Godonism

By Theo Von Cezar

The story starts with friends Ahma and Jovian who, like most humans, have fallen on terrible luck. There’s nothing special about these two or humanity in general. The dystopian, grey world the men live in is held tightly in the grip of overpopulation. People are subsisting and not much more. The friends have nothing to look forward to until they happen to find the Church of All Nonbelievers.

What’s the guiding principle of this somewhat sacrilegious institution? As the book states, “GOD IS NOT INDEBTED TO THE UNIVERSE AND TIME—WE ARE INDEBTED TO OUR GOD.” Enter a paranormal being who offers Ahma and Jovian the chance to rise above their meager existence. The offer comes with a warning. Should the two mess up the opportunity, they’ll bring their own ruination.

The story leads the friends down a winding path that is one half The Matrix and another half Heresy. In the end, the men find out their ties run deeper than ever thought, the government’s guiding hand in their lives more invasive, and the lines between religion and science so completely blurred that both begin to look like futuristic psychology.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Theo Von Cezar
• Release date: Nov 30, 2010
• ISBN: 9781458040114

Theo Von Cezar

Dystopian fatalist, 'crafter' of Godonism.

Book preview

Godonism

Theo Von Cezar

Copyright © 2010-2016 by Iulius Cezar Teodosiu

Magic Castles

Smashwords Edition

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All rights reserved by the author. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover Design and Illustration: Iulius Cezar Teodosiu with Nicole Renfroe’s most precious support

This book is dedicated to those people who throughout the ages have fought against the incarceration of the mind.

Table of Contents

Prologue

I Nightmare

II An Invalid Vote

III Decadent Progression

IV The ‘Hippo’ and the ‘Giraffe’

V An Insensate Attack - Waiting for Some Aliens

VI Interlude of Thinking - Time’s Hypothesis

VII The Embalming Sound of Molten Gold

VIII Time’s Funeral Procession

IX Anatomy of a Ticket - Copycats & Bucklers

X The Neohorse’s Pleading Neigh

XI Guilty!

XII Duel of Two Minds

XIII Deflective Engram - Moon Illusion - A Freaky Sideshow

XIV Reflections in the Window

XV A Lottery Called ‘Dreams’

XVI Trapped!

XVII Correspondent Realities

XVIII Retrograde Reactions

XIX La Zachana

XX Presidents and Prostitutes

XXI Back to Space - The Mechanics of the Mind

PROLOGUE

The year 157, Nebula Era

It was the beginning of a chilly Zedober—the third month of that bloody year, according to the new Nebula calendar. Making use of a robust rope, which they had found in a shallow gutter in downtown Nebula, and which they had vigorously tied around their waists, Ahma and Jovian kept walking in zigzag through what appeared to be a never-ending blizzard. They had been wandering the streets of Nebula City for hours, trying to take refuge from the vitriolic wind that cut savagely through their clothes, when they found themselves in front of an obscure dapple-grey building—its curved roof about to tumble down and crush everything beneath it.

A ghostly semblance of a Buddhist kind of place, the small temple could be the right place to spend the night in, Ahma and Jovian thought, their eyes pinned to the small silver plate cemented on the timeworn frontispiece. CHURCH OF ALL NONBELIEVERS, the engraving said, and beneath it, in small bronze letters, We shall fight for knowledge and against the decay of our minds.

Jovian had barely touched the green copper lion head doorknocker and the ramshackle wooden door yielded with a rasp, a sound similar to the yowl of an angry ratocat. As soon as he and friend Ahma stepped inside the building, and the door started closing grudgingly behind them, preventing the crazy wind from continuing to scream in their ears, a profound aroma of burnt incense ‘punched’ them in their faces. They felt as if someone or something shielded by a dark energy which their sharp eyes could not penetrate were lying in wait in a remote dark nook of the church that looked more like a place for giants than for ordinary sized human beings. The two friends felt as if they themselves had attained the size of giants, an endless feeling of space dilation taking possession of their minds.

