“We have all gathered here today to witness a miracle,” Pope Georgius said, spreading his arms wide. The noonday sun streamed in through the stained glass windows and caught on the gold of his robes, sending flickers out over the church interior. Behind him the mass of lesser priests bowed their heads quietly, and before him four people looked on from atop a ornately engraved platform.

“It is by the grace of our god,” the Pope continued, “that such a miracle has occurred-”

“How dare he!”

A noise arose from the congregation of bowed priests, the small sound of dozens drawing in their breath at the same moment. The woman who had spoken turned her gaze towards them, a glare flooding over the room from under the hood of her worn and bloodied jacket before she turned back towards the target of her words. Raising his hand, her partner coughed weakly as he she cradled him in her lap, her arms wrapped around his mangled form.

“Calm down, Ginger,” the man said. His hand quivered unsteadily as he cradled her face, the hood of her jacket shifting slightly with the movement.

“Excuse me sir, but could you please explain what has happened?” The speaker this time was a young man dressed in the typical blazer of a private high school. He wore plain glasses and spoke politely, but the Pope felt a chill as their gazes met.

“Of course, of course,” Pope Georgius said, a warm smile spreading across his face. “We are the Church of the Creator, the lord god of mankind. Seeking guidance from our lord, we reached out to him from this, our holiest place of worship. We have prayed here for one hundred days, and it is now, on the hundredth day that you have appeared.”

“I thought it might be something like that,” the youth replied. “My name is Lucius Frame, a servant of lord Progress. I was told that I had been banished, but I did not expect this much…” Lucius tilted his head, looking around the room once more.

“You are a servant of progress?” The Pope asked, with a blink.

“Of course,” Lucius replied. “Didn’t you just say the same?”

“I am a servant of the god of mankind.” Pope Georgius declared evenly.

“Oh?” Lucius tilted his head again, staring over at the Pope through his glasses. The church leader turned away from the young man’s gaze, twitching as he suppressed a shudder.

“I see,” Lucius said. “Where, or when, I am from the god of man referred to himself as Progress. I can assure you we both serve the same lord.”

“We want nothing to do with any of this!” Ginger spoke out again, interrupting their conversation. The man in her lap made to quiet her once more, but she shushed him instead.

“Do you serve another god?” Lucius asked, glancing down at her.

“We serve no god!” Ginger replied. “Liam and I nearly died for Progress’ little games.”

Lucius smiled at her words. “In my case, I was the one playing a game of my own. I was blessed enough that he would overlook my transgression and bestow his gift upon me.”

“The four of you have met with god?” Pope Georgius asked. Only a handful of humans had ever met with their god, and no one had done so in nearly a millenia.

“Many times,” Lucius said. “Although each time under circumstances more foul than the last.”

Ginger merely glared in the direction of the congregation as they began to buzz with the murmurs of excited conversation.

“We have met with him.” Liam attempted to rise from Ginger’s lap for a moment before slumping back down. “He granted us each a gift, and we were pit against the champions of the other gods. We were sent here after our failure.”

“God has… failed?” Georgius was dumbstruck, but the man waved it off weakly.

“We were merely two among many. At the least, he was confident in his victory when he sent us on our way.” Having said his piece, the man closed his eyes again and allowed Ginger to run her hands through his hair. The church lulled into a moment of silence as the priests took a breath of relief.

“And you?” Pope Georgius turned to the last of the four, a confused looking man in his early twenties. “What is your story?”

“Uh… My name is Christoph,” he said. Pausing, the man took a moment to glance around the church. “I’m not sure why I’m here. I’ve never even heard of your god.”

“You have not?” The Pope frowned as he studied the young man. “Your clothing seems to be similar to theirs, are you not from the same land?”

“That is probably true,” Lucius interrupted, “but even so it would be extremely unusual to have met one of the gods. I know of only eight others at most, and for each of them a different god.”

“So many…” The Pope spoke under his breath, but nobody in the church missed his words.

“There were sixteen for us,” Liam said. “Most of them had died by the time we were banished, though.”

Lucius and the Pope turned towards Christoph as one.

“You have not received a gift, either?” Lucius asked.

“I don’t think so,” Christoph replied, short black hair bouncing as he shook his head. “What do you mean by gift?”

“A divine power,” Lucius replied, fixing the position of his glasses. “Supernatural strength or speed, the power of teleportation or telepathy. Well, most of the gifts I witnessed were much more unusual than that, but you get the idea.” Lucius turned towards the couple on the floor.

“There were sixteen of us,” the man said. “Half of whom received gifts from Progress. The others were champions of another god. Strength, speed, the ability to see into the future or control the bodies of others…”

“I can’t do anything like that,” Christoph said. He grimaced for a moment, staring down at the intricate swirls and symbols that stretched out over the floor they stood on. “I… Actually, I think I’m gonna be sick.”

