Embedded Files
290 | Teenagers Debate Afterlife Contracts and Soul Empowerment During a Geological Crisis
290 | Teenagers Debate Afterlife Contracts and Soul Empowerment During a Geological Crisis
Chapter 1: Evan, Abby, and Diesel Watch Project Prometheus and Debate Afterlife Contracts
Chapter 1: Evan, Abby, and Diesel Watch Project Prometheus and Debate Afterlife Contracts
As Evan, Abby, and Diesel watch Project Prometheus and debate afterlife contracts, the tension in the room mirrors the dangerous drilling on the screen. The wall‑mounted screen in the student lounge flickers, throwing nervous shadows across five teenage faces.
Outside, the 2026 sky is a bruised purple. Inside, the air hums with a high, electric tension—like the whole world is holding its breath.
On the screen, a sleek news studio pulses with urgent graphics.
“Good evening,” the reporter says, her voice steady even as the live feed behind her shows a fleet of high‑tech ships anchored above black water. The news ticker screams: PROJECT PROMETHEUS: HOUR 72 — THE QUEST FOR INFINITE POWER.
“History is being written tonight—not in ink, but in steam and light,” she says. “We are hovering directly above the Mariana Trench. Seven miles beneath this ship, a thirty‑foot‑wide diamond‑rimmed collar has been bolted to the seabed. We are not just scratching the surface anymore. We are lancing the Earth itself.”
On the split screen, cameras show the “Needles of Light”—massive laser drills—vaporizing basalt rock.
Evan leans forward.
The sight of the lasers punching down through stone sends a strange echo through his chest, like some invisible layer inside him is being pierced too.
To him, the parables of Crysticism feel like those lasers—designed to cut through layers of resistance; to help Crystic Mystic souls become truly healthy, wealthy, wise, and powerful.
He glances at his friends.
Do they feel it too—the sense that something deep is about to break?
Abby isn’t looking at the screen.
She smooths the sleeves of her crisp white blazer, every gesture controlled. Then she stands, drawing their eyes away from the Great Thermal Maw pulsing on the TV.
“I am now certified in establishing afterlife contracts,” Abby announces, voice calm and practiced. “In a time like this, instant, easy solutions are more appropriate than long‑term investment plans.”
She flicks a glance at the screen—at the reporter calling the rising steam a “dragon breathing pure gold”—then turns back with a bright, sharp smile.
“I can offer you guaranteed eternal peace and happiness,” she says. “You can sign up now and receive the same benefits as those who signed up years ago. Applicants can join anytime their body is alive and receive equal benefits.”
Diesel is half‑collapsed in a beanbag, eyes half‑closed, more interested in the raw wound in the ocean than a spiritual sales pitch.
“That’s what I want,” he mutters. The sarcasm is thick. “If I still exist, I’ll sign up after my body dies.”
Abby’s eyes flash.
“No,” she snaps, the serene mask slipping. “You have to enroll before your last breath. The beliefs you hold at the moment of transition are locked and loaded forever.”
The words land like a verdict.
Even the reporter’s voice seems to fade under the weight of “locked and loaded.”
Evan watches them—watches the energy as much as the faces.
Around Diesel, in his inner sight, he sees a grey, stagnant haze—the light of a dissolver soul who thinks procrastination works in eternity.
Around Abby, a rigid, blinding white shell—more like armor than light.
He imagines the billions of people watching Project Prometheus live. How many are clinging to contracts instead of character? How many are drifting with no contract at all?
“What are the beliefs of the souls currently embodied on Earth?” he asks quietly.
Abby sits again, smoothing her blazer as she regains composure.
She gestures vaguely toward the ash‑tinted windows.
“About half the planet believes they are worthless sinners,” she says, as if reading a statistic off a screen.
On TV, the reporter describes Dr. Aris and the Needles of Light as they hit layer after layer of rock. Steam pours upward, the ocean turning to white fog around the ship.
“We’re approaching the fifteen‑thousand‑meter mark,” the reporter says, her face lit by cascading data. “The world is watching.”
In the lounge, Evan sees something else being pierced.
If the Earth is bleeding heat and pressure because it’s been lanced open… what happens when souls keep drilling holes in themselves and never learn how to hold their own fire?
The drill goes deeper.
So does the argument.
