In the infernal depths where light gasps and the veil thins, the faithful were summoned—not to kneel, but to stand.

Priests, bishops, and cardinals—those once robed in silk and sacrament—were forced to forge armor tempered by devotion and dread. Each piece consecrated with scripture, each joint anointed for endurance. The ancient orders answered the call: Benedictines, Franciscans, and Jesuits adapting their vestments to withstand fire and shadow

From devout soldiers to Templar knights, and from crusaders to the sacred Brotherhood of Lazarus, they did not march—they endured.
Steel met scripture. Leather bore liturgy. Their holy insignia charred but unbroken. In that pitiless war below, they became something else:
Not merely defenders of the divine,
but architects of salvation through ash and agony.

Their survival was not granted. It was built.
Hammered in silence. Tempered in torment.
Armor not just for battle—but for belief.