Kapitel 2: I Am the Master of My Subservient Fear

Suddenly, a blinding flash of light swallowed me whole. As my eyes adjusted and the dazzle faded, I realized I was no longer where I had been. Now, I stood in a grand chamber with soaring ceilings. The stone walls around me seemed alive, pulsating with an ethereal glow that was out of this world.

There were no exits – no doors, no windows, not even a vent – just the strangely luminescent stone walls enclosing me. The floor, matching the walls in its peculiar radiance, spread beneath me like an unending canvas of twinkling light. It was disorienting, unfamiliar, yet oddly mesmerizing.

'Where am I? Where is Jack? Am I already dead?'

"Jaime, my son, welcome to my sacred abode!" The voice resonated, carrying an intentionality that begged for both attention and recognition.

Startled, I blinked. "Who are you?" I shot back. My voice seemed to ripple through the enormity of the chamber. My right hand shot instinctively to the small knife tucked behind my leather belt, while its twin blades stayed put, poised for action.

My eyes landed on a figure materializing about twenty paces from me—an imposing, silver-haired elder sitting majestically on a golden throne. He was the spitting image of the Zeus portraits I'd seen hanging on the walls of brothels back in my city. There he was, embodying grandeur and power, perched on his awe-inspiring throne. Clothed entirely in pristine white, accented by a golden belt, he was a perfect match for the opulence of his seat.

All that was needed was the slogan, 'You are a god when you are inside. Just command what kind of service you want.'

"I am your god! Kneel before me," the old man thundered. His voice filled the room, its vibrations grazing my skin like a tangible force.

I waved him off casually. "No thanks, I'm good standing up."

"Impudent! Kneel!" His voice surged again, rolling through the room like a storm. The sound waves grew so intense they began to pierce my ears, and a ripple of unease unfurled in my chest.

"And why should I?" I shot back, giving the man a skeptical once-over.

"Because, I am your god!" The old man roared, his face turning a shade of angry red.

I lifted my hand to shield my ears. "Easy on the decibels. You might be a god, but you're no god of mine. My god exudes love and kindness, not this display of hubris and hostility. You're like the evil twin of the deity I'd actually follow. So, sorry, no kneeling today," I quipped, a sardonic smile stretching across my face.

The old man leapt up from his throne, his face flushed with unrestrained fury. "If you don't kneel, you will experience my wrath!" As if on cue, the room erupted in blinding flashes of light, while tremors rattled the very foundation.

"And what's in it for me if I do kneel?" I asked, my eyes twinkling with defiance. My hand clenched around the knife's handle, filling me with the assurance that, armed as I was, I could face whatever came next.

If things went awry, death was a simple escape.

'Life is always simple.'

"You, you, you..." The old man stammered, visibly disconcerted by my audacious defiance. "Very well, I will grant you three wishes."

"Ah, now you're talking! You should've led with that," I retorted, my grin widening. "So, about that first wish: I'd like to have power like yours, the ability to grant any wish."

"Kneel first!" he shot back immediately.

"No can do," I countered, my brows furrowed in skepticism. "For all I know, you could be a devil in godly garb. The moment I kneel, you'd probably cackle, shout 'Gotcha!' and have a good laugh. So, grant my wish first, then we'll talk kneeling. What are you, god or devil?" I crossed my arms, standing my ground.

"I am a god," he stated, his face contorting with what looked like the onset of a headache, clearly irked by my defiance.

"Ah, I believe you, a magnificent god you are," I declared with mock reverence. It reminded me of the times I'd feigned devotion to secure food from different missionaries—whether they preached the True Source, Jesus, Amitabha, or Vishnu. Different names, same outcome: food. Why make it complex?

"Fantastic, then let's get to it. My first wish is to wield power like yours, the ability to grant any wish. After that, you won't hear from me about the second or third wishes. See? I'm considerate like that. Oh, and if you throw in some grub, I'll even hit the floor and plant a big ol' kiss on it."

"Impudent! You insolent mortal, you dare to demand the power of a god?"

"Why not? What's stopping me?" I shot back, a playful glint lighting up my eyes.

