Within the cathedral, upon its topmost floor, two men stood, both wearing gold-embroidered white robes. One looked no older than twenty five, agelessly stuck at the peak of physical condition, while the other had a long, white beard and hair, and his face was scrunched up with wrinkles.
“The preparations are nearly ready, Elder Third,” said the wrinkled man.
“Good,” smiled the Third Truthseeker. He took a sip from a gilded chalice, plundered from the church’s altar, now filled by a milky-white, glowing liquid. Liquid Albedo, the substance of the spiritual body, extracted from the sacrifices thus-far used for purposes other than the Ceremony. A pathetic amount, a drop per mortal. “I’ve waited a century, I can wait a few more minutes. Once I’ve broken through, it will be a matter of waving my hand to rid us of these pests.”
“However…”
“However?”
“They’re praying, sir.”
“So?”
“We’ve lost several Inner Disciples to moving statues since it started, and yields of resentful aura for the purposes of strengthening our disciples have dropped by nearly one-third. It will not impede the Ceremony, but… It seems the city was not as unprotected as we had thought.”
“Where is it going? The aura can’t just vanish into thin air. The statues?”
“We thought so as well, but… No. It’s going somewhere we cannot follow. Somewhere beyond the Sea of Fog. There is great disparity amongst the mortals’ prayers - some pray to Omniudex, the Black Judge. A few recognized what we are doing, and prayed to the Skinless One for intervention before taking their own lives; those few were what caused the statue incident. They pray to saints, to any and every god they can think of, to their ancestors, to the Boar Knight, founder of Eberheim. They even pray to the so-called “Walking Tribulation” or to the “New Man”. But it’s all going elsewhere. We don’t know where. As if some higher divine artifact is redirecting all that spiritual energy, and we don’t know what it is or where it is going.”
“Surely, it cannot be this cathedral.”
“No, no. It is a potent leyline well and ritual site, but it merely amplifies the energy, without discrimination.”
“Then we have nothing to worry about.”
“I am sure that is the case, sir.”
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Meanwhile, elsewhere across the city…
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Victor’s combat vivisection had gone perhaps a little too well. It became abundantly clear, almost right away, how the Flesh Beasts functioned. Whatever horrific rite had been used to create them caused the constituent humans to merge together not just in body, but in spirit. Even more disturbingly, their hearts fused to become the beast’s core, their brains broken down and reassembled into many nodules that allowed the beast to function even when badly mangled. The one weak point, the heart, was not a weak point at all. It was the toughest part of the creature and constantly moved throughout its inner volume.
As for what secret he found out… It was within that composite heart. A shining, seething core, a crimson jewel that spilled out resentment and suffering so potent he thought it would kill him if he so much as came near it.
Perhaps it might have, if the Oculus had not reacted. The accursed crimson force spilled out and raced up his observer-tendril, shooting out of it towards Victor, but the staff’s eye sucked it in before it could touch him. An overwhelming sense of anger burned in the back of his head; not his own, but that of the staff, or perhaps the anger whatever force had just caused that reaction.
His mind fell upon Duma’s words regarding the Oculus and the Eight Onbashira. After killing the beast, he quickly used his third hand to bring out the Itrian Scroll as he took to working on the second Flesh Beast.
A technique he had looked into, but which he hadn’t thought he would need soon.
A technique specifically for dealing with demons who turned animals and people into monstrous pawns. Not one specifically for this circumstance, but close enough.
For anyone other than him it would’ve been difficult to the point of impracticality, as it demanded the memorization of sacred chants and constant, flawless mental recitation in order to perform.
“It’s no Teutobochus, but fortunate coincidence is not to be scoffed at,” he thought as he memorized the chant in a few reads and began repeating it under his breath. A truly two-track mind was a wonderful thing.
After witnessing the core of a Flesh Beast, he found that he could focus in and pick it out even from outside a beast, a spiritual hot spot.
The Oculus, in its role as the implement of purification, fulfilled its role to staggering effectiveness. The moment he struck the second Flesh Beast’s core - the very moment his spear touched the heart without even piercing it, in fact - the Beast fell limp and its animating force rushed up into the Oculus.
There, he burned it, and found the cursed essence unraveling, only to come back together in a different way. Knots within it came undone, and the spiritual fetters that had kept the Beast’s malice pointed away from its makers had been replaced by the simple knowledge to recognize the demonic arts that had given birth to it.
In short, Victor showed the beast who it should be trying to kill.
The fact that he used his dominion over flesh to rearrange its physical build was just a bonus. He decided to call it a Flesh Union.
With the newly-freed Flesh Union going off to chase after the Order’s members, Victor returned to Lady Zefaris and enacted the fruits of his experiment. As he flew, he skimmed the rest of the technique, and something curious caught his eye. It was, supposedly, spiritually taxing in the extreme. Although the abnormal state of his soul explained a part of why he felt it to be only somewhat challenging, there was something else there: Prayer. The scroll explicitly recommended the technique for defense of shrines and cities:
“...For it is through the Onbashira that the prayers of those we protect may be rendered into strength to do so.”