A fresh canvas materialized, new and taut, on the boy's hand. He raised his brush, hunger in his small, bloodstained fingers—then the canvas detonated in a sudden, silent burst of pigment and light.
The boy blinked, stunned, and looked up at Zigeyr. His voice broke like a child's as he stammered, "I… I w-want to p-paint."
"I already permitted you once," Zigeyr said coldly. "Now remain still." He flicked his wrist, and the void answered: chains—black as ink and colder than iron—snapped into being and flew toward the boy. They wrapped around his wrists and ankles, sank through skin and bone, and braided into the sinews of his soul, ignoring muscle and flesh. The brush in his hand was seized and bound by the same fetters.
The boy's expression curdled. He poured everything he had into a single motion to reach the brush, to reclaim what was part of himself. He was strong—to the measure of a God King in raw might—but even that strength could not pull apart the Chains of Void.
He screamed. He tried to recover the brush into his own soul the way he always had; the brush had always been a shard of his spirit and always answered his command. This time the chains held. Every attempt only fed the bindings, which drank his energy as a parasite drinks warmth. Exhaustion came fast; the boy's resistance ebbed until he sagged in place.
Zigeyr watched with the faintest amusement. "You don't have to worry about not being able to paint. Soon, I will let you paint as much as you want." Then he vanished. Silence folded back around the confined space.
On the streets of Nai City, Plea Nation,
Zigeyr strolled with a packet of crisps in one hand; Ked kept step at his shoulder.
"Master," Ked said, "we have already folded three neighboring states into Aliana. Shall we press on?"
"No," Zigeyr replied, tearing a crisp and eating slowly. "For now we do something different. Begin a ban on other religious practices. Make Yani the state faith. Anyone caught practicing another religion—torture, then execution. Their families punished as well. And forbid emigration: those who flee will suffer the same fate."
Ked stopped mid-step, astonished. "Master—this is extreme. Imposing such measures will ignite rebellions. It will shred the people's loyalty."
Zigeyr shrugged as if considering a trivial inconvenience and continued to eat. "You are right that the policy will provoke unrest. But if we do nothing, all our victories will be hollow. The annexed peoples will keep their old faiths. If I had time, I would let conversion happen slowly. I do not have time. Rituals and coerced prayers, even if offered begrudgingly, will nonetheless feed those who sleep. Besides—chaos strengthens me. Rebellions, street fights, executions; all that strife accelerates my recovery. The economy may sputter, but with six Quasi-Supreme gods backing Aliana, the nation will not fall."
Ked listened and bowed his head. What Zigeyr said was true: gods across the world were beginning to act the same way. Theocracies would rise by decree. But Ked also understood an additional consequence: blood and discord would spike, and with it, Zigeyr's power would bloom.
Aliana was changing fast. Since the prime minister's fateful meeting with Zigeyr, the state had ceased to be merely a nation; it was becoming a theocracy in all but name—only the priest was the god himself. Yani doctrine, enforced by law, stood a step ahead of every rival faith whose deities still slumbered. Which creed would ultimately dominate the world remained unknown.
A billboard flickered as they passed: a breaking broadcast rolled over the city.
Breaking: The Republic of Luglucia has announced that it will abandon democracy for a theocracy. From today it will be called Xaatinia; Xaatism will be the state religion. Public practice of other faiths is banned and punishable by death. The new papal authority has also announced plans to unify Xaatist-majority regions under a common banner.
Ked regarded the screen in a grave silence. "It begins," he said.
Zigeyr shrugged and tossed the empty packet to the curb. "Our only immediate rival now is Xuhuna, the Goddess of Destruction," he said, and they drifted on.
A stray dog nosed the discarded packet and found a few crisps still inside. The pieces were oddly flecked with something that looked like texture—tiny ridges like a mouth, shapes like eyes—and when the dog swallowed one, it choked, staggered, and then collapsed, still. The passersby were too hurried to notice.
When someone finally glanced inside the packet, they recoiled: the crisps were patterned with grotesque, miniature impressions—eyes, noses, mouths—faint and impossibly detailed. A subsonic, almost inaudible mumbling came from the packet, like dry lips whispering pleas. The crumbs appeared to beg for consumption.