Netenyahu of the 16th Century by The Protected by Allah - HTML preview

Chapter Eight:

Convince me or I'll eat you!

 

Three months drifted by. The Leader kept Johannes at his side for the better part of every day, making him witness the cold mechanics of command and the brutal "wisdom" of a predator. He assigned Johannes special missions, hoping these direct lessons would accelerate the boy’s growth and make up for a lifetime of wasted years.

But Johannes lived for his hours of freedom. He would beg his father for a few hours outside the "cage" to ride without a shadow. In those moments, he explored the world as a man of peace, visiting Wilius and the church. He had added a new layer to his plan: he began to listen to the Holy Scriptures, determined to match Jonathas’s intellect and anticipate his mocking traps before they could be sprung.

One afternoon, after bidding a final, silent farewell to Wilius’s remains, Johannes returned to his room. Death had struck again, claiming his mentor. He stood by the window, staring at the sky as the rhythmic thud of pickaxes echoed from the valley below. "I won't run away;" he whispered. Wilius was right, I have the opportunity to change all this, and perhaps that's why Allah created me here in the first place.

He heard the maid enter behind him. He offered a thin smile as she began to pour water for his Wudu. "Tell me, sir," she asked

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hopefully, "how goes your endeavor?"

"I am nearing the end," Johannes replied. "But as I’ve told you, it is a single throw of the dice. It may not find its mark."

"I pray the Lord guides your hand and looks upon us with mercy."

"You say that, yet your life is ten times better than the others."

"Yes," she whispered. "In your presence, I find the only light in my life. But that doesn't change the fact that everything else is darkness."

It was a quiet spring day when Jonathas finished his routine of monitoring raids and distributing spoils. He sat sipping a light wine, his nerves frayed by his hidden illness. He watched—with weary eyes—the colorful butterflies that had drifted through the open window. Johannes watched them too, though his mind was miles away.

Then came the moment. Johannes took a deep breath and launched himself into the whirlpool.

"What do you say to a little entertainment, sir?" Jonathas turned his pale, sickly eyes toward him. "Out with it."

"Why don't we test your 'absolute' power?" Jonathas’s eyes sparked. He leaned back, chest swelling. "What do you suggest?"

"We always see you capable of torturing anyone without consequence. But the question is: can you—on the other hand— do something that harms no one?" Jonathas fixed him with a piercing look. "What is the game here, Johannes?"

"Nothing at all. Just a diversion. I assume you will think of something far beyond my imagination."

 

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Jonathas’s fingers toyed with his beard. "Bring me one of the long-term prisoners," he barked.

The guards scurried to throw a shattered wreck of a man before them. Johannes’s breath hitched. A few stray red hairs on the prisoner’s head told the story: this was Jorvoss. The handsome, vibrant youth now looked like a piece of scorched wood carved into the shape of a man. Johannes went pale, realizing with sickening clarity that his own punishment—shame and all—had actually been Jonathas’s 'mercy.'

"Release him," the Leader commanded. "Dump him in the village. Drop him in front of a church."

As they carried the man away, Jonathas turned to the stunned Johannes. "Does that answer your question?" Johannes gripped his collar, regaining his footing. "Actually, not quite. You take pleasure in knowing you’ve sentenced that man to a lifetime of agony in a broken body, and you’ll torment the church folk with the burden of his care. It’s still for you."

Jonathas held his breath, his eyes unblinking. "Double the slave rations for today!" he ordered.

Johannes fought to keep his face neutral. "That’s closer. But still not it. They will only use that energy to suffer longer for you. I meant something that brings you absolutely nothing. Can you do that?"

Johannes’s voice dropped an octave. Jonathas threw him a sharp, penetrating look. "Give me an example."

"You’ll only think I have a selfish motive."

Jonathas stared ahead, thinking, before boasting: "And if I set a

 

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slave free just to 'show my power'?"

"You’re still doing it for yourself," Johannes countered. "One with absolute power gives without caring who sees or what returns." Jonathas’s expression shifted; he was beginning to see the trap. Johannes pushed further: "The strong give without counting. The weak need to take."

"The strong take without counting!" Jonathas snapped. "And the weak are crushed so they can give!"

Johannes remained preternaturally calm. "Yes, sir. What you’ve described is the 'Strong-Weak' man. I am speaking of the 'Strong-Strong'—the one who adds to his power an utter independence from need."

Suddenly, Jonathas’s hand shot out, his fingers gripping Johannes’s throat with sadistic precision, feeling the pulse beneath the skin. His eyes burned with a hellish fire. "Aha. My little one is finally ready for our promised debate. Let us go to my private chambers, then!"

They rose. Jonathas started to lead the way, but his right leg buckled. He nearly fell. His face contorted in shock when he realized it was Johannes who had caught him, supporting his weight. Jonathas shoved him away with visible irritation and hurried ahead with his guards.

The moment Johannes stepped into the room, the guards seized him. They dragged him to a heavy chair and bound him tightly, his limbs pinned from top to bottom. He looked at his father, searching for an answer, only to find Jonathas smiling with predatory arrogance.

"Prepare a great vat of oil," Jonathas commanded the guards. "Ready it for my feast."

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The guards exited, leaving father and son alone for the first time in their lives. Johannes’s eyes followed Jonathas as the man circled the chair like a wolf circling a trapped doe. Johannes fought to hide the tremor in his hands. Jonathas stopped behind him, his nails raking across Johannes’s facial skin, savoring the cruelty.

"I liked the idea of us playing together," Jonathas whispered. "So I thought I’d surprise you with even more 'fun'!" His hands left Johannes’s face and struck his shoulders with manic excitement. "We shall put your body on the betting table! If I best you in this debate, I shall eat it. If you best me, it returns to you!" Johannes recoiled, gasping as if he had been struck. He choked on his own breath until a fit of coughing took him. Jonathas’s laughter filled the room. "Why so surprised? You haven't shown me much 'willpower' lately. Your entry into this life was My mistake; I might as well send you back where you 'came' from."

Johannes looked at his bound body with a wave of nausea. Then, he steeled himself. Focus, he told his soul. I knew I was gambling. At least now, my fear will be my engine, not my obstacle. Jonathas sank slowly onto the sofa opposite the chair, waving a hand dismissively. "You should thank me for showing you the light for twenty years. Your other brothers were sent back to my belly before they even understood what light was!"

Johannes forced a smile. "Yes... I thank you. And I will consider you a magnificent father if you grant me safety until the very end of this debate."

Jonathas preened. "Fine. I will hold my hunger until the end, then

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I shall devour you. But do not bore me." He crossed his legs. "Now, speak. And I shall begin the mockery."

Johannes took a deep breath to flush out the tension. "To start, I want to tell you the name of the man who changed my path—the man who made me search for God." Jonathas bared his teeth in a grin. "By all means. Perhaps I’ll snap his neck with my boot later."

Johannes smiled back. "His name is 'Jonathas, son of Johannes Vilmos'."

Jonathas recoiled, his face a mask of disbelief. "Me?!!"

They exchanged a long, silent look before Jonathas scoffed. "I, who planted you in sin? I, who fed you with the bread of oppression and raised you on vice? You’ve seen nothing from me but one depravity after another... and I Am the one who drove you to believe in God, you lunatic?"

"Exactly! Everything you just mentioned is exactly what drove me to look for someone stronger than you—someone who could stand against your tyranny."

Jonathas sneered. "Ah... I don't think you mean 'God.' Because He hasn't been able to stand in my way even once!"

"Rather, say that you haven't been able to bypass Him even once," Johannes countered. "Has a single week passed where you were able not to eat, not to drink, not to attend to your needs, or not to sleep?"

Jonathas stared at the ceiling, suppressing a jagged laugh. "So, in your eyes, that is Him standing against me? My foolish boy, let me tell you how I found the courage for my depravity:

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I used to be a believer—so much so that I wanted the Lord to speak to me by any means necessary. I committed sins just to draw Him out, even if it meant He would speak through torture. But guess what? The villages groaned under my cruelty, and He did not utter a single word."

Johannes narrowed his eyes. "By that logic, I should conclude from the fact that I am still alive that you are weak. If you were truly strong, you would have killed me as you did my brothers, rather than me concluding that you’ve 'allowed' me to live by your very will."

Jonathas inspected his nails with a scoff. "Allowed me to do? What kind of Master is this who lets his slaves revel in their rebellion and curse Him while He watches 'by choice'?"

Johannes countered instantly: "A Master who is certain that His slaves will never escape the death He has imposed upon them, whether they like it or not!"

The sentence pricked Jonathas. Johannes pressed the advantage. "You weren't satisfied with your father, and you aren't satisfied with your own death now. Does it not seem, sir, that someone from above has passed a judgment upon you that contradicts your very will?"

"Do you know what I hate most about the religious?" Jonathas replied dismissively. "They turn coincidences into 'proofs' of their alleged God’s greatness."

"What coincidence are you talking about, sir? Is there a human being who will not die? Is that a coincidence, or a truth imposed upon both the master and the slave?" Johannes swallowed hard

 

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before adding with conviction, "No rational mind can deny the existence of laws in this world.

And as a leader, you know better than anyone that organization implies an Organizer."

Jonathas tilted his nose up in a boastful tilt. "Empty talk. I Am not subject to the laws of this collapsing body. Do not cite its weakness as evidence; it does not represent me! I Am above it! If I were defined by my body, I wouldn't have been able to control a single man with its strength alone. But I... I Am the one who controls all these people!"

Johannes leaned back as far as his bonds allowed. "But without your body, humanity will forget you. Since the Lord legislates over your flesh, He has His grip on you." He read his father’s face before adding, "I am saying whatever I wish right now because you allow it. But if you truly wanted to, you could easily silence my will by using my body."

Jonathas studied Johannes’s eyes, finding a strength he had never seen there. "And I grant you My favor by not doing so," he remarked haughtily.

"Yes. I admire that you keep your word once spoken. And thus, I believe you understand the Lord perfectly when He grants us His favor and waits patiently until the very end of our life's term."

