My Wives Are A Divine Hive Mind
Chapter 75: Expanding Progressive Influence

Chapter 75: Expanding Progressive Influence

"Maybe you two should’ve just abandoned Vaingall," Blanchette said casually, as if suggesting a change in wardrobe.

Samael raised an eyebrow, not in surprise but in measured scrutiny. "And the reason?"

Blanchette smiled faintly, tilting her head. "Because the Crimson Helot knew. They didn’t arrive here by chance. They were already prepared. You were already in their path before you even made your first move, didn’t you know that?"

Kivas squinted, her tone low. "What do you mean by that?"

"Think about it," Blanchette said, motioning vaguely with one hand. "If the original intended timeline was the one where you never placed Yoiglah as the domain-stabilizing pillar... then that means the entire warping of Vaingall was always supposed to remain wild, chaotic, unclaimed~"

Samael’s eyes narrowed. "So the moment I relinquished a reign over the terrain and let Yoiglah stabilize it through shrine attunement..."

"You bent the original outcome," Blanchette finished with a chirp. "The Crimson Helot probably noticed that something have gone terribly wrong, and thus why they are going all out in the effort to correct the trajectory of the future~"

Kivas tapped her knuckles against her jaw. "Wait, that’s still just theory. The Crimson Helot aren’t exactly omniscient."

"They aren’t omniscient, but my latest assessment about their faction is that now they rely heavily on prophecy," Samael interjected, a gleam beginning to light behind her eyes. "They don’t just eat flesh now. Their cults are layered around fate-rigging and preemptive deviation.

"As shady as it might be, Blanchette’s words hold a certain justice to our predicament, something that even I didn’t put a focus on."

"Did you just call my words shaddy?"

"They are definitely on the opposite color spectrum of your hair."

"Ehem." Blanchette clapped once, soft and delighted. "Still, look at you catching on so quickly. I knew there was a reason you were her soulmate—"

"And we can just fool them." Samael lifted her chin. "If our current assessment about their motive hold any resemblance of continuity—if they locked onto this place because it ’violated’ their expected progression, then the answer is clear."

She extended one hand.

Mist curled between her fingers.

"We mask it," she continued. "We enshroud the region, thicker than before. We’ll loosen the stabilization field whenever a distortion trigger hits. Let Vaingall appear rootless, scattered. Like it’s reverted. Like the Endless Dragon simply vanished." She turned her head slightly, voice tinged with edge. "If they’re watching, let them see nothing."

"A great proposition, one that I can finally understand and support." Kivas exhaled quietly, her expression unreadable. "That still doesn’t explain how the last timeline ended. Not exactly. How did they push so far? They summoned something—a godly being, or at least something designed to be one."

Samael’s wings twitched once, the membranes catching slivers of morning light. "I don’t have a definite conclusion. But based on how it grew, how it behaved... I believe they’ve been refining flesh as a vector for divine invocation...

Not just copying gods, but creating one. From the husks of forgotten rituals. From beliefs discarded by the world, an original god. This is the reason why religion has always been fickle in the eyes of many."

"Speaking of fate and religion." Kivas glanced at Yoiglah. "What is Lyenar’s plan from now on?"

The tortoise shifted slightly, moss falling from the edges of his massive frame. His breath emerged as a deep, muted hum.

"She plan to remain within Solvish Keep," Yoiglah answered. "She intends to plant a new Minor Shrine there, and possibly create another Major Shrine if we somehow survive long enough in this run of ours.

"With a shrine tied to you established by a reliable insider, her role will be to spread your sanctified resonance into new settlements discreetly. She will act as both emissary and tether.

"And maybe, just maybe, the Major Shrine there will also get brought back in the next reset in case that you die again."

"Will she be able to maintain connection to the Major Shrine on your bacl from that distance?" Kivas asked.

"Yes," Yoiglah replied. "I taught her how. She now knows how to entangle multiple attunements across geographical distortion."

Samael gave a subtle nod. "That’s good. We can use more footholds. The more shrines we root through proxy, the influence we can spread just for the sole purpose of raising this deity of harvest into something of a threat."

Blanchette leaned forward. "So you’re staying? You’re still going to try and claim Vaingall, even when you know it’s rigged?"

Kivas muttered, "We’re occupying it."

"And we’re occupying it by illusion," Samael added. "Let them see what we want them to see."

Samael lifted her hand again.

The wind curled, carrying particles of scorched essence.

Dust pooled at her feet.

Ash whispered upward in delicate spirals, forming bones, then silhouette, then breath.