"Know your place!" The old man thundered. A shockwave of pure energy erupted from his fingertips, smashing into me with ungodly force. The impact hurled me against the wall, sending spasms of searing pain through every nerve in my body. My vision flickered, blurring for a split second. As it cleared, I gritted my teeth against the lingering agony, propping myself up to lean against the wall. I locked eyes with the old man, and in that moment, a smoldering fire of unspoken defiance kindled within me.

"Kneel!" His voice boomed through the chamber.

The room fell eerily silent. I remained still, my burning anger gradually replaced by a serene smile. Having grown up in a landscape scarred by war, I was no stranger to the impotence of defying absolute power.

However, bowing to fear was not an option for me. Fear was my subordinate, never my superior.

With a disarmingly sweet smile, I gestured my middle finger towards him. "Screw you."

Sensing my insubordination, the old man retaliated with another torrent of energy. I found myself crashing into the wall yet again.

Blood trickled down my lips, mingling with the taste of defiance. My bones felt like a shattered mosaic of pain. And yet, my smile persisted. Bullies feast on the fear and suffering of their victims; I had no intention of indulging him.

'You might take my body, but you'll never rob me of my spirit. You'll extract no satisfaction from me,' I thought grimly.

'Might as well be a good time to die.'

But rather than succumbing to another wave of agony, I found myself back on my feet, my body miraculously unscathed.

'Was this all some twisted illusion?)'

"Kneel!" The old man's screeching command filled the room yet again.

I hurled my knife at him with pinpoint accuracy.

In response, he unleashed another wave of energy. The force catapulted me against the wall; the back of my skull collided with the cold stone, my bones crackling from the impact. The pain was so excruciating that I thought I had crossed the threshold into death.

'Or so I believed.'

However, here I was again, standing upright, accompanied only by the echoes of mental anguish.

I spat in his direction. He retaliated, inflicting more pain, instigating another false sense of death—only for me to find myself rejuvenated.

Grinning, I unleashed a volley of expletive-laden curses, disparaging him, his lineage, and all who came before him. He attacked again, the pain surged, and yet again, I found myself restored.

'Pain was my bound servant, subservient to my indomitable will. It would never lord over me; I was its sovereign master, its supreme ruler.'

Ignoring any semblance of decorum, I even flashed him and directed a stream of urine his way. Another attack. Another cycle of pain and faux death. Another revival.

Eventually, I grew fatigued by this futile, senseless, and unproductive dance. "I've grown weary of this pointless squabbling," I sighed, opting for silence. I simply met his next attack with an unfaltering smile. His shouts became meaningless, no more threatening than a dog's bark. He could not instill any fear in me anymore.

Fear was no more than a subject under my dominion, shackled to my unyielding spirit. I had confronted the chilling visage of fear, stared into its hollow eyes, and vaulted over its trembling form in an act of triumphant defiance.

Yet, I was too drained to offer further retort. Successive waves of energy bombarded me, hurling me against the unforgiving wall repeatedly.

The searing pain dredged up memories of the brutal beatings of my childhood—the day at six years old when a mob had thrashed me for stealing bread, or at eight when my refusal to kill a retired policeman was repaid with merciless brutality. Those experiences had taught me to dissociate my mind from my body, to relegate the pain to a distant realm, even as I spewed blood and expelled fragments of my own insides.

"But man is not made for defeat. A man can be destroyed but never defeated."

How unfortunate for him, encountering someone like me, an individual whose spirit never bows. I couldn't help but smile, savoring the visible frustration etched on his face.

'Could this be hell, a place of eternal suffering?'

Given the lives I've extinguished, heaven surely isn't where I'd find myself.

'Is taking a life inherently evil?'

'Why then am I ensnared in a perpetual cycle of life-or-death struggles?'

My eyes brim with tears, blurring my vision.

Life has been unbearably harsh. I naively believed that death would liberate me from the relentless agony, yet even in my posthumous state, the abuse persists, as unyielding as ever.

I yearn for the peace of nonexistence.

His voice dwindles into a distant echo. Closing my eyes, I sever my sensory connections to the world and retreat deep into the sanctuary of my mind. My body may be a vessel in tumultuous waters, but my soul has found a calm harbor. Yielding to a ceaseless slumber, I seek refuge in its serene embrace.

All that I desire now is to fade into oblivion, into the welcoming arms of nothingness.

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