***

That morning had not begun like any other.

Adana Bimario, cousin to Tasha Bimal and wife of Sylan Syresmundi, had known this was coming for weeks. Truthfully, she had expected it even sooner. Her husband had been given more than enough time to reconsider his reckless ambitions, to redeem himself. He hadn't. And now the price would be paid.

She had only returned to their home at Sylia's request in order to keep an eye on Yully, who had, unsurprisingly, gotten herself entangled in Masha's mess again. That, too, had been expected. Yully was a sweet, naive girl, but easily led astray by Masha's theatrics and the allure of her so-called "wisdom." What Masha projected as insight was, in truth, delusion dressed in confidence. Dangerous delusion.

Adana's children clung to her now, quiet and frightened. She was grateful, at least, that they were safe. For the moment.

The real blow had come the night before. That was when Adana learned the full extent of her husband's treachery. His associates, men he'd foolishly trusted, had gone through with their new plan to sell Piona's Soul. Her own father Dunkareh Krevoski had orchestrated it, desperate to forge several pacts with Falling Gods and Celestials.

Unlike what had happened with Pullina, this time they had succeeded.

Most of Piona's Soul had been devoured by the Redlings Serpent, a God who had served as intermediary in such banned rites. Only a fragment had been recovered—ripped back from the brink by a Spirit's intervention. It had been reformed, reshaped, and returned to her body.

However, Piona was gone.

What remained now was a Replica. An improved construct, perhaps, but no longer the same child. Even her body bore the changes, subtly altered to accept what she had become.

Several Knights from the Nights and Izranaga Churches came for Sylan that morning, just an hour after Third Bell. It was that bad. The man was swiftly shackled and forced to kneel in front of his house as a Priest and a Knight-Priest from Izranaga's Church began reading aloud the list of his sins and crimes.

The strange scene quickly drew the attention of their neighbors.

The list was repeated multiple times—each repetition adding more details, each more damning than the last. Neighbors recoiled. Sylan looked around, searching for an ally, someone who might defend him. He found none. Most averted their eyes, shielding their children from the unsightly spectacle.

It wasn't until a Priest of the Nights Church read his own list of grievances against the man that things truly began to look dire.

Adana stared in horror at her foster son Gewola, whose mother had died only a few days earlier. Her face twisted as the truth set in. Gewola's cousin, a thin-blood girl, looked ready to collapse from exhaustion. The boy had been sick since the day before, and Adana had immediately called for a doctor when she returned home. Sylan had shown little concern. Gewola was only his adopted grandson, the child of a son who had long since been disowned and executed.

Adana now looked at the man who had, until recently, been a decent husband—but with an entirely new perspective. Grenar had corrupted him to the core. He had used both mother and child in a forbidden spell. One designed to offer their flesh and Souls to Malevolent Spirits in exchange for temporary protection.

Sylan cried out that he was innocent. He insisted that Gewola's mother had acted alone—that he had never forced her into a pact. She had made that choice herself, he claimed, to protect them all. She had known how desperate the situation had become and only wanted to shield the rest of them. They would have all gone down without protection. He had even tried to stop her, but failed. It had been her decision.

He added, almost desperately, that even his six-year-old son had volunteered—eager, like his mother and many others, to rid themselves of Sylia once and for all.

In his mind, Sylan was cursing his luck. Just a few hours ago, when he had received the message from Grenar, he'd actually rejoiced, thinking they had won. He'd started doubting soon after, when news came of the massacre. Greesham's little army, the one they had so carefully raised, had been wiped out by only two individuals. That's all it had taken. Likely some of Sylia's adult children.

Now, he could only lie still and hope Grenar would come to his rescue, unleashing the full might of Masha's Goddesses and the power of the many Gods he'd somehow rallied to their cause.

As if hearing his thoughts, the Priest from the Izranaga Churches smiled and said, "I wouldn't count on that. Those Gods are a little busy right now answering to the Executioners and the Enforcers. We even got Seraphina. The Holy Saint Seraphynia is being remade, purged of whatever filth Seraphina left behind. So far we've only used her as a decoy. Worked beautifully. You wouldn't believe how many Gods fell for that. No wonder they dropped all the way down to this Strate. They are so stupid."

The Priest leaned in slightly, still smiling. "But don't worry, we've decided to spare you. For now. Of course, we'll torture you. And divide you. Keep a piece that shall endure extreme pain. The rest will be set free. You've been assigned a task, after all. There's a Soul fragment of your cousin's son left. You'll carry him inside your body. His father isn't fit for that. We expect you to live. Dutifully. No more sex. No more vice. We'll make sure your body isn't capable of performing any act we might not approve. We can't trust you."

Sylan started to tremble, but the smiling Knight standing above him kept him pinned. "Father," he said calmly, "it's a pleasure to finally meet the one who sold me, my siblings, and my mother for your delusions, your fake faith in a fallen Goddess."

