CHAPTER 37: FAITH AND SIN

"Hss..."

Cillian drew in a long breath, spraying out fragments of burning soul that shimmered in the air before fading into ash. His gaze lingered on the seven angels before him, his lips curling into a smile that was half amusement, half malice.

He let his body dissolve into black mist, the shape of his form unraveling until only shadow remained. From within that darkness, his voice seeped out with a venomous whisper.

"Desire," he said softly, "is like a spring that never runs dry."

The mist swirled, thickening around the angels, pressing against them with the weight of countless unseen souls.

"No matter how you teach people kindness, no matter how you preach about light," Cillian continued, his tone smooth, almost playful, "deep inside, there is always a shadow. Always an urge to sin. You have another word for it, don’t you? Original sin."

As the last words fell, the black mist split open. Endless fallen souls poured forth, twisting and writhing in agony, their cries echoing across the plane. They filled the sky, blotting out the light, their presence suffocating.

The angels found themselves surrounded, hemmed in by the tide of lost spirits. And yet, worse than their number was their fate.

From the moment they appeared, the abyss had began to devour them. The souls dissolved, melting away piece by piece. Their essence burned, shattered, and returned to nothing.

Cillian’s smile widened.

"The longer these desires are suppressed," he said, "the stronger their eruption becomes. From consciousness to true spirit, all of it unravels."

The souls collapsed completely, leaving behind seeds of faith.

These were not ordinary souls. They had once belonged to the countless races of this world, creatures who had been branded at birth by the gods. The seeds embedded in them were the proof of divine design, the anchors of faith sown into their hearts by higher beings.

Even now, Cillian could not pierce the exact structure of these seeds. They were too complex, tied to theories of the soul itself, it required knowledge that only a True god might have, and he had not yet reached that height.

But the Abyss did not require understanding to corrupt.

And corruption was exactly what he had perfected.

Back during the Battle with Magnus’s Legion, Cillian had begun to dissect these seeds of faith, and his discoveries had shocked him.

The first was growth. The more pious a soul, the larger the seed became within their sea of mind, expanding its reach, brightening every corner of their consciousness.

The second was connection, the seeds were not just symbols of faith at all, they were conduits, bridges reaching upward into higher realms. Through them, mortals could siphon fragments of divine power, what they called miracles or divine arts.

And the greater the devotion, the greater the power.

From these truths, Cillian uncovered the most damning revelation.

Faith was not holy, nor was it some sacred thing. It was just a system, a tool designed for communication.

A seed of faith was nothing more than a branding, an imprint left by higher beings in mortal minds.

"Like a dog," Cillian said now, his eyes glinting, "staking its claim on the earth by pissing on it."

Still, faith was not what made gods strong. It was strength that made gods worthy of faith.

Mortals flocked to the mighty, not the other way around. The stronger the god, the more fire they harvested, and the more faith rolled back to them. A cycle of domination, nothing more.

But his most important discovery was darker still.

When mortals who carried these seeds fell into the Abyss, their seeds did not vanish. They twisted and blackened.

From that corruption, something new was born.

Original sin.

Twisted seeds continued to grow, not in light but in shadow.And, just as before, they birthed endless power but the fruits were no longer miracles. They became sin, black and burning, flooding with every vile thought mortals had buried.

And the deeper one’s faith had been in life, the further they plummeted in death.

Saints became monsters, the faithful became the damned.

And Cillian learned one final truth: these corrupted seeds could strike back at their source, this meant they could wound the very beings who planted them.

He turned his gaze back to the angels, who now found themselves bound in writhing coils of sin. The black flames licked at their forms, gnawing into their essence.

"I wonder," Cillian asked softly, "how does it feel to taste backlash?"

The angels did not answer. They couldn’t, around them, more and more souls disintegrated, and with each collapse, a corrupted seed flared to life, feeding the storm of sin and dragging the angels further into despair.

From the other side of the battlefield, creatures who had once given their lives to the Abyss were sacrificed en masse. Their corpses painted the land crimson, their blood filling rivers until it all ran red.

Every soul consumed by the Abyss added fuel to this fire, their faith-turned-sin spreading like plague across the heavens.

One angel finally raised its head, its voice was strained, but heavy with fury.

"Is there no mercy!" it demanded, "for the degradation of these souls? For their suffering?"

At that moment, the soul of Elderon, the elf who had once stood as a leader, dissolved into ash before the angel’s eyes. His seed flared, and a whip of sin lashed out, binding the angel tighter.

Then another soul collapsed, a frail creature in ragged clothes, his faith-turned-seed birthing another flame of corruption.

And another.

And another.

The angels were drowning.

Cillian watched them with the calm detachment of a scholar, shaking his head slowly.

"Mercy?" he repeated. "Do you know why I asked you that question? I wanted to study how sin affects the divine, how pain carves itself into your essence. That was all."

He let the words linger before tilting his head.

"But since you ask me about mercy... let me give you an honest answer." His eyes gleamed. "I do not care."

The angels stiffened as his words fell, the black mist thickening, pressing down like a suffocating tide.

"I do not care for the thoughts of these fallen souls," Cillian said. "I do not care for their cries or their pleas. They chose to fall, their corruption is their own will, and their fate is sealed."

