The cathedral did not crumble.
It did something worse.
It revealed itself.
Malvane smiled gently, the expression of a man blessing children at a festival, even as the faithful around him stiffened under something that wasn't faith anymore—something sharp wearing reverence like a borrowed cloak.
"Let us show our guests," he said softly, "what true devotion can achieve."
He lifted his hand.
The ceiling light dimmed not outwardly…
but inwardly.
Like the world had taken a slow breath in.
Priests knelt.
Believers bowed.
And from deeper within the cathedral—
something answered.
The air warped.
Prayer wasn't rising.
Prayer was being pulled.
A palpable tug, like invisible threads yanked from hearts, lungs, souls, memories, identity. People winced… yet smiled. Their eyes shone not with warmth, but with a strained, glassy glow.
Malvane spoke, and his voice vibrated along that siphoned devotion.
"Come forth," he called softly. "Chosen blades of faith. Stand as proof that the divine does not abandon those who trust."
Light flared.
But light should not hurt to look at.
This one did.
Figures stepped forward—robed clergy no longer merely priests, but armored in radiant-white steel that glowed unnaturally. Shields etched with prayers pulsed faintly like veins. Swords thrummed with power that was not righteous—it was fed.
The congregation gasped in awe.
Aiden's stomach twisted.
They weren't holy.
They were hollow.
Their bodies were vessels. Their power stolen. Their righteousness manufactured.
False paladins.
Their eyes were wrong. Too still. Too obedient. Too certain.
As if doubt had been surgically removed.
Malvane turned slowly, theatrically kind.
"These brave servants have surrendered everything," he said lovingly, "so that the divine might fill them completely. That is true devotion."
The crowd whispered reverently.
Liora didn't breathe.
Her hand covered her mouth.
Her heartbeat didn't tremble—
It protested.
Splintering, burning, recoiling.
She staggered back a step.
Aiden grabbed her shoulder instantly.
"Liora?"
She didn't answer at first.
Because something inside her wasn't just horrified.
It was insulted.
Her pupils constricted unnaturally. Her chest tightened until breathing required force. Something ancient, buried deep in blood and ancestry, recognized blasphemy when it stood screaming right in front of her.
This wasn't just wrong.
This was desecration.
A mockery dressed in scripture.
"This place…" she whispered hoarsely. "It shouldn't feel like this. Faith isn't supposed to hurt. It isn't supposed to… eat people."
Seris' eyes widened at her reaction.
But Malvane saw it too.
Oh, he noticed.
He watched with curious fascination.
Like a scientist delighted a test subject showed interesting results.
He clasped his hands together gently.
"You feel it, don't you?" he asked sweetly.
Liora flinched.
He continued with such gentle care it was almost soothing.
"There is something… unusually receptive in you. Something close to divine resonance. How blessed you must be."
His eyes warmed.
But his voice cooled.
"That makes your dissent dangerous."
Aiden stepped forward.
"No," he said sharply. "What's dangerous is you weaponizing faith. You're turning devotion into a generator. You're forcing belief to bleed for you."
Malvane didn't deny it.
He smiled.
"Of course I am."
Shock rippled through the room—not because people didn't understand, but because some part of them did and refused to admit it out loud.
Malvane spread his arms.
"The divine rewards those who act on behalf of destiny. If the world resists salvation, we must force it to accept grace."
A murmur of almost-relief passed through the crowd.
They wanted to believe that.
Because if destiny required cruelty…
then cruelty became righteous.
Aiden's hands clenched.
Seris started channeling magic.
Liora steadied herself, fists shaking with emotional fury she didn't understand.
Malvane turned, robes whispering like poison silk, and began walking deeper into the cathedral.
Toward the inner sanctum.
Toward the place that should have held holiness…
…and instead pulsed like a wound.
"Follow, if you wish to see," he said softly. "Follow, if you still believe you can judge what you do not understand."
The false paladins moved, silent and obedient, forming a shining barrier escorting him.
The faithful watched…
not fearful.
Entranced.
Devoted.
Possessed not by demons—
but by their own desperate need for hope, even if it came dressed in corruption.
Aiden breathed out slowly.
Seris nodded once.
Liora swallowed her shaking.
They stepped forward.
Toward the core of faith turned rotten.
Toward the heart of a church that had forgotten it was meant to care.
And somewhere outside, far beyond walls, Inkaris stopped moving.
Because what he could feel pulsing at the center of this "holy" place…
was not heaven.
It wasn't hell either.
It was something worse.
A lie so big, it had decided to become real.
And they were walking right toward it.