Anomaly

Chapter 369 – Worship of the true gods [15]

Sitting in the back of the church, we waited patiently and quietly, or at least as quietly as possible, for the moment of worship. Or whatever name they’d given this bizarre service dedicated to anomalies. The rows of wooden pews creaked now and then whenever someone shifted in their seat, and the old scent of melted wax and incense hung in the church’s air.

A few candles flickered near the altar, casting long shadows across the stone walls. Still, it wasn’t like I was just sitting there doing nothing. From the moment we stepped inside the church, I kept my senses sharp. My attention drifted slowly across the hall, moving from person to person as I listened to every word, every whisper, and every fragment of conversation I could catch.

Over time, I started piecing together small bits of those conversations, loose phrases here, murmured comments there, knowing glances accompanying certain words. After gathering these fragments for a while, I reached a clear conclusion. Most of the people in that church seemed to look at the priest with admiration.

Normally, that wouldn’t really be a problem worth worrying about. The truth is, there are thousands of priests around the world, all receiving some degree of human devotion or admiration. Under normal circumstances, he would simply be another one among many, a religious figure surrounded by followers and nothing more.

However, the reason why this priest is different... is another story entirely. The issue is that they don’t see him as a simple human who serves or reveres the anomalies he worships. No. In their eyes, the priest is something much greater.

They believe he was sent by those anomalies, chosen, almost anointed, to carry out some kind of divine mission. A messenger sent to bring peace, order, or whatever other twisted ideal they’ve decided to attribute to those anomalies.

The mere thought made me let out a quiet snort of irritation as I crossed my arms. Personally, I thought the whole thing was complete nonsense. Neither I, nor my sisters have any kind of connection to that crazy priest.

And yet all these humans seem convinced that he acts on behalf of something greater, as if he were carrying the will of entities that don’t even know he exists. Anyway, it didn’t take long for the murmurs filling the church to begin fading away.

First they softened into scattered whispers. Then, one by one, they disappeared entirely. Little by little, everyone took their places on the long, dark wooden pews, which creaked softly whenever someone settled down. From the looks of it, all the regular attendees had already arrived.

The last whispers dissolved into the air like dust carried away by the wind, until the place fell into complete silence. Curiously, that silence didn’t make the atmosphere uncomfortable. Quite the opposite. There was something almost... reverent about the way everyone accepted it.

No one shifted too much. No one coughed or cleared their throat. It was as if the silence itself belonged to that place. Still, to me, the scene was nothing short of bizarre. Dozens of people gathered in the same place, sitting side by side, and no one said a single thing. Not even a word.

Not even a slightly louder breath. Everyone kept their eyes fixed on the altar ahead, illuminated by the soft light of the flickering candles that cast long shadows across the church walls. They were waiting. Clearly waiting for the host of the evening to appear. And then, right in the middle of that silence, Nyara’s voice appeared inside my head.

Her tone, as always, sounded shy, but in an unintentionally cute way, as if every word had to gather courage before leaving her thoughts: (The children are restless...) she said softly, almost like a casual observation.

At first glance, she didn’t seem truly worried. Which, to be honest, wasn’t unusual at all. Nyara had the habit of keeping her emotions under perfect control to avoid letting any disturbance slip out uncontrollably. Still, her words meant something very different to me.

It wasn’t exactly unusual for “Chaos” to be restless. Quite the opposite. I knew that better than anyone. After all, they were children. And children were naturally loud, restless, full of energy and mischief. It was practically in their nature.

The problem wasn’t that they were restless. The problem was that Nyara was the one saying it. Because, you see... what I considered “restless” was something completely different from what Nyara would consider restless.

Finally, amid the silence that had settled after the last murmurs inside the church faded away, the sound of footsteps echoed through the hall. They were solemn, steady steps. Within seconds, a man appeared before everyone.

He wore traditional religious attire: long dark robes that fell almost to the floor and a light-colored stole resting over his shoulders. The folds of the fabric shifted subtly as he walked. His expression was calm and serene, adorned with a gentle, soothing smile that seemed carefully shaped to convey comfort.

There was something in the way he carried himself, in his upright posture, in the calm gaze that slowly swept over the congregation, that created a strange and powerful impression: The feeling that this man had answers. Answers to questions you might not even know you had.

Solutions to problems that hadn’t even appeared yet. It was the kind of presence that invited trust without ever asking for it. And judging by everything around me, the others had accepted that invitation without resistance. The people around him watched with reverent attention.

Some had their eyes slightly widened, others displayed expressions of silent devotion. There was even a faint gleam in their eyes, as if they were standing before something sacred, or perhaps something they believed to be. In my case, however, the reaction was completely different.

As I looked at him, all I felt was an instinctive surge of revulsion. A dry, immediate hatred that appeared without warning, tightening in my chest like a natural reflex. I couldn’t explain exactly why. But I was certain of one thing: There was something wrong around him.