Jonathas leaned back against the sofa, letting out a series of disjointed laughs. "Damn you! What have you done in these three months, boy?"

Johannes smiled. "Sir, what I am saying to you is what I’ve

 

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concluded since my childhood, simply by observing you. You have been my lesson my entire life."

Jonathas waved a hand dismissively. "All of it is just the fruit of your own imagination. There isn't a single piece of evidence linking your suspicions to our reality. You could just as easily consider it an illusion and move on with your life."

"Sir, every man is free to prepare for the reality of death or consider it an illusion—so long as his breath still flows!"

Jonathas’s eyes shifted back to mockery. "You poor soul. You have nothing but death, which no one even knows is a hollow end or not. Give me real evidence that links your 'reality' to the heavens now!"

Johannes looked toward the upper right, searching his memory. "My reality? When I was in the mine, coal fell on my foot. It was agonizing. I couldn't stand even as the driver rained blows upon me..."

"...And you called upon the Lord," Jonathas interrupted with disdain, "and as usual, nothing happened."

"On the contrary, sir. The pain vanished from my foot as if..."

"Johannes, those are just thoughts!" Jonathas groaned. "I want a tangible reason that changed reality, something that has no explanation other than... direct intervention from God."

Johannes knit his brows. "Fine. I have one. When I prayed for the first time in the pen and begged the Lord to save me, I closed my

 

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eyes and saw a strange dream: that you were ill and calling for me. I didn't understand it, of course. But when you brought me out, I was stunned to hear you are ill. It was as if the Lord wanted to tell me then..."

Jonathas’s breathing grew heavy before he cut him off with a mocking gesture. "And how do I even know if you actually dreamed it or not?"

Johannes’s shoulders slumped. "You’re right. I’ll give you evidence from Catherina’s life. She was always praying and pleading with the Lord. The truth is, for no logical reason, I loved her, even though she wasn't particularly beautiful. I wanted her for myself, so why did I sacrifice myself for her?"

"Not just you," Jonathas remarked, "but the slave as well." He paused, a realization dawning on him. "Johannes, is that the same piece of trash I just released?" Johannes nodded. Jonathas shot him a fierce look, but Johannes immediately stepped in to defend his position. "I did not specify anything, and you didn't specify anything when you gave the order!"

Jonathas shifted his position, ready to call the guards to bring the man back, but then he sighed with forced patience. "Let it be. Let him suffer in his rotting body." He returned his gaze to Johannes. "Should we use this coincidence to say the Lord is the one who saved him?"

"Actually," Johannes said, "our talk of the Lord is what made me ask for that challenge in the first place. So yes, the Lord saved him

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in both cases."

A laugh escaped Jonathas. He wiped his eye. "Fine. I’ll give you that one. The Lord was indeed the reason he got out!"

Jonathas rubbed his nose, then pressed the sharp tip of his index finger into Johannes’s forehead. "I challenge you to give me evidence from my own life, since you’re always studying it!" Johannes bore the weight of the finger, feeling a drop of blood trickle between his eyebrows.

"In your youth, you asked the Lord to make you a saint. And He did."

Jonathas pulled his hand back. "He did?!"

"Are you not 'sacred' now? There are at least a hundred men under your command, and the villagers fear you and your men above all else!"

"That is not what I asked for," Jonathas said in a low voice, his eyes growing dull.

"Yes, it is. You asked to be a saint for your own sake, not to exalt the word of the Lord. And that is exactly what happened. You gained glory without having any relationship with Him."

Jonathas took sharp, angry breaths before exploding. "And do you dare suggest that the logical path was to live as a laborer, surviving on a year's crop, when I could live as a king with vaults full of gold?"

"Logic, sir, says: 'If you live in your weakness, you are in the core of truth.' Because, as you said, you control others by deluding them with your skill into thinking they must exalt you. And even you... you live in the illusion that you are powerful and possess

 

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absolute strength!"

Jonathas’s glare was razor-sharp. Johannes added with a hint of trepidation, "Sir, if you want me to flatter you now, then the debate is over—and I am off to the oil." Jonathas’s brow relaxed, his mouth curling into a smile. He shrugged with indifference. "My illusion as a strong man is far more sophisticated than your illusion as a worshiper of a God you cannot see!"

"That would be true if I didn't see Him." Mockery flooded Jonathas's face. "You must have inherited those supernatural eyes from your mother!" Johannes smiled back. "And from you as well. All three of us see the universe painting for us the traces of greatness and power..."

"Do you know what surprises me about you?" Jonathas interrupted. "That you never asked about your mother, even though you were young."

Johannes forced himself to whisper, "Must I listen to you brag about killing her?"

Jonathas’s face lit up. "You haven't disappointed me! Let me explore this emotion now!"

He bared his teeth, reaching for some nuts with a casual air. To the sound of his chewing, he began to explain the method of Johannes’s mother’s murder in the most agonizing detail possible. On the other side, Johannes listened, gritting his teeth in silence, though his face flushed red and his breathing quickened. When the criminal grew bored with his boasting, he said, "I think your thigh will be more delicious when it's stuffed with nuts.. Are

 

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we finished with this debate?"

Johannes looked to the left, suppressing his rage. "If you want it to end, it’s over."

The father leaned in close, his lips pulled back over his teeth. "So, the Lord won't save you from the frying? Has He failed because you aren't in His line of sight here?"

Johannes pulled his head back as far as he could, his voice steady. "If the Lord sees fit to save me now, He will. If not, then He won't. He is my Lord; I am not His."

Jonathas clasped his hands behind his back mockingly. "What faith, Johannes! I’m moved!" He tilted his head back and shouted at the ceiling, "Listen, God of Johannes! I challenge You to save Johannes from me now ! I challenge You, You Weakling!!"

Jonathas circled Johannes with a fragmented laugh. He glanced at Johannes from the corner of his eye. "I’m sorry for you. I believed with you and I spoke to Him. But look—no answer from the weak!"

He threw a boastful laugh and turned his face away. Johannes remarked pointedly: "Tell me, why are you walking so slowly, my powerful Master? I feel your gait is trying to say 'something'."

Jonathas’s mouth went still for a moment. Johannes continued seriously: "Please, sir, stop the arrogance. Let us speak with logic."

Jonathas spread his hands. "The logic that no matter how much you call, you find no answer?"

"No. The logic that He will answer you in His way, not yours."

 

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Jonathas exhaled sharply. "Don't you want logic?! I have done more than this for forty years, and to this very day, I find No answer and No punishment!! There is No one. There is No Lord. No matter how smart you think you are or how impressed you are... you are deluding yourself!!"

Jonathas’s breaths were coming fast; it was as if he had just heaved a great weight off his chest. Words rushed to Johannes’s tongue. His mind screamed don't say it, but he said it anyway: "Are you so afraid that He actually exists, sir?" Jonathas’s face went pale at the shocking question. A wave of overwhelming rage surged through him. He covered his face with his hand, speaking in a dry, raspy voice: "Rather, I fear I made a mistake when I didn't sink my claws into your eyes."

But Johannes answered coldly, the blood having drained from his face: "As if the One who has kept you from killing me for twenty years is still keeping His word, even until this very moment?" Jonathas surged with a violent upheaval of rage. He lunged in front of him, sinking his claws into Johannes’s shoulders—just at the base of his neck—with a strength intended to crush. His face was a mask of demonic satisfaction. "No one keeps Me from killing you but Me, you raving idiot!"

Johannes’s features contorted, his entire nervous system reeling from the agonizing shock. His clothes began to soak with a deep crimson stain as his father loomed over him like a dark, towering shroud, his eyes bulging, his hot, savage breath spraying Johannes’s face. Suddenly, Johannes’s nerves snapped; the primal instinct for survival overthrew all reason.

 

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In the next heartbeat, Johannes’s body writhed against his bonds in a desperate, serpentine struggle. His knee collided sharply with Jonathas. The Leader let out a cry of pain and, in an involuntary defensive reflex, shoved Johannes away with all his might. The chair flipped backward; its heavy wooden front legs kicked upward, and one of them struck Jonathas with a finishing blow directly at his most vulnerable point. He was hurled back, unleashing a deafening, terrible scream that echoed through the stone walls.

The Leader collapsed onto the nearest sofa, half-sprawled on the floor, writhing as he spent the last of his strength to fight the escalating agony. He shivered, his legs scraping the floor, his face drowned in torment, eyes nearly popping from the electric shock of the pain.

At that same moment, Johannes hit the floor on his back, the chair slamming down with a force that rattled his brain. The guards burst into the room, desperate to rescue their master.

Upside down and dazed, Johannes ignored the thunderous hammering of his own heart to listen to their frantic whispers. He realized with a pale, hollow certainty that he had crossed a point of no return.

Minutes passed like burning coals before one of the guards righted the chair. He stared at Johannes, bewildered. "This is strange; he is still fully bound.. he bears the marks of torture."

Johannes opened his trembling eyes to see Jonathas among his guards, sitting hunched on the sofa, his face etched with exhaustion and lingering pain.

 

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Overcome by the sheer terror of the moment, Johannes burst into tears. He was possessed by an absolute despair of ever escaping the torture chamber, let alone surviving after that. He had always dreaded offending his father with a single word— what would the price be for this "madness"?

A minute passed as the guards watched them: the father writhing physically, the son writhing spiritually. Johannes’s panic made him forget his open wounds and the stinging heat of his blood, which by now was indistinguishable from the color of his flushed face. Suddenly, Jonathas’s voice tore through the silence like a thunderclap: "Get out of the room!"

They scrambled out without a second thought. As the door slammed shut, the father’s voice roared again: "Are you crying now, you fool?!"

Johannes swallowed his tears, wishing the earth would open up and swallow him. Jonathas managed a pained smile. "Exactly at the moment I intended to sink my nails into your throat!"

Jonathas whispered to his own soul, almost happily: I waited for the Lord to restrain me for over forty years. He is strong; He doesn't need to strike me. It was enough that He did not protect me from my own stupid movement.