Sometimes in the past, they might have visited this sanctuary, it all looked too familiar, Ahma and Jovian thought as they paced with caution on the vast nave, venturing further inside the edifice, at the same time trying to adjust their vision to the cobwebby atmosphere imbued with colorless flames spat from scores of lion-shaped high torches.

Their eyes lingered for a while on an entire legion of divine-like gargantuan stone chairs and sarcophagi neatly disposed along the seemingly endless walls of the church, then on a large lectern covered entirely in white satin, before they switched their attention to a set of mind-boggling slogans scribbled on a colossal white marble pedestal:

OUR MINDS SHALL GO BACK TO THE UNIVERSE

UNIVERSE AND TIME ARE INDEBTED TO ALLOW US ETERNAL FREEDOM OF THE MIND

WE SHALL FIGHT AGAINST THE INCARCERATION OF OUR MINDS, another slogan said, highlighted in bold quicksilver lettering on a three-foot-tall, five-foot-wide black marble plate which seemed untouched by time.

There was a statue not far from the pedestal, which embodied a chubby individual with a pair of enormous female saggy breasts. Ahma and Jovian could see it clearly, in its own light, as if it were not part of the sanctuary, its eyes—deep black human eyes—seemingly alive, watching them in a paternal way, in deep contrast to what the statue represented on the outside: an egocentric individual caught in the act of praying.

God almighty, what kind of place is this? Jovian asked, pointing to the gibbous statue which looked like begging for something impossible to attain. He rarely pronounced the word ‘god’ and it sounded even spookier uttered in the supposedly secular place.

These people crave for knowledge, I can sense it, Ahma said in an ecstatic voice while untying the rope around his waist.

After he and Jovian removed their scarves—they were still enshrouded in the cloak of the monastic atmosphere—furry hats, wool gloves and damp greatcoats, and put them all on the white satin lectern, they went and sat on two upholstered armchairs separated by a large silver throne not far from the same lectern.

They immediately started thinking of how to elude the difficult situation in which life had thrown them: Windmill Plant, the only electricity generating company in Nebula City, had given them the sack. They were not the only ones who had lost their jobs though—half the personnel, among them people with masters and doctorates, who used to work as factotums, had been given the sack on the very same day. However, what worried Ahma and Jovian the most was the prospect of not being able to get other jobs; and that was because once fired from their jobs, there were very little chances for someone to find work quickly enough so they could avoid beggary. In fact, the chances were only one in a hundred thousand of finding work after an individual got the sack. It was because the economy could not sustain such a population anymore: Fifty billion people! —that was the official number of those who inhabited the earth, and Ahma and Jovian were among the last ones to join those who had already started marching toward the infamous beggary.

At last, with this thought in their minds, they succeeded in dozing off in the comfortable armchairs.

When a daring, warm ray of sun crawled through the snowed in, pointed window located on the upper side of the edifice, caressing their cheeks and eyelids, Ahma and Jovian knew the morning had arrived. It smelled like Madonna lily inside the church now, the feeling of space dilation vanished, the interior of the building having regained its initial size. They would soon realize that the slogans they had read overnight had been wiped off, new slogans inscribed in huge golden letters having taken their place:

OUR LITTLE MINDS SHALL GO BACK TO OUR MIGHTY GOD

GOD WILL ALLOW US CONTINUITY OF OUR LIVES—IN HEREAFTER ONE

GOD IS NOT INDEBTED TO THE UNIVERSE AND TIME—WE ARE INDEBTED TO OUR GOD

The statue looked terribly bent right now, its eyes shut, the large fleshy breasts (they, like the eyes, did not seem to be made of stone) lying flat on the shiny reddish floor, apparently drained of life.