He raised his head to the sky, where the Ring of Seven Virtues still spun in defiance, its light flickering. A cruel smile touched his lips.

"Their destiny is to climb endlessly from the Abyss, clawing at shadows in search of redemption. But there is no redemption there." His voice echoed, shaking the plane itself. "The Abyss has no light, there is no path up. Only descent."

He spread his arms, as if to embrace the endless darkness gathering around him.

"This is their eternity."

The world trembled as he declared it.

"The Endless Abyss."

The words struck like a curse.

"This is the final destination of all faith, all souls, no matter what they believed in life, no matter what gods they prayed to, they will fall here."

The angels faltered, their forms dimming under the weight of his declaration. Around them, the chorus of sins grew louder, swallowing all sound until nothing remained but the Abyss itself.

Cillian’s voice was the last thread of meaning in the chaos.

"This war between worlds belongs to me,"

Then his smile sharpened.

"I win."

Cillian spoke the words softly, and the moment they left his lips, his figure dissolved into shadow. In the next breath, he reappeared at the heart of the assessment world, standing at the edge of the pale white planet.

Behind him, the seven angels, creations of the Ring of Virtue, still writhed against the chains of sin. What once drew its strength from mortal prayers now drowned in the backlash of corrupted faith. Their brilliance was dimmed, their voices strained, and their forms tangled in the same darkness they sought to banish.

And beyond them stretched thirteen ruined planets, each swallowed in filth and shadow, marked with the scars of conquest.

The lingering marks left behind by demons slain or devoured. Every blackened sphere testified to the advance of the Endless Abyss.

Beneath Cillian’s feet, lower than all else, the abyssal vortex churned. Black and red, vast as a devouring sea, it opened like a bloody maw, hungering for the very marrow of this world. The rules, the resources, and the beating heart of this realm, all would be dragged down into its depths.

Yet Cillian was no longer concerned with conquest. The victory was already his, his gaze had shifted, his curiosity burning sharper than the triumph.

What is hidden here?

The fourth assessment, the most brutal trial Grimstone University had ever forged, would not end without reward. Something had to lie buried on this white planet.

Slowly, he descended and his boots touched the pale surface with quiet finality.

⸻———x——————

"He’s done it!"

The cry erupted in the observation chamber.

Every instructor present had been holding their breath, but now the silence shattered into thunderous voices. The first student in Grimstone academies history had cleared the fourth world simulation.

Cillian had done it.

"Oh my..."

"I never thought it possible..."

The tutors spoke in awe, their minds still caught in the storm of what they had just witnessed. From the crushed legions, the corrupted myths, and the turning of faith itself against its keepers. The Endless Abyss had prevailed, and the record books would never be the same.

One instructor, shaking his head in disbelief, could only whisper:

"What a terrifying divine world... its potential is immeasurable."

All eyes turned to Elara Everheart, principal of Grimstone.

Her expression was calm, but her eyes gleamed with something rare, genuine intrigue. For the first time in many years, Elara’s poise seemed touched by wonder.

"Cillian’s Abyss has redefined the word impossible," she said quietly. "He has twisted faith into a weapon. Even I did not expect such an outcome."

The room hushed.

She continued, almost to herself:

"The low-dimensional worlds... I thought I understood their limits. Yet what I’ve just seen defies every law I thought fixed. Corruption as creation, faith inverted, power born from sin. Remarkable."

A faint smile crossed her lips. "Well done, Cillian. You’ve shown me the true face of a low-dimensional world, and given me a new way to see it."

Her smile faded, replaced by solemn thought. "But curiosity remains. Power and victory are not enough. This Abyss you’ve built is still unstable, still bound by the fragility of its foundation. Will it endure? Can it sustain itself? Or will it collapse the moment luck fails you?"

Her gaze darkened, her voice dropping almost to a whisper.

"Those are the questions I still want answered. And more than that... I want to know what reward lies hidden in this trial."

At the word reward, her eyes narrowed, shadowed by something unspoken. For a fleeting instant, her composure cracked, and a trace of old conflict surfaced.

"Teacher..."

The single word left her lips like a confession, Her tutor, the true architect of the assessment worlds, had left Grimstone with legacies and secrets no one fully understood. Even Elara.

What did you hide here? she wondered. And what will Cillian awaken by stepping onto that white planet?

But before the thought could take shape, the screens went dark.

"What?!"

Gasps rippled through the observation hall.

"The picture disappeared!" one instructor shouted.

It was true. Every viewing window, every spell and projection linked to the assessment world, had gone silent the instant Cillian’s boots touched the surface. For the first time in a century, the assessment closed itself to all eyes.

The world was sealed.

⸻———x——————

Inside the assessment world, silence pressed close.

Cillian stood alone on the white planet. At its center rose the only structure, an immense library, its towering doors carved into the ground as if the entrance belonged not to heaven, but to the underworld.

And before those sunken gates stood a figure of pure light, human in shape but formless, its presence neither angel nor abyss.

Cillian narrowed his eyes.

"Who are you?"

The figure did not answer. Its brilliance flickered like a lantern in a storm, as if it had been waiting centuries for this moment.