On his face, laughter mingled with agony. "I challenged the Lord, Johannes... and now look who is the weak one among us. It is Me... yes, Me... I Am the weak one!" Jonathas leaned back, struggling like a madman to laugh while his nerves screamed in protest. Bitter tears of conflict ran down his

 

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reddened cheeks. Johannes watched him, wide-eyed like a child, breathless and stunned. His mind repeated a single phrase: He's a freak... he's a total freak!!

It took some time before Jonathas settled into an eerie calmness. "Fine," he said quietly. "I believe in the Lord now. But how do you prove, oh great philosopher, that He is the God of Christ, and why does He not control the minds of men as He controls their bodies?"

Johannes could hardly believe his ears. He swallowed hard, sharpening his choked voice to answer. "He doesn't control their minds because... because..."

Jonathas showed a faint smile, answering for himself: "Because when they exalt Him, He wants them to do it truthfully, because He truly is great! He doesn't want to force anyone to utter it out of fear... like I do."

The words caught in Johannes’s throat from sheer amazement. He coughed and said, "As for Him being the Father of Christ..." Jonathas seized the reins of the answer again. "He is not his father! Christ is a human being whom the Lord created in a special way, to be a special Messenger." Johannes bowed his head, bewildered. "I am happy to hear you say that, sir."

Jonathas tilted his head back, reciting with a faint smile: "‘Now this is eternal life: that they know You, the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom You have sent.’ Johannes, Chapter Seventeen... I believe it’s the third verse."

 

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Johannes was awestruck. "You still remember that after forty years?!"

"What do you expect from a young man who wanted to be a saint?"

The two exchanged smiles that bloomed amidst the pain. Johannes seized the opportunity he had never dreamed of: "Then let us leave this contradictory religion and—"

"And why do you claim it is contradictory?" Jonathas interjected with a firm, sharp tone.

Johannes felt a wave of confusion; it was as if Jonathas had reclaimed his past and was ready to defend his faith with ferocity. He hesitated, answering in a low, wavering voice: "In the past months, I’ve heard most of the Bible. It felt... inconsistent." Jonathas replied gravely, "That is because you are reading it for the first time. By the tenth time, a faith will be born in your heart that will blind you to those flaws!"

Johannes froze, stealing a glance at his father’s piercing eyes, until Jonathas finally broke into a roar of laughter. "You simpleton!! Did you actually believe me? Didn't you hear what I said? I told you it would 'blind you' to them!"

Johannes let out a long breath. "Heh... you had me worried there."

"Is Jonathas the Profligate more comforting than the Monk?" he mocked.

"At least I know who you are this way!"

Jonathas chuckled, even as the movement provoked his pain. "And what contradiction struck you the most, Johannes?"

 

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"The Prophets. They are the chosen ones, yet they commit sins that would bar anyone else from heaven!" Jonathas rubbed his chin. "Yes. I used to think that if I became a saint, I would be purer than the prophets."

Johannes looked at his father with a newfound gravity that made Jonathas fall silent. "I am no longer a Christian," Johannes finally confessed. "That religion is older than old; there is no clear version of it left."

Jonathas’s gaze sharpened. "Have you abandoned the faith of your fathers, you traitor?"

Johannes laughed softly. "Yes. I have submitted—I have become a Muslim."

Jonathas scowled. "You became what exactly?"

"You know those who do us 'favors,' the ones who keep the King busy in the south?"

"You mean His Majesty's enemies," Jonathas sneered. "The Ottomans."

"Yes. They have a logical religion; exactly what I believed before I even knew the word 'religion.' You believe there is one God who controls the laws of the universe, and that He sent a Messenger named Muhammad... and that is it. No father, no son, no trinity, nothing."

Jonathas shifted, his interest piqued. "And they don't know Christ?"

"On the contrary, Islam is an extension of Christ's message. We must believe in Christ as a Teacher and a Messenger... created by Allah through His Spirit from the Virgin Maria, without..."

 

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"You said 'Allah'?" Jonathas interrupted. "Ah, yes... in the language of the Messenger Muhammad, they refer to the Lord as 'Allah'."

Jonathas leaned back. "Christ, too, Johannes... in his own Aramaic tongue, he called the Lord 'Allaha'."

Johannes was taken aback, then he smiled at his father. "Will I end up learning religion from you after all?"

But Jonathas did not smile back. His hand touched his elbow and he turned his face away, lost in distant thought. Johannes watched him, amazed by his behavior; he had noticed from the start that Jonathas had deliberately abstained from wine and seemed to be debating with genuine focus.

Johannes whispered to himself: I understand the heart of the matter now. Jonathas is nearing death; he is thinking of what comes after. He invented the 'eating my flesh' threat just to pretend he was playing with me, while in truth, he wanted to talk to me without losing his prestige.

Jonathas spoke again: "Johannes, you have killed, raped, and stolen by your own hand and your own will. Did that deacon guarantee you that the Lord has actually forgiven you and wants to unite with you in heaven?"

Johannes recoiled. "The deacon? No! I speak to Allah myself, five times every day, and I ask Him for forgiveness."

Jonathas surprised. "Five times every day? Are you a monk in your religion?"

"There are no monks in my religion. This is a duty for everyone... so that we remember Him at all times." Johannes felt his father’s

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interest, so he added: "By remebering the Presence of the Strong One at all times, your own weakness will no longer haunt you, Father. And when you trust His promise of a land full of doubled earthly delights, your logic will find peace with losing them here."

As soon as Johannes fell silent, he flinched at the sound of Jonathas’s knife being unsheathed. Jonathas’s face was as cold as stone. Johannes’s eyes froze as his father rose and circled the chair. Johannes braced for the worst. Instead, he felt the sharp strike of the blade severing his bonds. He waited a heartbeat before his father’s heavy palms landed on his shoulders—shoulders that began to scream from the pain of his wounds.

A minute of silence passed. Johannes felt his heart beating in his throat. Finally, Jonathas whispered from above his son's head: "I will not be a saint. But it is fine if a part of Me becomes one. Let me see a face like Mine in Paradise." Then, he returned to his commanding tone: "Leave me!! And know that if I find you in my territory after three days, I shall consider you my enemy."

He turned away. Johannes rose, shaking the ropes from his legs, rubbing his wrists. He looked in disbelief at his father, who was standing by the window. Had this horrific debate truly ended in peace? Had he been pardoned without any retribution? Stranger still, Jonathas had done the unthinkable: he had turned his back on Johannes while they were alone in the room.

Finally, Johannes held his breath and stepped toward him gently.

 

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"I did not seek this debate to save my life; I didn't even know you would put my life at stake."

He paused for a moment before adding: "Father, I do not think something as great as Paradise could ever escape a mind as sharp as yours."

Jonathas shot a piercing glance at his son from the corner of his eye, whispering in a voice that was barely a breath, "Even if the Lord overlooks what I have done... I will not forget it. Paradise is not for the filthy."

Johannes stepped closer. His face held no trace of the old fear, only a gentle, immovable persistence.

"Our Lord is perfect, Father, because He joins His Absolute Power with Absolute Love. He tells us: «Do not despair of the mercy of God; indeed, God forgives all sins. indeed, it is He who is the Forgiveness, the merciful» Do not let the weight of your crimes outsize the mercy of the Lord. He loves it when you believe that He is the Greatest."

Jonathas ground his teeth, but Johannes continued, his voice thick with emotion: "Listen to this: there was a man who killed a hundred souls—a living example of exactly what you and I have done. When he finally decided to take a single step toward repentance, death took him first. And yet, God showed him mercy... simply for that one step."

Johannes gestured broadly to the empty air of the room. "Just because he tried, Father!"

He took a breath before adding, "You may have to compensate

 

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people for your injustice for a thousand years of reckoning, perhaps... but Do not slam the door of hope behind you. Do not give your Lord a reason to leave you locked in your torment forever. Just apologize. Try to make amends."

" 'I' apologize?!" Jonathas barked instinctively. "What 'I,' Father?" Johannes retorted with sharp disdain. "In a few days, there will be no more 'I'!"

Jonathas jerked his face away, his shoulders finally slumping.

Johannes turned to him, his tone now one of pure supplication. "Please, look. This is what you must do if you truly wish to apologize: wash yourself with clean water, exalt the Lord in your heart, and turn toward Him with love and reverence." In the heavy silence of the room, broken only by the wailing of the wind outside, Johannes did the one thing his father never expected.

He knelt. Then, he pressed his forehead to the ground in a majestic, solemn prostration.

He remained there for seconds, anchored to the earth. Jonathas watched, frozen in a shock that paralyzed his limbs. That single act of prostration was the most powerful message Johannes could have sent—a sight that struck terror into Jonathas’s darkened soul.

When Johannes rose, Jonathas stared at him with an arched brow of sheer amazement. "Is that what you were doing in Pratus when Raphael thought you were sleeping on the ground?" Johannes smiled and nodded. "It is time to trade in your wine, Father."

Jonathas turned away instantly, his voice returning to a sharp

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command. "Go! Run! Before I change my mind."

Johannes exhaled, finding no choice but to rush out of the room. But the moment he closed the door, he was struck by a memory of his old vision: the dream where he had left the sick Jonathas to his fate, "closing the door" and walking away. He stood stunned for a heartbeat. His feet almost carried him away, but he turned back and threw the door open one last time. "The Lord has lengthened your life despite the prayers of the people against you because He wants you! Do not disappoint Him!"

Johannes slammed that door of evil shut. He ran with all his might, clutching onto hope.

The moment his feet touched the threshold of the outer gate, the sight of the open sky intoxicated him. Braced by the cool breeze of freedom, his heart sang for the first time in his life..

There would be a Johannes without a Jonathas!!

 

The Realistic Ending: The Leader continued to struggle against his illness for days until he was betrayed by one of his own men, who murdered him brutally and seized command—ending a thirty-year reign of terror. Years later, the Ottomans invaded the region, uprooting the gangs and liberating the people from the criminals.

However, if you prefer a 'Happier' Ending, read the Bonus Chapter below.