Chapter 2: Rev and Evelyn Question Abby About Absolvers and the Requirement of Blind Belief
Chapter 2: Rev and Evelyn Question Abby About Absolvers and the Requirement of Blind Belief
While the ocean boils on the monitor, Rev and Evelyn question Abby about Absolvers and the requirement of blind belief for salvation. The student lounge is suddenly lit by a flickering, sickly orange glow.
On the screen, calm Pacific blue is gone. The ocean churns and howls under a towering pillar of white steam. A column wider than a skyscraper blasts up from the drill collar like an endless explosion.
The ticker flashes: EMERGENCY: UNEXPECTED THERMAL SURGE AT 18,000 METERS.
“The situation at the Trench,” the reporter says, her voice shaking, “has shifted from scientific triumph to geological anomaly. They hit a pocket—a tentacle of the core. A vein of molten iron and silicate bypassing the mantle, reaching up like a finger toward the surface.”
Rev, who has been leaning against the wall, arms folded, stares at the screen.
To him, the chaos looks almost….
“The Earth would be better off if all mankind disappeared,” he says, voice low. “Nature does not benefit from people. The Earth sees us as an infection.”
He nods toward the fountain of liquid fire on the monitor, squeezed through the ocean floor like toothpaste.
“One day,” he continues, “nature will rebel and wipe out the human plague. We were meant to be respectful guests. We became dominant destroyers.”
Abby doesn’t flinch.
She is scrolling through digital ledgers on her tablet.
“A soul’s condition is irrelevant,” she says briskly. “The Savior redeems unworthy qualities in exchange for signing an exclusive contract.”
Rev drags his eyes from the boiling sea to Abby.
“What must Absolvers believe,” he asks, “to buy guaranteed soul security?”
“You must trust that your unelected spiritual leaders take away your debts and care for your soul in the afterworld,” Abby says. “You must have complete faith in the God‑government.”
“How do Absolvers pay for their safety?” Rev presses.
Abby laughs.
“You’re so old‑fashioned,” she says. “Absolvers don’t pay. Someone else already suffered to cover past, present, and future sin‑debts. Everything is free—as long as we trust the God‑government.”
Evelyn, who has been silently taking notes, looks up.
“That sounds like every scam in history,” she says. “Urgent, guaranteed offer. Harsh threat if you refuse.
“Are there alternative policies?” she asks.
“Only two,” Abby says. “Eternal security or endless torment. Only fools reject a debt‑free club. The God‑government funds my soul’s retirement.”
“As an afterlife planner,” Evelyn says coolly, “I would not recommend blind belief as an investment strategy.”
On the screen, the Needles of Light vanish behind rising magma.
The reporter shouts above the roar. Ships retreat. Paint bubbles on hulls.
Evan feels the pull of Abby’s certainty like gravity—dangerous, heavy.
“A contract doesn’t increase a soul’s attainment,” he says. “Your victims must believe the salesman gives the whole truth, so they stop thinking.
“The desire for safety and instant wealth blinds souls who want an easy route to happiness.”
Above them, the world’s most ambitious drill has punctured a vein of the planet’s heart.
Down here, a different kind of pressure is building.
Chapter 3: Evan Challenges Abby on the Concepts of Identical Resurrected Bodies and Erased Personalities
Chapter 3: Evan Challenges Abby on the Concepts of Identical Resurrected Bodies and Erased Personalities
Watching the new landmass form, Evan challenges Abby on the concepts of identical resurrected bodies and erased personalities in her version of Heaven. The reporter now stands on a bucking deck.
The camera shakes as waves slam the hull. Behind her, the horizon fractures. A jagged, black‑and‑orange peak punches out of the Pacific, wrapped in a storm of lightning and ash.
The ticker pulses: GEOLOGICAL EMERGENCY: NEW LANDMASS “PROMETHEIA” EXPANDING AT 500 YARDS PER HOUR.
“That rhythmic thumping,” the reporter yells over the roar, “is the sound of the Earth’s heart being forced through a thirty‑foot straw.”
In the lounge, Evan watches molten rock spill down the newborn mountain and harden into a black shell.
He thinks of beliefs doing the same thing—cooling into armor so nothing new gets in.
Abby stares at the screen, eyes distant.
“Free tickets to Heaven cannot be a scam,” she says. “No one has returned saying they were turned away.”
Evan tears his attention from Prometheia.
