Chapter 51: Divinity Dismantled
The thunder of footfalls echoed through the dim tunnels beneath Verranus, each step laced with urgency, each breath soaked in dread.
Five cardinals and Pontiff Malcheron moved swiftly, robes trailing behind them, flanked by ten Paladins in burnished armor and a dozen High Purifiers, their hoods drawn and hands tight on their weapons. The sacred regalia of the Sanctified Council clinked faintly with every stride, a grim accompaniment to their spiraling descent. The narrow tunnel, carved generations ago and sealed with divine wards, was lit by flickering rune sconces, dim blue flame sputtering as if it too feared what stalked the city above.
Malcheron’s heart hammered behind his ribs, each beat heavier than the last. How could it come to this? The City of Saints, the heart of the faith, the bastion of purity in a world devoured by sin... now burning. Not from an outside siege, not from demons breaching the Veil, but from within.
The last runner’s voice still echoed in his skull:
"They’re killing each other. Brothers slay brothers."
He had wanted to scream. To rebuke. To deny. But deep within, beneath the robes and doctrine, he already knew it was true.
"What hatred," Malcheron thought bitterly, "could twist a faithful son of the Holy Flame to raise his blade against his brother?"
It wasn’t natural. It couldn’t be. He wanted to blame demons. Elves. Feralis beasts. Aetherborn heresies. But even that comfort was denied. The enemy had worn the faces of the faithful. They had prayed the same prayers. Their betrayal wasn’t just murder, it was apostasy in its purest form.
He clenched his fists. Not all creatures were people. Not truly. Elves, Feralis, demons, they weren’t different. They were subhumans, hollow pretenders in flesh. Malcheron had preached it for decades. To him, there was no moral distance between a goblin and a dark elf. None. The Sanctified Council was the lighthouse for humans in this dark sinfull planet. Even if the city has fallen, as long as the council, more importantly himself is there. Divinity will be there. He was the shadow of the Divine. He was the sound of Divine. He was DIVINE!
And yet, the Holy City had fallen. Not by fire. Not by siege.
By corruption.