Something that didn’t belong to that man. Something that, under no circumstances, should have been directed at him. I glanced briefly at my sisters’ faces, perhaps expecting some sign of tension or discomfort at the priest’s presence. However, none of them seemed particularly affected. Tenebrya, as always, was far more fascinated by everything around her than by the priest himself.

Her eyes wandered across the interior of the church with a curious glimmer, lingering on the stained-glass windows, the shadows stretching into the corners, and the small details scattered throughout the place. To her, the environment itself seemed far more interesting than any authority figure who might appear.

Nyara, on the other hand, had her attention fixed on something entirely different. She watched with curiosity as the “Chaos” continued to stir and ripple throughout the room. The priest’s presence seemed to have intensified it noticeably.

Noticing this, Nyara let out a short, muffled giggle, almost childish. The sound was soft and surprisingly cute, slipping past her lips as she watched, clearly amused, by the way her “children” were becoming increasingly restless. To her, that turbulence didn’t seem threatening at all. If anything, it felt like just another lively bit of mischief.

In the deep silence of the church, the priest’s voice finally echoed through the hall, spreading between the wooden pews like a gentle wave. His tone was serene, steady, and calm, filled with quiet composure: “My beloved believers and devoted followers...” he began slowly.

He paused briefly, letting his gaze drift across the people gathered there. His eyes moved from face to face with careful attention, as if weighing every soul present: “It is always a blessing to see this place filled with those who seek something greater than themselves”

He opened his arms slowly and deliberately, like a shepherd welcoming his flock back into the fold. The sleeves of his cassock slid along his forearms as the gesture widened, inviting and paternal: “The world out there is chaotic...” his voice echoed through the church nave, calm and deep, heavy with serenity: “Unjust. Cruel”

His eyes slowly moved along the rows of worshippers, as though he wished to reach each of them with nothing more than his gaze: “Life is born without explanation... it flourishes for a brief moment...” He paused again, drawing a deep breath: “... and then it is torn away without mercy”

A few candles flickered subtly as a faint current of air passed through the church, casting shadows that stretched along the walls: “Time passes without our ability to stop it. It slips through our fingers like sand. Fear hides in the darkest corners of the human heart... feeding doubt, suffering, and despair”

He lowered his voice slightly, making it even more intimate: “And when everything seems lost... when the darkness grows so dense that we can no longer see the path ahead...”

His lips curved into a calm, gentle smile: “... even then, a small flame remains...” He slowly raised one hand, as if holding something invisible between his fingers: “... a fragile flame... silent... yet unwilling to be extinguished”

The priest’s sermon continued for several more minutes, stretching on as it filled every corner of the church. Still, I wasn’t paying attention to his words, not to their meaning, anyway. To me, the sermon was nothing more than a pile of nonsense spewed by a lunatic dressed in holiness.

What truly held my attention was something else. I was watching the effects. Every sentence leaving the priest’s mouth seemed to fall upon the faithful like a carefully planted seed. Little by little, the faces around me began to change. Neutral expressions gave way to glassy stares filled with feverish devotion.

Some people pressed their hands tightly against their chests. Others murmured softly, as if silently repeating every word spoken at the altar. That was where something shifted.

Those devotions... they weren’t just emotions. I could feel, almost see, the way they condensed in the air, as if the twisted faith of those men and women was turning into something denser, something tangible.

Small streams of invisible energy seemed to emerge from each of them, slowly gathering into a single point. At the altar. At the priest. And in that moment, I finally understood.

Seeing it unfold made me realize what had been instinctively bothering me ever since I stepped into this church. That suffocating sensation... the irritation crawling through my mind like a persistent insect... It all made sense now.

Him. It was him. Whatever that priest was doing, whatever he was harvesting from those believers, it had awakened something inside me. Something dangerously close to anger. My golden eyes slowly narrowed toward the priest.

I began watching him with an almost unhealthy focus. The energy he generated during his sermons was not ordinary. It wasn’t just religious fervor or collective emotion. They were conceptual energies. Fundamental forces. Life. Death. Time. Chaos. Order. Fear. Every word spoken by the priest, every verse recited with calm and reverent authority, caused those forces to appear within the church like invisible currents.

They slowly condensed in the air, mixing with the whispers of the faithful and the scent of candle wax burning on the altar. But the most disturbing part wasn’t their appearance. It was what happened next. One by one, those forces began to bend toward him, as though drawn to an unavoidable center.

All of them converged on him. And then they were absorbed. Not violently. Not abruptly. But slowly seeping into his body, like water being drawn into a sponge. The energies resisted. I could feel it in the way they trembled, hesitated, as though something within them screamed against it.

But there was no choice. Their will didn’t matter. The priest was the true culprit. He didn’t merely attract them. He forced them. In some incomprehensible way, that man had found a method to deceive the very concepts themselves, to distort the perception of primordial forces. He... Somehow... Was passing himself off as a virtue.