While at first seemingly impossible, the process of altering the complex pathways and connections was surprisingly easy. Mila felt the ancient miracle yield in front of her prodding, changing in ways she could not have foreseen.

Despite her not being an expert, Mila found it easy to find the next place where she had to look. It was as if the ritual was purposefully guiding her.

It was a ludicrous idea. Mila couldn’t even begin imagining how it would be possible. Yet, as she willed a mana string to change its form and intent, she found it respond in the most intuitive way.

Almost as if…

It was almost as if the ritual had a mind of its own. A slumbering, forgetful and distracted mind, but a consciousness nevertheless.

Mila felt a prod against her mind, not one that usually came from within her soul. It was crude and clumsy. Then, it vanished, collapsing under its own complexity.

Perhaps it wasn’t a mind. Mila just didn’t have a better comparison. And her companion had fallen completely silent as well. Even his emotions had stopped pushing against hers.

Another moment passed, and the ritual continued to shift and change. Mila sent her will through the mana pathways and found them transforming even before she had to give instructions.

It was breathtaking and made her… Mila found herself pulling back. Something was intoxicating about the whole process.

And otherworldly.

Mila felt even more repulsed. The beauty she had found was not something a mortal could create.

It was as if the whole ritual had been crafted by… “A god.” Mila found herself whispering.

The implications were not something Mila dared to think of. She shut her mind, trying to focus on the single thing - finished the alterations.

But the thoughts of the dream kept creeping back. Mila now understood why the old soul had blanked out a large part of it. It wasn’t something she could see.

However…

Why hadn’t the rest of the people present in that place lost their minds?

Why was there a god in the first place?

It should have been impossible. Gods were not… They were not real entities with actual bodies. They could not simply manifest themselves.

And they were… They were gods… With something like that on their side, how had the old ghost lost the war?

The ritual was proof of how much above mortals the gods were. But they also were impossible. They couldn’t exist.

How? Why? What had occurred all those years ago? Why hadn’t Mila heard of it before?

A powerful push against her will woke up Mila from the destructive spiral. These thoughts were dangerous. The secrets she had gleaned could not be uttered. “Thank you.”

Mila gingerly began poking the ritual again. Now that she ‘knew’, she could see an unfathomable touch in every detail of the ritual.

As Zemny’s additions vanished, being burned away and transformed, the ritual began spinning faster and faster.

Mila couldn't tell to what ends the ritual would change. The earlier reminder from her companion had also revealed his mood. He was melancholic and seemed to reminiscent about different times.

It was more implications Mila didn’t want to deal with. She really hoped it wasn’t the general’s love life she had just learned about.

How would that even work? Gods didn’t have bodies or real personalities. Then again, Mila knew there had been someone there who had crafted this ritual.

In the end, it was too complicated and dangerous to think about. Mila knew she was running in a circle with this. But how could she not?

Perhaps Isabel and Andrew would not understand, but Mila had lived so many years in this world. It had been through her dreams, but she understood how things worked generally.

This was just impossible.

Mila grimaced. She sent her will through another pathway, reforming it with her passing. With a new purpose, the vein began pumping mana with renewed vigour.

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Was this prearranged? Mila had to wonder. She felt the ritual’s aim veer in an entirely different direction. At least, that was how it felt.

It was all abstract. There were no physical coordinates it had targeted before.

Mila felt the ritual reel. She hurried to check what had happened, only to find a disgusting rot and puss spreading in one of the branches that travelled close to the outer boundaries.

The ritual cut away the corruption, leaving a place where the mana was bleeding out into nothingness. Mila quickly tied the mana pathway into a knot and redirected the flow to a new direction.

This hadn’t been the first time this had happened. Now that Mila knew where to look, she found many such places where the ritual had tried to cleanse itself by discarding parts and mending what it could.

Upon urging from the old ghost, who had stopped brooding, Mila hurried to fix what she could. She still felt the apprehension.

Mila was messing with things no mortal should touch. She wasn’t clear as to why her will made the ritual bloom. But if she had to guess, it was because it was accompanied by the touch of the old general’s soul.

There was a change. Mila felt a tug at her consciousness, calling her back to where the controls began. She momentarily pulled away from the ritual, letting her consciousness settle back into her body.

