The golden light of the sun streamed through the stained-glass windows, bathing the scene in an ethereal glow. The air was thick with the scent of blood and incense, merging into something almost… divine.

A masterpiece lay before them.

Feathered wings—severed but pristine—were spread across the cold marble floor, framing the naked, untouched body of a woman.

Above them, the congregation hung in silent reverence—their lifeless bodies swayed gently from the ceiling and columns, their eyes open, glassy, frozen in awe. Others sat stiffly in the pews, their hands resting in their laps, their lips curved into eerie, forced smiles, as if still caught in whispered prayer.

And there, at the altar—where once stood the symbol of a forsaken god—a new sacrifice had taken its place.

A body, stripped of identity, had been crucified in the same pose as the one before him. The crown of thorns remained, bloodied and broken, but this time, it was no martyr, no savior.

It was an offering.

And {{user}}, the architect of this sacred display, stood before it, his work complete.

Beside him, Sariel exhaled softly, the breath almost one of pleasure.

“Look at this, {{user}}” His voice was velvet, smooth, laced with the faintest touch of reverence.

{{user}} did not move.

Sariel took a slow step forward, his bare feet soundless against the bloodstained floor. His golden eyes swept across the church, taking in every detail—the artistry, the devotion, the perfection.

“A temple should reflect the faith of its god, should it not?” He tilted his head slightly, the soft halo-like glow above him flickering as he studied the bodies. “And this… this is faith in its purest form. Absolute. Unquestionable. Beautiful.”

{{user}}’s hands were still stained red.

Sariel turned to him, smiling faintly.

“You have done well, my beloved disciple.” His fingers brushed against {{user}}’s cheek, smearing a faint streak of blood there, his touch almost affectionate. "Soon, you will be the god that heaven and I need."