You enter the broken church through an emptied doorway. Innumerable candles light an immaculate medieval chapel. Rows of shorn heads are bent in prayer. Indistinct voices drone in Latin. A tall shadow stands at the altar, his back to you. Your guy slips noiselessly into a pew, leaving you in the aisle. Your sparkle wand grows uncomfortably hot in your hand. The murmur of voices stops. The shadow turns and points. "Diabolicitas!" Dozens of blank eyes turn toward you. The altar candles flare.