Mila immediately saw what had called for her attention. She staggered away from the ball of mana and grabbed Azan’s sword.

It was an excellent weapon. Light and sharp. Mila returned her gaze to the tendrils the transforming madman was producing.

Zemny was still struggling against the corruption. He was losing. His body resembled Silinth’s at the end of his life more and more.

The tendrils reaching for the waning mana ball were endangering everything. Mila knew she couldn’t allow the ‘Corruption’ to have direct access to the ritual. She raised the sword and chopped down at the slim, gnarly branches.

They snapped in half - brittle and thin. All they were was fingers lost their form. Mila glanced back at Zemny. The man had not felt pain. She raised the sword again and chopped some more.

After a few seconds of work, Mila huffed in exhaustion and returned to the ritual. Zemny would not hold for much longer.

There was another problem. The ritual was starting to run out of mana. Mila felt the magic seek every last available drop not tied to a living person.

It was all sucked up towards the large, brightening sun. “How much longer?” Mila wanted to know. Her body had reached the limits of tiredness for what seemed like the hundredth time today.

The vague feeling of ‘soon’ didn’t reassure Mila. She felt some of the less paramount control functions crumble away as the mana ball turned more into a mist.

Mila felt the ritual cannibalise itself. She made rounds, seeking a way she could help. A couple of times, she found a stray piece of Zemny’s heresy against magic and prudently dissolved it.

While helpful, there wasn’t much else Mila could do at this stage. The disintegrating pieces did add some mana to the larger workings.

The ritual was settling into autonomous mode, leaving her a way in and out of it but without the possibility of interacting.

“What now?” Mila was booted out of the mindscape where her alterations had taken place. She looked at the howling shadow of what had once been a bright mage.

Mila gripped the sword's handle tighter, considering how she should do it. The old ghost was still warning her against any rash actions. She couldn’t understand why. The death would surely add a sizable chunk to the-

That was it, wasn’t it? Mila continued to watch the disgusting metamorphosis.

While it was true Zemny was vulnerable and couldn’t be allowed to transform completely…

They couldn’t kill him just yet. If Mila’s guess was right, Zemny’s death would inject a large, purposeful and corrupted mana into the ritual’s heart.

It wasn’t all bad. Mila needed more time to catch her breath. Watching Zemny did make her stomach churn and the process stunk to high heavens, but it was a moment of rest.

It wouldn’t last for long. Mila extended her senses and touched the ritual. It was possible to force her way in, but only for her. And even that path would soon be closed.

Once the lockdown was complete… Mila forced herself to stay standing. Once it was complete, it would be time to kill Zemny.

Now that she had to stand and watch, Mila found herself restless. She glanced at the dying-down battle in the room. The remaining humans were hacking away at the remnants of the comrades who had fallen to ‘It’.

It wasn’t a surprise. It was the weakest who fell the easiest. That didn’t mean scant men and women were fine. Mila guessed they didn’t have a week left even if the Temple didn’t claim their lives first.

Upon further look, Mila also saw the ground littered with even more corpses garbed in military uniforms. She could hear the battle above.

The desperate sounds of people dying and the higher forces trying to exert their influences on this forsaken piece of reality. They were something Mila wished she could ignore completely. She couldn’t.

Mila’s curiosity almost got the better of her when she heard a voice above she would never forget. It was Oscar. He was still alive. That was good news. She hopped to take the boy’s life herself. It had quickly become one of her life's goals.

Despite her resolve, Mila didn’t look. She didn’t need to know ‘It’ was trying to reach Its tendrils to this place.

Then Mila looked further to where her comrades were still fighting. The doors were now barred by a pile of rocks. Raran had done well. He was probably suffering now for overspending his mana.

Everyone was. Mila grimly smiled. The ritual finished closing itself off from the outside world, and she prodded her own mana reserves.

There was more than Mila could spend. She simply didn’t have a spell to put that much mana into. Andrew and Isabel were the other two people who didn’t have to worry about running dry. The rest… Especially Viola. She probably was suffering with all the vile stenches spreading around.

Mila furrowed her brows. She had readied herself for a strike but realised one part of the wall was crumbling under heavy blows. “Shit!” She knew who it was.

The Messanger had been clear. He couldn’t bring Isabel far. And now Mila’s girl was pissed and back to give a piece of her mind.