"There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy." —William Shakespeare’s Hamlet.

  Should have brought “Hamlet” with me to this godforsaken shithole…

  I'm fucking pissed!

  Rather be shitting out shards of glass than be stuck in this fucking church for a millisecond longer.

  I entered the library and told Miyamoto we were staying here for some dinner thing, and told him I’m not eating a single goddamn thing.

  He agreed with my stance.

  The two of us walk through the cathedral, eyes looking at us but never being seen.

  Reminds me of The Hills Have Eyes, even though I never saw The Hills Have Eyes. I think.

  I was half-blind to the truth, trying to fill in the blank spot in the madness.

  If I only had my other eye, could I have seen the truth from the start?

  Maybe reality itself is the lie, and without these, I could solve it.

  But I’m in no mood to gouge my own eye… right now.

  "No man living is more wretched than Oedipus." —Oedipus Rex.

  The hall was lit with candles as the skies dimmed; the sweetened air kept irritating my nose, and music continued to rattle throughout my mind.

  Each gun was set in their holsters except for the six-shooter.

  It lay within my left pocket, surrounded by shotgun shells, a few loose 9mm, and whatever other knick-knacks I had.

  If I cared, I could stop the Alamo with all I’m carrying; hell, I could have won the whole fucking war.

  That didn’t matter; I wasn’t fighting a war, just a mere game of chess.

  As we grew closer to the dining room, we passed five stained glass windows.

  Each window continued from where the other left off.

  It was that of a woman with a broadsword walking into a forest, slaying a goat.

  She was bathed in the warm substance that makes living things, alive, but now spilling out of a goat.

  She returned to a house of god, with a beheaded goat, and fed its remains to her followers.

  They feasted on the corpse, consuming the blood as if it were wine and the meat like beef.

  A classic tale of man killing to live.

  What a joke.

  A large teak door stood in our way.

  “Ready?”

  “Yeah.”

  We opened the door, revealing a dining room that spans 250 feet long x 88 feet wide x 90 feet tall.

  When I start measuring, it means I’m getting serious… That was a stupid joke.

  Two tables ran the length of the room, filled with people.

  Talking to each other about nothing I deem to be interesting.

  My eye may not be the best, but when I stared into these people's eyes, I couldn’t see anything behind them.

  Sitting in the front was a much smaller table with only four chairs.

  Joan is in the middle.

  That one happy-go-lucky fucker that greeted Miyamoto.

  One sat next to Mr. Sunshine.

  And one next to Joan.

  They trying to keep Miyamoto and me spirited.

  One bang and it'll be over—but that's not the bloody game we play.

  The tune we're dancing to.

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  Joan hit her glass with a knife.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, may I please have your attention?”

  With that, the chatter silenced.

  Like sheepdogs… First animal that came to mind. Not the best time to be pulling similes out of my ass.

  “These two men have traveled here to learn about our faith. Please give them a warm reception.”

  Two groups, two tables, and one long scratch in between.

  Left-side men.

  Right-sided women.

  Left stood.

  Right sat.

  Both clapping.

  One round is set in the chamber.

  The Devil and His Right-Hand Man walking down a church.

  The eyes of Joan were trained upon us.

  My eye and Miyamoto's returned the favor.

  When the two of us made it to the table, Joan told the left side to sit down.

  Joan talked a bit more before, said a little prayer, and people came out with a good some of food.

  Plates were being passed out to everyone, a course neither of us dared to eat a single thing.

  The smell of the sweetness grew closer. It was so bloody strong; I was ready to take a cleaver to my nose.

  When a plate was placed right in front, I got bashed over the head with that damn aroma.

  Hmmmm… Motherfucker that can’t be right

  Did it really take me this long to figure out something this goddamn simple.

  Some sort of drug mixed in with the cult's food.

  Christ, that it?

  The whole mystery of the smell just being some drug is rather boring, isn’t it?

  Wap, this isn’t some Sherlock Holmes story, just a foolish madman playing detective.

  Well, at least it's a box checked off.

  Now this woman-man power shit.

  “So why change the book?”

  “I beg your pardon, V?”

  She asked while cleaning her lips with a napkin.

  “Your book changed from the original.”

  “What did it change?”