Ahma and Jovian stood up and moved toward it. They were studying the white gold scribble that filled its eyelids (one read, ‘Toward Abstract Infinite’ and the other, ‘Toward Infinite Abstract’) when they heard a man’s whispery voice make its subtle presence inside the church. ‘Can we call it alteration of the past, present, or maybe future?’ the misleading voice asked.

There was no one to be seen around.

Then, Ding-Ding-Ding-Ding-Ding-Ding! Dong! No sooner had Ahma and Jovian heard the last seventh muffled chime of the Big Bang horologe of the city coming from outside, than someone spoke in a woman's well-timed voice: I’m here to ultimately help you, boys. God has not given up on you yet.

They had not taken notice of the ghostly figure until the doomful voice resonated inside the sanctuary. The woman—supposing it was a woman—sat on a chair in the first row opposite the lectern. As she spoke, she remained immobile while another shy, pale light that had sneaked inside the church through a cracked stained-glass window fell athwart on her ecclesiastical black garb and the black grenadine gossamer covering her face except the eyes. Emerald like!

DEATH or BEGGARY! These are your only options, the woman said, the words floating ominously in the air, the cryptic echo of her voice having reached them first. "How many people do you think have got this privilege, to choose their present therefore past? I’m here to offer you a deal, boys, and I suggest you should immediately grasp it, for if you don’t, there will always be others waiting in line to seize any opportunity so they can prolong their shattered lives."

Who are you? Jovian asked.

"Let’s just say I'm an intermediary between you and our god, and I know your future, present, and therefore past. I know that you’ve recently lost your jobs at Windmill Plant. I also know that you left the House of Orphans at the age of six, and have been living on your own since then. We are going through the most decaying times, boys, yet I'm here to offer you new lives!

"Three days without food and the integrity of your minds has remained unchanged. That’s quite remarkable, considering you’re just sixteen years old. That’s why I think you’re perfectly suited for the jobs I’m about to offer you. You’ve committed no thefts, no crimes, and no sins so far… Well, maybe there is one sin, and that is the greatest sin of yours: YOU DO NOT BELIEVE IN GOD! But even that can be ‘fixed’. I can assure you that God has all the necessary tools to bring apostasies into reverse, to bring you to even ground. You just have to believe that there is no life before and after death without God.

Anyway, do you know what’s going to happen if you do not accept my offer? Do you want to know what happened to the others—those who have recently lost their jobs at Windmill Plant? Hmm… They were sucked into beggary even before they could pawn their minds. Just like that! The woman raised her right hand and poked two fingers. All of them! It happened in less than two hours. Can you imagine how fast that was and what deep torment the poor souls had gone through? No one can save them now. Not even God! For all eternity, they are completely lost! And it won’t be too long before greedy time eats them all while they are still alive.

The woman’s voice had an embalming effect on Ahma and Jovian's minds. When she resumed speaking, the words flew gracefully and melodiously out of her hidden mouth, the sinister echo changed, delivering a sweet-sounding resonance now. "Beggary is like bone cancer, it eats you while you’re still alive; first comes the cancer of the mind, and then the rottenness of your body. Have you ever looked into the eyes of a beggar? A beggar knows there is no lower level other than beggary in life. STILL, there is one lower level—THE HEREAFTER TWO, the purgatory on which the Devil dwells. And that’s because there is Hereafter Two on Earth and Hereafter Two above us!"

‘Wrong! There is Hereafter Two also in our minds,’ a usurping voice called out in Ahma and Jovian’s minds.

However, the woman said, that is not what you want, right? You’re afraid of death. Admit it! You’re afraid of the black cloaked Grand Mademoiselle. You tremble at the thought of her getting closer to your shades. Anyway, do you want to know what happened to that fellow over there? The woman’s face aimed at the gibbous statue whose eyes again stood largely open. It looked quite frightened now. "I’ll tell you what happened to that guy. He was a very troubled individual while he was in his prime. He tried to think too much, surpass the others with his infatuated intelligence. Eventually he collapsed under the weight of his own mind which is still alive. Yes, his mind has gained some sort of mass, but alas, the burden is impossible to carry since he suffers the torments of Hereafter Two now.