 

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Bonus Chapter:

Jonathas’s Deal

 

The door finally clicked shut. Only then did Jonathas allow his tensed, aching body to collapse. He exhaled a long, jagged breath, covering his face with his palms. Never in his life had he allowed his son to speak so freely to him. That was why he had refused to acknowledge him for all those years. Now, he struggled to hide from his own savage nature the fact that he had actually listened—and had set the boy free after everything he dared to say.

He jumped when the door flew open again. "The Lord has lengthened your life despite the prayers of the people against you because He wants you! Do not disappoint Him!"

Then Johannes was gone. To the sound of those retreating, running footsteps, Jonathas lowered his hands, his fingers splayed nervously. His soul whispered in protest: I don't disappoint Him?! What expectations of Me?! Have I left anything worth expecting? I have walked a path of no return. Yes... no return. No return.

He raised his eyes, staring with a sense of deprivation toward the sky. "Absolute power and absolute love," he whispered hollowly. "And I... I had never known what love is. I see it makes people into fools; I thought it intoxicates like wine. But if the Lord loves, then that gives Love a different definition." He sat slowly on the sofa, fighting the tide of pain. "What made that boy utter those words?"

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I have survived the pursuit of soldiers by miracles-like ways. I have wondered how my enemies missed an opening when my sword slipped. I have marveled at how my partners never betrayed me. I have stolen and killed without a shadow of fear, as if my soul were pre-guaranteed safety... Was that truly the Lord’s answer to my ancient prayer?

"Well," he muttered, "I explained it all away as 'Me.' But I know... it wasn't me."

He clenched his fists, his lips trembling. "In my depths, I know it wasn't me."

He writhed, tilting his head back. "I did the impossible to erase You from my life, knowing all the while that You existed outside my dark tent. And here You are, about to erase me with lowly insects, turning me into dust to be stepped upon."

He scowled, his eyes narrowing. "I did the impossible so that I would not die... so I would not have to face the moment where the Truth is known. But You insisted on making me spend months living in it. Months spent with my thoughts oscillating between life and death."

He screamed internally, I am tired! Tired! "Damn it! That boy has made me lose confidence in myself. The spark in his eyes made me long for the passion of my own youth."

At the memory of his vanished youth, his breath hitched. "I can hardly believe it. Johannes searched for the Lord without anyone deluding him into it. He didn't... even... know His name!" He closed his eyes, stung by the bitterness of his failure. "I kept

 

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him in my cage to prove to myself that God was merely a social illusion. Instead, he proved to me that worship is something etched into the core of a human being. Why? Why? WHY?!!"

He sank his claws into his own hair, seething at his reality. He was trapped between life and death—unable to enjoy his lusts, unable to undo what he had done, and unable to forget the struggle as the pain increased day by day.

For months, Jonathas had been re-convincing his anxious soul that death was a final sleep, a point of ultimate silence, and that he was merely enjoying himself until the last ember went out. But his old beliefs refused to release him. Instead, they worked tirelessly to shatter his illusions, leaving him in a state of suffocating tension.

Suddenly, Johannes had appeared to bridge the gap between his past and present, sparking a flicker of hope for the very faith Jonathas had spent a lifetime wounding.

A moment later, Jessica entered. She had knocked, and receiving no answer, let herself in. She lingered for a heartbeat, reading his state, before approaching with her usual practiced charm. "How foolish of me! When I saw Johannes fleeing like that... I feared he had dared to raise a hand against you. But…"

She trailed off. She realized that the man who was supposed to be her husband was drowning in a pained trance. She sat beside him, touching him gently. "I see the pain has returned, my lord. I’ve prepared a new herbal remedy; please, let me try it." Jonathas surprised her with a dry, hollow question: "Why do you care for my recovery? Wouldn't it be better for you if I died?"

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"How can you say such a thing, my l—"

"Jessica!!" he roared. "Answer me. Is it not better for you if I died?"

Her tongue faltered as she scrambled for a reply that would satisfy him without condemning herself. He cut her off as he stood. "You have already answered. I do not want you near me again."

She followed him, pleading, "Please, listen... my tongue was tied by your majesty, and—"

Before she could finish, Jonathas slammed the door in her face. She was left outside, trembling and bewildered. Inside, Jonathas’s face was still etched with rage as he whispered a routine reassurance to his soul: "I am strong. I conquer everyone. No one is safe from my wrath."

He said it out of habit, though his lips were so cold they felt heavy with resistance. He walked toward his bedchamber, his teeth aching from the pressure of his clenched jaw. Suddenly, his composure snapped. He lashed out, punching the wall, his eyes bulging.

"If only this were a game that could end! What is this state I am in?! I feel the weight of the whole world on my chest." He leaned his forehead against the stone, writhing in spiritual agony. He lunged for a bottle of wine and began to gulp it down greedily, desperate to escape himself. But where can one flee when the pursuer is within?

He hurled the empty bottle aside. Still reeling from the weight of

 

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his soul, he hurried to crawl into bed, seeking refuge in sleep. But the wine, which had masked the pain and numbed his body, made him forget to care for his illness and move slowly. His feet betrayed him. He fell face-forward onto the floor, letting out a shriek of agony that returned like a lightning strike from the void.

His groans filled the room as he forced his tortured body to heave itself toward the bed. He finally collapsed onto the mattress and let his eyelids shut, hoping to hide behind the curtain of sleep. But when the torment is in the soul, even sleep has no power to intercede.

The truth was that sleep did not take him out of his reality; it plunged him into another—a memory from his youth. The dream dragged him back forty years, forcing him to relive a moment that time had failed to erase: “

The young Jonathas—vibrant, lithe, and full of life—was returning from the seminary for a holiday at his father’s house on the edge of the farmlands. A cool breeze toyed with his long black hair as he stared, mesmerized, at a gemstone glittering in his hand. The moment he entered the house, he slumped into a chair, his mind entirely consumed by the treasure. His younger brother, Jacobus, approached to catch a glimpse of the shining stone, but Jonathas pushed him away. With a boastful laugh, he began to run, teasing his brother.

But a small thing crossed his path and turned the world upside down. Jonathas tripped. Despite his efforts to balance, he hit the ground hard. The gemstone flew from his hand, striking a rusted metal cooking pot and shattering into pieces.

 

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Jonathas stared in horror at the shards scattered everywhere. A violent tremor of rage shook his nerves. Suddenly, he lunged at his brother’s cat—the creature that had tripped him. He seized it, sinking his fingers into its neck, and began to torture it. He choked it, then crushed its limbs, while Jacobus stood below, screaming and trying in vain to pull the cat from his older brother’s hands.

Jacobus ran to fetch their father from the field. But by the time the father arrived, the cat was nothing but scattered remains around that same metal pot. His son Jonathas was splattered with blood from head to toe, panting with fury. The father was horrified. "What are you doing at the church if you haven't even learned mercy toward Christ’s creatures?!" he shouted. "I gave you to Christ so you could fulfill your desire to be a saint, and you don't even respect Him!"

Jonathas snarled, his nerves taut. "Christ does not exist, Father! Why didn't he save the 'poor' cat just now? Enough!! I have decided to leave this nonsense!"

The father went pale. He stood with his hands at his sides, swallowing hard, exchanging glares with his son whose eyes were spitting sparks. Finally, he managed to speak: "Surely the anger has made you lose your mind..."

"No!!" Jonathas cut him off firmly. "I have returned with no intention of ever stepping foot in that madhouse again. Listen to me: there is no Lord, no Christ, no Spirit of nothingness. It is just a trick to control us!"

The father lost his patience. He seized Jonathas by the collar and

 

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screamed, "You mad one!! Even if you no longer wish to go, shut your mouth! Do not speak this way... these are sacred things! Do you understand? Sacred! Never speak ill of them again, or else..."

Jonathas leveled his gaze at his father and curled his lip into the first wicked smile of his life. He opened his mouth and hurled his first blasphemy against the sacred. The father went into a frenzy at such insolence; he threw Jonathas to the ground and beat him with a staff until he was exhausted.

"From tomorrow, you return to the plow, you wretch!" the father gasped. "And I was the one hoping you’d be a Bishop... may Christ kill this 'demon' that has entered your head."

That night was long—so long that it remained etched in Jonathas's mind forever. He was at the crossroads of his life. He knew his father would forgive him if he apologized in the morning, but...

"I apologize to him?! No. I will not live my life like a stupid sheep for the sake of his petty anger. He is just an ignorant peasant; he doesn't know how they enslave him with a single word... 'Sacred'."

In the morning, he said nothing, maintaining a face of cold fury. His father forced him to the fields to plow. But the moment his father's back was turned, Jonathas would stop and stare around him, as if re-identifying his environment. After several instances, his father struck him, shouting, "You don't want to learn, and you don't want to work? What in heaven's name do you want?!" Jonathas wiped his face and paused for a heartbeat before shouting back, "Why should I work like an ox, when I am rich??"

 

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The father was stunned. "He even sees things in reverse... what devil is this..."

"No!" Jonathas interrupted gravely. "I can prove it to you. I have hidden them in the house. We can live like kings, Father!"

Jonathas smiled, trying to coax his father into a better mood. He dropped the plow. "When you see them, you'll believe me!" He ran to the house with his father shouting after him. Inside, Jonathas emerged from his room clutching a leather pouch. He opened it, revealing a handful of precious coins and jewels. "See? No need to work!!"

The father took the bag, his hands shaking. Once he was certain the treasure was real, he raised his eyes slowly to his proud son. "And where did you get all this?"

"Some I stole from the church," Jonathas boasted. "The rest I snatched from the—"

Before he could finish, his father’s palm struck his face with more force than he had ever felt. Jonathas was thrown back against the wall. Through the ringing in his ears, he heard his father's voice erupting in fury.

"You steal?! You steal, you madman!! I toil all day to feed you an honest morsel, and you spend your time thieving?!"

Jonathas held his head to stop the world from spinning. He leaned against the wall to stand. "So we work like beasts just to eat a cheap plate of food at the end of the day?!"