  “The power dynamic between men and women.”

  “How did you know this, may I ask?”

  “Read both books in the original languages.

  Found oddities.”

  Never liked pussyfooting around bullshit.

  “Are you a follower of the original branch of the Amaterasu religion?”

  Hahaahahahaahahahahahaahaahahahahaha.

  I haven’t heard anything so goddamn funny since Carlin.

  “No, I'd rather commit harakiri with a bamboo sword.”

  “What is harakiri?”

  “A ritualistic form of suicide by disembowelment for fools who believe in honor and one fool who didn't.”

  Damn, “Harakiri” was good.

  “Interesting.”

  “So, gonna answer my question, or are you just going to keep pussyfooting around?”

  “Holy texts are always changing.”

  “Changing for those in power.”

  “Look around. Do these people seem hurt?”

  The tables were full with people smiling, talking, and loving thy neighbor.

  All just a fucking lie.

  “You drugged their food.”

  “Your proof.”

  “Smells sweet.”

  Her eyes narrowed.

  And it was time to do the Devil… My work.

  “Never realized the smell, Joan.

  Or something more.”

  Her eyes narrowed once more.

  “Never play poker, Joan.

  I would only need a deuce (2) to win.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  While taking bites from her meal.

  “Simpler, you used a drug… poison… whatever to control the masses, but it didn’t work all the way. So you needed another way of control. What is the oldest form of control?”

  Not a sound dared to escape from Joan's mouth.

  “Religion—so you rewrote an already existing Holy Book and may or may not believe in said religion… I can relate, but I despise control. And the god you ripped off asked for a favor, so I came a-knocking.”

  “It… It’s all a lie you’re making up.”

  “Let’s prove your theory.”

  Oi, Amaterasu, it's time to pull your damn weight.

  I need an anecdote or something.

  The smell of the room changes from sweet to nothing.

  Oh, what great power these fucking gods have, but use it for such petty fucking matters

  Motherfucker!

  Amaterasu, did you just slam your foot against mine…

  Answer me… Oh, whatever, I am in the middle of doing your fixing; you could at least give me the common decency of an answer.

  “Gods can interact with the real world.” The familiar female voice rang through my mind.

  Stop reading my mind.

  Also, you're full of shit.

  Back to the dining room, people started to fall out of their dreamlike state.

  I jumped over the table and pulled my Colt Model 1860 out.

  “Don’t piss off gods unless you’re the Devil.”

  I pulled down the hammer.

  “Hahahahahahahahha.”

  Her laugh started to fill the room as more and more fell out.

  Bang!

  The male fucker jumped over the table, causing my fucking shot to miss.

  “You won’t have to burn down this church, Devil.”

  As Joan talked, a great flame blew from out her fingertips, igniting everything it touched to combust into flames. The flames were a brighter yellow than the average orange. Too bad for anyone not wearing sunglasses.

  I could only see her shoes running away while I was on the ground.

  For fuck's sake.

  “Miyamoto!”

  “I’m on it.”

  The crowd was being moved out by Miyamoto, and I started to bash this guy off me.

  “Are you a leader or a follower?”

  “Why does it matter?”

  “If you are a leader, I can gut you without remorse.

  If you’re a follower, I’ll gut you with a bit more remorse.”

  “I don’t care if you kill me; I will not let you hurt Joan.”

  Christ!

  I continued to reach for the Colt Model 1860 that was knocked a few feet from me when he jumped over the table and blew my shot.

  “Man, I don’t fucking care!”

  Grabbing the barrel of the Colt, I started bashing the handle against his skull.

  Knock him out cold after a few blows.

  “Miyamoto, grab this guy too.”

  “Sure.”

  I couldn’t see Joan, but there must have been a back door somewhere because she just disappeared.

  My eye was scanning the back while the smoke grew thicker and the flames went higher.

  I found a miscolored area. The wall was light brown, but where the door was, it was medium brown.

  “Miyamoto, I’m going.”

  “Go, I should be able to get everyone out.”

  “Good!”

  “See you in Hell.”

  “You too!”

  The church burned, and The Devil followed a preacher.

  “With one hand on the trigger.

  One hand on the cross.

  He won't never see heaven or kingdom come.” —The Preacher by Jamie N Common.s