The list went on and on, a vertical river of text that seemed infinite. I stood there, motionless, for a long half-hour as the system struggled to process the backlog.
Piles upon piles of divine messages were thrown in my face, each one a testament to the chaos that had occurred while I was "offline."
I couldn't manage to read every single one—there were simply too many—but the gist was clear. The gods of my channel were fiercely loyal. The moment they realised the broadcast had been tampered with, they hadn't just left; they had made a ruckus loud enough to attract the attention of the entire system.
I was stunned to see that a small group, not exceeding a hundred in total, had actually gone so far as to establish a formal support group. They had been lobbying, shouting, and doing everything in their power to break the seal.