“A soul’s wealth and power do not change when its body dies,” he says. “Most souls return to Earth after being denied eternal happiness because they don’t have the inner health, wealth, wisdom, or power to function in a true paradise.
“Corrupted, weak, untrained beings,” he adds, “cannot simply stroll into Heaven because they signed a contract.”
Abby doesn’t blink.
“I believe I’m not being scammed,” she says. “It sounds too good to be true—but how do you turn down a free, first‑class soul upgrade?
“After death,” she continues, “Believers’ corrupted consciousness is refitted and rebooted to heavenly standards. Everything in us will be made right by proper programming. We’ll be renewed versions of ourselves, ready to serve.”
Evelyn’s fingers tighten around her pen.
“The soul wants to be free of limited flesh,” she says quietly. “The soul is a flame. But it must weave its own virtuous encasement for the afterworld.”
Abby shakes her head.
“I only get one physical body,” she insists. “My Savior will resurrect it for Heaven. I don’t know how it becomes young and healthy, but I hope that being overweight, weak, or tattooed disappears.
“All bodies will look like the Savior,” she says dreamily. “One skin color—maybe golden with purple swirls. Hair like sparkling crystals. Rainbow coats. Equal talents.”
On the monitor, magma builds the core of a hollow, glass mountain.
“Men, women, and children will not exist,” Abby continues. “We will be infinite, identical, unisex beings. No private names, no separate thoughts. Perfect servants will think, feel, and speak together to express the Creator’s will.”
A chill runs down Evan’s spine.
“Is that a paradise,” he asks, “or a horror movie?
“Your vision has no independent personalities,” he says. “No creative power. Just a synchronized hive.”
“Absolutely,” Abby answers calmly. “We believe in one body, one lifetime, one book, one Savior, and one of two choices.
“We answer questions the same way,” she says. “We are trained to be obedient and subservient.”
“Maybe one day,” Evan murmurs, “your preachers will all preach the same message.”
Rev, eyes locked on the growing hollow mountain, speaks for the first time in a while.
“Universal sameness,” he says slowly. “No one left out. No old loyalties. No mothers, no brothers, no sisters. Just one blended family. That would end separateness.”
On the screen, scientists warn that if the wound isn’t sealed, the world as they know it will end.
In the lounge, a different question arises:
If you erase all differences, is there anything left worth saving?
Chapter 4: Evelyn and Evan Explain Storing Virtues While Abby Trusts Her Savior to Carry Her Burden
Chapter 4: Evelyn and Evan Explain Storing Virtues While Abby Trusts Her Savior to Carry Her Burden
Amid the global broadcast of the iceberg drop, Evelyn and Evan explain storing virtues while Abby trusts her Savior to carry her burden. The reporter now wears a respirator.
Ash whips around her. The sky is bruised purple‑grey. The ticker flashes: OPERATION DEEP FREEZE: 1,000 DRONES APPROACHING TARGET.
“This is the last attempt,” she says. “A swarm of Titan drones is hauling a three‑million‑ton iceberg from Antarctica. They must drop it directly into the Eye of the Maw.
“If it works, we cool the wound. If it fails… the pressure may blast the ice back like a cork.”
In the lounge, no one looks away.
Abby’s voice breaks the silence.
“I plan to live forever with my friends, pets, and family,” she says, eyes fixed on the screen but clearly staring into a different future.
Evelyn studies her.
“It amazes me,” she says, “how many people care more about hanging out with their current circle than befriending powerful, enlightened beings in Heaven.”
Abby’s eyes flash.
“I don’t trust angels or saints or heavenly strangers,” she replies. “I trust only my Savior.”
On the screen, the iceberg begins its slow fall toward the roaring maw.
Evan watches the Eye of the Maw swallow the ice, then looks back at them.
“When the Creator made beings and universes,” he says, “evil was not part of the design. Evil is not required so that Good can shine.
“Evil was born when free beings were allowed to choose anything.”
He leans forward.
“Mankind should embrace the highest cultural and scientific standards—and then grow beyond them. Supporting each other to develop our talents and earn the best afterlife is what really matters.”
Abby shrugs.
“I tell everyone already,” she says. “My Heaven is the best of two options. I explain the easy path to a free ticket. Non‑believers will regret not listening.”
“There are seven afterlife options,” Evan says softly. She doesn’t hear him.
Diesel blows out a breath.
“I only know one outcome,” he says. “I’m going to disappear. Dissolvers do whatever they want now because nothing follows. No after‑death consequences.”
