Corvus lounged in a tall wooden chair as he sat behind a humble desk. Across from him, on the other side of the desk, stood the priest he had been talking with a few minutes ago. They had moved into the back rooms of the church, where the church officials conducted their business, to discuss some more matters about the church itself.

The priest had vehaminetly insisted that Corvus was the one to sit, and take the priests chair. Going on and on that it would be a dishonour to his grace to stand while he, the priest, sat. Eventually Seth just agreed to stop him talking and get to the important parts.

The priest was eager to tell him of the church, mostly detailing the construction process and the specifics of the teachings. It seemed that their sermons mostly contained recounts of his various achievements, although they were heavily glamourised and had quite a few extra details added into them, either to enhance the story or from misunderstandings about his intentions.

From the way they told it, he was a God of Death. Not usually a pleasant thing to be, but none of them seemed to mind.

'He who controls death, also plays a part in life' the priest had insisted, referring to his puppets, which they saw as some sort of minion given false life and even discussed that the soldiers were the remnant souls of those who followed him.

That when they would die, they would serve him loyally once more as his immortal soldier before finally finding peace on the battlefield, when they had satisfied their master.

It was all very dramatic and quite crazed, if he was honest. But for all the priests ramblings, Seth didn't interrupt or correct him. Whilst he was taking in the words, he was also focused on the energy the priest was projecting as he spoke. The literal manifestation of his Worship, which is what Seth decided to refer to it as.

The Worship flowed off the priest in spades, surrounding him like a blazing inferno with this humble, red haired man at its centre acting as its fuel source. Much like a flame, it flickered, constantly growing and shrinking dependant on the fuel it was being given.

When the priest was simply dicussing facts of the church, his worship was present but it was low. It directed itself all around him, sinking into the floor and pouring into the walls around him. When it did so, Seth could almost swear the floor itself seemed ever so slightly shinier, as if it was freshly polished, while the walls gave off a strong and sturdy vibe.

But the Worship was not just a flame. Much like its intensity, it changed form and even its presence. When he spoke of enemies it turned sharp and viscous, carrying a deadly air. When he spoke of comforting things, such as his fate after death, it became completely the opposite. Morphing into something that was warm, comforting and safe like the worlds most comfortable blanket.

The strangest thing was when he spoke of Corvus, and the effects it had.

When he rambled about his beliefs of his Lord, described him as a God of Death and praised his many feats, that Worship flowed into him like an entire river being compressed into a single litre bottle.

The shadows of his cloak grew darker, his presence within the room grew more intimidating and domineering. But most of all, the puppet itself became more powerful. The inanimate figure underneath the cloak actually began to grow stronger, as if it was getting massages on muscles that didn't exist.

It was only a small increase in strength, so much so that it was only barely noticeable even when he was actively searching for it. But considering that it was only the Worship power of a single man he was actively receiving, one could only imagine how it could be magnified with just the population of his city alone.

The entire time, the priest seemed completely unaware of his influence on the world, or even that this mystical form of Worship energy even existed. Then again, why would he? For him, the changes being made to the world already lined up with what he believed, hence why they were even being changed in the first place.

For him, the world was simply becoming more like he expected, or wasn't even changing at all. It was just how it should be, and how it always has been.

Although the energy was surrounding Seth, or more specifically his alter ego Corvus, he was unable to actively effect it. He could detect it, and the longer he spent doing so was slowly allowing him the ability to actually see the Worship instead of just feel it. But he couldn't direct it or control it.

It belonged to the priest, and thus obeyed his whims, without him being aware of it in the slightest.

It also seemed limited in its capabilities. Although he was called a God of Death, the Worship seeping into him held no actual 'deathly' abilities. It simply strengthened his body.

But naturally the thought became, what if he could influence it in such directions. What if he could wield it like he could with mana, or transform it into his own mystical abilities. What if he got enough people believing he could do something, or simply found a way to amplify their worship in some way.

Well if that was the case, then one could easily become what their followers believed them to be. One could become a God. One that wrought death upon their enemies, or who brought light to their followers.

A sly smile spread across his lips as everything finally clicked into place. The final piece of the puzzle had revealed itself, and what had been a scattered array of clues arranged itself into a crystal clear picture of the secrets of the Light bringer.

He really was a god, but only because people believed him to be. But it had its limits. If he the real deal, why would he bother with a war, when he could just wipe them all out with a wave of his hand.

So there had to be some upper limit on the power he could gain from his followers, either restricted by whatever mutation allowed him to wield it in this way, or by the number of his followers. And since he was actively building monuments to act as relays for that energy, he must have some kind of range.

He was stuck at home, fighting a Holy War in a slowly expanding bubble and every battle the Lightbringer lost was one less person to feed him power.

Standing from the chair, Corvus made his way around the desk and placed a firm hand on the priests shoulder. He squeezed it gently, causing an extra strong burst of Worship to explode out of the redhaired man as he nearly passed out from the contact.

"You have done well. Thank you for telling me these things. But now, I must make a request of you. Of all of my followers."

"A-anything my Lord. We will be honoured to serve your divine purpose."

***

A few days later, a wondrous spectacle greeted the citizens of Ravenkeep. Even those who had spent the last few weeks cooped up in their homes, fearing for their lives, where drawn from their safe spaces by the enchanting atmosphere that was growing.

They were drawn to the main gate of Ravenkeep, which had once been the sight of the horrific deaths of a pair of guards, but was now the stage of an awe-inspiring event.

Dozens of figures in black robes walked the streets in two by two formation. Their hoods were up, drowning their faces in shadows, and they kept their head lowered to stare at the ground. Their robes had a ruffle of raven black feathers around the neck, acting like a collar, while a depiction of a raven was sewn into the back of the robes.

Unkindly Guards, agents of their Lord, marched either side of the priests. To the front and to the back of the congregation, keeping them in the middle of the convoy.

The priests were rarely seen out of the church, and even less in this kind of number. But now they seemed to be walking alongside their Lords military. Hushed whispers and theories were shared between the civilians as they watched in confusion, awe and intrigue.

But most important, there were hints of reverence. A feeling that was only growing.

No one knew who started it or why. But soon a chant started, a singular voice shouting over and over that was joined by a second, then a third. Then a dozen more. And soon enough everyone who was watching was swept up in the emotion of the moment, as they chanted three words over and over with tears down their cheeks. It was intoxicating.

"PRAISE THE LORD!"