Ravi's pronouncement—It is time to build—hung in the air of the den, a statement of purpose that shifted the very foundation of his mission. Judgment had been his sword, provision his shield. Now, he would become the architect.
Seraphina and Mira remained kneeling, their minds reeling from his transformation and the implications of his words. To build? What did a god of vengeance and judgment intend to build from the rubble and fear he had created?
Ravi began to pace, his movements fluid and imbued with a grace that was both beautiful and deeply unsettling. His new form seemed to warp the very light around him.
"The Sanctuary is a refuge, but it is built on mud and refuse," he stated, his resonant voice filling the chamber. "My followers live in hovels, their children sleep on dirt floors. This is an insult to the faith they have placed in me. It is an insult to the order I represent."
His gaze, filled with swirling golden nebulae, fell upon Mira. "Warden, your task has been to manage the people. Now, you will manage their ascension. Issue my Second Decree."
Mira looked up, her heart pounding. A Second Decree. The first had been a law of behavior, sealed in blood. What would this one be?
"The Second Decree is one of Creation," Ravi declared. "We will tear down the rotting shacks and hovels. From the filth of this slum, we will raise a fortress. A city worthy of my followers. We will build homes of stone, halls of community, and forges that will arm our people not just with weapons, but with purpose."
This was a task on an impossible scale. They had no architects, no master stonemasons, no resources beyond the scrap and mud of The Pit. Mira opened her mouth to voice the practical concerns, but then she remembered she was speaking to a being who commanded the earth and unmade suns. She simply bowed her head lower. "Your will be done, Slum God."
"Indeed," Ravi said, a faint, cold smile on his lips. He then turned to Seraphina. "My Hand, your task also evolves. The fear you have cultivated in the upper city is a ripe fruit. It is time to harvest it."
"How, my God?" Seraphina asked, her voice eager.
"The nobles and merchants now live in terror of my judgment," Ravi explained. "We will offer them a chance to buy a measure of… forbearance. You will dispatch your agents to the most terrified, the ones whose sins are significant but perhaps not yet worthy of my personal attention. You will deliver them a message: The Slum God is building a new city for his people. 'Donations' are being accepted."
Seraphina's eyes widened, a look of brilliant, predatory cunning flashing within them. "You want to extort them."
"It is not extortion, Lady Seraphina," Ravi corrected smoothly. "It is a Tithe of Fear. A chance for them to lighten the weight of their sins with coin and resources. They will donate lumber, quarried stone, tools, raw iron, and gold. Not because they are charitable, but because they are terrified that if they do not, they will be next. You will not threaten them directly. You will simply let their imagination, fueled by the memory of a golden statue and a vine cage, do the work."
The plan was audacious, and it began the very next day. Seraphina's agents, now feared as the messengers of the Slum God's Hand, began to visit the manors of Veridia's lesser sinners. They would deliver a simple, polite request for a donation of materials to aid the 'reconstruction' efforts in The Pit. No threats were made, but none were needed. The unspoken alternative hung heavy in the air.
The result was immediate and overwhelming. Carts laden with the finest timber, perfectly cut stone blocks, high-quality steel ingots, and chests of gold began to arrive at the edge of the Sanctuary, their noble owners desperate to be seen as contributors to the Slum God's new project. They were buying protection, and Seraphina was the broker.
Within the Sanctuary, Ravi unveiled the next part of his plan. He gathered the strongest men and women, the former thugs, the desperate laborers, before a vast, empty, trash-strewn field.
"You wish to build a city," his voice boomed over them. "But you lack the skill. You lack the knowledge. I shall provide."
He plunged his hand into the muddy, refuse-filled ground. The earth began to groan and churn. Rock, metal scrap, and filth were drawn towards his hand, compressing under immense divine pressure. The mass began to glow with the heat of a forge, melting and purifying, the impurities burning away as smoke and ash.
With slow, deliberate movements, Ravi drew his hand from the earth, pulling with it a newly-formed object. It was a massive, perfectly balanced sledgehammer, its head forged of a dark, impossibly dense metal, its handle seemingly grown from petrified wood. Faint golden runes pulsed along its surface.
He handed the great hammer to the strongest of the ex-Red Fang enforcers, a mountain of a man named Borg. When Borg took it, he gasped as a jolt of power surged through him. He felt his muscles swell with a strength that was not his own. The hammer felt as light as a toy in his hands.
"This is a Soul-Forge Hammer," Ravi explained. "It is imbued with a sliver of my will. It will not just shape stone; it will shape the idea of stone. He who wields it will have the knowledge of a master stonemason, the strength of a giant, and the endurance to work for days without rest."
He then repeated the process, creating divinely-empowered tools – saws that could cut through rock as if it were wood, trowels that could lay mortar with impossible precision, chisels that could carve intricate designs with a touch. Each tool was a Blessing, bestowing both the skill and the strength needed to perform its task upon its wielder. He was not just giving them tools; he was forging a workforce of master artisans from the dregs of society.
The transformation of the Sanctuary was miraculous and terrifying to behold. Under Mira's command, the newly-empowered workforce began to tear down the old slum. Guided by a master plan that Ravi seemed to project directly into their minds, they worked with a speed and efficiency that defied mortal limits.
Borg, wielding his Soul-Forge Hammer, could shatter a derelict hovel with a single blow or shape a ten-ton block of donated stone with a few precise taps. Men with blessed saws cut through stone and timber with impossible ease. The foundations of a new city began to rise from the filth.
They worked in a fervor, a communal effort driven by divine purpose. And with each stone laid, with each wall raised, their faith in their God grew stronger. He had not just given them food and safety; he was giving them purpose, skill, and a home built with their own divinely-guided hands.
Ravi became the silent, observing architect of it all. He walked the construction grounds, his very presence seeming to correct flaws and strengthen structures. But his main focus was on the forges.
Using the finest steel ingots 'donated' by the terrified nobles, Ravi established the Soul-Forges. These were not normal forges, but altars where Ravi himself would imbue weapons and armor with his power. He began by crafting a new weapon for Mira.
He took a bar of steel, plunged it into a heart of pure divine fire, and hammered it not with steel, but with his bare hands. With each blow, he infused the blade with a portion of Mira's loyalty, her fierceness, and his own divine authority. The result was a beautiful, terrifying short sword, its blade the color of a midnight storm, with a single, golden rune glowing at its hilt. It was perfectly balanced, impossibly sharp, and hummed with a contained, lethal power.
When he presented it to Mira, she wept as she took it. As her hand closed around the hilt, she felt her own power surge, bonding with the weapon. It felt like a missing part of her own soul.
"This is 'Warden's Decree'," Ravi said. "It will cut through any mundane material, and its edge is poison to any creature of falsehood or chaos. It is a symbol of your station, and a tool of my judgment."
Ravi had entered a new phase. He was no longer just a destroyer. He was a creator, a forger of cities, of armies, of souls. He was building his own civilization from the ashes of the old one, empowering his followers, and arming them for the greater conflicts he knew were to come. The city of Veridia, and the world beyond, had only witnessed his anger. Now, they would witness the terrifying, beautiful, and absolute power of his creation.