"Yes! Better than stealing! Better than eating filthy food! Better than depriving an owner of his—"

"It’s all nonsense!" Jonathas exploded. "Nonsense they use to exploit us and make us produce their food!"

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"Who are 'they'...?!"

"The ones who live like kings while we are the oxen of their lands! I studied theology; I know everything. It's all a ruse. Leave it behind and let us find our own path to happiness!"

The father froze. Jonathas continued in a softened tone, "Come, let us enjoy life. I’ll buy you a whole goat for dinner. You won't sleep until you are in a daze of pleasure. I can even buy you a maid, and—"

"Jonathas!!!!" his father roared.

Jonathas fell silent for a moment, then crossed his arms wickedly. "Fine. Don't do it! But I... I will live like a king, and you will find yourself serving me whether you like it or not. Let your Christ help you then!!"

At those reckless words, the father’s eyes turned blood-red. He lunged his massive frame at Jonathas’s youthful body, striking and punching him, having lost all control. Suddenly, Jacobus’s voice broke through, sobbing in terror from behind the table: "Stop! Stop! No... no!"

The father snapped back to his senses. He realized he was on the verge of murdering his son. He traced a cross over his own bloodied face, taking deep, ragged breaths before he finally found the strength to stand. He grabbed Jonathas’s bag and ran toward the church to return it.

Jonathas was in the worst state of his life. But would he retreat? "As long as I breathe, I will defend my right. I will not let his grip choke the breath of freedom from me." He muttered this as he tried to rise, before the pain claimed his

 

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consciousness and he collapsed on the floor. Jacobus sat by the table, burying his head in his arms and weeping, having witnessed the most brutal scene of his young life.

When Jonathas woke, he was in bed. He forced his swollen eyes open to see the Priest reciting hymns over him, a hand resting on his forehead. Jonathas pushed past the pain of his bruised lips to speak:

"Leave me be. I have renounced your religion. I do not believe in your Christ. No devil forced me into this. I am Jonathas Vilmos— the new Devil!"

The Priest recoiled, then adjusted his features to regain his composure. "Jonathas, remember your passion, the beautiful moments you spent in study..."

"You can enjoy whatever you've convinced yourself of," Jonathas interrupted. "But as for me, I have decided to search for a happiness that overwhelms me even if I reject it!"

"Only the Lord can give you that, my son. Do not step outside of Christ's mercy!"

"Let Christ hold me back with all his might from doing what I want," Jonathas mocked. "Go on, where is he? Can he not control his own servant?"

After a long debate, the Priest left the house. Jonathas’s father followed him out. The Priest stopped on the road. "I am sorry. He does this of his own full will."

"Are you sure, sir?" the father asked, his voice choked.

"He has been my student for five years. I know that steel-like persistence he possesses... especially since you introduced violence into the matter." The Priest sighed. "The same passion

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that was directing him toward being a saint is now directing him toward being a devil. There is nothing left for us but to pray that he returns to his senses. May Christ compensate you, my brother."

The Priest left, leaving the father to dissolve in shame and helplessness. He looked to the sky, begging for a miracle. Would his son be excommunicated? Cast out from mercy? He pleaded with Christ for any miracle that would save him from this scandal and the brand of shame that would mark him forever.

The following day, Jonathas sat at the table, his face a map of bruises. He was surprised to find his plate heaped with bread and meat. He looked at his brother Jacobus’s plate—it held the usual meager portion—while his father’s plate was only half-full. "If the problem is that you aren't full," his father explained quietly, "we can solve it as you see." Jonathas narrowed his eyes. "I am not full, I have nothing to drink, I have no maids, no servants, no palace, and I am forced to work. These are my problems. Can you solve them all with your 'honest' labor?"

The father fell silent, eating with a bitter heart. "Even a king has limits," he finally replied. "No one can do everything they please. And even if you could, life would be hollow and meaningless, my son."

"I can put in the same effort you do and have a larger share of life," Jonathas snapped. "Why should I settle for less just because you are submissive to the Church's deceptions?"

The father buried his face in his hands. "What can I say to you

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that the Priest hasn't already said?"

"Say nothing. I am your son, Not your slave. I will live as I please, and you live as You please."

"Truly?" the father growled. "And the shame and the curse you bring upon Me, your brother, and your aunt—where are we to dump that?"

Jonathas blew out a breath. "I will travel. I’ll leave you to your 'honor'."

"I raised you!" the father shook with rage. "I cared for you! And now that your mustache has finally grown, you’ll just walk away as if you were born this tall?"

Jonathas smiled wickedly. "Should I take Jacobus with me?"

"No!!" Jacobus cried, jumping up. "I won't go with you no matter what you do!"

Jonathas laughed softly, picking up his food. "See how much you gain when you take my path, you fool!" Suddenly, the table rattled under his father’s fist. "Is it not enough that I have you, without you corrupting your brother, you—!!"

The room filled with the father's heavy, angry breathing, but Jonathas ignored him, eating with total indifference. Days passed this way, with the heartbroken father giving half his food to a son who barely worked, while he himself hungered and toiled in vain.

Eventually, illness took hold of the father, and poverty began to invade their home more aggressively each day. Jonathas remained the same—cunning, slow, and poisonous, his words killing his father bit by bit, without a shred of mercy.

Then came the cursed day. Jonathas sat down to eat but found

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only a dry crust of bread and a cup of water. Anger flared in his chest, but he ate it quickly. "Is this all? Hand over your 'honor' then; perhaps I’ll find something in it to silence my stomach!" The father did not raise his pale eyes. Hunger and sickness had extinguished his spirit. He was a withered, wretched frame. Finally, he moved a trembling hand to pass his own half of crust to his son. His look told stories of woe; he knew this was his final act to clear his conscience of the thief he had sired. "That’s enough, Jonathas!" Jacobus shouted, his voice cracking. "Can't you see how sick our father is? Leave him his bread!"

Jonathas snatched the bread and threw it violently back onto his father's plate. He gave Jacobus an unsettling smile and walked toward his room. The father closed his eyes, exhaling in agony, when Jacobus's voice suddenly pierced the air in terror: "NOOOOO!!! FATHER, WATCH OUT—!!"

The father opened his eyes one last time before his features contorted. His face hit the table, bathed instantly in the blood gushing from his throat. Jonathas stood over him, smiling, clutching the knife.

"When I tell you I am hungry," Jonathas said, "you will feed me, even if it is from your own flesh!"

He turned a playful, terrifying gaze toward the stunned Jacobus. "I, too, pity our father. This way, he is relieved from the pain of seeing us as thieves, and he has given us 'food' for several days... Are you ready for the smell of roasted meat?"

Tears streamed down Jacobus's face, the words choking him. As Jonathas realized his brother did not share the "joy" of the

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moment, he gripped Jacobus's arm violently, leveling the knife at him. "It seems I’ll have no use for you, and so..."

"No!! No!!" Jacobus stammered, shaking violently. "I’ll do anything... just... don't kill me..."

"Your life is mine," Jonathas replied, intoxicated by victory. "But I will sell it back to you in exchange for being my loyal slave for the rest of your life."

He let out a loud, booming laugh...”

"My lord... can't you hear me? You are screaming... is there anything we can do to ease your pain?" Jonathas opened his clouded grey-lashed eyes with difficulty. He realized the man speaking to him was that same child, Jacobus, now a man of forty-seven. His life flashed before him—from that moment of enslavement to this current moment where Jacobus stood over him, watching him scream in agony.

The doctor arrived. "I fear the tumor has worsened, perhaps due to a fall or extreme pressure."

"We found him twisted on the bed," Jacobus said calmly. "He seems to have been asleep for hours."

"He has drunk too much; his bladder is distended," the doctor sighed. "I fear there is nothing more we can do." Jonathas's eyes pleaded. "Can you do nothing? I cannot live another hour with this pressure... I feel knives shredding my nerves."

"There is one solution I have heard of, but it often fails," the doctor said. "A catheterization. It will move you from the pain of

 

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blockage to a different, agonizing pain... and then, you wait for the end."

"Or," Jacobus added coolly, "you could end your life now, since the difference is only a matter of hours."

"No!!" Jonathas cried. "I don't want to die!"

"But you will die," Jacobus replied. "Waiting will only increase your torment."

Jonathas turned to the doctor, tears streaming down his face. "Do the surgery... there is something important I must live even one more day to do."

"I warn you," the doctor said. "The pain of the metal probe will be shocking and horrific."

"Let it be," Jonathas whispered, swallowing the same bitterness he had spent a lifetime forcing upon others.

Though Jonathas was a king that day, with vaults of gold and dozens of slaves, it was the most horrific day of his life. His screams nearly stopped his heart. The fire of the pain burned him without mercy. He and his men learned that day that the simple act of urination is a blessing more valuable than gold!

By nightfall, he had finally found relief from the blockage, though he was drifting in and out of consciousness from the trauma. He spent days in bed, delirious, caught between the pain of his body and the fear of losing his throne.

One night, during a celebration he forced himself to attend, he sat in his chair. He looked sallow and withered. He didn't dare to eat or drink, fearing the return of the blockage. He watched his men drink and dance, while he, their master, was deprived of every pleasure because of... a few drops of fluid.

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He stared at Johannes’s empty chair. “Does it not seem that someone from above has passed a judgment upon you that contradicts your very will?”

"He babbled too much," Jonathas whispered to himself. "I let him go to spite my father’s memory... but oh, if only he were here to succeed me now." He wondered, Did he truly love me, even though I went out of my way to hurt him so he wouldn't push his foolish emotions on me?

Looking at his men through the eyes of sobriety—a state he had been forced into for days—they looked like animals. "They live in the illusion that they are happy," he mused. "Is this the happiness I sold everything for?"

He looked toward the night sky. "Your 'illusion' is nobler than this bestial one before me. I will say what I vowed I would never say: I have decided to return to You... with all my strength!" A tremor took his jaw. "Yes, I will do it. I am strong. I can! Absolute Love... I never knew what it was... but I will try to discover it."

He managed a faint smile. "That boy was right; leaving the state of lies is... a relief."