"You cannot change your past, boys, but you do have a chance: to change your present and therefore future. Not only your future, but also the future of others, to save them from imminent collapse.

We have authorization from God Himself to sell tickets to Hereafter, boys. This is not a sham!

Jovian and Ahma listened with open mouths. They had no doubt that the mysterious woman could read their minds. Most likely she was in possession of a high-class mind reading device (thought-reader, they called it), probably fully activated.

Now approach, so I can give you some instructions, the woman said, even more assurance added to her voice.

Ahma and Jovian looked at each other, not knowing what to do.

Don’t be afraid. No one's going to bite you; at least not now. There was a trace of irony in her voice.

Ahma and Jovian left their seats and hesitantly started walking to where the woman sat. Only three feet separated them from her now. They were able to look into her brilliant green eyes.

Come closer, please, she gently said.

Just two feet stood between them now.

That’s better. Now, we can do business... a different kind of business, I would say.

The influence she had on them increased. An unearthly energy emanated from beneath the black garb, from her almond eyes. Ahma and Jovian each took a seat beside her.

Your job is quite simple, boys, the woman said. All you have to do is deliver redemptive tickets to the people. For every ticket sold, you’ll receive fifty thousand golden bucklers. No one will interfere with your jobs. That’s a guarantee! I give you my word, which is the word of God.

As she delivered the last words, the inflections in her voice acquired a medium tone. She again seemed just a ghostly apparition to Ahma and Jovian. It felt as if she were pulling away from them. Can I have an answer now? she demanded.

Ahma and Jovian remained silent.

Okay, I’ll let you think about it. No more than five minutes. The woman stood up and started toward the northern wall of the church, where the waving flames of two distant torches kept sentry to a darkened arched recess.

A door opened with a childlike laughing and then closed in a beldam’s whimper. After the woman disappeared behind that door, the sound of her steps on the stone floor could still be heard. Another door opened and closed. It went like this for five more times, until the sound of her footsteps finally started to recede and the recess she had entered through was engulfed again by darkness.

Ahma and Jovian had been given time to choose, yet they felt as if their future had been already decided.

What should we do? Jovian inquired in a low, tremulous voice.

Selling redemptive tickets... Hm… That's the last thing I thought we’d ever do.

I have a queer feeling 'bout this, but all I know is that I’m hungry and thirsty. I think we should accept the offer...

Time had passed extremely quickly; it felt as if all the clocks in the entire world had melted into one, conspiring against them, forcing them toward panic. Ahma and Jovian started to perceive time differently. Time frames and bits of space alternatively appeared before their eyes in the form of golden and silver framed photographs carefully placed in a huge shining album whose pages were turning on their own accord. From time to time, they were allowed to turn one of the many colossal pages, not because they wanted to do so, but because someone else was ordering them to do so. Right now, they were looking at an infinity of pictures containing glimpses of shattered lives and black and white portraits of people whose faces they had never seen before: an individual resembling a half-bull half-man pictured beside a kid, an immaculate white grand piano behind them; a man resembling a hippo; a giraffe; a sweet potatoed face… All the characters looked at them sideways, the turning of the pages in the colossal album seemingly a never-ending process, yet no one could put a stop to it. Ahma and Jovian felt as if they were being absorbed into the Infinite Abstract, or maybe into the Abstract Infinite. Or was it Time that pulled them in?

At last, they were able to hear the sound of steps approaching, the interval between the hearing of the footsteps and the opening of the squeaky door changed—it seemed shorter now, and sounded as if more feet had been added to the woman’s gait, as if she walked on six or eight legs. Again, the childlike laughter and the beldam’s whimper, keener, the sound of the footsteps accompanied by a hollow echo. They could also hear untamed neohorses tramping with their large, heavy shoes on wet cobblestones, fiercely neighing.

