Behold, the unyielding gaze of Theosis, the Divine System, rends the veil of mortal frailty.

Trinitarianism spurns aqilah, attainder, bahishkar, herem, mamzerut, pitru dosha, sanghabheda, sipjeok, and every scripture or ancient custom that chains the son to the father's sin. Yet you impose this burden as a curse upon the entire northern hemisphere, even as its masses endured the same hardships that scourged your own kin.

Your sacred charge is to safeguard the faithful, not butcher them; this carnage desecrates Trinitarianism's iron doctrines, blackening your honor like a Nofelim's rotten heart. This blood demands atonement, purification for your soul, confessed in the Sacrament of Penance.

Further, from this moment onward, and in all that follow, you shall only voice true remorse for your transgressions in the Vow of Contrition, a loathing of those sins, and an unbreakable resolution to reform your path and shun future corruption, imploring God's mercy and grace.

Your previous absolution stands insincere and incomplete. Redeeming a soul is no mere act of sparing flesh. Your count lingers, by merciful reckoning, at fifty-five souls to drag from the abyss, reclaimed in the light of the Three.

Lest Heaven bar its gates against you, complete that earlier mandate; scour the dark taint from your soul, or see it reduced to cinders before Divine judgment.

Moreover, all the sacred scriptures of the forgotten faiths of the old world decry the cult, 'The Lord Hungers,' as having a cruel purpose, a disgrace that mocks our blessed Mother's Holy words.

Understand, Crusader, that you are under eternal vigilance, your soul exposed to my unblinking sight. You tread the razor's edge, flirting with foul darkness, standing too close to the profane, to the Heretical.

Holy Theosis, God's voice in this temporal realm, denies you two exalted Glorious Achievements, hallowed deeds totaling 105 marks of triumph: for the first Terran to unleash something close to Electrosynapticism, a psychic fury once chained only to the Grays, and an unprecedented evolution of that same power, both unique feats across this galaxy.

Kneel in supplication, atone without delay, for to defy these imperatives is to invite oblivion unending, damning your undying soul from Heaven's eternal radiance forever.

For God and Empire!

An inferno of fury ignited in Angar's chest, blazing hotter as he read. He sat in dilated time to slough it off, to regain clarity and control.

He ached to respond, to challenge Holy Theosis' skewed decrees and twisted judgments, the injustice of it, expose its glaring errors.

But there could be no debate with the Divine, even when its rulings reeked of fallacy.

He had wanted to slay the councilors, sure, but he hadn't meant to, at least not at that moment. The distinction was crucial.

And if he chose restraint over slaughter, how was that not redemption in action? Someone who would be dead wasn't, hence saved. It was basic math.

He could understand not counting Fen's noble troops as he never wanted to slaughter them, but those nine cruel officers at the ball? He'd not only granted them mercy, but had hammered sense into their skulls and marched them straight to confessional rites. For Holy Theosis not to count them as saved was true madness.

He held his tongue for another cause, too. He clung to the hope that the Mind of Shaloth'Eshk Feat remained on offer, untouched in the list. There was no sense in stoking the Divine's ire further, inviting further scrutiny upon himself that might cause it to be taken away.

To help douse his rage, he mulled his new cult's name. Like his heraldry, it was glorious. He would've preferred 'the Lord Thirsts,' but a famed monastery of monk brewers had copyrighted it millennia ago. 'The Lord Hungers' suited his needs just fine.

He loved it. That name would also grace the Knightly Chapter he planned to found as well.

Mastery reclaimed, he flexed his hand to shatter the dilation, the world snapping back into motion with a jolt.

But before all else, he summoned his screens with a thought, confirming the Feat was still on offer, exhaling in relief.

Next, navigating tabs with his mind, his eyes narrowed on the Psychic Powers List to etch the truth of his awakening, as he needed to confirm his manifestation wasn't a fluke.

But Aude persisted in her chatter, a nagging he needed to silence.

"Seriously, Sir, what do we do now?" she pressed once more. "No one's left with the authority to hand over this fief to you. We must inform the Sangha Majlis, let them grind through their elections. It'll drag on for months."

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"No," Angar stated. "No ballots, no farces. I've slain seven and must submit to the Sacrament of Penance for it. Seven or seventy thousand, it's all the same to me now. Inform the monkeys that I depart shortly, and by gift or conquest, I'll depart as ruler of the north. Any blood spilled from here on stains their own souls, not my own."

Aude stared at him as if seeing him for the first time, dread and horror flooding into her eyes.

She jerked a nod, retreated several paces as if from a primed grenade, then wheeled and fled the chamber.

Angar drilled into the Psychic Powers List, scrutinizing each entry to verify that Electrosynapticism, much like Pyrokineticism, Cryokineticism, Biopsychic Manipulation, and Psychic Veil, was indeed an exclusively Gray manifestation.

It certainly was. Or had been.

The Grays mastered every documented psychic art, but the Pleiadeans shared one exclusive power with them that Reptiloids and Terrans couldn't access. That was Mind Link, which channeled psychic energy to bind minds, harmonize, and enhance.

