Chapter 613

[Destroy their altars, break their statues, and cut down their sacred groves.]

Thus spoke He: “You shall tear down their altars, smash their statues, and cut down their Asherah poles.”

Ah, He indeed detests idols with a fervent loathing.

How dare you bow to idols and worship them while He exists?

[You shall have no other gods before Me, for the Lord, whose name is Jealous, is a jealous God.]

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

“Kuaaahk!”

Agony surges through him.

An intense rejection reaction surges through his body, incomparable to what he felt earlier. The rejection that once only tortured his skin now transforms into something far more severe, threatening his very life.

Truly He exists, the Lord of a single Name, the Tetragrammaton, who does not approve of the worship of other gods. Thus, it is through His jealousy that a retribution may fall upon those who dare to bow down to other gods.

Ah, so His jealousy has reached Kenneth.

His punishment is about to descend now.

[Behold, this is a crop that grows when sprinkled on the ground, filled with my grace. This contains the energy of the sun. It is called cuitlacoche, something I have taken from the ants for you. You should make this golden harvest your main sustenance so that you may grow strong and worship me.]

As if in reply to that, a blessing descends.

From afar stands a young shaman, who pulls something from within his robes. It is popcorn.

The microwaveable popcorn packet is torn open, and the corn kernels burst in all directions. As if they had been microwaved, or absorbed heat, they produce sounds like ‘pop’ and ‘crackle,’ swelling like white flowers blooming in the air.

The kernels, now popcorn, float like dandelion seeds, lightly reaching Kenneth’s head, then cascading to the ground, pummeling Kenneth’s body as if pulled down by some invisible force.

[You shall chew the cuitlacoche as the ants do. Thus you shall taste its fruits, as sweet as theirs. By consuming it, you will gain strength to confront vicious beasts. This is the blessing I give you.]

[Let this blessing fill you with life.]

[May the strength of the sun dwell within you, and may its heat burn within you. As long as this flame shall not go out, my gaze shall be upon you, and you shall be my messenger.]

[You shall be the warrior of the Sun.]

[And I, the Creator of you all, am your loving creator deity.]

Not stopping there, something else comes.

After the popcorn-like hail comes a deluge of high-fructose corn syrup over Kenneth’s head. It runs down his body, emitting a sweet scent as it sticks to his skin. Like something absorbed into the skin, it vanishes in an instant, infusing color into Kenneth’s agony-twisted expression.

Yes, as if a feathered serpent god had truly bestowed life itself.

[You shall have no other gods before Me, for the Lord, whose name is Jealous, is a jealous God.]

What blasphemous act is this?

While knowing full well that He watches, how dare you accept blessings from pagan entities?

There is no other god but He. He is your four-letter God; He is the One who wholly exists.

Could you possibly imagine the punishment that awaits those who disdainfully deny Him?

You foolish one, could you imagine such a thing?

The Tetragrammaton is truly a jealous God.

Truly so.

Crackling sounds.

Behold.

His hand is upon you. You reject that you are His creation; thus, you cannot partake in His gifts. You deny you are His creation; thus, you cannot receive what His hand has touched.

Crunch.

Crunch!

“Aaaaahhhh!”

Terrible pain.

The sound is like something twisting.

Something rigid grows inside, stretching and tearing the flesh. It sounds like a bone tearing through the flesh.

Such a cry escapes Kenneth’s lips, the embodiment of his agony.

Would those being burnt alive in sulfur fires in the depths of Hell scream louder than this?

Presumptuously speaking, Kenneth’s scream rivals that.

It makes sense.

For a terrible change is happening in Kenneth’s penis.

A man does not naturally have a bone in his penis.

Instead, the spongy tissue serves as the structure.

But now, something Kenneth should not possess has emerged.

The baculum.

Something a human should never naturally have.

Of course, having something that shouldn’t be there causes horrific consequences. When it suddenly appears, the pain is unimaginable.

Crunch!

Typically, a baculum is located near the tip of the penis. In Kenneth’s case, something similar emerges, growing near the tip of his penis.

Only it grows from within.

It feels as though a pillar is forming under his skin, pushing and tearing in every direction.

The excruciating pain would make one’s eyes burst their blood vessels, grinding teeth until they crack.

Even though shamans are often accustomed to pain, this “unique agony” surpasses it, making it especially unbearable.

Naturally, it would be different. One would endure injuries of the flesh and fires, but who would envision this? An elongation of bone or a growth of tumors in random parts of the body may be imaginable, but who would have thought of a baculum forming in a perfectly normal penis, tearing and twisting it?

No matter how many extraordinary prices Kenneth had paid during magnificent ritual ceremonies, immunity to this “unique agony” is normal.

Being distracted by this agony and failing to notice the young shaman’s approach is also normal.

Thud!

Naturally, Kenneth is unable to resist when that shaman drives a sharp obsidian blade into his gut.

*

A shaman moves toward his purpose and his will. For the sake of achieving this goal, enduring pain and bearing hefty sacrifices is surely an awe-inspiring sight.

Is it not?

But what beauty can there be in wandering paths, feet suddenly changing direction, minds eroded by madness that do not realize they have gone astray? What can be beautiful in a mad wandering that leads somewhere strange and far from the initial purpose?

Can something that tramples others’ goals and completely diverts one from their intended destination be considered righteous?

Ah, how sorrowful.

How can we not find this pitiful?

Thus, here he stands, bringing mercy.

Park Jinseong.

The shaman who walks through distorted time stands here for mercy’s sake, in front of Kenneth.

Could this not be called mercy? Can you not see it as a good deed to correct the lost sheep back to its rightful path?

If He were here, He would be pleased. If He were absent, it would surely still be a deed of karma, bearing light under the name of good.

“Ah, misguided shaman, your life is heading toward a bleak future. Consumed by madness before reaching your purpose, meeting a futile end. How can this not be called tragic?”

Could this not be your concern as well? Jinseong sought transcendence but failed to achieve it due to limitations, much like how this shaman has disappeared without achieving his goal.

Truly, he has vanished.

Ah, pitiful one, who lost his mind before reaching his destination.

Recalling this makes him seem all the more sorrowful.

“I shall grant you an end that is not meaningless.”

So Jinseong moves forward.

Grabbing Kenneth’s hair, pulling his head, he drags the man forward.

“Let’s go. To the volcano.”

Let’s go.

To the volcano.

Not Kilauea, nor Halemaumau.

“There is Pele and Poliah there. Let us go to the volcano.”