Ahma and Jovian stood up alerted by a vision. A large mortuary procession composed of millions of mourners and led by scores of neohorses, decked up birds with human faces skimming beside them, was following its ominous course toward Nebula Cemetery. An orchestra made of about one thousand meretricious buffoons, who from time to time would stop their gait and perform a chaotic song on their perforated guitars, broken drums, twisted violins and golden spoilt trumpets, escorted the vast cortege, the mixture of chaotically played achromatic scales sounding as if the players were tone-deaf.

The wantonness coming from a larger group of individuals would occasionally interrupt the buffoons' eerie instrumental performance, the ‘agitators’ shouting strange obscenities at a man with a fancily painted face, clad entirely in black, a very tall top hat on his head. Besides being in charge of the buffoons' instrumental band, this man was also the bandmaster of a peaceful group of people who seemed eager to perform a vocal death song. While the verbosity of the boisterous ‘agitators’ exceeded all the boundaries of decency, the buffoon drummers tried to keep the rhythm with their indecency, apparently trying to cover it up.

Seeing that their efforts were in vain, the conductor—meanwhile, he had taken on a scornful bearing—stood still and shouted: SILENCE! Silence, you foolish people! You’re just FOOL! You’re all a bunch of IDIOTS! You are the only species in the entire Universe that have acquired the power to dissect thoughts yet you are very close to mass extinction. SHUT UP FOR ONCE! You’ve always been in disagreement with the others and yourselves. The majority is not always right! There is, and there will always be chaos in our supposedly organized world.

No one seemed to pay attention to this man however, each mourner hearing something different, acting differently, in total disagreement with what the ‘mad’ conductor had to say.

This will inevitably lead to the implosion of our species, the bandmaster added out of respect for a few remaining decent people who were watching him attentively, filled with nostalgia of bygone eras.

Ahma and Jovian were wondering who were they going to entomb since there wasn't any casket on the enormous gold and silver hearses drawn by about a dozen neohorses that trotted majestically ahead of the large procession when the vision suddenly stopped, leaving them in awe of a young woman who stood silently in front of them, like a statue. She sat on the silver throne which now was studded with thousands of emeralds that resembled her almond green eyes, her beautifully sculpted legs widely pulled apart, her slender arms resting on the twisted arms of the throne. She was entirely naked. Small resplendent diamonds dotted her silky skin, a rose diamond diadem placed over her majestic forehead.

They had never seen anything like that before: the extremely long and straight silver hair parted equally on both sides; the untidy fringe falling wildly on her forehead; her milky-colored silky skin; the long, violet eyelashes, her red perfectly sculpted Cupid’s bow; her firm breasts with two rose translucent diamonds covering her nipples; the strip of silver pubic hair carefully trimmed. It all looked surreal to Ahma and Jovian whose eyes were pinned on the young woman’s hottest spot right now, getting goose bumps only looking at her exposed ‘treasure.’

Hey, guys, can you hear me? HEY! said the woman who had asked Ahma and Jovian to accept working as sellers of the redemptive tickets. She stood on the same silver throne as the naked girl who had appeared before their eyes just two seconds before, and whose unique beauty still prevailed in the air.

Ahma and Jovian felt as if they had been awoken from a very pleasant dream.

You should come and have a seat, the woman calmly said. For a moment, Ahma could visualize an ironic smile hiding behind the veil.

She kept a small silver-edged box coated with dark brown leather on her lap. After a prolonged silence, she slowly raised the convex lid and reached inside the small box lined with iridescent mauve satin. Ahma (he and Jovian sat on the upholstered armchairs to the right and left of the silver throne) looked intently at her artistic fingers. He had always dreamed of touching a hand like that. An engagement silver ring with an ‘A’ made of blue sapphires encircled the fourth finger of her left hand; on her middle finger she had a golden signet ring with the symbol ‘G’.

