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The explosion and flames hadn’t killed him, but he was too terrified to show himself, hiding in a castle’s cellar with his loyal followers and subordinates, continuing to issue commands.
The Borgia siblings were nowhere to be found, and their mistresses and young lovers fled, taking with them much of the gold and silver.
When the army stormed Rome, Alexander VI was trembling in a wine barrel, having thrown away his cardinal’s robe without a second thought.
"Kneel," young Giovanni commanded, holding the bishop's staff and ordering him to look up at the sacred image of God.
The lord, dressed in a purple robe, stood by the man’s side and spoke calmly.
"You sold church positions, played with power, and led the Holy Roman Empire into sin."
"—Guilty," Giovanni said coldly.
"You oppressed women and children, disregarded the Bible’s moral teachings, fathered countless illegitimate children, and indulged in wild revelry for nights on end in Rome."
"—Guilty."
One after another, the accusations were pronounced, and theformer pope, like a wild boar with its mouth gagged, continued to grunt in defiance, trying to break free from the chains that bound his arms and legs.
But within the church, no one moved. The silence was profound, broken only by the sound of chains rattling against the stone floor.
Once all the charges against the papal identity were pronounced, Hedy turned, raising her hand to receive the long sword passed to her by Luris.
"You conspired to place a traitor within the Doge’s Palace, allowing him to poison and kill our lord over many years, in a bid for more power and chaos."
Giovanni gripped the staff tightly, his voice cold as he declared, "Guilty."
Hedy lifted the sword’s blade to his chin, gazing at the man like a predator eyeing its prey. "Do you admit it?"
The obese pope’s eyes widened in brief surprise before quickly shaking his head furiously.
His violent movements were too much, and his many layers of double chin were cut open by the sharp blade, blood beginning to pour out in thick streams.
"Guilty," she whispered softly.
"Blood for blood," Giovanni said, rising to his feet, his eyes lowered as he gazed upon the man responsible for killing his father. "The sentence, please."
In the next moment, the lord raised the long sword and, with all his strength, drove it directly into the pope’s heart.
The sharp blade pierced through layers of fat and muscle, completely penetrating the still-beating heart.
A beastly howl echoed through the church.
Pope Alexander VI’s eyes widened in a mixture of disbelief and despair. His body lurched upwards, and his eyes bulged as though they might pop out of their sockets. His scream was shrilland agonizing.
But as strength and life drained from him, he could no longer sustain his cries and began to sob desperately.
Blood began to pour from his mouth and nose, splattering onto the ground in thick drops.
The cold steel of the sword and the sharp pain twisted together, and he could no longer distinguish between them. The agony made him attempt to struggle, but his limbs no longer had the strength to do so.
Hedy’s expression remained unchanged as she twisted the sword through his body.
In that moment, he struggled as if to rise, but as his head lifted high, his breath ceased. His corpulent body collapsed heavily to the ground, blood pouring from him like a broken sack.
He never closed his eyes, even in death.
The foul blood spread across the marble floor of the church, while above, the Father in the heavens still looked down with sorrow and compassion.
