They followed Malvane deeper.
The cathedral changed as they did.
Stone shifted from marble-white to something darker, older, strained. The halls no longer felt like they were built for worship—they felt mined. As if reverence itself had been scraped out of the walls and repurposed.
The air thickened.
Voices dulled.
Whispers faded.
Until they stepped into the heart of it.
---
The inner sanctum should have been peaceful.
Sacred.
Instead it was…
crowded.
Hundreds stood there.
Hundreds.
False paladins ringed the chamber like a gleaming cage, armor glowing with a hollow imitation of sanctity. Their presence wasn't reassuring. It pressed inward, claustrophobic.
Behind them, clergy clustered in anxious pockets, robes trembling around their knees. They were pale. Exhausted. Eyes wide—too wide—as if their faith had been stretched thinner than their sanity.
Some clutched prayer beads like lifelines. Some mouthed words without voice. Some stared at Malvane with devotion.
Others…
with terror.
Because if salvation demanded this…
what did damnation even look like?
---
And at the center…
The ritual.
A platform of stone inscribed with spirals of scripture twisting in ways scripture was never meant to twist. Sacred carvings repurposed. Holy geometry bent until meaning broke.
Pillars of light pulsed upward like imprisoned beams forced to remain still.
And at the center of it all,
Malvane.
Arms open.
Head tilted slightly up.
Breath slow.
Receiving.
Consuming.
Everything.
---
The pull was worse now.
Faith wasn't just being extracted—
It was being harvested.
Belief bled out of bodies. Devotion siphoned from veins. People stood upright only because the ritual held them there, feeding on hope and fear alike.
Aiden staggered.
Seris swore under her breath.
Liora nearly collapsed.
Her chest burned. Her skin crawled. Her blood screamed.
Angel-blood did not tolerate blasphemy easily.
And this wasn't blasphemy like insult.
It was blasphemy like surgery performed with a hammer.
Her hand dug into her chest as if she could claw the nausea out.
Malvane finally spoke.
His voice wasn't loud.
It didn't need to be.
The chamber carried him like a choir.
---
"I was meant for more."
No theatrics.
No false warmth now.
Just truth.
Ugly. Hungry. Honest.
"When I first wore these robes, I believed as the innocent do. Serve the heavens. Guide the lost. Ease suffering."
He smiled faintly.
A beautiful smile.
A terrible one.
"And I did. I gave. I gave everything. Years. Health. Will. I carried the grief of thousands, bore their sins, swallowed their despair, stitched them back into hope."
He laughed quietly.
A bitter sound dressed in grace.
"Do you know what faith does to the one who always gives?"
His eyes flickered with something raw.
"It breaks them."
He turned fully now, ritual pulsing higher as if reacting to confession.
"Then one day… I realized something."
His hand closed slowly around invisible power.
"Faith isn't meant to be endured."
His voice sharpened.
"It is meant to be used."
The ritual flared.
Dozens of clergy gasped, buckling. False paladins did not move.
They did not need to.
The ritual fed them all.
---
Aiden stepped forward.
"Malvane. Stop. This isn't faith. This is theft."
Malvane tilted his head.
"This is leadership."
Seris shouted over the dull roar of energy.
"You are killing them!"
Malvane's voice softened again.
"No. I am guiding them. They wish for strength. Safety. Purpose. I grant it. I gather their useless scattered devotion, refine it, and return it as power to protect this world."
"Protect it from what?" Liora shouted, breath shaking but firm.
Malvane's eyes brightened.
"From itself."
The ritual rumbled.
The pillars brightened.
Faith screamed silently.
---
Aiden ran.
Seris followed, magic already forming around her hands.
Liora pushed forward through pain.
The closest false paladins turned in unison.
Shields locked.
Swords drew.
A perfect wall of righteous lies.
They didn't shout.
They didn't threaten.
They simply blocked existence.
Seris cast—
A flash of brilliant spellfire struck shield.
It didn't break.
It absorbed.
And the false paladin stepped forward calmly, returning the blast amplified.
Aiden grabbed her, pulling her back before the spell could rip through her.
Liora leapt into another opening—
A wall of shimmering faith slammed in front of her.
She recoiled— not physically.
Spiritually.
It hurt to look at. It hurt to feel. It hurt because it was wrong.
"Get out of my way!" she shouted.
A voice answered from hollow helm.
"We serve the divine order."
Liora's expression twisted in horror.
"No. You serve whatever he's feeding you!"
They did not respond.
Because they did not need to understand.
They only needed to obey.
---
Above them, Malvane spread his arms wider.
"Do you feel it!?" he called to the chamber.
Some cried in ecstasy. Some cried in pain. Some had no tears left.
"I was never meant to be a caretaker," he said, voice trembling with rapture. "I was meant to shape destiny. I was always destined to rise higher than mortal clergy."
His smile trembled— not soft.
Ecstatic.
"I do not reject the divine."
His voice deepened.
"I claim it."
The ritual surged.
The ground shook.
Light cracked along the walls like veins in an overworked heart.
People sagged.
Faith drained faster now.
The city would feel this.
Soon.
Very soon.
Aiden slammed a fist into the shield wall.
"Damn it! Move!"
They didn't.
A false paladin raised a glowing sword—
and for a moment?
Aiden thought it looked sorry.
Not conscious.
Not aware.
Just…
regretful.
As if some tiny splinter of the original person inside wished they could stop.
But the ritual didn't care.
And Malvane certainly didn't.
He stepped fully into the ritual center.
He did not walk anymore.
The ritual lifted him.
His feet rose off the stone. Light swallowed him.
And his voice layered.
Two tones.
Three.
More.
Faith twisted.
Belief tightened like rope.
And Malvane whispered with reverence only tyrants can truly feel:
"I will become what this world needs…
whether it wants me…
or not."
And the drain deepened.
The church shook.
The false paladins advanced.
And Aiden, Seris, and Liora—
stood at the edge of something no longer holy.
Something hungry.
And losing would not simply mean dying.
It would mean the world learning to love its chains.