The vice bishop's hand, hidden beneath the voluminous folds of his ceremonial robe, quivered subtly, betraying the storm of emotions that raged beneath his calm exterior. The thick fabric rustled faintly as his fingers clenched and unclenched, savoring the anticipation.
The room, filled with the holy scent of myrrh and the golden glow of tall candelabras, seemed to close in as he imagined the moment when Yeshua would be no more.
The thought of an ascent to the bishop's throne sent a shiver down his spine. The gleaming marble floors and towering stained-glass windows bearing scenes of divine triumph reflected his vision of power and glory.
He could almost hear the reverberating cheers that would greet him, the murmurs of approval from courtiers, and the king's nod of affirmation. Today, his long-cherished wish had aligned perfectly with fate.
Vice bishop's eyes, shadowed beneath heavy, furrowed brows, flickered with the intensity of a predator who had cornered its prey. His lips pressed into a thin line to keep from smirking.
Above, in the boundless expanse of the heavens where mortal eyes could not see, the God of Light loomed, his divine form bathed in an otherworldly luminescence.
His eyes, normally a tranquil shade of molten gold, churned and shifted, darkening to the pitch of midnight.
The throne he sat upon, encrusted with celestial jewels that sparkled like captured constellations, cracked under the immense weight of his uncontrolled fury.
The sound reverberated throughout the heavens, a warning growl that made an envoy flinch and bow lower, their body trembling in submission.
Ribbons of divine energy surged around him, writhing like serpents, as fragments of the shattered throne fell away into the void, each piece dissolving into radiant stardust.
His gaze bore down on the mortals in the hall below, a gaze that could split mountains and stop the sun.
The God of Light's power was so immense that even the ever-glowing sky dimmed, casting shadowed streaks across the heavens.
But his divine rage was tempered by a singular focus. His eyes softened, almost imperceptibly, as they settled on the figure now wading into the trial pool, the very essence of fragile humanity.
The trial pool, a liquid surface as dark as onyx and churning with the malevolent force of condensed demonic energy, hissed and bubbled as Alastor stepped in.
It shimmered with unnatural heat, thin streams of steam curling upward like spectral hands trying to grasp the light that poured from the high windows.
The pool's magic probed with unseen fingers, searching, seeking out the cracks in a person's heart where shadows dared to dwell.
It was said that this water could reveal the most tightly held fears and secrets, laying bare the darkest depths of the soul.
Long ago, the God of Light himself had enchanted this pool, bestowing it with the power to nurture the worthy and scourge the flawed.
Back then, the pool was a sacred font of strength, a place of ascension. But centuries of divine apathy had twisted its purpose.
Now, those same dark waters were a harbinger of torment, capable of burning any imperfection down to nothingness. It had become a test so merciless that even the holiest dared not attempt it.
The water in the so-called trial pool is actually demonic energy condensed into a liquid state.
Demonic energy can search for the darkness hidden in people's hearts, and use it as a guide to extend the past, giving birth to monsters in the human body. To put it bluntly, monsters are not born from the dark abyss, but from the hearts of human beings.
The extreme darkness can give birth to light. The God of Light a thousand years ago did not have the evil tastes of today. He placed restrictions in the pool water to ensure that the demonic energy would only promote the power of the priests of light, and would not erode them.
But suddenly one day, he was so tired of this world, he withdrew the ban and killed all the gods.
In hundreds of millions of years, the God of Light has never found a truly pure heart.
He once took out the heart of the Goddess of Spring and soaked it in the pool water, and was surprised to find that within a second, the bright red heart turned black, and then turned into dirty soil.
He thought it was very funny at the time and smiled, but now he can't wait to destroy all the trial pools left in the Temple of Light. That way, his little followers wouldn't have been treated so sinisterly.
The little believer's soul is very pure, he can withstand the first wave of the pond water, but what's next? As long as there is the slightest distraction or fear in his heart, he will be hurt by extinction.
A ray of golden light accumulated on the fingertips of the God of Light, ready to wrap the little believer firmly. But before the light crossed over, he was stunned in surprise.
But then, a flicker of light interrupted his focus. He paused, eyes widening as he beheld a glow, not of divine intervention, but from within Alastor himself.
The young man, waist-deep in the seething pool, emitted a pure, radiant white light, stark and flawless.
It pushed back the dark waters, creating a halo that made his pale skin seem to almost shimmer with the light of a thousand stars. The pool's malevolent hisses quieted, as if stunned into submission, and the steam retreated as though repelled by the force of this brilliance.
For a moment, silence reigned in the grand hall. The assembled priests, guards, and onlookers exchanged glances filled with awe and confusion. No one moved, breath held as if a single noise could shatter the fragile miracle before them.
The God of Light's dark eyes softened, a rare expression of wonder overcoming the storm in his heart.
He whispered, a question that no one in the realm of gods or men could answer, "What makes your heart so pure, so fiercely devoted? Is it truly your love for me that casts out all shadows?"
His power, still swirling around his hand, dimmed as he watched Alastor, the little believer who had unknowingly captured not just the god's attention, but a fraction of his soul.