The Holy Gate of the Radiant Cathedral was a legendary construct — forged from over ten thousand tons of vow-bound iron and the bones of self-immolated believers. It would only open when eighteen Grand Priests chanted all one hundred Blood Hymns in unison.
And yet now…
> "Click."
Just a single hand. Just a gentle push.
Lioren, cloaked in darkness like the night itself, stepped through. The hinges groaned like the sanctuary's own pain laid bare.
Inside, the praying masses looked up.
> "Who is that?"
"A black cloak?"
"Is he an acolyte?"
"I can't sense any Sanctified Grace on him."
"A heretic, perhaps?"
Amid the whispers and suspicious stares, Lioren walked on, his gaze steady, unshaken.
---
An elderly sister, robed in white stained with dried blood, blocked his path, bowing with hands clasped:
> "Welcome, child, to the Church of the Blooded Body."
"If you seek salvation, cut off a finger and say: 'Praise be to the One Who Turns Heads.'"
Lioren said nothing. He did not stop.
He continued walking — a mere brush of his shoulder knocked her down onto the blood-stained stone.
> "Wait... if you've chosen that path…" – she murmured.
---
The "Sanctified Grace" Quarter
Lioren descended deeper — into a place light could never reach.
The air reeked of thousand-year-old blood, decaying organs, and the heat of molten iron.
In the flickering gloom, torture devices emerged: racks, bone-crushing wheels, boxes for boiling infant flesh… and a mountain of bodies, torn limb from limb.
> "These damned Azy…" – Lioren muttered.
"They still dare to call this 'Grace'?"
---
A group emerged from the shadows — the Church's torturers.
> "No Sanctified Grace."
"No mark? Heretic."
"Seize him."
One of them, wielding a heavy iron cartwheel, stepped forward:
> "Start with the legs — let him learn what Sanctified Grace truly is."
He swung — but Lioren had already leapt.
CRASH! – The wheel shattered the stone floor.
Lioren's kick came crashing down from above — powerful enough to obliterate the man's skull like a smashed egg.
Another one turned, whip in hand — but the black shadow was already in front of him.
"Crack!" – His skull caved in like wet clay.
---
The rest screamed
> "What is he?!"
"That's not human!"
"Together! Attack with everything!"
They lunged — with razors, spikes, meat skewers, duck-billed hooks, iron mallets...
But the ground beneath them groaned — and then warped.
Dozens of spiked pillars erupted from the floor — impaling thighs, backs, throats.
Simultaneously, frozen crimson spikes descended from the ceiling — like inverted blood.
> "GAAAH—!!"
"NO, NOOOO—!!"
All of them were skewered. Those who once gutted children "in prayer" were now devoured by their own sanctuary.
---
Lioren stood amidst a sea of blood.
Each drop that fell from the ceiling stained his cloak — smearing the black with blotches of red.
> "Tch… filthy." – he brushed the blood off his shoulder.
He continued forward — through the torture halls, the prayer chambers, the sacrificial sanctums; through corridors caked with dried gore; past zealots who burned themselves alive to "hear the One," and priests who carved scripture into their own skin.
No one dared block his path.
Only empty eyes looked up — hollow, shattered with broken hope.
---
A massive door swung open before Lioren.
Inside, a half-naked man knelt before a grotesque statue — unclear if angel or demon: it had three heads, four arms, and a gaping maw of teeth encircling its torso.
> "Each day… I do this a thousand times."
He bit off all ten of his fingers — blood spraying with each heartbeat, splattering around the statue in ritualistic offering.
Moments later, the fingers regenerated — and he resumed: bite, bleed, rebirth.
Blood soaked the stone floor.
> "The thousandth time."
He turned — his eyes devoid of pupils, only a blood-red spiral.
> "I am the High Priest of the Radiant Cathedral."
"Today… I offer your blood and sins unto Him."
---
He drew two bayonets shaped like inverted crosses.
They hummed as he approached — as if thirsting for the blood of the Unmarked.
> (This one… might be strong.) – Lioren murmured.
The High Priest lunged, stabbing straight at Lioren's heart.
But Lioren caught the blades — his own blood spurting from the recoil.
Behind him, the ground erupted — dozens of stone spikes surged upward. But the High Priest flipped away, landing on broken heels.
His skin began to slough off — revealing sinews like tangled roots, pulsing red with reversed blood flow.
> "Tenfold Flame." – Lioren whispered.
A burning cruciform sigil ignited beneath the High Priest's feet — holy fire, without color, without heat, only agony.
His body burned to ash in seconds — then collapsed into a pulsing cocoon of meat.
"Splat."
It cracked open — and he emerged again, whole… and even more deranged.
> "Shall we continue? I have many more Miracles to show." – the High Priest licked blood from his lips, his grin splitting to his ears.
---
In the Book of Bloody Psalms, Volume IV, Verse 3:17, it is written:
> "A Miracle is the fusion of shattered flesh and a shattered mind."
"A child must be washed clean in their mother's blood to purge mortal impurities."
"When there is enough pain, enough loyalty, enough unanswered screams — the Mark will shine."
Each Mark (called a Color) is a living relic — activated through torture, betrayal, and faith forced through agony.
Those without a Color are deemed heretics, demons, or the Chosen of the Other One.
---
> "What a waste of time." – Lioren exhaled, bored.
The High Priest screamed, preparing his final strike —
But before he could move, his body was encased in freezing black mist.
"CRACK."
A jet-black crystal of ice erupted from the ground, sealing the High Priest within.
Inside, his eyes still stared out. Still praying.
Praying for death. But the One Who Turns Heads gave no answer.
Lioren walked away.
He never looked back.