The voice pulsed again, rolling through Luther’s bones. His fingers twitched upward against his will, trembling toward the dais as though invisible strings tugged them. The glow from the cracked statue made his chest tighten.
A blur of motion. Aithur’s arm clamped around his torso and yanked him back at terrifying speed.
A storm-force blast detonated across the platform. Marble shattered, the explosion flinging shards like knives across the prayer hall. The ground shook violently, cracked tiles groaning under the pressure.
Aithur released Luther mid-leap, dropping him onto the wreckage-strewn floor with a grunt.
"Stay down," Aithur snapped, eyes flashing like storm clouds as lightning already hissed at his fingertips. "This isn’t your fight."
Liliana’s voice followed, sharp and commanding. "He’s right. Go to the survivors. Don’t slow us down."
Luther groaned, pushing himself up onto his elbows, coughing from the smoke. "Oh, yeah, sure. Just run. Brilliant plan while psychopaths are redecorating the temple with fireballs."
The ground shook again—this time not from magic but from laughter.
He stood at the center of the chaos, head tilted back, cackling like a mad prophet. His hood fell away, exposing wild eyes that glowed unnaturally in the firelight. His voice carried through the hall like cracked bells.
"Do you see it?" he shouted, arms spread wide as ash swirled around him. "The gods are powerless! Their silence is proof! Look how the temple burns, how your prayers crumble like dust!"
Some apprentices near him flinched, while others joined his manic laughter, their voices high-pitched and broken.
"Harold!" Elder Nimo’s voice cracked with grief. His staff shook as he held back a corrupted flame. "You spit on everything this temple gave you!"
"Gave me?" Harold sneered, tilting his head. "No, old man. It shackled me. Shackled all of us. But not anymore!" His grin split wider, madness dripping from every word. "The fire you fear is freedom! And soon, you’ll all kneel before a new god!"
His laughter peeled out again, echoing in the rafters until it seemed the temple itself recoiled. Even the corrupted flames flared higher, feeding on the manic devotion. Read full story at N0v3l.Fiɾe.net
Luther muttered under his breath, "Fantastic. He’s upgraded from lunatic to cult-leader mode. Definitely reassuring."
"Enough noise," Aithur growled. His lightning lashed outward, frying a group of Harold’s followers who had charged in. They convulsed, screamed, then fell in smoking heaps.
"Not dead," Aithur called, smirking over his shoulder. "Just... toasted."
"You were told not to kill them!" one elder shouted desperately as his staff clashed against a rebel’s corrupted blade. "They are still our brothers and sisters!"
Aithur gave a careless shrug. "Didn’t kill them. They’re breathing—see? But keeping them alive doesn’t mean I can’t... vent a little." His smirk widened dangerously. "Feels good, actually."
Liliana spun toward him, eyes burning with fury. "You’re insane. A lunatic drunk on your own lightning."
Aithur’s grin sharpened. "And yet you still fight beside me, Madam. Maybe madness runs our the family."
Her lip curled in disgust. "Don’t flatter yourself. You disgust me."
"Good," he shot back smoothly. "At least I made you feel something for once. That’s a victory."
She turned away with a hiss, cutting through another wave of blackened tendrils with her crimson blade.
Luther, still crouched on the floor, blinked at the exchange. "Wow. Family therapy would do wonders for you two."
He lifted a hand, trying to stop Aithur. "Wait—listen, you can’t just—"
This time it struck like thunder, booming directly in his chest. The crystal at his neck blazed to life, searing against his skin.
"What the—?!" Luther gasped, clutching it.
Before he could move, light swallowed him whole.
When he opened his eyes—
The battle, the fire, the screams—gone.
Endless, suffocating white. No ground beneath his feet, yet he didn’t fall. No sky above, just a vast nothing that stretched in every direction.
Luther turned slowly in a circle, panic flaring. "Okay... either I’m dead, in a coma, or stuck inside a giant snow globe. Honestly, none of those options are appealing."
A soft laugh answered him.
A shimmer bloomed ahead, weaving into a beam of light. From within it, a shape emerged—delicate, graceful, radiant.
Her hair drifted as though carried by unseen water, her eyes glowing with soft warmth. She lifted a hand and waved, giggling lightly.
His heart lurched. Relief, joy, disbelief collided in his chest. "Alisa...? How—what the hell—why are you here? And don’t tell me that creepy thunder-voice was yours."
She giggled, floating closer. "No, silly. That was God’s voice. The voice of Asmethan himself."
Luther blinked, incredulous. "Oh, of course. Totally normal day. The almighty god wants to talk to me—me, the guy who barely steps into temples. Sure. Why not?" He rolled his eyes. "Makes perfect sense."
Alisa ignored his sarcasm and suddenly wrapped her arms around him. Her warmth was real, grounding him in this impossible void.
"Thank you," she whispered. "For helping my mother. We’re better now because of you. I wanted to thank you before... but I couldn’t leave her side."
Luther froze, face blazing red. "Wha—hey—! Y-You’re welcome, but... wait, hold on. Didn’t you just say you couldn’t leave your mother’s side? How are you here then?"
Her smile faltered. She drifted back, hands clasped together.
Luther’s eyes narrowed. His voice turned firm. "Alisa... what are you hiding?"
She bit her lip, twisting her fingers. "Sometimes... gods ask for things. Requests."
He raised a brow. "Requests. Uh-huh. Like borrowing sugar? Collecting rent? Maybe fetching celestial coffee?"
Her voice trembled. "Sometimes... to deliver messages." She hesitated. "...Or to distract someone."
His stomach dropped. His tone hardened. "Distract who, exactly?"
Her eyes darted aside, guilty. "I didn’t want to! But if I refused... I wouldn’t be able to see you again. So... I accepted."
Luther’s jaw clenched, though he forced a crooked smile. "Not mad. Really. But maybe—just maybe—you could clarify what the big, holy Asmethan needed you to distract me from."
She hesitated, then looked up with a nervous smile, voice small as a whisper.
"...To borrow your body."
Luther blinked. The whiteness tilted. His pulse stopped.