The sacred bells rang across every continent at once.
They were not prayers.They were not warnings.
They were commands.
Statues of the gods wept black tears in marble temples, wooden churches, and chapels buried beneath the earth. The sky was stained with a dark stroke, as if someone had signed the firmament itself.
It was not pain.It was judgment.
The faithful fell to their knees. Priests trembled as though their souls had been torn from them. No mortal voice spoke the sentence… yet all heard it within their chests:
"To preserve the world, the omen must die."
Warriors, ascetics, alchemists, holy knights… all received the call.
They did not march against a demon.They did not march against an enemy.
They marched to safeguard the faith.
And any who opposed them would be marked as traitors to the divine. Sacred gifts would wither. Blessings would turn to punishment. Prayers would become silence.
Fear became an oath.
In every kingdom, the chosen knelt:
A knight wept unwillingly as his armor burned with holy fire.A priestess screamed without a voice as the mark upon her skin split open like a sun.An assassin smiled hollowly as his dagger pulsed like a living heart.
They were not recruited.They were activated.
Chosen from birth.Raised for this day.
Sacred scrolls crossed borders before armies did.Divine seals, gold sealed in blood, living runes.
None mentioned demons.None spoke of Elizabeth's inverted dawn.
Only one name was inscribed.
Lusian Douglas of Mondring.The Omen of Flesh and Blood.
No god explained what they feared.No god explained why he had to die.
Faith does not require explanation.It only requires a sacrifice.