The first Limbo Tier Divine Construct emerged from the moss like a memory. Its form identical to Samael’s own—humanoid, feminine, draconic in outline. Black dust wrapped around a flickering void core, cracks gleaming with interior light. Its right horn was jagged, splintered at the base. Its left curved in full.

Flames flickered faintly in its empty eye sockets.

It turned to Kivas and bowed its head. "Celestial Avatar," it said, voice distant and gentle.

Another rose behind it.

Then a third.

A chorus formed in silence, more emerging from the veil of Samael’s breathless invocation.

Each Construct moved weightlessly, steps leaving no imprint.

"The reset doesn’t carry Constructs across," Samael said plainly. "Which means I must re-manifest them here."

Kivas stood quietly as the Divine Constructs assembled.

She watched them fold into formation without instruction, aligning in three concentric rings, each facing a different direction.

"Seems like we have a plan now~" Blanchette hummed.

"We will build a new illusion," Samael said. "We root out false activity across Vaingall. We let distortion twist regions we’ve preemptively evacuated. We scatter false echoes of shrine signals. We will trick the Helot’s eyes into seeing the muddy mist of their divination."

The wind parted as Samael lowered her hand.

The circle of Divine Constructs completed their emergence, each standing like statues of a forgotten order reborn under breath and blood. Their frames shimmered faintly as the shrine’s divine pressure pulsed outward—steady, deliberate, commanding.

"Yoiglah," Samael said without turning. "Bless them again."

The tortoise guardian stirred. The moss and lichen crusting his shell peeled back in delicate sheets as an older language—spoken without sound—echoed across the radius.

The shrine atop his back vibrated, and light rose from the central void, casting thin threads of sanctity toward each Construct.

Glyphs burned into being across the constructs’ torsos, arms, and faces. Their cracked surfaces were etched anew—layered hieroglyphs from forgotten dialects crawling across their limbs, glowing with the same cadence as the shrine’s divine core.

These marks were different from before. They pulsed like warnings, yet carried the grace of scripture.

"Blessings restored," Yoiglah confirmed. "And augmented."

"Can you bless me too?" Blanchette asked in curiosity.

"By the will of the Radiant One, I can."

"Sister, can I get a blessing?"

"Well, why not?" Kivas rested her chin on her hand, still wondering what Blanchette’s purpose is in this timeline.

In the end Blanchette got her shiny Egyptian-symbols tattoo on her left arm.

She looked genuinely happy for once. Kivas couldn’t find any wrongdoing in this decision.

"Unlike the last run, we will be adding people into our cause instead of just converting their acceptance and belief," Samael said.

Kivas nodded, with a smile. "The unification of Vaingall, an actual one, I see."

The wind shifted again as the first wave of constructs dispersed.

Their limbs cut through the air like memories unwritten, their presence fading into Vaingall’s terrain with unsettling silence. They passed through brambles, over ridges, and into the lowlands—each one taking a path into different zones of civilization and ruin.

Everywhere they went, they carried the flame of a shrine.

Minor Shrines were planted as the seeds were tossed in their proselytization, but the method of anchoring was different now. The Divine Constructs didn’t simply cast divine circles into the ground.

They brought relics with them—fragments of the first shrine, parts taken from Yoiglah’s back, crystallized prayers hardened by failure. They offered these tokens to the people of Vaingall, cloaked in mystery and doctrine.

The constructs did not demand only worship.

They invited cooperation. They spoke of protection. Of sustenance. Of power. Of survival.

And they gave names.

To those who accepted the relics, to those who dared to kneel and listen, the constructs offered more than blessing.

"You will become a Bastion of the Harvest," they said to one wandering Voidling near the edge of the whispering valley.

"You will become a Speaker of Veins," they whispered to a scholar of flora whose village slept under fungal moons.

"You will become a Voice of Soil," they told the ash-marked leader of a hunting tribe that had once warred with shadows and lost.

And each time a new title was conferred, a seal was placed on the recipient’s back—glyphs blooming like vines across the skin or clothing, depending on consent and corporeality.

These sigils linked them directly to Kivas’ growing divine field.

From this moment forward, the defense of Vaingall would not rest solely on Yoiglah’s shrine, nor on the constructs alone. It would rise from the people. It would be seeded into the blood of hunters, the chants of wandering seers, the dreams of hollows who saw glowing halos in the sky.

Minor Shrines bloomed across the land too—tucked into cliff faces, rooted in hollowed trees, embedded within family altars.

Samael stood on the high ledge above the shrine, watching with arms crossed as the constructs vanished one after another into the wide terrain.

She could feel every one of them. Every thought. Every voice. Every offer was made in Kivas’ influence.