Cameraman Never Dies-Chapter 198: A Totally Normal Church Raid (Nothing to See Here, Folks)

Lucifer leaned back with a self-satisfied smirk, watching from a safe distance as the grand operation unfolded. The authorities had arrived in droves, their blue, black, burgundy, and white uniforms crisp, their weapons at the ready, and their expressions that perfect mix of professional seriousness and the barely contained panic of people who had definitely drawn the short straw this morning.

The Church of Umbra loomed before them — an architectural masterpiece that could only be described as "ominous with a side of divine judgment."

Gothic spires stretched skyward like the bony fingers of a particularly dramatic deity, massive stained-glass windows glared down with judgmental holiness, and the grand double doors creaked just enough to make even the bravest officer hesitate at the threshold.

It was the kind of place that made you instinctively apologize for sins you weren't even sure you committed. Just standing near it made people reconsider their life choices. Even the most devoted atheist would find themselves whispering, 'Look, if you're up there, I swear I'll stop stealing hotel towels.'

But today, the authorities weren't here for confession. They had a job to do. Even though the architecture was not doing a good job supporting them, the pristine white walls were mysteriously welcoming.

Of course, publicly announcing that they were about to storm what was allegedly a holy sanctuary — and more accurately a back-alley murder factory — would cause nothing but mass hysteria, divine lawsuits, and, worst of all, bureaucratic paperwork.

So, instead, the officials put out a much more digestible explanation

Dear citizens,

One (1) unfortunate soul has lost their mind after attempting a principle far beyond their cognitive capacity. Said individual has become monstrous, unpredictable, and is currently being contained within the sacred halls of the Church of Umbra.

As per religious doctrine, holy places are no-kill zones, and thus, the authorities have been called to extract the individual before putting them out of their misery.

Please continue about your day. Nothing suspicious at all. Have a blessed afternoon.

P.S. If you hear screaming, chanting, or suspiciously loud organ music, please do not investigate as it could endanger you too, and the authorities would be too busy handling the monster.

It was a perfect excuse. Clean, reasonable, and just alarming enough that no one would get too close. Textbook deception.

The Pope of Umbra, upon receiving this notice, immediately had a religious crisis. One moment he had been peacefully sipping his evening tea, the next he had nearly drowned in it. After hacking up half a lung and thanking the gods he served that it wasn't hot, he frantically drafted a counter-notice filled with righteous indignation, firm denials, and some choice words about slandering the church's impeccable reputation.

Unfortunately for him, by the time his desperate rebuttal reached the public, the authorities had already arrived in force. And by "arrived," they meant dramatically and visibly surrounded the church like it owed them money.

At this point, the situation had already reached the "Well, guess we're doing this" stage.

Before the Pope could storm outside, waving his sacred decree and shouting objections about divine interference, a squad of highly trained officers unceremoniously kicked in the grand entrance.

CRACK.

The doors slammed open, their boots thudding against the pristine marble floors in synchronized intimidation. They fanned out, methodical and precise, every movement screaming "We definitely planned for this" while their slightly terrified expressions screamed "We definitely did not."

This was not a simple extraction mission. No, if their intel was accurate, they weren't just dealing with one caster who had melted their own sanity like overcooked pudding.

This was an entire assassin organization hiding beneath the church's holy façade. A group that specialized in vanishing, sneaking, stabbing, and occasionally all three at once.

They were the stuff of nightmares.

And yet, today, the nightmare was for them.

For once, the authorities were prepared. Every officer involved in this operation had been handpicked for their detection skills.

These were people who could find a hidden passage in a pitch-dark cave, spot a missing sock in a laundry pile, and even sense their mother's disappointment from three towns away.

Sneaking around? Difficult.

Ambushing them? Even harder.

Surviving this raid? Well… the assassins were about to find out.

One officer adjusted his goggles, which were enchanted to detect disturbances in ether flow. He paused, then turned to his squad. "Alright, remember: these guys are professionals. Expect every shadow to hold a knife and every priest to be lying."

A trained but fresh on a mission recruit, still too young to have developed that special kind of world-weariness his seniors carried, swallowed nervously. "Even the old ones?".

The officers paused to look at him, "Especially the old ones." He said as if it was the most dangerous knowledge in the world.

The recruit paled. Somewhere, an elderly priest with a kind smile and a slightly suspicious cane sneezed.

Another officer, holding a sniffer hound bred specifically to detect cloaked individuals, tightened his grip on the leash. The hound, an eager ball of muscle and determination, was already growling at a seemingly innocent statue. Either someone was hiding inside, or the artist had made some truly regrettable creative choices.

The lead officer took a deep breath. "Let's move out. We find the so-called monster, and if that part of the cover story turns out to be true, well... we cross that bridge when it starts throwing us off it."

Meanwhile, Lucifer — the architect of all this chaos — was enjoying the best seat in the house.

From a comfortable distance, he sipped a fine cup of tea, nibbled on a scone, and enjoyed the spectacle like a nobleman at the opera. He had a bit more time to relax before the true action started and he had to go record.

Meanwhile, everything would be recorded by Barachiel, his trusted junior colleague.

It was truly poetic — watching these poor souls navigate the most stressful workday of their lives while he sat back, utterly at peace.

The Church of Umbra was about to have a very, very bad day.

And Lucifer?

He was just getting comfortable.