Three days passed.
The Watcher did not move.
It stood at the center of Velmire like a statue of judgment—an eternal sermon without words. Every mirror in the city cracked. Dogs howled at nothing. The clergy starved themselves praying for signs.
None came.
Until the sky bled.
Just for an instant—a rainless red smear across the clouds.
Ashen stood beneath it, smiling faintly.
"Now," he said. "We begin."
Beneath Velmire, in the Scourge Domain known as The Hollow Pulse, preparations were complete.
The cult's most dangerous act was about to begin:
The Severance Ritual
A forbidden rite that would cut a divine being's connection to its god—rendering it vulnerable to corruption, subversion, or destruction.
Success would mean power.
Failure would mean extinction.
Ashen stood within a perfect circle of inverted scripture, drawn in sacrificial wax and fortified with stolen relics.
At each cardinal point knelt a cultist:
Lira, binding the Watcher's reflection through the mirror of her dreams
Tahlon, eyes shut, reciting corrupted prayers in reverse
Corren, bleeding willingly, an anchor of twisted belief
And Ashen himself, marking his own soul with a Sigil of Devouring
They began to chant.
The Watcher stirred.
Aboveground, in the square, its glass wings began to hum—a dissonant shriek that shattered windows and burst eardrums.
The people fled. The clergy collapsed. Even Virelle staggered, sword half-raised, eyes bleeding light.
She knew.
He was severing it.
In the Hollow Pulse, the leyline pulsed black and gold, spitting divine sparks and heretical rot in equal measure.
Lira collapsed, screaming silently, her eyes rolling back.
Tahlon began to cough blood—but kept praying.
Corren whispered one last line and vanished.
Burned to ash, willingly.
A martyr of disbelief.
Ashen did not flinch.
He placed his hand upon the final glyph and spoke one word, forged in ancient silence:
"Sever."
A blinding silence followed.
Not light. Not dark.
Just absence.
Then—
The Watcher fell.
The sound echoed like a bell carved from bone.
Its wings crumbled into dust. Its mirror shattered inward, revealing… nothing.
No god. No soul.
Just a hollowed vessel—divine flesh without a voice.
Ashen emerged from the crypt beneath Velmire as the city screamed.
He walked through fire and ash to the Watcher's corpse.
And from its chest, he pulled a single, flickering shard of mirrored glass—still pulsing with divine breath.
He held it up to the panicking crowd.
And smiled.
🔸 You have completed the Severance Ritual
🔹 + Echo Rank: A (Now Scourgeborn)
🔹 + Corruption: 52.4%
🔹 + Divine Infamy: 50 (Global-level Alert triggered)
🔹 + Relic Gained: "The Shard That Watched" – Reflects targeted divinity, disrupts low-level miracles
🔹 + Cultists: 102 (Mass recruitment through fear and awe)
🔹 + Faction Trait Gained: "Ritual Dominance"—major rites cannot be countered within a Cult Domain
🔹 Companion Lost: Corren – sacrificed soul anchors the Domain
🔹 Divine Awareness Risk: ??? – Beyond mortal measure
🔹 Serathiel's Eye: Cracked
That night, the stars over Velmire dimmed.
And in a temple far across the sea, Serathiel, the Lord of Light, stirred from dormancy.
He did not rage.
He did not cry.
He simply whispered to the angels:
"He walks again."
And in a forest village three kingdoms away, a boy was born.
His name would one day be spoken as a divine blade.
But for now, he simply opened his eyes…
…and screamed.