The gates of the temple looked worn.
Not in a way that was due to the passage of time.
Rather, it was more like it had lost its divine lustre after lacking the presence of its god for so long.
A temple without a deity is like a glorified storage space. A place for moulding painting, decaying scriptures, and the bones of the faithful to rest and erode until they are discovered by future civilizations as relics of the past.
Once upon a time, Cain had been left in awe at the grandeur of this wonder that had magically appeared in their world.
It had been built by the hands of a death wielding Celestial, a being he had clashed with and lived to tell the tale.
Feeling a sense of pride wash over him, Cain shook his head.
The pride quickly vanished.
He had to remind himself that the version of Balangol he had battled didn't even possess a single percent of his true power. And even then, he had won by a hair's breath.
