The cathedral bells rang at dawn, their peals shaking dew from the roses as High Priest Roland processed toward the guild. His golden vestments weighed heavier than usual—much like the divine revelation currently crushing his common sense.
"Rejoice!" Roland boomed to the gathered crowd. "The prophecy is clear! Our Saint walks among us!"
Satoru yawned from the back, picking at his teeth with a "borrowed" dagger. He'd come to collect his rat-extermination bonus—not whatever this was.
Then twelve acolytes knelt before him.
"...Wait," Satoru said, as the High Priest raised the jeweled mitre above his head. "You've got the wrong guy. Yesterday I ate soup with my hands."
Roland's smile didn't waver. "Exactly as the scriptures foretold."
The ceremony was interrupted when Lumina's party crashed through the stained glass, pursued by a swarm of very undead pigeons.
"Shin!" Lumina shouted, decapitating a zombie sparrow mid-flight. "We need—urk—holy water!"
Satoru sighed. He'd told the cult necromancers pigeons were a stupid idea.
With the dramatic flair of a man scratching his backside, he "accidentally" knocked over the ceremonial font. Blessed water splashed across the plaza—and kept spreading, a shimmering wave purifying the entire city.
"Miracle!" the crowd screamed.
Satoru facepalmed. I just wanted to wash my socks.
Beneath the cathedral, in a vault no mortal should access, the real trouble began.
Satoru's reflection in the holy relic pool winked.
Then it stepped out.
"About time," Mirror-Satoru said, adjusting cuffs that didn't exist. "You've been dreadfully boring lately."
The pool's surface now showed the original prophecy—the one Satoru had scribbled over. The words pulsed crimson:
"When the God of Nothing plays saint,
His shadow shall paint the world in taint."
Malgoroth the Defiler chose that moment to erupt from the earth, his true form putting the empty armor to shame. Sixteen eyes blazed across his obsidian flesh as he inhaled—prepared to deliver the villainous monologue he'd rehearsed for 3,000 years.
Only to choke on a passing butterfly.
"Cough—YOU!" Malgoroth roared, spotting Satoru. "You're the pipsqueak who—"
Satoru snapped his fingers.
The Dark Lord vanished.
A single black feather drifted down. The crowd blinked.
"...Saint?" Roland whispered.
Satoru shrugged. "Must've been the wind."
Behind him, his shadow giggled.