The judge looked at him, searching his face for seriousness or mockery. "god already did??? Saved you from what your going to die....Mr, legna Doogmai"
Legna raised his hand.
The Whistlers removed the Divine crown and hurled it to the ground.
A blasphemy minion the ones who were acting like human speakers — channeled a sound like glass shattering. The crowd had seen blasphemy minions imitate human voices before; they were used to the trick, even amused by it. But none had heard anything else from them until now. A strange hush fell; a few people swore they saw odd things before turning away.
Back to the sound of shattering glass.
The Whistlers speared the Divine crown on a long staff and raised it high for everyone to see.
The judge pronounced, "The man who was pure as his clothes, the man who was sinless — his crown is dirtied, as you can see. His soul is not white any more. God forsake this man today..."
Legna laughed, almost tender. "god forsaking me,....." He turned to face the crowd. "Huh — do you believe that? do you believe that God forsaken me, and I will die to die... You didn't learn anything about anything... If I die today that mean good forsaken you, and god made my time today so he could meet me...as I wished to meet him,..."
The judge leaned forward. "So you won't pray to him? Because deep down you don't believe he exists. You were never a believer — only an impostor."
Legna shrugged. "pray, for what....to save me from you...who said I Want saving from someone forget where he left his shoe, or what day it is..."
"Is that your last thing to say?" the judge asked.
Legna stepped down from the circle of prosecution and stood at the whistle-drawn ring.
A second whistle cut through the air. The crowd held its breath, braced for the final blow.
And now, the main event: Mrs. Martin's trial.
The Whistler ordered his minions to step aside, making room for Blasphemy and his followers. They moved to the right, directly opposite the place where Blasphemy and his own stood.
Hours passed. Still they waited… for the last one. Still waiting.
The sun was sinking low, shadows stretching long. But no one knew where Sarah was.
The children had already been brought.
The judge, weary of waiting, finally spoke:
"Blasphemy, if she does not come before nightfall, you will take her place."
Blasphemy said nothing. He only stared at the judge, silent, for a long moment.
Night fell. Sarah had not been found.
Then, suddenly, Blasphemy's minions surged forward. They forced a path through the crowded streets, driving straight toward the circle of persecution.
It was the opposite of what happened when His Holiness passed — when the people had parted quietly, leaving space for a single person to walk.
No — this was violent. The minions shoved the people at the entrance of South Street, driving them apart until they were pressed against the buildings themselves. Beyond the entrance, they pushed so hard that bodies collapsed onto one another in chaos. Some may have died. It didn't matter.
A vast space was carved open, a road of force splitting the crowd until breathing itself became difficult.
And then—
At the very end of the divide, beyond the chaos and the ruin, a shadow stirred.
At first it was only a shape, distant and wavering in the torchlight. Then it became a figure, small against the yawning path carved into the crowd.
Step by step, the figure drew closer, walking the road Blasphemy had ripped into the world.
The air itself seemed to hold its breath.
Sarah had arrived.