Musspell’s hospitals weren’t like those on Earth. The room I sat in was more organic than one would find on earth.

That wasn't surprising as culturally while supporting science the citizens of Musspell were not that high on using Artificial intelligence as it took autonomy from them.

The smell in the air was a mix of an unrecognisable substance and a nature however the smell was fake.

Even on a planet so far the I.G.A's power couldn't be underestimated as this felt similar to earth. The smell that was mandatory on every I.G.A hospital. Musspell even though a capital was still heavily influenced by it.

I shifted, testing my limbs. My body ached all over, but nothing felt broken. Amon had returned into the world of spirits to heal. I reached up, touching the side of my head, and winced as my fingers brushed a tender spot just above my ear.

“You’re awake.”

The voice was deep, calm, and laced with authority. I turned my head to see Orvox standing at the door.

His hulking frame seemed even larger in the confined space.

“Orvox,” I croaked, my voice rough. I cleared my throat. “Didn’t expect you to show up so soon.”

“Given the circumstances, I thought it best to prioritize this... debriefing,” he said, stepping closer. His presence was as imposing as ever, but there was a subtle undercurrent of concern in his tone. “The blast could have killed you. It’s fortunate your familiar acted quickly.”

“Amon,” I corrected automatically, though my voice lacked its usual edge. “He’s not a beast.”

Orvox gave a slight incline of his head, acknowledging the correction.

“Cedric,” I murmured, my fists clenching at the memory. “Did you catch him?”

Orvox shook his head. “The trail was cold by the time our agents arrived. However, we retrieved fragments of the device and the remains of the puppet. Our analysts are working to uncover anything useful.” He leaned forward slightly, his lower eyes narrowing. “What did he tell you, Crowley?”

"Nothing." I replied. My head still rang with sound.

Orvox’s gaze sharpened, his upper pair of eyes narrowing alongside the lower. He studied me for a moment, as though sifting through my words for half-truths. “Nothing,” he repeated, the word laced with skepticism.

I let out a slow breath, leaning back against the pliant, unnervingly warm wall behind me. “Not in the literal sense. He didn’t say much, but I learned enough.” My voice still sounded foreign to me—strained and hoarse. “He’s corrupted, Orvox. Not the greed kind but in a literal sense I mean his mind has been corrupted by another entity."

Orvox straightened, his expression darkening, though he kept his composure. “You’re certain of this?”

“As certain as I am that you’re standing there.” I rubbed my temple, the tenderness above my ear flaring up again. “Whatever happened to Cedric, it’s not natural."

Orvox’s mouth pulled into a grim line. “That’s a bold claim, Crowley.”

“It’s a Hypothesis of mine." I spoke standing up.

“A hypothesis,” Orvox repeated, his tone flat, though I could sense the wheels turning behind his gaze. “You know how dangerous speculation can be, especially when it involves... outside influences.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Don't believe me then. I don't really care."

Orvox stared at me for a moment longer, his expression inscrutable, before exhaling a short, measured breath. “Believe you or not, I need more than hypotheses to act on."

"Well can't confirm it now I will have to wait for the next time I meet him." I replied.

He handed me the neatly folded bundle of robes. “Here. Try not to wrinkle it. Priests are supposed to look dignified.”

I stared at the dark cloth in my hands, brow furrowing. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I’m very serious,” Orvox replied, his tone far too amused for someone supposedly on official business. "The higher ups wanted this to be done secretly and didn't want others to know that they received help from outside especially from another planet."

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

"You’re going to play dress-up as one of their priests.”

I snorted, unable to stop the incredulous laugh that escaped me. “And you’re expecting me to blend in? You think they won’t notice how much I stick out?”

“They’ll notice less if you don’t complain so loudly,” Orvox shot back, smirking just enough to make me want to punch him. “Besides, you already know what’s at stake. You were at the debrief. The artifacts being displayed tonight aren’t just shiny relics—they’re dangerous. And given recent events, the church doesn't want more chaos."

I sighed, knowing resistance was pointless. Orvox wasn’t the type to argue for the sake of it, and if the higher-ups were involved, then my complaints would only fall on deaf ears. I stared at the bundle of robes in my hands, their deep crimson hue a stark contrast to my usual attire.

“Fine,” I muttered, pulling myself upright. “But if I start itching, I’m blaming you.”

Orvox’s smirk deepened. “Duly noted.”

With a slight wince, I removed the loose hospital garment and began tugging the robes over my sore limbs. The fabric felt strange against my skin—smooth yet stiff, like it was woven from some synthetic material masquerading as something organic. It clung awkwardly in places, and despite the loose fit, the collar scratched against my neck. I tugged at it irritably.

“Uncomfortable?” Orvox asked, clearly enjoying himself.

“Like wearing sandpaper,” I grumbled. “Who makes this stuff? Certainly not anyone with comfort in mind.”

Orvox chuckled, stepping back to give me room as I adjusted the layers. When I finally stood straight, he gave me a critical once-over, his upper pair of eyes narrowing slightly in what I could only guess was approval.

