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[ sed aras eorum destrue confringe statuas lucosque succide. ]

He commanded you to tear down their altars, shatter their idols, and cut down their Asherah poles.

Ah, indeed, He despises idols.

How dare you bow down and worship those who are not Him, knowing that He exists?

[ noli adorare deum alienum Dominus Zelotes nomen eius Deus est aemulator. ]

You shall not bow to other gods, for the Lord’s name is Jealous. He is a jealous God.

“Gahhh!”

A surge of agony strikes.

The rejection I felt before was nothing compared to the overwhelming wave of terror now swelling inside me.

What was merely a bothersome sensation has now morphed into a threat to my very life.

He, whose name is the Tetragrammaton, does not take kindly to the worship of other gods. In His jealousy, He may punish anyone who dares to worship other deities.

Ah, so Kenneth has also felt the sting of His jealousy.

The punishment is about to descend upon me now.

[ Behold. When this is scattered upon the ground, it shall grow and receive my grace, for it is a crop that has fully absorbed the energy of the Sun, known as cuitlacoche. I, having snatched it from the ants for you, declare that you shall sustain yourselves with this golden nugget and thrive as you serve me. ]

Blessings descend, refusing to be outdone.

In the distance, a young shaman pulls something from his pocket, and it turns out to be popcorn.

The crinkling of the microwave popcorn bag releases kernels that burst forth in every direction. Just like it’s been toasting in the microwave, it pops with a series of ‘pop’ and ‘crack’ sounds before blooming into white flowers.

The air-popped popcorn drifts like dandelion seeds, eventually landing on Kenneth’s head, where it tumbles down in a shower, bouncing lightly against his body.

[ You shall crunch on the cuitlacoche as if it’s a punishment. By doing so, you’ll taste the sweet flavor akin to their fruits. Drinking it will give you the strength to confront beasts; this is indeed the blessing I grant you. ]

[ You shall be filled with this blessing of life. ]

[ You shall bear the heat of the Sun, becoming like the Sun itself, and as long as that heat does not fade, you will receive my gaze, for you are my messenger. ]

[ You are a warrior of the Sun. ]

[ I am your Creator, the Creator who cherishes you. ]

But even that is not the end; something else is poured atop it.

After the hail made of popcorn falls, corn syrup cascades over him, flowing down his body while emanating a sweet fragrance that sticks to his skin. It seems to vanish into his skin as if absorbed entirely, bringing a flush of color to Kenneth’s pained expression.

Yes.

As if a feathered serpent truly infused him with life force as a blessing.

[ noli adorare deum alienum Dominus Zelotes nomen eius Deus est aemulator. ]

What a blasphemous act this is!

How could you dare accept the blessings of those foreign gods while knowing He is watching?

There is only one God, the Four-Lettered One, the Self-Existing One.

Can you even imagine the punishment that awaits those who dare deny His existence?

You foolish one, can you even begin to comprehend?

The Tetragrammaton is a jealous God.

Truly, it is so.

Crack!

Behold.

His touch is unmistakable.

Having denied being His creation, you shall not partake of what He has bestowed.

Having denied being His creation, you shall not enjoy what He has laid upon you.

Crack!

Crack!

“Ahhhhh!”

Once, He fashioned a woman from a piece of bone He extracted from Adam.

That was akin to taking trifling treasures and filling a room with gold and jewels. How could such blessings be found elsewhere?

However, if there are those who deny being His children, then that gift shall rightly be reclaimed; you shall return that bone taken to create the woman.

Now, you nonbeliever, reclaim it.

This is the bone taken from a man’s body to shape a woman.

The baculum!

Crack!

“Grrrragh!”

What horrific pain.

Those writhing sounds.

A solid something surges, swelling flesh and threatening to burst through skin.

That sound erupted from Kenneth’s mouth, a scream filled with raw pain.

Oh, could a sinner engulfed in sulfur flames in hell produce such cries?

I dare say Kenneth’s cries are comparable.

And why not?

For right now, something unspeakable is happening to Kenneth’s manhood.

A human’s sex organ normally lacks bone.

Instead, it has spongy tissues that act as a skeleton for it.

But now, something that shouldn’t exist is growing within Kenneth’s member.

The baculum.

Something that no human should possess is manifesting.

Needless to say, such a development brings about ghastly consequences.

Especially when it happens spontaneously.

Crack!

Usually, the baculum is located at the tip of the penis….

Kenneth’s manhood, too, has a baculum taking form, just as a typical one does, at the very tip.

From within, no less.

It’s like a pillar pushing out from beneath the flesh, swelling and stretching as if it were going to tear apart.

That feeling brings unfathomable pain, pain that makes one’s eyes bulge and teeth crack from clenching.

Though the shaman is used to pain… this agony, surpassing the intensity, belongs to the category of ‘a different pain,’ rendering it excruciatingly hard to endure.

Well, it’s no surprise.

He has mostly suffered damages related to rips and burns; how could he ever have imagined this sort of torment?

It’s not simply that the joints are lengthening or a tumor emerging somewhere; it’s the emergence of something that shouldn’t be, twisting and tearing his intact member with horrific pain. How could anyone even imagine such a thing?

Even though Kenneth has endured a significant price while carrying out the Great Ritual of Magic, it would only be natural for him not to be immune to this ‘different pain.’

And with that pain briefly consuming his mind, it’s normal that he wouldn’t notice the young shaman approaching.

Thwunk!

It’s also only natural that he couldn’t resist when the shaman drove a sharp obsidian into his belly.

* * *

The shaman has his own purpose and intent, pursuing them relentlessly.

Isn’t it beautiful to endure suffering and bear heavy costs to achieve your goals, to fulfill your wishes?

But how could it be beautiful when a perfectly good path suddenly veers elsewhere, with a mind consumed by madness, not even realizing it’s straying and chaotically wandering off into a bizarre direction?

If that wandering is merely a fleeting temptation, perhaps, but if it tramples on the purposes of others, leading you completely astray from your intended destination, how could that be considered right?

Ah, what a regrettable turn of events.

How could I fail to see it as pathetic?

Thus, He stands here to show mercy.

Park Jinseong.

The shaman, wandering through twisted time, stands here to show mercy to Kenneth.

How could this not be considered merciful?

Isn’t it a good thing to redirect lost sheep back to their rightful place?

If He exists, He shall be pleased; if not, it shall stand in his karma, shining forth under the name of goodness.

“Oh, shaman, who shall face a hollow future. You, whose flesh will ultimately fall to madness, achieving nothing and extinguishing your ephemeral life…”

How could this not resonate as a personal tale?

Just as Jinseong wished for transcendence but ultimately fell short, so too shall this shaman vanish without achieving his goals.

He shall simply fade away.

Ah, poor soul, doomed to madness before reaching his goal.

The more I contemplate, the more pitiful he seems…

“I shall not let your end be meaningless.”

And so Jinseong moves forward.

Grabbing a fistful of Kenneth’s hair, he drags him ahead.

“Come on, let’s go. To the volcano.”

Let’s go.

To the volcano.

Not Kilauea, and certainly not Halemaʻumaʻu.

“There, Pele and Poliah will be waiting. Come on, to the volcano…”

 

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