All throughout Kemet, from Natun to Harib, the light's brilliance bathed the land like a radiant sun in the night sky.
From men returning home after long days of work, to women and children peering cautiously from the windows of their homes, to beggars and street kids huddling in the corners of dimly lit alleyways—everyone looked up at the radiant pillar of light. Raising their arms to the sky and pressing their hands to their chests, they prayed in unison to the Great Sun.
In the Hall of Radiance, back at the altar, the pillar of light slowly faded away, revealing the golden sun-shaped crest glowing faintly on the back of a pale hand.
Devin, Angel, and the others looked drained, their eyes rolling back as their bodies sagged, ready to collapse. Statheros raised his hand, mystical energy swirling around them as he gently caught their bodies in mid-air.
Thud! Douglas fell to his knees as the transparent barrier surrounding the hall flickered between tangibility and an ethereal haze, shimmering like a fragile veil caught in a storm.
"Haaah… haah…" Sweat poured down his face, streaking his pale skin as he gasped for breath, blood trickling from his trembling lips.
Using the mystical energy to pull the drained bodies of Angel and the others toward him, Statheros turned to Douglas, his golden eyes flickering with concern. Placing a hand on the latter's back, Statheros offered a faint, reassuring smile. "You did it, Douglas. You have birthed Kemet's Champions!"
"We… did it… your highness…" Douglas looked up weakly, his voice wavering. "We've—" His words cut off abruptly as an awful pressure descended upon the hall, filling him with dread.
A shadow crossed over Statheros's face, as his gaze darkened. Slowly, he turned his head upward just as— Shatter! A figure flew through the air, breaking through the transparent barrier surrounding the hall.
Levitating high above, the figure glared down at Statheros with wrathful, deep brown eyes. His aged face etched with a frown, his majestic beard stood eerily still in the windy air.
"Your Holiness," Statheros addressed him evenly, his voice laced with deference as the Pope scanned the scene. His eyes lingered on the five youths around Statheros and the pale manservant kneeling at his side. Grinding his teeth, the Pope exuded a power that made the very air vibrate with intensity. Thunder roared throughout the sky, punctuated by jagged strikes of lightning.
"Tell me, Statheros—have you forsaken our Lord?" the Pope asked, his deep voice rumbling like the growl of a storm.
Pensive, Statheros kept his eyes fixed on the Pope as he gave Douglas his instructions. "Douglas, take the Champions and leave—now."
A dreadful frown marred Douglas's face as he protested, "But, Your Highness, we—"
"No time." Statheros raised his hand, and with a swift motion, he threw the drained Champions toward Douglas. The latter caught them with mystical energy swirling around his arms.
Statheros stepped forward, his voice steady and firm. "I'll take care of this. Move, Douglas."
Douglas sighed, defeat weighing heavily on his shoulders. "Yes… Your Highness…" Gathering the Champions, he turned and ran from the altar, casting Statheros one last look before breaching the grand archway.
The Pope stood stunned for a fleeting moment, before his wrathful voice cut through the silence. "Do you think you can stop me, brat?" He dropped his hand toward Statheros.
"Urgh!" Statheros grunted, his body trembling as the crushing pressure from the Pope drove him to his knee.
"What dark forces did you conspire with, to inspire such treachery?" The Pope asked, his voice dripping with scorn. "Where is your sense of honour, boy? You disgrace our Lord and this Great Kingdom He has built. Tell me—what are your last words before your excommunication?"
Straining his neck, Statheros slowly lifted his head, his expression unwavering. An ethereal golden glow flared to life around him, encasing him in a radiant divine fire. "I am pious to my Great Lord Amun, God of the Sun. And a bastion to my Kingdom," he declared, his golden eyes gleaming as they locked onto the Pope's deep brown ones. "How else would I receive the Lord's revelation?"
The Pope's fingers shook, his composure faltering as the force pressing down on Statheros wavered. Bracing himself, Statheros pushed against the pressure, straightening his bent knee. The golden flames around him emboldened, pushing back against the Pope's inconceivable power.
"Tell me, Your Holiness- have you received the Lord's revelation?" Statheros snickered, his voice sharp with defiance. "No? You have not? Perhaps you have been forsaken by the Lord."
The air crackled with raw energy as the Pope's overwhelming force collided with Statheros's radiant golden flames. The clash was palpable, a battle of immense power that seemed to ripple through the very fabric of the hall. One stood resolute with a single hand outstretched, exuding effortless dominance, while the other strained every fiber of their being just to remain upright, their body trembling under the immense pressure.
The Pope ground his teeth, glaring down at the prince as his words echoed in his mind. 'I? Forsaken? Impossible! Yet…' The thought gnawed at him, his disbelief clashing with the reality before him. Why? How could this young princeling—a mere boy—receive the Champions' revelation instead of me, the Church's chosen representative?
With a reluctant sigh, the Pope released his teeth and dropped his hand, the oppressive force dissipating instantly. "This will be investigated further. For now, you may leave," he ordered, his tone heavy with veiled frustration.
Statheros kept a straight face, holding back the trembling in his wobbly frame as he turned and walked away from the altar.
When Statheros exited the Hall of Radiance, the Pope sighed deeply, levitating gracefully to the ground.
"I have a grand responsibility to uphold. I can't let my emotions get the better of me," he muttered, his voice quiet but resolute.
With his hands clasped behind his back, he turned to the altar surrounded by bronze statues. His gaze lingered on the towering figures, their presence stoic and eternal.
He sighed once more, briskly walking toward the altar. Gently caressing the face of the statue wielding the war-hammer, he whispered, "Has my path eroded my favour with the Lord?"
"What would you all think of me now?"
End of Chapter 31