Liam studied the twelve soldiers - soon to be more - and felt the Synchronization Index tick upward again.

This wasn't human behavior. Humans didn't command armies of zealots. Didn't accept absolute obedience without discomfort.

But it also wasn't purely demon. Demons commanded through fear and dominance.

This was something else. Something built on faith and worship and the synthesis of human understanding with demonic reality.

Something that felt right in ways he couldn't fully articulate.

[Synchronization Index: 34% → 35%]

He was building an infrastructure of godhood, and the more he built the harder it was to dismantle.

Is that what he wants?

Yes, he realized. It was exactly what he wanted.

Because Liam had been a failed actor with no audience. Lord Azra was becoming something with purpose, believers, infrastructure that turned performance into reality.

And the synthesis of both—this new thing he was becoming—needed that structure to exist.

Needed the faithful to worship. Needed soldiers willing to die for him. Needed the Cathedral and the ceremonies and the miracles.

Needed all of it to make the role feel real.

To make himself feel real.

"Go," he told Kael'thra. "Build what you need. I'll summon you when your purpose reveals itself."

The twelve soldiers bowed as one and departed, their movements synchronized in ways that spoke of extensive training.

Severina watched them go, then turned to Liam. "You handle them well, my lord. Many would be uncomfortable with such absolute devotion."

"Many aren't gods."

The statement was delivered without arrogance. Just fact. He was what they believed him to be because they believed it.

Discomfort with that reality was pointless.

"Will you address the faithful before departing?" Severina asked. "They would hear divine words. Guidance for the days ahead."

Liam considered. The main chamber was still celebrating, still processing the miracles they'd witnessed. Another speech might be excessive. Might dilute the power of what had already occurred.

But silence also carried risk. Gods didn't perform miracles and disappear without acknowledgment.

"Briefly," he decided.

They returned to the main chamber where six hundred thirty-seven demons immediately quieted and knelt at his presence.

The transition from celebration to reverence was instantaneous, proof of their discipline despite their fervor.

Liam stood in the center of the chamber again, surrounded by concentric circles of faithful, and spoke.

"What you witnessed today was not aberration. It was truth." His voice carried across the vast space. "I am the Primordial. The Originator. The darkness before creation. And I walk among you not as distant god observing from beyond, but as present divinity that sees your devotion and finds it worthy."

The faithful hung on every word.

"War approaches. The Radiant Empire—the forces that call our existence abomination—will be confronted. However this time it won't be defensive retreat, but offensive purpose. We will take the fight to them. We will break their prophecies. We will prove that demons are not creatures to be cleansed, but forces to be reckoned with."

His grey eyes swept the chamber.

"Some of you will be called to fight. Others to pray. Others to build and support and maintain the infrastructure that sustains our empire. All roles are sacred. All purposes divine. Whether you swing blades or raise prayers, you serve the same cause."

He paused, letting the weight settle.

"I cannot promise victory. I cannot promise survival. What I promise is meaning. Purpose. The understanding that your faith—your absolute, unwavering devotion—creates the god you worship. You are not serving something that existed before your belief. You are creating divinity through believing."

The theological implications were profound.

He was admitting again that worship was transaction rather than one-way service.

And they understood.

Six hundred thirty-seven faces showed not disappointment but deeper devotion.

Because he'd honored them by admitting their importance. Had made them participants in divinity rather than just observers of it.

"Go forth," he concluded. "Spread word of what you witnessed. But understand—miracles are not guarantees. They are gifts granted to absolute faith. Those who worship seeking reward will find emptiness. Those who worship because they believe will find purpose."

He raised his hand in benediction.

"You are the Nameless Litany. The faithful who cut away former identity to serve something greater. Your names matter less than your devotion. Your individual stories matter less than the collective faith you maintain. You are not persons who worship—you are worship manifested."

The theological poetry seemed to resonate.

Six hundred thirty-seven demons bowed lower, accepting the transformation of their identity into something larger than themselves.

"I see you," Liam said finally. "I acknowledge your devotion. I accept your worship. And I promise that your faith will not be wasted."

The simple statement carried more weight than elaborate promises. Gods didn't make guarantees. They made declarations and let believers interpret.

He turned to leave, and Severina escorted him back toward the Cathedral entrance.

Behind them, the faithful remained bowed, their prayers resuming as whispered gratitude rather than loud celebration.

"You handle them masterfully," Severina observed as they walked. "Many gods—theoretical gods, of course, before you—would promise too much or demand too little. You balance divine distance with present engagement perfectly."

"Because I understand performance," Liam said quietly. Then caught himself. "Because I understand what divinity requires."

Severina's black eyes studied him. "Are those different things, my lord?"

The question was dangerous. Insightful.

"No," he admitted. "They're not. And that's why it works."

She smiled. Understanding without needing explanation. Accepting that gods could be self-aware about their divinity without diminishing it.

They reached the Cathedral entrance where sunlight streamed through the massive doors.

Outside, Eldhar continued its daily chaos.

Inside, six hundred thirty-seven demons maintained faith that would reshape the coming war.

"Will you return, my lord?" Severina asked. "The faithful will want to see you again. To maintain connection with divinity they've served so long."

"When purpose requires it," Liam said. "Not on schedule. Not for ceremony. But when divine presence serves divine purpose."

"I understand."

She probably did.

Better than most, this ancient demon who'd spent sixty-three years maintaining faith in something theoretical understood that gods appeared when needed, not when convenient.

Liam stepped into sunlight, and the Cathedral doors closed behind him with quiet finality.

[Synchronization Index: 34% → 40%]

[Essence: 21,091 EP ]

[New Believers: 637 (Absolute Devotion)]

[New Asset: Militant faithful (12, expanding)]

[Status: Infrastructure of divinity building]

He walked back through Eldhar's streets alone, demons parting before him, some bowing, others just staring with expressions between fear and awe.

Word had already spread. The Primordial had performed miracles. Had restored sight and granted mobility. Had proven divinity through acts that transcended political maneuvering into something approaching genuine magic.

By tomorrow, hundreds more would believe.

By next week, thousands.

The faithful were multiplying. The infrastructure building. The role becoming permanent through collective acceptance.

And Liam - Lord Azra - the synthesis of human actor and demon god - walked through it all feeling complete in ways that terrified and satisfied him equally.

Liam walked alone through streets that would never see him as merely human again.

And he was absolutely fine with that.

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