Similarly, Reptiloids shared Projection Field with the Grays, a psionic barrier and protective shield.

Terrans, however, had no such shared unique power with the Grays. Until now. Unless his earlier display had been nothing more than a fluke, a one-off.

He examined the details of it and its four established evolutions.

Electrosynapticism (Gray Exclusive Power) - This category channels psychic energy into electrical-like discharges.

Spark: Emits a faint crackle of psychic energy from their fingertips, delivering a sharp, disorienting jolt to a single target's nervous system. Causes minor pain and brief muscle spasms, impairing focus.

Arc: Projects a sustained stream of psychic electricity, striking one or two targets within a short range. Deals moderate damage, stuns briefly, and may disrupt nearby tech.

Chain: Unleashes a branching surge of psychic lightning, leaping between multiple targets in a wider area. Deals significant damage, dazes enemies, and can overload tech or ignite flammable materials.

Flow: A cataclysmic psychic lightning storm, streams of blazing energy streaking from one or both hands to ravage a large area. Deals massive damage, staggers survivors, and wrecks tech and can damage structures. Can burn too.

To prevent further transgression by desecrating corpses, Angar aimed his gauntleted hand at the vacant tiers of seating, the armored digits trembling, not from fear or nervousness, but from effort.

The weak-willed clawed at psychic scraps, mere dabblers. But in the grip of unyielding determination, someone whose resolve could shatter the veil between reality and impossibility, such power forged the miraculous.

Angar had done the impossible before. His will was like iron, his spirit unbreakable. He would never yield. He would perform miracles. He wouldn't allow less.

He envisioned torrents of lightning erupting from his fingertips, not as a whim, but as a commandment etched into the fabric of existence itself.

The air grew charged. Shimmers as if from heat warped his vision. Sweat beaded on his brow beneath the helm. His teeth gritted, his mouth grimacing in defiance of what reality determined was within his grasp.

His mind strained like a titan shattering mortality's chains, synapses blazing in agonized fury. Willpower crashed through him, colossal, unassailable, a tidal wave battering against the barriers of the possible.

It was not effortless. It was a war waged in the depths of his being, where doubt whispered and fatigue ate away at his resolve, the strain overwhelming.

But he crushed them, ground them beneath the boot of his indomitable spirit, drawing upon the high Resilience that had been hammered into him through endless trials of blood and battle, both physical and within his own mind.

He had rebuked the dark corruption and psychic might of a Nofelim. He had defeated a demon's attempt to destroy his mind and possess his body.

He would not yield.

Existence yielded. Not willingly, but broken by his command.

A tempest of lightning burst forth, crackling with righteous wrath, enveloping the space ahead in a cascade of psionic voltage that scorched the air and left the stone benches blackened and smoking.

Arcs of ethereal blue-yellow fury danced like the judgment of the Lord Himself, illuminating the chamber in flashes that revealed shadows writhing unnaturally, as if recoiling from this impossible feat.

That was Flow, the fourth and pinnacle evolution of Electrosynapticism.

For a heartbeat, Angar felt the void yawn within him, his iron will fraying at the edges as if the power clawed back, demanding its payment.

His chest heaved, exhausted from effort, his mind drained and sluggish, his breath ragged, but the fire in his veins demanded more, and he demanded more of himself.

He attempted again, this time unleashing a bolt from each finger, channeling the storm through gritted focus. The effort to initiate and maintain it was titanic. His vision blurred at the edges, the psychic feedback lashing at his mind like a demon's whip.

With no targets to chain between, the bolts struck the stone benches in explosive bursts, carving furrows into the ancient rock before fading into smoke.

That had been Chain, the third evolution.

Next, he summoned Arc, the second evolution, his gauntlet clenching as he wrestled the power into form. It manifested without flaw, but draining him further, leaving him shaky, his limbs trembling, wobbling on his feet, his left hand almost unable to grip his helm.

Even through the dulled senses of his leonine forearm, he could feel his Psy Crystal, the Unspoken Way, emanating heat.

Psychic unleashing wasn't only draining, it gnawed at Resilience, a temporary rot. He flicked open his screens. His score went from 119 to 41. It would claw back over time, and as he became more proficient, it wouldn't sap so much so quickly.

But he hadn't merely awakened Electrosynapticism. No, he had bypassed its gradual progression, unlocking its full spectrum from the outset, including an entirely novel evolution, the one that had slain the councilors in a blaze of unbidden fury.

As willpower and the Resilience Stat determined mastery over psionic manipulation and its evolutions, he wasn't surprised.

Pride grew in his chest, a fierce assurance that swelled like the roar of an artillery barrage.

An assurance that he was superior to all others.

His unyielding resolve had granted him the dominion that most clawed for across lifetimes, causing a grim smile to split his sweat-moistened and trembling lips.

He navigated to the Feats tab and locked onto Mind of Shaloth'Eshk, wondering what it'd do since he already manifested psychic power, and selecting it.

His frame seized rigid, every joint locking in stasis.

Reality truly shattered.

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