When the first wave of ritual energy swept through the church, the ordinary residents in the prayer hall remained completely unaware.
At 6:03 p.m., the clock had just finished striking six. No one paid any attention to the echoes lingering beneath the stone dome.
Some stood, others sat, chatting in low voices. The wealthy had already turned their thoughts elsewhere, discussing business deals and art students' tastes, while the poor gazed at the statue of the Mother Goddess, lost in thought and imagining the dinner that would soon be served.
Nuns and deacons were scattered around the hall, maintaining basic order with professionally gentle expressions—though beneath that gentleness, many of them struggled to hide their nerves.
They knew the cult's summoning ritual was taking place today.
At that moment, the third ripple of energy, thick with corruption, arrived.
It was as if someone had struck the inside of everyone's skull with a cold iron hammer. The hall fell silent in an instant.
Everyone froze, their conversations and movements stopping as bewilderment spread across their faces. They didn't know what had happened. They only felt their hearts tighten, as if something had seized them.
The air grew viscous, making it difficult to breathe.
The lights seemed to dim, while the shadows on the walls stretched longer and darker.
An old woman sitting on a pew was the first to show signs of something wrong.
Her body jerked violently. She raised her head and stared straight ahead, her pupils dilating as fine veins of blood spread across the whites of her eyes. Her mouth fell open, and she began gasping, "Hah... hah..."
The rosary in her hand slipped to the floor, its wheat grains scattering.
"Mother?" Her middle-aged daughter hurried to support her. "What's wrong?"
The old woman didn't answer.
She stared