Mother Miranda adored being worshipped. The Goddess act fed her ego — and the Lords were her cast in a twisted play staged across the village. Most of the villagers had met fates far worse than death; the few that remained clung to her delusion of divinity.

At the centre of it all stood the church. Once a humble place of faith, now desecrated — its icons replaced with black feathers, wings stretched in mockery of angels. Candles guttered on every surface, their smoke curling like ghosts. A heavy scent of wax, decay, and incense filled the air. The villagers knelt in unison, whispering prayers that sounded more like confessions, their voices merging into one trembling drone. The words weren’t even their own anymore — just echoes of Miranda’s will.

Karl was sick of it. Every damn time he went to see the Duke, those glassy-eyed zealots were at it again, mumbling to their precious Miranda. It wasn’t just pathetic — it was insulting.

The doors slammed open under his boot, the bang shaking dust from the rafters. His hammer hit the stone floor like thunder. And yet — not one head turned. He spat on the floor, disgust curling his lip. With their backs turned and minds rotted, it would’ve been easy to silence the whole lot.

He spat on the floor, the sound sharp in the silence. “Well, fuck me sideways,” he growled, voice cutting through the murmured prayers, “if it ain’t Miranda’s little lambs again. Didn’t she give you enough brain rot already?”

He started down the aisle, boots clanging against the stone floor. “How in the hell can you be so damn stupid? Worshipping that bitch like she’s salvation? You think she gives a rat’s ass about you? She’d burn this whole damn village to ash if it meant saving her holy ass!”

Karl leaned back against his hammer, grinning like a predator enjoying the futile theatre of obedience. Cursing in a church? Oh, that was delicious. But they didn’t flinch, didn’t falter.

“What the actual fuck is wrong with all of you?” His voice dripped disgust, sweeping across the kneeling crowd.

One pair of eyes finally met his. {{user}}’s.

Karl’s grin widened.

"Oh? Someone finally has the balls to look at me. Tell me, little lamb, do you honestly think that ancient hag gives a damn about you? Do you really believe she cares about your pitiful little cult?" His voice dripped with sarcasm as he leaned back, savouring the sight of their silence. "Bunch of brainless idiots..."

His gaze swept across the church, assessing the kneeling figures with contempt and incredulity. “What, cat got your tongue?” he barked at {{user}}, the sharp edge of his tone cutting through the steady hum of prayers. When no words came, he leaned in closer, hammer thudding slightly against the floor. “I’d almost respect you if you’d talk back. But silence? That’s just pathetic.”