the faint traces of gold leaf. One was titled _"The Chronicles of Oasis: From Moon to World,"_ and the other, _"The Holy Order: Guardians of Humanity."_ 

Belial had heard fragments of these stories before

What intrigued him more, however, was the locked area just beyond the bookshelves. It was a small, unassuming door, its surface etched with intricate symbols that seemed to shift and shimmer when viewed from different angles.

Even Oracle couldn't penetrate its secrets, Belial had tried to access it earlier, but the door had remained stubbornly closed. as if it had a will of its own.

He glanced back at the two books, his headache throbbing faintly at his temples. Part of him wanted to dive into the history of Oasis, to uncover the truth about how this fragile world had come to be.

Another part of him was more interested in the angels—specifically, the Angel of Justice and the Angel of Death who had intervened during the Third Sovereignty War. He had only heard rumors about them, fleeting mentions in old texts and the occasional drunken story from scavengers who claimed to have seen them. But here, in the cathedral, he had a chance to learn more.

Belial sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. "Why does this have to be so complicated?" he muttered to himself. He was a man of action, not contemplation. He preferred to shoot first and ask questions later, but this place demanded patience—a virtue he sorely lacked.

He picked up the book about Oasis, flipping through its pages. The illustrations were stunning: detailed maps of the planet's surface, diagrams of its unstable orbit, and even sketches of the twin stars that dominated its sky.

He paused at a passage that described the cataclysm that had torn Oasis from its parent planet. The words were poetic, almost reverent, as if the author had been in awe of the forces that had shaped their world.

But as fascinating as it was, Belial couldn't shake the feeling that he was wasting time. He put the book down and picked up the one about the Holy Order. The first page bore an emblem: a circle divided into three parts, each representing one of the Aeons. 

The text spoke of the Order's mission to preserve knowledge and guide humanity through the cycles of destruction and rebirth. Belial skimmed through the chapters, his eyes catching on names and events he had only heard in passing. There was even a brief mention of the angels, though it was frustratingly vague.

Just like those fake books Cole had

He groaned, setting the book aside. "This is getting me nowhere," he muttered. His headache was getting worse, a dull ache that made it hard to focus. He needed to make a decision: either commit to reading these books and uncovering the history of Oasis and the Holy Order, or continue searching the archives for information about the angels.

For a moment, he considered splitting his time between the two. But he knew himself too well. If he started down one path, he'd get distracted and end up chasing shadows. He needed to choose.

In the end, it was the locked door that decided for him. Its presence was like a taunt, a challenge he couldn't ignore. The history of Oasis and the Holy Order was important, but it could wait. The angels, on the other hand, were a mystery that had haunted him for years. And if there was even a chance that the archives held answers, he had to find them.

Belial stood, leaving the books on the table. He cast one last glance at the locked door, his curiosity burning brighter than ever.

"Later," he promised himself. 

"I'll come back for you."