Malvane's false ascension reached its crescendo.
Radiance howled. Prayer bled. The air trembled as belief was crushed into one man's ego and shaped into divinity by brute force and self-worship.
He rose higher, silhouette dissolving into divine architecture of stolen light.
Wings of hardened brilliance formed behind him — not feathers, but blades.
A crown of scripture burned above his head.
The chamber knelt without kneeling.
People didn't bow.
The ritual bent them mentally instead.
And for one moment…
it looked like he might succeed.
---
Caelum stopped lounging.
His expression did not twist into rage. He did not scream divine commands. He did not roar about justice.
He simply looked…
annoyed.
The kind of deep, weary irritation found only in beings who have watched mortals do profoundly stupid things for far too long.
He sighed.
"I leave the universe alone for five minutes," he muttered, "and some priest tries to staple a godhood onto himself with stolen prayers. Pathetic."
He stood.
Reality did not react to him.
Reality politely stepped aside.
He appeared above the ritual circle—not visible, not acknowledged, but undeniably present. The divine infrastructure Malvane was building stuttered when Caelum's shadow passed over it.
Like a street trickster trying to counterfeit money…
in front of the mint.
Caelum raised two fingers.
He whispered.
"This is not yours."
The ritual screamed.
Not out loud.
Foundationally.
The light around Malvane fractured like dropped glass.
The pillars rebelled.
The beams bowed as though the "divinity" realized it was being claimed by something that actually understood it.
Malvane jerked, eyes widening, the layered voice breaking.
"What—?"
Caelum tightened his grip on the unseen ritual thread.
Then ripped.
The false ascension stuttered, destabilized, and began collapsing inward.
Malvane snarled— and for the first time, the holy smile cracked.
---
Aiden felt it.
Not as magic. Not as spellwork.
As opportunity.
Something familiar.
Ardent would've laughed here.
"This is the part," his memory whispered, "where you be very clever or very, very stupid. It's usually both."
Aiden ran.
So did Liora.
They didn't speak.
Didn't coordinate.
Didn't think.
They moved like wish granters trained to weaponize desire.
Aiden didn't blast the paladins.
He didn't strike shields.
He struck intent.
He wanted them off balance. He wanted distance. He wanted doubt to flicker long enough for their perfect faith formation to crumble.
Reality obliged.
Shield arms trembled.
Feet misaligned.
Lines broke.
And Liora slammed through the opening like punishment from the sky.
Not graceful.
Not holy.
Raw.
Guided by instinct and fury and something deep in her blood that screamed angels do not kneel to counterfeits.
Her strike shattered a shield. Her second blow dropped a hollow priest. Her third tore through the sanctified light like it never deserved to shine.
Aiden was beside her, tearing gaps into certainty. Liora was the blade driving through them.
That was how Ardent taught to fight.
Let the universe tilt.
Then use the fall.
---
Seris didn't get the luxury of elegant metaphysics.
She got the screaming crowd.
The broken clergy shaking between worship and collapse. False paladins still forming lines. Mind-snatched priests chanting as if their throats belonged to the ritual now.
She planted her feet.
Magic came.
Not carefully. Not academically.
Fierce. Relentless.
The kind reserved for when reason fails and all that's left is fury wrapped in focus.
Ice locked charging priests in place. Lightning lashed through ranks. Force magic slammed bodies aside without breaking them when she could manage—
—and broke when she couldn't.
Her hands trembled. Her body burned.
She didn't stop.
If she stopped, someone would die.
If she stopped, Malvane won.
---
Above them all, Malvane clawed at collapsing light.
"WHO—" his voice fractured into echoes and fury— "WHO DARES MEDDLE IN MY CONSECRATION?!"
Caelum's voice brushed past him like silk drawn across a blade.
"You embarrass heaven," he said lazily. "And hell finds you boring. Consider this… civic cleaning."
Malvane roared.
He tried to reconstruct the ritual.
He failed.
Because someone else had their hand on the power cord now.
He began to fall.
Not physically.
Authority fell from him.
Sanctity peeled away.
His claimed divinity shrieked as it was denied legitimacy by something older than his ambition.
He began to panic.
And the room smelled it.
Faith builds leaders.
Fear unmakes them.
---
Aiden leapt.
He didn't think about if he could reach.
He didn't think about if he should.
He only wanted Malvane dragged back to earth.
Reality agreed.
His hand closed on the Archbishop's robes and yanked.
Malvane slammed down into the ritual stone.
The impact didn't break bone.
It broke authority.
The ritual howled like a wounded animal.
Liora followed, blade slamming down, divine corruption recoiling from her presence now completely protected by a celestial shield she didn't know was there.
Malvane stared up at her.
For one moment…
he looked afraid.
---
And then the footsteps came.
Calm.
Measured.
Absolutely unfazed by collapsing miracles and screaming devotion.
Inkaris entered the sanctum like he had simply walked into an inconveniently noisy office.
He looked around.
Corruption. Collapsed ritual. Half-deified narcissist on the ground. Wish granter boy bleeding. Mage burning her strength. Nephilim shaking but standing.
He exhaled.
"Of course," he said dryly. "This is exactly how nobles word 'solve the issue by any means necessary.'"
He adjusted his coat.
"This is going to be tedious."
But his eyes?
They softened slightly.
Because tedious or not…
it was time to work.
And somewhere, far above all beings who thought themselves powerful,
Desire smiled.
And the Void watched.
And the universe whispered:
Balance collects its due.