“While you’re alive,” Evelyn answers calmly, “you’re building a savings account out of your thoughts, feelings, and actions.
“After death,” she continues, “you inherit what you stored. If your house is full of wisdom, virtues, and mystic powers, you inherit that wealth. If it’s crammed with hatred, corruption, and destructive deeds, your soul inherits that weight.”
“My Savior will carry my burden,” Abby says.
“No matter what you believe,” Evan replies, “the Savior never agreed to shoulder your load forever.
“He waits for you to become strong enough to face your consequences—good and bad.
“You don’t get access to your treasure house,” he adds, “until you’re disciplined enough to clear the junk blocking the door.”
Abby’s voice turns dreamy.
“The Interpreters guarantee forgiveness of all my debts if I believe in the One sent to make all things right,” she says. “I don’t care if my storehouse is blocked. My Savior can take my treasures, too. I won’t need a savings account. I’ll be like a little child with a rich Father and older brother.
“And I want my earthly mom,” she adds. “There is no God‑Mother in Paradise.”
Rev laughs once, harshly.
“I thought ‘get out of jail free’ cards were for board games,” he says.
On the TV, the iceberg slams into the Maw.
A deafening boom.
Then static.
“The steam… is turning black,” the reporter gasps through white noise. “The flow has stopped. The mountain is collapsing. We—we may have plugged the world.”
The lounge goes silent.
Outside, the Earth’s wound seals for now.
Inside, the arguments split wider.
Chapter 5: Evan Explains How Unsalvageable Souls Dissolve While Abby Defends Blind Faith
Chapter 5: Evan Explains How Unsalvageable Souls Dissolve While Abby Defends Blind Faith
As the ocean boils around the new continent, Evan explains how unsalvageable souls dissolve while Abby defends blind faith as a universal rescue. The screen shows Prometheia under an ash‑choked sky.
Reporters call this the Grey Year.
A distant carrier ship floats ten miles away. Behind the reporter, a jagged horizon of vertical black glass needles cuts the ocean surface.
“The Basaltic Needle,” she says. “A continent of obsidian, ringing with a low ‘Hum’—the sound of internal pressure pushing against a mile‑deep glass plug.”
In the lounge, Rev’s eyes trace the vertical grain.
“Life is a continuous experience,” he says, oddly energized. “We cycle through body after body. I will never retire.”
Evelyn looks around at them, eyes troubled.
“None of these plans,” she says, “unite mankind to help each other reach the highest afterlife.”
Rev shrugs.
“Who cares?” he says. “We all come back. More rounds, more experiences.”
“We’re all going to die and disappear,” Diesel adds.
Abby stands, blazer bright against the grey light.
“When my Savior returns to build Heaven on Earth,” she declares, “half of mankind is swept away. Only immune Believers remain.
“Believers and non‑believers never unite,” she says. “Unless non‑believers join the Absolvers. The only way to save mankind is to make everyone accept my Truth.”
Evelyn ignores the sideways blow.
“Imagine,” she says quietly, “a soul declared unsalvageable when more than seventy‑five percent of its investments are corrupted.
“Overindulgent souls would likely keep misusing the remaining twenty‑five percent,” she adds. “They would not change course.”
“Sometimes humans need rock bottom,” Abby says. “Then they’ll listen. People will believe anything when they have nothing left.
“The destitute, who see themselves as worthless, are ready to surrender their free will and let someone else save them.”
Evan tears his eyes from the blood‑red sunset on screen.
“Wise sponsors won’t shoulder the burdens of rebellious souls forever,” he says. “Beings who repeatedly break the law and spit on help are allowed to face their own storms.
“Dense criminals and perverts,” he continues, “end up alone with their choices.
“When their bodies die,” he says, “there may not be enough cosmic glue left to hold their consciousness together.”
The room grows still.
“The abandoned rebel soul,” Evan goes on, “lacks enough mystic light to merit another body. Heavy souls sink. They dissolve in a lake of sacred fire.
“The essence returns to the All,” he says. “The ‘I’ is gone.”
Abby shakes her head.
“That’s not my truth,” she says. “Worthless souls can be saved if they have blind faith. Those who lose everything still become perfect.”
On the screen, the reporter describes sunsets as blood‑red—a permanent reminder of how close the world came to tearing itself open.
In the lounge, another question smolders:
How much corruption can a soul carry before it collapses?