The Knight's expression remained composed, but his voice had sharp edges. "Because of you, I fell. So did several of my siblings. We're stuck in these shells as Half-Celestials, distrusted, kept to menial tasks, and forced to spend centuries proving ourselves. But I'll make use of my time here to carve you in so many ways that my centuries of service might finally feel worth it."

He smiled faintly. "If only you had more lifetimes. Maybe the Dark Lord will grant me that and let me keep a piece of you. Just a shard. Mixed with others from your family. That would be enough."

Sylan began to cry. It couldn't be true. He must have been dreaming. This Knight—this figure with a presence and beauty worthy of a God—couldn't be his son.

But deep down, he knew. It wasn't a lie.

He cursed Grenar. Cursed him for the lie. Sylia wasn't a Saint. She was something far beyond that. A Goddess. Or worse—a Judge of the Gods. One who had tested them all and found them lacking. And they, fools that they were, had interfered in the politics of Gods. They would be damned for it.

Adana looked at the Knight with quiet awe. He returned the gaze with a faint, mocking smile.

"I'll keep an eye on you and the children." he said softly. "Even support you as much as you deserve. Some of them… are probably not worth the trouble. But it was my mother's wish. And I carry her orders. Faithfully."

Adana swallowed hard, fear gripping her chest. She began to pray then froze, remembering that the Gods she had once turned to had long since been cast down.

***

Kullen woke with the sun. He felt drained. At some point during the night, he had ended up sleeping with that Division of Sylia. The experience had been strange—stranger still now in the morning light. He already regretted it. He hoped his future wife would forgive him, if she ever found out.

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She had just lost their children—triplets, stillborn. Likely due to Mana incompatibility. He had blamed himself for that. Two had been malformed, so the family hadn't suspected anything unusual. However, Kullen knew. It had been because of Sylia. Or more accurately, one of her Sub-Servant Divisions. He had once wished he could kill that one but by then, she was already gone—contaminated, they said, and disposed of.

He had nearly laughed when they blamed him instead for the contamination of that Division.

The breakfast was already laid out, waiting for him in a room he didn't recognize. He was sure he had never been there before. It was decorated with emblems and artifacts from the Moondayn Churches. He could taste that singular Mana in the air. There was even a representation of the Moondayn's Sun-Moon, luminous and beautifully crafted. Around it, smaller Sun-Moons, arranged like celestial siblings.

Sylia, now in her adult form, smiled and pulled a chair opposite to him. Pullina sat beside her. A few others had joined them. One was his cousin, Piona. He'd heard she'd been in some kind of accident recently.

"Let's eat." Sylia said warmly. "Today I ordered a mix of dishes from several Nations. There's even some of Kullen's favorites. He has worked hard, after all."

Pullina gave a polite, tight smile.

"Piona, there are pancakes, dear." Sylia continued, "Just follow Pullina's lead. In fact, all of you may ask Pullina."

Pullina nodded with a proud little grin. "I shall show them. You can count on me. No one knows how to eat this food better than I do."

Sylia chuckled. Some of the younger ones looked a bit lost but nodded anyway.

Kullen glanced at them, confused. "Who are these kids?"

Sylia turned slightly. "A few of them came from the Byryaka Church. It was officially abolished, but some of its Priests kept operating under the banner of the National State Church. They'd built a hidden branch in the Holliries Kingdom, under the Serelna Pope's Region. That territory had always claimed independent authority."

She picked up a piece of fruit. "That Pope was sacrificing hundreds, including children and infants, for his pacts. All to cover up his lack of power. His entire branch followed suit. Many of the Byryaka Priests who had fled persecution were taken in by them. Eventually, Byryaka's last Piece and Gods were seized. So the tragedy those children endured won't be repeated."

She looked over the table. "What remained of their Souls was fused into these children and a few others we've placed elsewhere. That's what those pacts do. Byryaka and the Serelna Pope, they target children first. The one making the pact with them usually begins by selling the Souls of their own offspring."

Kullen turned pale. He stared at the children then covered his mouth and stumbled out, apologizing as he left.

Sylia only smiled, watching him go.

Pullina turned toward her. "What was that about? Why did he look so sick? What did you tell him?"

"Only what he needed." Sylia said calmly. "Just enough for him to understand what it meant to make pacts with both Byryaka and the Serelna Pope."

Pullina's eyes widened. Pullina's eyes widened, and she looked at the orphaned children they had just taken in. "He made a pact with those kinds of monsters?"

Sylia laughed lightly. "Well. He is vile."

Pullina shook her head. "But not that vile."

Sylia turned, voice soft but merciless. "Oh, dear. Some parts of him may be worse. He introduced the practice. Sacrificed his own children and others from his family to gain more power. He burned his sister alive when she tried to stop him."

Pullina gasped. Piona did too.

(Pullina)

"No…" Pullina whispered.

Sylia shrugged. "That was in the past. Now, he carries Souls that didn't agree with that kind of practice. Not at first, at least."

