The ritual did not stabilize.
It evolved.
Light didn't shine. It convulsed.
Radiance didn't soothe. It devoured.
Malvane's body hovered over the ritual stone, robes whipping in a wind that wasn't air. Scripture burned along his skin like veins. His eyes were wide, wild, reverent—not to a god…
…but to himself.
The chamber shook with every heartbeat of the ritual.
Every prayer became fuel.
Every believer became a vein.
And he drank.
---
The first scream wasn't from an enemy.
It was from one of the clergy.
A young priest collapsed, clutching his chest as faith ripped out of him like a soul dragged backward. His eyes went glassy. He stood back up.
Smiling.
Empty.
A new hollow servant.
Dozens more followed, their minds stuttering as devotion broke them down into obedient shells. Priests who had once whispered comfort now became statues of obedience.
False clergy.
False saints.
False paladins.
A manufactured heaven marching under stolen light.
---
The false paladins moved.
Silent. Emotionless. Unyielding.
Aiden's fist smashed across a shield — power rippled outward but the shield ate it, drank it, converted it to power. A sword descended in return, an execution wrapped in polite holy glow.
Seris yanked him back, lightning splitting across the battlefield — but the bolts bent. Redirected.
Faith magic listened only to Malvane now.
The clergy surged next, glass-eyed and piously frenzied. They did not scream war cries. They whispered prayers as they attacked.
That was worse.
Much worse.
---
Liora pushed forward.
She shouldn't have.
Her body tried to reject the air itself. Every breath burned like breathing spun glass. The ritual clawed at her being, not just her mind.
Her blood hated this place.
No—
not "hated."
Refused.
It refused to let this stand. It refused to let faith drown beneath ego. It refused to accept that a mortal could warp divine meaning into a leash.
She stumbled— and someone caught her.
It wasn't Aiden. It wasn't Seris.
No one appeared.
But something wrapped around her.
Invisible. Warm.
Familiar in a way she couldn't name.
The noise dulled.
The burn eased.
The ritual's grip slipped back like an offended hand denied a toy.
Liora blinked.
Just above reality's surface, unseen by mortals, a figure perched like a vulture carved from fallen starlight.
Caelum watched with mild annoyance and distant disdain.
A fallen angel rarely cared about mortals.
But an angel blooded child?
Nephilim?
That mattered.
Mortals may disgrace themselves, mortals may disgrace gods, mortals may drown in their own corrupted devotion—
—but angels?
Even half-born?
They were not to be humiliated by human arrogance.
His fingers snapped lazily.
A ward spread unseen around Liora. The corruption's call slid off her like filth denied purchase. Her breath steadied. Her pupils stopped shaking. Her spirit stopped being dragged.
She didn't see him.
Couldn't.
Shouldn't.
But Caelum smirked faintly.
"That's better," he murmured, voice like silk dipped in broken hymns. "Stand up, little one. The heavens will not let you kneel in sludge."
Then he leaned on one hand, curious again.
Entertainment resumed.
---
Malvane's voice layered into something no longer human.
"LOOK."
His arms stretched outward, body glowing brighter as if becoming sculpted light.
"Look at what faith can be when it stops begging and starts claiming."
The pillars of stolen grace roared.
He wasn't turning demonic.
He wasn't monstrous.
He was becoming a beautiful lie.
A perfect image of divine might, with nothing divine in it.
Seris shouted over the roaring ritual, "We can't let him finish! That thing will tear the city apart!"
Aiden's eyes hardened.
"Then we don't let him."
He charged again.
False paladins formed a wall.
He smiled anyway.
Because even a wall breaks if enough reality refuses to obey it.
His nature stirred.
Not magic.
Not spell.
Desire.
He wanted through.
Reality listened.
The nearest paladin staggered as a shield slipped from perfect alignment. A gap opened — Seris surged lightning through it, blasting the formation back.
Liora moved in behind them, blade flashing with force guided not by training—
—but by instinct older than magic.
They fought.
Not heroically.
Desperately.
Blood. Metal. Faith. Lies.
Every step forward was paid in effort and pain. Every moment wasted fed Malvane further. The clergy chanted like a choir of the damned and the ritual began to crown its false saint.
Malvane's voice rolled like storm thunder inside a cathedral.
"Yes… yes. This is what I deserved from the beginning. I was always meant to be more."
He turned his head ever so slightly toward Aiden.
Toward the boy who dared to challenge a church.
"And you, little miracle…"
His smile was holy and hateful.
"…you were always meant to kneel."
The ritual roared.
The chamber split with light.
Malvane began to ascend into a god he was never invited to be.
And suddenly?
Even Caelum stopped smiling.