“To have received such gifts…” The Pope turned, seeing that the left-hand half of the group of priests behind him had kneeled down before the trio.

A large red-robed man came forward from the centre of the kneeling priests, approaching the dais which the four stood upon. Kneeling once more, he bowed his shaven head towards them.

“I am Archbishop Kale of the Church of the Creator’s Blessed,” he said. “If it is true that you have met with our god and received such gifts from him, you would be only people to have done so in many centuries.”

“It may not be possible to prove our claims,” Lucius said. “However, I do not believe that should be an issue. If lord Progress has sent us here, there must be a reason.”

He turned towards Christoph, who was still looking uneasily at his surroundings. “Even you might yet have some purpose,” Lucius said. “Does anything come to mind?”

Christoph could only shake his head in reply, a hand pressed firmly against the writhing in his stomach. The young boy tilted his own head in response, reaching up to fix his glasses as he stared back at the older man. Seeing something, his eyes suddenly widened and he opened his mouth to speak.

Before he could utter a single word, Christoph fell to his knees and began to vomit blood.

…

Christoph awoke in a small sunlit room. The single window was plain and unornamented, and the door likewise. The room, however, was not empty. Shelves lined the walls, and on every shelf lay a myriad of crystals, the largest of which were the size of a fist. Sitting on a wooden chair opposite his bed was the familiar form of Lucius, who tilted his head as Christoph stirred.

“Do you always do that?” Christoph asked, pushing himself into a sitting position.

“If you’re referring to the way I tilt my head then yes, I’m afraid so. It helps me make use of my gift,” Lucius replied. “You’ve been asleep for nearly a whole day – there’s a lot to talk about and we don’t have much time. How do you feel?”

Christoph lifted the sheets off his body and looked down to see he had been dressed in a pair of loose pants and a thin long-sleeved shirt as well. “Hungry. My clothes?”

“They were ruined by the blood,” Lucius replied. “I assume the church disposed of them.”

Christoph let the sheets fall again, looking over at the boy for a moment. Although he wore a high school blazer, the way he carried himself wasn’t that of a typical teenager. Most likely he was in his final year, maybe a member of the student council or some kind of honors student.

“What happened to me?” Christoph asked, rubbing his eyes. A sense of unease settled over him as he struggled to recall what had occurred.

“To put it simply, the church believes that your body is rejecting the small amounts of mana inherent to this land. Out of the four of us, you are the only one who said they never made contact with the divine powers before now, and your body would not have grown accustomed to channeling their energy. In other words, they think you’re drowning in mana.” Lucius glanced over at the door before continuing.

“The church in this place is not a single entity. Although the Pope leads the clergy, there are two distinct factions vying for power, each roughly equal at the present moment. Archbishop Kale leads the Creator’s Blessed, the militant faction. They believe that all mana flows forth from god, and that those ‘chosen’ as we have been are agents of the divine. In simple terms, they would follow our lead as long as the Archbishop doesn’t object.”

“The second faction is that of the Creator’s Will, the ‘protectors’ of the church. You can think of the two factions as a sword and shield if you wish. The problem is this – because you are a being who rejects the essence of their god, the Creator’s Blessed consider you to be non-human. At best, a soulless entity, and at worst a demonic presence. They have been petitioning for your immediate execution. The Creator’s Willful are firmly against that.”

Christoph raised a hand to clutch at his head. “Okay, so half the church wants me dead. But it’s the half that will follow your lead. Can’t you just stop them?”

“I can,” Lucius said, “but the problem lies deeper than you think.”

He gestured widely to the crystals which lined the room. “The Creator’s Willful are a healing faction, and they have taken it upon themselves to drain you of mana in order to prolong your life. Each of these crystals is designed to absorb the magical energy from their surroundings and hold it within. You can think of them as a life support system in this case. However, the church is mistaken about your malady.”

“Mistaken?” Christoph asked. “Are you telling me I’m going to die no matter what you do?” Shivering slightly, he has a vision of his body falling cold and still.

“Not necessarily.” Lucius removed his glasses and tilted his head as he gazed around the room. “I’m not sure how to explain this, so I’ll just say it. The stream of mana between you and the crystals… is flowing backwards.”

Christoph tilted his head, mirroring the high schooler’s actions.

“You aren’t drowning in the mana,” Lucius said, righting his posture. “You’re starving for it. I don’t know who you are or where you came from, or even if this was why you were summoned or maybe because of the summoning, but you are draining the crystals of their mana and it won’t be long before the church finds out.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Christoph asked. “If this land is filled with mana, can’t I live here without any issues? What’s the problem?”

“This is worse than if you were just unable to handle the mana,” Lucius replied. “Requiring mana for sustenance… there’s only one kind of being that fits that description in this world.”

Before he even spoke, Christoph knew what he was about to say.

“To put it simply,” Lucius said, “it’s a demon.”