Not all the tickets serve the same purpose, the woman said, holding in her hands two rectangular palm-sized packs (one black, the other immaculate white) which resembled decks of playing cards. She spoke confidently, as if she was sure Ahma and Jovian’s answers would be 'Yes.' As you can see, there are two different types of tickets, this pocket (she held a white pocket with a big ‘O’ representing the unification of all faiths printed in black on its front side) contains the tickets to Hereafter One. The woman’s veiled face aimed at Ahma. And this, she continued, while pointing to a black pack whose margins were bordered with tiny gold flambeaux, this pack contains tickets to Hereafter Two. Quite simple, isn’t it? the woman said, aiming at Jovian right now.

"As starters, each of you will be provided with one set of tickets to Hereafter One and one set to Hereafter Two. I think it will suffice for you to carry on with your duties for as long as seven days. If you do your job well, you’ll be given more tickets to deliver. Remember, you are dealing with tickets to Hereafter! Fifty thousand golden bucklers will find their place inside your pockets for every ticket sold, plus a recompense of five hundred thousand bucklers at ten tickets to Hereafter Two sold. This is the best-paid job in Nebula City, boys! You should be very proud that you’ve been chosen to do it.

And now, the prices: five hundred thousand silver bucklers will be the price for a place in Hereafter One. Exactly the same sum goes for a place in Hereafter Two, only that it should be golden bucklers. Remember, golden bucklers! You don’t need to worry, for there will be cravers for these tickets too. No matter how large their sins are, they have their right to be redeemed. Mind you, any deviation from these rules will bring the immediate annulment of the contract, plus severe penalties. No discrimination among the sinners! We are all equal! the woman shouted, a grave tone added to her voice.

False! Completely false! stood on Ahma's tongue to say. We are all different. Equality brings misshapen thoughts to the minds of those who crave.

As the woman went on, it seemed that she had become more certain of the boys’ acceptance, but this only made Ahma’s reluctance grow bigger. Should he trust her?

Now, before we go into more details… can I have your answer? Do you accept my offer? the woman asked, her voice returning to a medium tone.

They hesitated.

"Come on, boys! Make up your minds for once. This is not a time for contemplation. Why does it take so long for you to decide on a matter of life and death? God, you’re not Emos, are you? Just think of all the fresh water you could buy with this amount of money, not mentioning the kind of food you could afford. I bet you haven’t even tasted it yet since it’s only for the wealthy nowadays. I’m not talking about that crap... How do they call it? Veggie pies... which are full of synthetic garbage, no wonder no one’s ever allowed inside their factories except their workers who are forced to keep the secret otherwise they get the sack. Those people are entirely tamed, boys. Where do you think that rotten smell and brownish clouds often hovering above our city comes from? It’s their disposable garbage. It was said they used pure vegetables, but that happened a very long time ago. Now it’s just a mixture of ‘grass’ grown inside their labs. You thought that that was real spinach, real veggie food, didn’t you? HUH! Thank god at least they put salt in it!

Only 1% of it is real food, boys; the rest is plastic, synthesized. You eat synthetic food. In fact, you don’t eat food at all. Only the big bosses, and the State—the rich ones—have access to the real food. They are the real ‘herbivores’ and ‘carnivores’ alive today, not you! She pointed two fingers at Ahma and Jovian. For a brief moment, her hand seemed suspended by an invisible thread, apart from the rest of her body.

I’m waiting for an answer, boys, the woman said, aiming at Ahma.

I don’t know... I need more time, to think... Ahma said, scowling at the female presence.

The woman started to show signs of impatience.

TIME! Even if I allowed you more time, it would be the same. The more time I give you, the more you’ll dig into your brains. You should make up your mind, before it is too late.

