Horns and trumpets kept on singing, their glorious sound filling the sky with a magical beat that even the god Zeus himself would never have been offered in Olympus.
The Olympians should have envied the harmony of those trumpets—it was as if God Himself were descending upon humanity. The sky grew brighter, and the booming notes rolled endlessly across the horizon.
Hundreds of priests surrounded an altar on top of a small hill just above the great city of Santa Lux, the Community of Great Praises. The place was said to be concealed by a magical barrier, preventing ordinary men from ever seeing the hill.
It was like Camp Half-Blood where demigods once trained, except the Greek gods and their so-called offspring had long rotted with ancient civilization. A new dawn was rising or perhaps a new curse had been born.
On the altar was a young girl who had not yet reached her twenties. Long black hair framed her pale face, and she wore what looked like a wedding dress except it was black. Her calm brown eyes radiated serenity, as though the situation did not matter.
She sighed, lowering her face toward the ground.
Her long gown draped low, covering her legs except for the tips of her toes, which were nailed together in a posture of forced kneeling. Blood dripped from her feet, falling down the polished wooden surface until it struck the rock below.
But the blood did not only come from her feet. It poured steadily from her hands, which had been nailed together above her head. The crimson trails streamed down her arms, splashing onto her face and soaking her dress until the fabric was entirely stained.
The priests did not move. Only the two cardinals standing on either side of the cross shifted slightly. One raised his eyes to the girl, but when her gaze caught his, he looked away at once, as if afraid he might be swallowed whole by her stare.
Suddenly the heavens boomed, and the earth itself shuddered as though struck by a giant's hammer.
All the priests and cardinals dropped to one knee. They pressed two fingers to their foreheads while the other hand touched their chests.
"Welcome, the Unyielding Mountain. Banisher of sinners from the world of man. Forever is your glory. Forever shall the Highest Saint bless you," they chanted in harmony.
A figure hovered above the cross where the girl was bound. His face was that of a middle-aged man, though slick with oils to mimic youth. He carried the impression of a teenager, yet it was an illusion. His crimson robes flowed heavily down to his feet, sleeves oversized, as though they did not fit. In his right hand he wielded a staff crowned with a crescent moon fused to a crucifix.
"All hail, the Pope!" the priests roared.
The word struck a nerve. The girl lifted her head toward the figure, blood flooding her eyes until her vision blurred.
The man grinned down at her.
"My darling," he said softly, "please go to your brother. Do you remember those words? Or have you forgotten them?"
Her head dropped again, her eyes fixed on the stone below, as though asking the earth itself to swallow her.
"Why?"
The single word carried the weight of many.
"Why, what?" the man asked, lowering his staff. He shook his head, sighing. "It is my fault. If I had killed you fifteen years ago, we would not be repeating this ritual now." He paused, then added quietly, "But it has to be done. Forgive me, darling. I know this is what you truly want."
The girl's lips trembled before breaking into a laugh—low at first, then wild.
"Hahaha…"
Her voice echoed like madness. "Bishop Adrian, you're interesting, but not great. People treat you like a god, yet you're nothing more than a lunatic."
Adrian clenched his fist around the staff, the wood groaning under his strength.
"They fear you," she continued, her eyes darting toward the priests. "Look at them. Chickens—worthless and brainless. They follow your grain like cattle in a parade of evil."
She spat, the saliva streaked with blood. Her teeth were red now, the taste of iron flooding her mouth. "Oh, how I wish I could kill you."
Adrian burst out laughing. "Hahaha! Did you all hear that? She wishes my death!"
The priests laughed as well, but their voices were shaky, forced, more performance than joy.
"What should I do with her?" Adrian snapped suddenly.
The laughter stopped at once. Their eyes darkened, gleaming with the same intent as his.
"Burn the sinner! Burn the sinner!" they chanted.
Even one of the cardinals joined the chorus. The other muttered under his breath, his words lost in the noise.
"Elian, my love," Adrian said, voice soft but sharp. "From the day I killed your parents, I cared for you. I thought their deaths would free you and your brother, but you disappoint me. For the first time, I, Pope Adrian of the Glorious Church of Light, took someone under my hand to change her twisted mind. And what did I get?" He flung his arms into the air.
"What did I get?!"
"Betrayal! Betrayal!" the priests roared.
Pope Adrian was one of twelve popes of the Glorious Church of Light. Unlike the old faiths, this organization claimed billions of followers and stood as the greatest pillar of faith in God. When the world collapsed, and evil powers roamed between realms while humans died in swarms, the Glorious Church became a shelter. Yet beneath its shining light lay slaughter. Heretics burned. Saints executed. Among them were Elian's parents—murdered by Adrian himself.
No one knew the church's true foundation. Not even the popes had seen the Supreme Pontiff. Like God, he was hidden, untouchable.
Faith in the unseen drove people mad. And the Glorious Church was not alone; thousands of cults rose across the world. False deities shattered cities with their hands. Humanity itself changed—bodies infused with spiritual energy, capable of annihilating thousands. Elian's parents had been among the greatest, standing on a pillar above all Eastern powerhouses.
It was only through Adrian's collaboration with his minions that the saints had been captured. From then on, he grew more cautious, slaughtering resistors by the thousands.
Elian hated him with every breath. He pretended to care for her, giving her power, parading her as his protégé, naming her Princess of Praise. But she knew she was only a tool.
One of the cardinals drifted away from the cross, blending into the line of priests. His eyes rose to hers. They did not burn with zealotry, but with calm pity.
Adrian twirled his staff, fire streaking across the air before it stilled above him.
"Elian! Do you know how much I hate you?" His staff rose higher, thunder rumbling. Lightning crackled along the metal. "I roasted your parents to death. But for you… I will fry you alive."
His grin widened, his eyes gleaming with a predator's hunger.
The quiet cardinal pressed a hand to his chest. His fingers dug through his robes until they pierced his flesh. Blood welled beneath his palm.
"May the realm of gods bless you," he whispered.
Adrian froze. His eyes narrowed, scanning the priests until they fixed on the cardinal. A bloody mist rose from the man's body.
"You—!"
He never finished.
The mountain exploded. Flesh and blood tore through the ranks of priests, vaporizing them in a storm of fire and ash. The hill itself shook as if the heavens had cracked open, leaving no certainty that anyone still lived.