Jonathas forced himself up, rising slowly. As his guards moved to assist him, he gestured for them to stay back. He steadied his pace and walked out until he reached his inner bedchamber. He threw open the window, staring up at the star-studded sky, remembering moments of a long-lost, obsession .

He smiled as the scent of old days brushed against him. His

 

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features softened in a way that seemed alien to a face blackened by years of sin. Then, words he never imagined he would utter poured from him:

"I know You are above all things... You are not a prisoner of a sky, nor do the weaknesses of men dwell in You.

I know Christ is not Your son, and I know You are the Self-Sufficient who needs none of my filthy prayers."

He let his legs give way, sinking to his knees and clutching the windowsill.

"Yes, I know You lose nothing if You cast me into Hell, and Your kingdom gains nothing if I become a saint. But now—for the first time—I know You are too merciful to let me burn myself with my own stupidity without sending that fool, Johannes, to be the mirror I hated."

He bowed his head, his expression one of awe. "My powerful Master, I see You have taught me the lesson my father failed to give. I admit it now; this world, even at its peak, is void of absolute happiness."

A cynical laugh traced his lips. "With a mere wretched, swollen piece of flesh, You shattered everything I spent my life for.

Moreover, everything I am currently living is because of the two orbs of water in my face; if you were to let them flow, I would be in the depths of despair."

Jonathas moved into a posture of submission. "My Master and my Lord... if You could return me now to that moment with my father, I swear I would not take this path again. I was ignorant of Your power and too foolish to perceive Your wisdom."

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His face contorted in a shameful confession. "You were right; power makes me tyrannical. It would have been better had I remained a peasant, so as not to bring upon myself a thousand years of torment."

His voice hitched. "Forty years of pleasure in exchange for a thousand of agony... perhaps more. I could not endure months of illness—how can I endure this terrible judgment?

My Lord, You are the one who prevents me through Your Word from returning to fix my stupidity!"

His tone grew quiet. "Since I have tasted power and kingship, I know You can, if You wish, take me out of all this. You can, from Your vast treasuries, give me the means to pay the price of all my injustice without using my own nerves." His features yielded entirely.

"My Creator, You alone know my helplessness in the matter of love; so judge me by what is in my hands. Take my wealth, my authority, and here—take my pride as an offering. Just remove the torture from the equation of my reckoning."

He pushed himself up from the window and stepped back, his eyes still fixed on the sky. The room filled with the clatter of gold bracelets and rings as he tore them from his hands. He took his knife and broke off his long, sharp nails. Finally, he cast aside his silk robe, standing bare-chested toward the open window. He whispered to himself, "Now, let me remember what Johannes did."

 

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He recited a Psalm glorifying the Lord, then attempted to kneel as Johannes had shown him. It was no easy task; the pain intensified to an extreme degree. Yet, he ignored it, pressing his body down without mercy. He finally managed to kneel, his nerves trembling with agony, as he struggled to focus his intent solely on his Lord. He could not hold the position for long. He rose, gasping, preparing for the hardest part: the prostration. This would put total pressure on his abdomen. Yet, even the most piercing pain could not bridle Jonathas once he set his mind to something. He dropped to his knees and began trying to bring his nose to the floor, whispering through clenched teeth: "You will prostrate, you pig! You will prostrate—and not just once!"

The pain erupted, striking his nerves all the way to his head, but he continued to struggle against that "iron tumor." Finally, he let out a shriek of defeat and his back snapped upright. He panted, staring at the ground with shimmering eyes. As soon as he caught his breath, he forced his weary body to bend once more. Seconds later, tears of sharp pain leaked from his eyes, and he was forced to recoil before achieving his goal.

Moments later, his voice rose: "No!! I will do it! Nothing will stop me!"

He conquered his body mercilessly, time and time again. Even when he rested for a moment, his resolve reignited him. It was perhaps the twenty-third attempt when he finally pressed his nose into the earth. The nausea of the tumor threatened to choke him, but he kept his face pressed to the ground, like a man signing a final, irrevocable contract. All he thought of was breaking through the spasm of pain to say: "You are the Strong One... You are my Master."

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He rose with bloodshot eyes, gasping from the electricity of the pain until a whisper escaped him: "Curse the Devil!" He then remembered his old words to his teacher: "No devil forced me into this... I am Jonathas Vilmos—the new Devil!" He jerked violently, cursing himself. He wiped his face and closed his eyes, listening to the voice of his mind as it began to work in reverse.

He sat leaning against the wall. His clenched fist slowly relaxed to reveal eyes wide with dread. He would swallow his fear one moment and recalculate his path the next. Hundreds of crushed faces appeared to him; thousands of moments he once enjoyed now became hellish arrows of warning. To believe meant to admit that all those oppressed people had a Lord who would avenge them. It meant preparing for every insult and mockery to return to him. It meant readying himself for them to pay him back in full, giving him a taste of the misery he had fed them.

A long time passed as he felt out this new reality. He finally stood and wiped his face, muttering firmly, "It is this way whether I think on it or not. I will occupy myself with the moment, and after that, I surrender to the Lord’s judgment of me. Whatever it is... I deserve it."

He sat in the chair facing the window, recalling the Psalms one by one, rearranging them in his heart. He used the glorification of the Lord as a logical argument to convince his "Ego" to concede to this emergency plan, hoping to win the wager of life before it was too late.

 

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When the sun rose, he watched it with resolute eyes. He stood, washed his face, and put on his robe and jewelry once again. He glared into the mirror at his hollow, dry face. He adjusted his collar with a sharp hand, his knuckles turning white, rebuking his reflection: "Jonathas Vilmos!! If my deal fails because of you, I will never forgive you!"

He walked out as usual. His guards rose in respect. Their leader remarked, "It gladdens us to see you well, my lord. We were worried about you last night."

Jonathas nodded in his customary way and proceeded to the main hall where he ruled his mountain kingdom. He sat on his prominent throne and ordered one of his men to appear alone. When the man stood before him, Jonathas gave him a cunning look: "Welcome, Richard! So, how far have you come with the plan of betrayal?"

The man was shocked and began defending himself, citing his loyalty to the gang. Jonathas cut him off firmly: "Keep all of that; it doesn't concern me. I will charge you with a mission. If I like your performance, I will believe you and call the informant a liar. If not..."

Richard swallowed hard, wiping sweat from his brow. "That is fair."

When the guards heard the mission, they stared at one another in disbelief. They couldn't understand the purpose of Richard going out and distributing a bag of gold in one of the villages. But their master spoke with his usual confidence and mockery, so they swallowed their confusion for fear of falling into a trap or

 

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being accused of treason themselves.

Richard left, chalking the strange mission up to a test of loyalty designed to be illogical. Shortly after, Jacobus entered, greeted him, and sat down. The next man arrived according to Jonathas’s orders. In a similar fashion, he was tasked with taking two slaves to the village and setting them free—warning him of dire consequences if anyone found out.

Thus, the strange missions continued to fall upon the ears of the bewildered guards. As for Jacobus, his expression shifted as he stared at his older brother’s face and the dark circles under his eyes. Jonathas seemed to be acting completely normal—laughing and mocking as if he had turned his entire gang into the subject of his daily ridicule.

However, after long observation, Jacobus noticed a single difference: Jonathas’s nails were all short and jagged. Jacobus leaned back, lost in thought, glancing at his brother and reading every sign, waiting impatiently for the individual secret missions to end so he could confirm his hypothesis.

After a long day of strange commands, Jonathas rose to eat a few morsels of dinner. As he sat, Jacobus approached and stood beside him. "I smell the cat."

Jonathas shot a look at him from the corner of his eye. "The cat?" he repeated, putting a piece of food in his mouth. Jacobus remained silent. Jonathas signaled his guards to leave them. When they were gone, he looked inquiringly at Jacobus, who replied, "I mean the moment you turned into your opposite."

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Jonathas turned his face away in shame and whispered, "Just watch."

Jacobus took a seat, his face brightening. "I wonder, if our father had known that the evil in your heart would take more than forty years to empty out, what would he have done then?" Jonathas cleaned his plate, a rare sight. He wished he could sate his hunger with the piles of food available, but the horrific pain of his condition was enough to keep him disciplined. Ignoring that, Jacobus added:

"I want to draw your attention to the fact that our father has taken a most terrible revenge upon you!"

Jonathas shot a sharp glance at Jacobus, who began to explain: "Yes. Because you killed him, you lost your trust in family bonds. You have lived alone your entire life. You took your brother as a slave, your daughter as a cheap servant, and your son as a weak prisoner. You never married. You deprived yourself of all love and warmth."

Jonathas took a deep breath. Jacobus swallowed, realizing he had gambled by speaking his mind so boldly. Finally, Jonathas replied quietly:

"My eternal question, even before our father died: What is Love, in its essence, Jacobus?"

Jacobus was so taken aback by the question that he began to stutter. "To be... to be deeply attached to something."

"Yes," Jonathas added, "along with seeking the best interests of the beloved."

 

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Relieved to find that his brother’s tone wasn't mocking, Jacobus nodded. "Yes, that is it."

"Do you believe, then, that I love anything?"

Jacobus scratched his nose, hesitating. "You love planning, gold, power, drinking, and..."

"Those are my own interests, you fool!" Jonathas snapped. "I meant something separate from myself." Jacobus thought long and hard, but Jonathas cut him off with a sneer. "Well done. I love nothing. I don't even know what this 'love' is that you all sanctify and labor under. I don't think it’s an idea.

Everything around me follows my thoughts; if my thoughts flip, I turn on everything without that idiocy you call emotion!"

Jacobus couldn't grasp the concept. "What do you mean?! Is it possible you love no one at all? I thought you loved Johannes!"

"Johannes... I considered him 'Me' plus emotion. Thus, I honored myself through him. Raising him was my way of knowing what I would have been had I been born to a wealthy father." Jonathas ran a hand through his hair. "The irony is that he turned toward religion like his father, despite the environment I gave him."

