The scent of incense and blood mingled in the shattered temples of the Holy Dominion. Statues once radiant with divine power now lay broken, their once-pristine forms cracked open, as though they had tried to scream for mercy. Clerics wandered the ruins in silence, some weeping, others staring blankly into the sky. The faithful no longer looked upward for salvation. They were beginning to look east—toward Kael.
And Kael had noticed.
Atop a blackstone balcony in the heart of the Obsidian Spire, Kael stood beside Elyndra and Seraphina, gazing at the map of the continent below.
Dozens of cities were marked—not with flags of conquest, but with symbols of shifting belief. Red wax seals marked those lost to chaos. Silver seals marked those in open revolt. And the black seals—Kael's own—were spreading fast.
"Three provinces defected from the Dominion last night," Elyndra reported. Her voice was calm, cold, a far cry from the saint she had once been. "Their paladins surrendered to the Order of the Bound Light without resistance."
"Because the people no longer fear the gods," Kael said, his hand resting on the edge of the map. "And fear was always the only thing holding their faith together."
Seraphina turned to him, adjusting her blood-red imperial cloak. "They'll retaliate soon. The Dominion cannot allow faith to become fragmented. It would be the death of their gods."
"It already is," Kael replied. "They just haven't accepted it yet."
In a subterranean vault hidden beneath the Sanctum Primaris, a ritual not performed in over a thousand years was being enacted.
Nine cloaked figures stood in a circle of light, chanting forbidden prayers. At the center, chained in silver runes, was a man—broken, scarred, and foaming at the mouth from celestial possession.
"He is ready," whispered Grand Cardinal Marell, his voice thin with reverence and madness. His hands trembled as he looked upon the broken man.
One of the younger inquisitors stepped back. "This is heresy."
"No," Marell corrected him, his voice laced with urgency. "This is desperation. The gods are silent, but their vengeance is not."
The bound man convulsed, and wings of fractured light burst from his back, shimmering not with holiness—but with warped, corrupted divinity.
"They will fear us again," Marell said, his eyes gleaming with fanatic fervor.
And thus, the Divine Inquisition was born—not to save the faithful, but to burn away those who dared believe in Kael.
In the city of Gravemoor, where corpses once outnumbered the living, a crowd had gathered in the square. A woman stood atop a ruined pulpit—draped in black and violet robes, her hands aglow with abyssal light.
"Your gods abandoned you in war. They fled when the plague came. When your children starved, they watched in silence."
A murmur of agreement rippled through the desperate townsfolk. Many nodded, their gaunt faces reflecting a pain Kael had long understood—the sting of abandonment.
She raised her hand, and her voice rang out like a bell.
"But there is another way. A living faith. One forged not from guilt, but from truth. One not given from above—but from within."
Behind her, the banner of the Order of the Bound Light unfurled—Kael's eye-shaped sigil with its blazing inverted halo.
One of the town's former priests stepped forward, his hands shaking as he looked at the missionary, his voice trembling. "And if I do not accept this… new truth?"
The missionary smiled softly, her gaze steady, unyielding.
"Then you are free to walk away. The Dominion would have burned you. We… simply let you choose."
As he turned to leave, she whispered, "But do not be surprised when the world leaves you behind."
Night had fallen over the Empire, but Kael had not slept. He sat alone in his strategy hall, parchment after parchment stacked around him—reports, conversions, threats.
Lilith's voice broke the silence. She emerged from the shadows, her presence intoxicating as always.
"You're reshaping reality," she said, her smile dangerous. "Even I never thought you would touch faith itself."
Kael didn't look up, his eyes still on the maps and reports strewn about. "Faith is a weapon like any other. Sharper than blades. More binding than chains."
Lilith sauntered closer, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "And when even the gods kneel, what then?"
Kael met her gaze, his expression unwavering.
"Then I make sure they never stand again."
She laughed, dark and thrilled. "You always were the only one I couldn't predict."
Kael turned to the glowing map on the wall behind him. Ten more cities had shifted allegiance in the last week. The Dominion was splintering.
And yet… a new force had begun to move.
He could feel it in the air.
In the ashes of Gravemoor, days after the missionary's speech, a figure cloaked in radiant flame walked alone.
Every step he took scorched the earth beneath him.
His eyes burned with unstable celestial fire. A brand of Solmara glowed like molten gold on his forehead.
The people watched in stunned silence, unsure whether to kneel or flee. A great unease rippled through them.
The figure turned to the missionary—now dead at his feet.
"I am the voice of judgment," he declared, his voice crackling like thunder.
"The heresy will burn. The gods may be silent… but I will scream in their place."
To be continued...