Warm air splashed hard against his face. Lights gleamed painfully bright all around him. Golden lights. Stabbing lights. Lights meant to kill rather than illuminate. The hymn of the Priests echoed deep in his ears.Valens’s chest rose in the heat of it, crawling and creeping chills over his back. He cast his gaze around and saw young faces there, by the giant gate of the Golden Cathedral, peering with questions in their eyes toward their group.Screams tore through his ears. Wailing cries of men and women against the backdrop of a giant horde. Up high in the air, a pair of great wings supported a mighty man’s weight as the Bishop faced the incoming blasts of dozens of spells all by himself. Green fog washed off over him as each spell battered his already bruised form.Down near Valens, four figures had ripped a path open for themselves in the undead horde and were now drawing back as groups of people rushed toward them. Normal men, with eyes crimson and disturbingly blank, minds resting in a lull that hampered their thinking. A gaze at them told Valens that these people weren’t aware.They didn’t know.They came at the Templars with nothing but their hands and feet.[You have felt the presence of a Divine.]The light motes hovering in the air like little mischievous fireflies got drawn toward him. He felt in each of them a speck of the Bishop’s divine aura, boring down on him, forcing itself over his shoulders like boulders of rock.[Divines have no authority upon an Ancient’s soul.]Then the pressure was gone, and Valens sucked a sharp breath while taking in the situation of his companions. Celme looked lost. Confused, with fingers lingering hesitantly around the handle of her weapon. Nomad was staring across the endless horde, but his unnatural eyes lacked focus.They’re sending humans against the Church while the undead and Shifters stand (...)