Jacobus shuddered. "You said it yourself—do you not love the Lord? At least when you wanted to be a saint?" Jonathas looked aside. "I cannot say I love Him. Since He exists, I must draw close to Him for my own sake."

"Your sake... your interest..." Jacobus muttered with stern annoyance. "You reduce all the love in the world to self-love!"

 

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Jonathas fell silent, his eyes calculating. Then he said, "It seems you are right. I do indeed 'love' myself. I am attached to myself and put myself above all else!"

Jacobus’s eyes widened in shock and disdain. "It 'seems' I'm right?! There isn't a shadow of a doubt that you adore yourself, worship yourself, and want us all to worship you along with you!" Jonathas leaned in, tilting his head toward him. "Are you serious? Do you truly believe that I love??"

"Without a doubt. Ask anyone; everyone believes it."

An unprecedented look of wonder crossed Jonathas’s face. "I... love!! Finally, I know what love is! And it truly controls me just as it does the rest of you!" He rubbed his chin, thinking out loud. "If I sacrifice my body for my 'Self,' then my 'Self' is what I love—something I feel but cannot see."

He stood up and began pacing the room with excitement while Jacobus watched, bewildered. After a minute, Jonathas shouted, "I get it! I get it!!"

He struck his fist into his open palm, finalizing his plan. "This is what I must do: love the Lord. To be attached to Him and put Him above all else. That is what I shall do!" Jonathas burst into laughter from pure joy, repeating, "I love! I love!"

But sensing the sharp, troubled look in Jacobus’s eyes, he went silent, trying to regain his composure. He strode toward his room with a step that no longer belonged to the man he was. Jacobus whispered to himself, "Madman or not... I don't understand

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how!"

He looked upward, lost in thought, and whispered, "Anyway, O Lord, where is Your alleged justice if 'Jonathas the Devil' is to enter Paradise?"

By evening, Jacobus entered his brother’s room. He grew wary when he found Jonathas playing with his fingers, casting a mocking look his way. "What if I test your loyalty as well?" Jacobus held his breath. "Command me!" Jonathas smiled cunningly, staring at his broken nails. "Take some gold, buy some land, and retire from a life of crime."

Jacobus recoiled in shock. Jonathas added mockingly, "Do you not love your father? Weren't you the one insistent on staying with him? And 'Sunday'... when, if it weren't for the embers I sat you on, you never would have left it?"

Jacobus looked away. "I was burned, and Sundays burned with me... Now you are going to force me into faith, Jonathas?!"

Jonathas made a clicking sound of negation. "Don't misunderstand me. I am simply making a winning deal. Thus, I am clearing my responsibility as a former devil."

"Fine then, Devil. When you look out from the window of your 'high' Paradise, do not mock the one You seduced." Jonathas shrugged, smiling. "No one mocks in Paradise, Jacobus." Jacobus laughed weakly. "Then we are certain you aren't among its people." He lingered for a moment before whispering, "I didn't expect this to be the form your senility would take."

Jonathas’s expression turned devious. "My 'senility' made me forget: what was the last 'price' for an insult?"

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Jacobus steeled himself. "The price that proves to your Lord that you are betraying Him."

A cynical laugh broke from Jonathas’s lips. "The new price is that you must endure a 'sermon'... from me!!"

Jacobus sighed dryly. "Your justice is like your Lord's justice. You two will find plenty to talk about." Jonathas threw a sharp look at him. "Am I just, you senile fool?"

Jacobus averted his eyes. "And why else would I compare you to your Lord if you were just?"

Jonathas went still. "And when did the Lord ever wrong you, you idiot?"

Jacobus fell silent. Jonathas repeated the question, his features hardening. When no answer came, his eyes turned devilish. "You insulted My Lord, and so you shall pay the price. After you pay, I will 'send' you to Him so you can experience His justice for yourself."

Jacobus knelt, stuttering, "If He is just, then be like Him! You never said this angered you before!" Jonathas stared at his broken nail. "You remained silent and missed your chance."

"I was afraid to tell you," Jacobus whispered, "that I don't find Him just in giving you a chance at Paradise."

Jonathas toyed with his fingers, savoring Jacobus's trembling for a long time before speaking. "Aha, so you hope I won't be okay." Jacobus prostrated in a desperate attempt to save himself. Jonathas continued, "You won't escape. You have looted and

 

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killed many; you will suffer for all of them so that justice may be served."

Jacobus stood up, his eyes sparking with resentment. He hated that Jonathas would punish him for things he had forced him to do in the beginning. Jonathas leaned toward him with a sly face, mimicking the words of the Lord:

"But if you please Me, I will compensate your injustice toward people from the endless treasuries of My kingdom, until they all forgive you and I admit you into Paradise!"

Jacobus realized the trick, his eyes dulling in mockery. "Are you the gentlest preacher in the world?" Jonathas’s teeth flashed with pride. "Those words only suit the Mighty One to whom I have sold myself." He leaned back. "There —I have acted out Judgment Day for you. Did you find justice? Or do you want us both to go to Hell just so you can call it fair?" Jacobus rose and turned away to leave. Jonathas closed his eyes with a sigh, only to hear footsteps and feel a cold blade against his throat and a hot palm sealing his mouth. Jacobus’s voice hissed in his ear with hatred: "I don't care about your Lord’s justice. I will take my right and my father’s right Myself."

Jonathas didn't flinch or resist. Instead, he folded his hands over his stomach and stretched out his legs as if preparing for a coffin. Wary, Jacobus leaned over to look into his eyes; he found them staring back with a calm, mocking stillness. Astonished, Jacobus faltered. "Why aren't you afraid?!"

Jonathas’s eyes laughed even more. He closed them, waiting. Jacobus gripped the knife, frowning, and raised it to deliver a

 

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blow fueled by the weight of his hate. The blade plunged down, shaking the wood of the chair right next to Jonathas’s neck. Jacobus pulled back. "You're right. What a pathetic revenge this is —helping you bypass your torment just as it’s finally beginning!"

Jonathas shook with laughter as he pulled the knife from the wood. "I will die a hideous death; make sure you attend it!" Jacobus walked around to face him. "One would think you were talking about an enjoyable party."

Jonathas shrugged. "That is because 'Jonathas' is no longer the center of the universe. I’ve begun to relish seeing him shattered like the others!" He tried to hide his laugh behind his fingers. "Go on, I have commanded you. You will comply, and you will take Julia with you."

Jacobus smiled with an expression of pure agony. "What a wonderful feeling it is to be safe from your evil! If only the Priest had bound you in chains back then." Jonathas moved as if shackled. "It is the 'Chains of the Lord' that you truly seek!"

Within the hour, Julia was with her father, pleading, her eyes clouded with anxiety. "Please, Father, reconsider this decision to exile us!"

He didn't look at her. "I haven't exiled you; I am simply forced to be 'good' to my relatives."

Julia went silent, her eyes wide with shock. "Do you have news that the soldiers are going to do something?" He looked at her with a sly glint. "Yes... soon."

"But I don't see any sign of that!"

 

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He cut her down with a look. She stammered, "Fine, you certainly know best... but you can't tell me my life has just shattered like this out of nowhere!"

"Truly, my little one?" he mocked. "Fine, take your mother with you so you can find a lap to hide in!" She tried to speak, but he beat her to it. "Tell me, which is better: an animal or a human?"

Julia hesitated. "A human...?"

Jonathas clapped softly. "Aha, well done. A human! So if animals eat and mate according to their abilities, is a human supposed to be just like them? Or better?"

Julia frowned, leaning her head to the side. "I like my life as it is. I do not want to change."

"You are an animal," he replied cheerfully. "I mean, you are free. But let it be known that behind this life of yours lies the Hell of the Lord."

She grimaced, her voice sharp. "You are the one saying this, Father?!"

He raised his nose, speaking with a sternness designed to sting. "Honestly, I would have preferred to leave you to live like a beast; after all, that is exactly why I spared your life."

That tone shook Julia. She withdrew from the conversation. "Fine... since we must part... let us say our goodbyes now instead of this!"

He relaxed his features. "I accept your goodbye—but from a distance. I am your 'father', as you know." Frozen by the string of shocks, Julia no longer knew what had come over her father or what senility had seized him at the end

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of his life. But he answered her with a strong face: "Yes, death made me recalculate. I believed in the Lord, and I regretted the waste of my youth." He added, watching her frozen expression: "Take a lesson from seeing the one who taught you rebellion standing before you, unable even to urinate." She sighed, clutching her collar, her voice choked. "Goodbye, Father." She walked out of the room, dragging the weight of a profound shock behind her. Jonathas followed her with his eyes until she vanished, smiling with joy. "I am glad you aren't smarter than your father!"

Afterward, Jessica came as well to hear the same words and be struck by the same wonder. Ultimately, the three of them found no choice but to depart that night according to the plan Jonathas had drawn for them. Naturally, they took with them as much gold and as many valuables as they could carry.

Jonathas entered his room for the final time. He stood to repeat the prayer that had set his body ablaze with agony the night before, but a strange irony took hold: this time, as he bowed, the torment was strangely less. He remained in a long, deep prostration, feeling—for the first time—that he had finally found himself.

The true shock came with the dawn. He discovered the secret behind the pain's retreat: the tumor, against all odds, was receding. Even the physician could not mask his bewilderment. "You are undoubtedly lucky," the doctor remarked. "I have performed this procedure many times, but I never expected a result this rare."

 

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Jonathas stared at him, eyes wide, words trembling with disbelief. "You mean... I won't die?"

The doctor shrugged. "If you can eat and drink, why should you die?"

He left, leaving Jonathas in a state of paralysis. After months of drowning in the prospect of death, a peculiar dread seized him— not a fear of living, but a fear that his "deal" had been corrupted. He had begun to pay a steep price for Paradise through yesterday's painful penance and the sending of his family away. Now, was God returning his life as if to say, I do not want you?

His guards rushed in to congratulate him, but Jonathas was elsewhere. I built my entire plan on the premise of my death! he thought. And now... do I squander my life if God’s intent was to cast me out? I can drink, I can...