The woman rose to her feet, her face directed toward the ceiling. She stretched her arms forward, her palms scooped. The world is collapsing, and he needs more time, she called out in a trance like state, the tone in her voice highly dramatized. WHAT IS THIS? she continued. Should we refer to your mood as theatrics of the human mind? Since when has the world become a stage for a madman to perform his plays on? And if so, who’s gonna have more fun in the end: the clown or the philosopher? Who is the clown?

Ha ha ha ha! Perhaps I haven’t made myself clearly understood, boys. You should remember that you are not in the position of pondering your lives right now.

The woman stood very close to Ahma. Her eyes looked like throwing poisonous darts at him. He could visualise a pair of well-defined, fine lips under the black garb, trembling. Maybe your friend’s a bit cleverer than you. What is your answer, boy? she said, her face aiming at Jovian again.

I’ll do it, Jovian delivered his answer quicker than expected, his eyes nailed to the floor. He was ashamed by his decision. Hunger and thirst had spoken for him. He felt as if he were betraying Ahma.

Goood… Very good... You’re a very smart young man, exactly as I thought. Now, Ahma, can I have your answer, please? Or perhaps you’re eager to see your life come to an end too soon. To understand that you accept death without a fight? the woman said, exasperated by Ahma’s incertitude and stubbornness.

Whose fight is that? Ahma thought. Selling hope to people. Although he had a bad premonition, he needed to embark on the same boat as Jovian. Maybe if he had more time... NO. She was right, for it would make no difference. He needed to decide. Now! As a last resort, he would wait for her to ask him again if he accepted the job before he delivered his final answer.

May I have your answer, boy? the woman asked impatiently.

Yes, I’ll accept the job. Ahma was almost sure that behind that veil a satisfying smile crossed the woman’s face, the green in her eyes lighter now.

Good boy! You’ve taken the right decision, said the woman, her voice returning to its normal pitch. She continued, We should proceed with more details now. This is the place where we’ll always meet, on each Hailday, always at sundown. You’ll have to bring back all the unsold tickets, and I'll provide you with brand-new ones...

As the woman continued speaking, a shadow of regret already crossed Ahma’s mind, but it was too late for him to pull away from it. He was hearing the woman as if she were part of a distant world now...

"…You don’t have the right to choose to whom you sell the tickets and to whom not. You don’t have the right to judge. You should always remember that you're just two servants. Any breach of contract will result in your dismissal and you’ll meet with other penalties as well. Trust me, any deviation from the plan will make you regret that you’re still alive. I advise you not to be together when you advertise or sell the tickets to Hereafter, for it could lead to spontaneous conflicts between the cravers.

"Now, you're probably wondering how these tickets come into effect. It’s very simple. It’s enough for the cravers to place the tickets on their foreheads and keep them there until they feel enlightened. Activation will usually occur within a minute, if the sins of the cravers are not too serious. In that case, the activation will take longer. I’m talking about grave offenses here, such as murder, rape, gluttony, yet even these can be forgiven and erased. After the activation occurs, the redemptive ticket will become a non-valid ticket, but the sinner—when the time has come—will be granted eternal life in Hereafter. You must give these instructions to everyone who buys a ticket. Any questions, boys?"

Where do these tickets come from? Jovian asked.

"If I told you that these tickets come directly from God, would you believe me? I'm going to tell you a secret: Why do we ‘sell’ these tickets? Because everything that has a price on it becomes more craved, more valuable. You know that humanity has been suffering from a lack of faith lately, and that’s because of the massive secularization of our world. Not even the Great Purge put an end to it. We need a revival of the spirit, especially now when the time of enlightenment is about to come again.

And now, to express my gratitude... There’s a gallon of fresh water, two loaves of bread and some salami—real bread and meat—over there, behind that thing, the woman said, pointing to the lectern. And, through the generosity of our Master, one million bucklers for each of you.

There was a silent moment, time in which Ahma and Jovian again stared at each other, not knowing what to make of it.

You should know that I’m not your benefactor, the woman said in a self-assured tone, which scattered