“You’ll pass,” he said, though his tone still carried a hint of doubt. “As long as no one gets too close.”

“Reassuring,” I muttered, glaring at him. “What do they call these priests again?”

“Vornites,” he answered. “You’ll be impersonating a minor acolyte. Just keep your head down and your mouth shut unless absolutely necessary.”

I frowned. “That’s asking a lot.”

Orvox ignored the jab and gestured toward the door. “Let’s move. The car is waiting.”

I followed him out of the room, the walls of the hospital seeming to ripple slightly as we passed, like the place itself was breathing. It was unsettling, and I was relieved to step into the hallway, where the strange organic design gave way to something more structured—though still uniquely Musspellian.

The exit led us to a landing pad, where a massive vehicle awaited. It resembled a car in the loosest sense, though it was far too large to navigate anything resembling Earth’s streets. Its sleek, segmented frame hummed faintly, and the tinted windows pulsed with faint, red light. A driver—or pilot, perhaps—stood nearby, clad in a simple uniform and avoiding eye contact.

Orvox stepped forward and opened the passenger hatch, motioning for me to get in. “After you.”

With a resigned sigh, I climbed in, immediately sinking into the plush, oversized seat. The interior was far more luxurious than I’d expected—dark, cushioned, and eerily quiet. Orvox followed, the door sliding shut behind him with a soft hiss.

“Comfortable?” he asked, settling into the seat across from me.

“More comfortable than these robes,” I shot back, tugging at the collar again.

Orvox didn’t respond, his expression growing serious as the car began to move. The hum of the engine deepened, and through the windows, I caught glimpses of Musspell’s skyline.

The skyline of Musspell stretched upward like jagged teeth, spires of bio-organic architecture twisting toward the glass dome that shielded the city. Outside, the haze of toxic gases swirled like a perpetual storm, tinged with iridescent shades of green and purple.

The vehicle remained silent within, although I preferred silence the sheer tension on Orvox made it very uncomfortable to sit with him.

"So," I broke the silence. "Any one of your higher up from the church I shouldn't piss off or stay clear of?"

Orvox’s gaze shifted to me, his lower eyes narrowing slightly while the upper ones remained fixed on the skyline outside. “There’s a lot you shouldn’t say, Crowley. The Vornites are a prickly bunch, but a few of them can’t be underestimated.”

He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, and began listing them off with the kind of precision I’d come to expect from him.

“First, there’s Lord Tensen the current Arch. He’s the one you’ll most likely encounter during the ceremony. He oversees the reliquary—the one handling the artifacts—and he’s meticulous. Extremely perceptive, too, so don’t get too close and keep your answers short. Avoid unnecessary eye contact. He doesn’t like outsiders, and while he’s loyal to the church, he’s also not blind. If he catches even a hint of inconsistency, we’ll have problems.”

"Okay." I immediately filed in my mind.

“Stick to platitudes. Praise the church’s work, the importance of the artifacts, and act humble. Acolytes don’t speak unless spoken to, so don’t volunteer information.”

“Got it."

“Then there’s Deacon Resha. She’s younger than most of the clergy—ambitious, sharp, and with more influence than you’d think for her rank. The higher-ups trust her the most. She is the youngest Paladin of the current generation. She likes to test people—subtle questions that seem innocent but dig for truths you don’t want to reveal. If she addresses you, defer to her authority, keep your answers vague, and don’t try to be clever.”

“Sounds charming,” I said dryly. “What about the rest of them?”

“There’s one more you should watch for: Seer Barith.”

The way Orvox spoke was almost respect not the kind you said when speaking of a celebrity kind but more someone you trusted.

"He’s old, Crowley. Really old. No one knows how long he’s served the Vornites, and the current highest authority of the church after our God of course."

"Barith," I repeated, the name sitting heavy on my tongue. "Sounds like the kind of guy I should steer clear of entirely."

Orvox nodded solemnly. "He’s sharp—far too sharp for someone who’s spent so much time in spiritual communion. He’s seen enough to spot an outsider just from the way they breathe. If you’re forced into his presence, don’t lie. Don’t volunteer information, but don’t try to trick him. He’s been guiding the Vornites for centuries. Some say he even glimpses the threads of fate.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You’re telling me he can see the future?”

Orvox tilted his head slightly, considering his words. “Not exactly. But he knows more than he should, and he always seems to know the right questions to ask.” His expression darkened. “If he looks at you, Crowley—really looks—you’ll feel it. Like he’s peering into the marrow of your bones.”

I shifted uneasily in my seat, staring out the tinted window. “Great. Just the kind of guy I want judging my acting skills.”

“You’ll manage,” Orvox said, though it didn’t sound like reassurance. “Just remember: humility, deference, and silence. You’re an acolyte—nothing more.”

The car’s hum shifted, a subtle change in pitch as we descended. Outside, the skyline gave way to a massive structure that seemed to grow out of the earth itself. It loomed in the hazy light, its spires spiraling upward like the twisted trunks of ancient trees. Organic ridges ran along its surface, pulsing faintly with a crimson light, as though the building itself had a heartbeat.

The Cathedral.