A voice whispered to his heart: Of course you won't squander it. No one throws away the life of a king—the feasts, the women, the wine! Look at them; they look upon you with veneration. They follow your every command. It is madness to let go of the reins you hold so firmly.

Suddenly, Jonathas struck his own face with both hands, shouting, "NOOO!"

The guards recoiled, shocked by his ragged, furious breathing— the polar opposite of the joy they expected. They could not hear the roar within him: How dare you? How dare you reconsider, Jonathas? What were these last two nights for? Have you become one of the fools played by emotion? Let them all go to hell, so long as you are whole!

 

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Driven by a sudden resolve, he surged past his bewildered guards and stormed into the main hall. Drawing his sword, he rallied his men. "Word has reached me! The King’s soldiers intend to wipe us out 'on their way' back from the southern wars. Let us show them who they face, men!"

The outlaws erupted, swords drawn, chanting for victory. They listened to their seasoned commander’s plan with rapt attention, certain from a hundred past victories that he would lead them to more plunder.

According to the plan, they took their positions on the mountain’s edge, stashing their slaves and treasures on the opposite flank. They waited on a knife's edge for the moment of the "Black Attack," intent on proving this fortress impregnable by tricking the King’s legion into believing they numbered in the hundreds. Only one man, patrolling on horseback, knew the truth. He endured the sharp stabs of pain worsened by the horse's gait, stifling a derisive laugh he wished he could scream into the heavens.

He moved from unit to unit, providing "precautions," until he reached the far side of the mountain. There, he confirmed that everything—the gold, the captives—had been gathered exactly as he ordered. With a short, final glance at his kingdom, his prestige, and his wealth, a sense of ecstasy washed over him. It was the thrill of the puppeteer; knowing that with his intellect, he had shaped their hollow emotions and led them like slaves to his own whims.

He smiled at them one last time with a cold heart, cloaking the

 

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second half of his plan: bringing the King's men.

While his men thought he was inspecting the lines, Jonathas slipped away, racing like the wind toward Catherina’s village at the mountain's foot. A tyrannical smile dominated his features as he looked at the vast blue sky and cried out, "Here! Take all My wealth!"

He burst into the village under the suspicious glares of the people. He rode straight toward a contingent of soldiers who, gripped by instinct, leveled their weapons at him. Jonathas threw his sword to the ground and shouted, "Well done! I am Jonathas Vilmos, leader of the mountain gang... and I come to surrender. I won't risk my life for a ruse, as you well know!"

The soldiers surrounded him warily. When they saw he was truly alone, their captain stepped forward. "Let me guess. You want a deal?"

"Yes," Jonathas replied. "I will tell you how to uproot the gang with fifty men before tomorrow evening. You will free the villagers and recover the gold. In exchange, my execution shall be the same as the others—and you will let me speak before I die." The captain was stunned; the other soldiers erupted in laughter at such a "pathetic" bargain. But Jonathas’s laughter joined theirs, forcing them into a confused silence. "Nothing else?" the captain asked. "You won't be allowed to change your mind."

Power surged in Jonathas’s expression. "Laugh at yourselves. I have done what I desired. All my life, I have been above the law."

"Fine," the captain spat. "Agreed. Dismount."

 

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Jonathas got down and struck his horse, sending it galloping away to cut off any path of retreat. Then, in the tone of a commander, he detailed the counter-plan: the secret passes, the numbers, the armories.

Realizing the gravity of the information, the captain hurried Jonathas to the high commander, who dispatched word to every surrounding garrison at lightning speed.

The outlaws found exactly what their leader promised: the King’s soldiers marching toward them. They took their positions, fighting fiercely according to the plan of the leader they had "lost" an hour ago. But while they fought at the front, the mountain behind them was being swiftly invaded. The battle turned for the King’s men with eerie speed—as if they 'knew' every secret in advance.

The next day, the villagers lined the streets, cheering the soldiers who had ended decades of misery in a single afternoon. They welcomed back their enslaved kin—broken souls who were barely recognizable, saved only by a ray of mercy that had shone after a long days of prayers.

Rumors swirled. Why had the King not saved them sooner, if it was this easy?

Meanwhile, Jonathas stood surrounded by guards, watching the victory procession. He laughed in fits, ignored by the soldiers who viewed him with a mix of contempt and fear. He remained as he always was: mocking their joy, remembering how he had built this entire stage the day before, testing the loyalty of men who had forgotten to test the loyalty of their leader!

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He beamed with pride as he saw his men led in chains behind the horses. He looked at them not as his own, but as strangers. He glanced at the sky and whispered, "Here is My prestige and My power, Lord!"

Even the smallest children threw stones and insults at the bandits. Their heads were bowed, their faces darkened with a shame Jonathas had never seen. He shrugged. "Treachery was their trade; this is merely the wages."

Yet, a lump formed in his throat. Soon, it would be his turn. He took a long, steady breath, telling his soul that it was too late to turn back. He had surrendered himself long ago—not when he went into the village, but forty years ago when he first misjudged his path. Now, his body had to be the final sacrifice to God.

He was led to the Governor’s palace—a grand stone edifice smelling of ancient authority. He was marched through narrow corridors until a massive, brass-studded door groaned open, revealing the Great Reception Hall.

The hall was cavernous, with iron chandeliers hanging from a soaring ceiling and walls draped in ancestral banners. At the far end, behind a heavy ebony desk, sat a man radiating opulence in a fur-lined purple velvet coat.

Jonathas felt the insignificance of his former "palace" compared to this, yet his ego stood tall. His eyes met those of the Prince. Jonathas’s pride bristled as he realized he was being summoned not as a prisoner, but as a curiosity.

"So, you are the wolf of the mountain," the Prince said. "Explain

 

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your strategy to me."

Jonathas hesitated, loathing the act of obeying after a lifetime of being obeyed. Yet, he began to speak, flaunting his brilliance and cunning.

When he finished, the Prince leaned back. "You are gifted in military matters. It is proof enough that you survived thirty years and surrendered only by your own will. I have a proposal: we release you, and you serve as a consultant under our banner. We will reward you handsomely."

"You mean in the southern wars?" Jonathas asked coldly. The Governor interrupted sharply, "Where else?" Jonathas laughed softly, straightening his posture. "I surrendered My 'kingdom' because I struck a deal with their (Ottomans') God."

"You dare speak so insolently in the presence of the Prince?" the Governor roared.

Jonathas’s smile widened. The Prince’s voice turned sharp with suppressed rage. "Keep smiling, and perhaps I shall have your teeth broken along with your bones on the breaking wheel. Take him from my sight!"

Jonathas walked out with his head held high, his gait confident. He did not walk like a man who had lost his life; he walked like one soaring toward the fulfillment of an ancient dream.

The following day, after the other outlaws had been raised upon their crosses, the soldiers brought Jonathas to his place in the center of the line. The herald cried out to the masses: "The final word belongs to the tyrant Jonathas, scion of the Vilmos line, head of the Accursed Gang!"

 

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Jonathas ascended the platform amidst the roar of the hateful crowd. He maintained his composure and his smile, facing both the vengeful eyes of the peasants and the shocked glares of his dying men. Dressed in black silk, his white hair catching the light, he spoke in a voice that shook the air: "Villagers! You wonder how the mountain fell in a single day? The reason stands before you—it towers over you all!" He raised his hands to the sky. "Jonathas Vilmos believed in the Almighty! Therefore, I had to apologize to the Lord and offer Him everything I owned, that He might return that love... there, in Heaven!"

The eyes of the hanging bandits bulged. They erupted in a chorus of curses, their voices like hyenas snapping at a prize they couldn't reach. They longed to tear apart the traitor who had brought them to this end, yet there he stood, boasting without a shred of shame.

Jonathas met their noise with a wide grin. He turned back to the villagers, his voice rising above the din.

"What you do not know is that I—Vilmos, who tormented you— began my life as a devoted monk! They made me search for God in a book of contradictions. With strange rituals, they distracted me from seeing Him in His perfect universe. When I called to Him, I thought He did not hear; I did not realize I was the one who had closed my eyes to His care."

He placed a hand on his cross. "It is No cause to worship Christ that he is only the light from the fire of God; for we are ALL light

 

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from that fire! We are ALL His children!

The Great God of the Kingdom does not need flesh; God is One

and Glorious!"

The religious fervor of the crowd turned into a riot. Soldiers rushed to silence him. As a final word, he cried: "Does it satisfy you to say that Vilmos the Devil died the same death as your Lord?"

The soldiers gagged him and hoisted him onto the wood. His mind raced: So, this is how some of saints were killed. He sighed inwardly. Ah, if only this moment had come while I was a saint; my bargain would have been far more profitable... As the soldiers retreated, a hail of stones and filth rained down. Fires were lit below. The scent of searing flesh rose to their nostrils. Before them were cursing faces; the insults were as stinging as the flames.

Jonathas’s heart hammered against the agony. Yet, a cold part of his mind watched the scene with satisfaction, like a director overseeing his final shot. Look at me now! he screamed internally toward the sky. My body is my last offering to You. Therefore, I Love You!

But the pain was the winner, absolute and shattering. Eventually, he broke. He joined the others in their screaming. His tears washed through his beard, falling toward the flames at his feet trying to put them out without hope.

That was the last thing Jonathas knew before his father suddenly

 

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appeared in his vision—the same old scene at the table before the murder. His father reached out a trembling hand, offering him that half-piece of dry bread.

This time, Jonathas’s weary soul did not hesitate. He reached out his hand—not to take the bread, but to kiss the hand of the father who had finally conquered him.

At that exact moment, a heavy stone struck his head with terminal force, snapping it back against the wood. Then, the head slumped forward, still and forever.*

_________________________

* Do you believe that 'Benjamin Netanyahu' could ever reach a state of true faith in Yahweh (God), such that he could transcend his own 'Ego,' dismantle the Entity himself, release the captives, and confess his injustice?

Or will God forge a happy ending over his remains?

As for you, dear reader—if you wish for a second part of the novel, exploring what happened to Johannes and Catharina after their departure, let me know in the comments!

 

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