A grand cathedral stood in the heart of the Cult of Diablos' stronghold. Its towering stained-glass windows shimmered under the soft glow of moonlight, depicting ancient myths of gods and devils locked in eternal war. It was here that the Prophet made his proclamation.
"The Hollow Emperor is a lie."
His voice carried through the sacred chamber, and the gathered cultists murmured in shock. Priests, scholars, and warlords—each of them had believed that the Hollow Emperor's return was an immutable truth.
"But he wields powers beyond comprehension!" one elder protested.
The Prophet smiled, his golden mask gleaming under the torchlight. "Illusions. Tricks designed to sow chaos. But fear not." He extended his hands as if embracing them all. "I have seen the path forward. The true Hollow Emperor has yet to awaken, but when he does… we shall be ready."
A priest stepped forward, uncertainty clouding his expression. "Then what of this Shadow? If he is false, what is he?"
The Prophet turned toward the massive window behind him, gazing at the city below. "A man playing god. A being who has stumbled upon an ancient power and mistaken himself for its master." He chuckled softly. "But we will remind him of his place."
The murmurs grew louder. The Prophet had planted the seed of doubt. Soon, it would bear fruit.
For now, they would let Shadow revel in his stolen glory.
But when the time came, they would strike him down.