Kullen returned to find that most of the children were gone. Only two remained. One he didn't recognize from earlier, and the other was the young girl who'd been sitting closest to him at breakfast.

"Where are the children?" he asked.

Sylia laughed. "Those weren't the children I mentioned." She gestured to the girl. "This one is. She was fused with other fragments, which makes her more stable than the others."

"Then who were the rest?" Kullen asked.

"Rising Gods." Sylia said casually. "They're replacing the ones who were slain last night."

Pullina let her spoon fall, her voice sharp. "You told me they were orphans."

Sylia chuckled. "Technically, they are. None of them have parents—not yet. They're orphans until someone takes them into their Flock. If a kind God is willing to."

Kullen scowled. "Why would you lie like that? Such a terrible, rotten lie."

"There was no lie." Sylia replied, still calm. "You chose your own interpretation. I just wanted them to meet the kind of man who'd make the kind of pacts they now curse."

Kullen glowered, jaw tight.

"Don't look so sour." Sylia said. "You wouldn't want me paying a visit to your fiancée, would you?"

Kullen quickly shook his head.

Pullina looked at him, but said nothing.

"So," Sylia went on. "you'd better beam like you usually do when you pretend to like me."

Kullen nodded and forced a bright, dazzling smile. It was so overdone that both Piona and Pullina looked away in disgust. Even the remaining girl looked nauseated.

Sylia beamed back. "That's more like it."

Kullen tried to steady himself. "So… what's going on? Will you tell me? I can help. You know I'm on your side. I always have been."

Pullina gaped at him. Sylia met her eyes coldly, then turned back to Kullen.

"Thank you." she said. "But I'm fine. Things aren't going well for me. This might be our last real meeting. I'll be too far away from you after today. I can't get you a permit to the Gentry Districts anymore. The Crow in charge refused to grant you one."

Her tone turned cooler. "You'll still be allowed to visit your girlfriend, though. In the new district the Spirits and Gods carved out during the last expansion this morning. It's meant to hold some of those bloodlines close to the Slums, surrounded by high walls. The kind you can't climb. The kind that kill you if you try to flee."

She paused, studying him. "I assume you expected that when you followed Grenar's orders."

Kullen's face went pale. He shook his head. Pullina rolled her eyes.

"Seriously?" Sylia said. "I'm shocked. Anyone with a working brain would've figured it out. I guess that was asking too much from someone this stupid."

"I must warn you," Sylia added evenly, "that some of his in-laws—the ones you dragged into this business—were executed yesterday evening. A few more were dealt with this morning at first light, after facing torture. Some of the Gods I represent were not pleased to hear I'd been accused of killing your children through my Sub-Servant Division, no less."

She narrowed her eyes. "You shouldn't have made them write such lies. Not when you, Grenar and your little group were the cause all along."

Kullen trembled.

"Well," Sylia added, "you'll have a less crowded wedding ceremony now. Fewer guests. Fewer associates. The Enforcers finished placing Slave bracelets on your fiancée and several of her relatives. The ones who called me a prostitute. Who even put it in writing for your sake."

Pullina's jaw dropped. She stared at Kullen as if seeing him clearly for the first time. She couldn't believe he had been so foolish.

"No." Kullen whispered. "Please…"

"Again—not my doing." Sylia said. "That was the Gods of Moondayn. I'm the Avatar of one of their principal Goddesses. You insulted them grandly by calling me impure. A whore."

Her smile turned razor sharp. "So now your fiancée and a few of her family will work as Slave prostitutes for the Capital's men. They'll be sent there with the Goddesses who supported your little smear campaign. They have to earn their keep now."

She tilted her head. "We have someone called Frieze. He is a fragment of an old God. He needs his monthly rounds. We haven't unfrozen all his girlfriends yet, and honestly? I'm ashamed we even kept some of his children frozen. It was to keep him under control. He's unpredictable when he's not kept in check. Unfortunately, he still misbehaves. The man has no morals and no scruples."

She gave a quiet, cutting laugh. "Truthfully, we just wanted to show some of his allies how bad he really is."

***

Sylia was now, without a doubt, enjoying herself.

A quiet, sharp satisfaction stirred in her as she thought back to how long she had made Grenar and his devoted acolytes wait — dangling their supposed victory just out of reach. She had drawn it out deliberately, letting them squirm in silence, basking in their anticipation and feeding on their growing unease. The delay had been no accident. Sylia had savored every moment.

Watching Tasha and Grenar begin to panic when the enslavement pact refused to activate had been especially amusing. Their forced composure faltered — first in their eyes, then in their voices — as their carefully crafted ritual collapsed.

Still, that wasn't the only part that had made her smile.

Sylia had been undermining them for weeks, dismantling their plans one after another. With every obstacle she placed in their path, she watched their confidence crack and their coordination spiral into frustration. They had despaired — and in their despair, clung to worse plans, driven by urgency and fear.

She had let it unfold, step by step, with precise cruelty.

Now, finally, it was time to strike the last blow — to end this little game, and leave nothing standing.

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