Chapter 6: Evan and Evelyn Discuss How Souls Without Physical Bodies Cannot Grow or Invest Virtues
Chapter 6: Evan and Evelyn Discuss How Souls Without Physical Bodies Cannot Grow or Invest Virtues
Reacting to the constant tremors, Evan and Evelyn discuss how souls without physical bodies cannot grow or invest virtues. A dusty orange gloom lights the lounge.
Ash rests along the window ledges like grey sand.
On the monitor, graphics show the Great Glass Plug—an obsidian pillar locking the core’s pressure in place. The “Hum” is constant now, a bass note the building can’t ignore.
Evan watches dust motes dance in the flicker of the TV.
“A tree that is seventy‑five percent diseased,” he says, “goes dormant in fall and never grows leaves in spring.
“A house with seventy‑five percent rot collapses.
“A seventy‑five percent diseased animal dies.”
Evelyn nods.
“After death,” she says, “worthless souls who’ve wasted their talents and energy are melted back into pure light.
“Their identity dissolves,” she continues. “Their life essence blends back into the divine all.
“Souls who perfected themselves,” she adds, touching the small crystal at her throat, “keep their wisdom, virtues, savings, and mystic power.”
Abby glances toward the screen, watching ash fall on black glass.
“What happens,” she asks quietly, “when mankind is seventy‑five percent corrupted?”
Rev doesn’t hesitate.
“A major war,” he says flatly. “Or a disaster that wipes us out and takes the Earth with us.”
“If Earth dies,” Evan says slowly, “souls worthy of re‑embodiment will need another world.
“But,” he adds, “without physical bodies, ungraduated souls can’t invest. They can’t grow.”
“Souls without a body,” Evelyn confirms, “cannot add to their wisdom, virtues, or powers. They need matter to practice on.”
Diesel stares at the window.
“If we don’t reduce the poison in our air,” he says, “maybe it’ll collapse into some giant hole and reboot everything.
“Black out. Big bang. Try again.”
The “Hum” pulses deeper, rattling the glass.
Rev stares at the grey sky.
“We can’t keep walking toward a cliff and act surprised when it ends,” he says. “There has to be a way to unite humans before we self‑destruct.
“Does anyone”—he scans their faces—“have a suggestion?”
On the screen, a heat map shows ocean currents shifting, harbors redrawn. The planet is quietly re-plumbing itself.
In the lounge, the question hangs:
Is it already too late to change course?
Chapter 7: The Group Debates Whether Invented Crises or Focusing on Soul School Graduation Will Unite Humanity
Chapter 7: The Group Debates Whether Invented Crises or Focusing on Soul School Graduation Will Unite Humanity
Staring at the thermal map, the group debates whether invented crises or focusing on Soul School graduation will unite humanity. The broadcast shifts to a thermal map.
In a dark ocean, one spot glows violently red.
“The Mariana Hot Spot,” the reporter says. “Despite the volcanic winter, the water for hundreds of miles around Prometheia holds steady at scalding temperatures. A permanent tropical bubble in the middle of a cooling world.”
Rev stares at the map.
“The world is steaming and freezing at once,” he mutters. “We’re suffocating under ash while the ocean boils.
“How do you unite a planet,” he asks, “that keeps trying to kill its guests?”
Abby’s rosary beads click softly in her hand.
“Be patient,” she says. “My Savior is coming to get rid of the bad guys.”
Diesel snorts.
He keeps his eyes on the spinning red blotch of the hotspot.
“Patience won’t stop a riot,” he says. “The fastest way to unite people is to invent a crisis and pick a villain.
“Call it a climate crisis caused by selfish rich people,” he says. “Make them the enemy.”
Abby glares.
“I’d choose Tempters as the crisis,” she says. “Evil beings are trying to trick us.
“Everyone should unite to cast them out.”
Rev paces.
“We need a fake alien invasion,” he says. “Big ships in the sky. Everyone unites to fight another world.”
Evelyn shakes her head.
“Joining forces to build something is better than fighting endless crises,” she says. “Humanity has always had visible and invisible enemies.
“Books, radio, TV,” she adds, “should help people understand each other.”
Evan looks from the boiling red sea on the screen to his friends.
“The internet could unite mankind,” he says. “But scammers, trolls, and thieves use it to invade minds and wallets.
“People weaponize anger, hatred, greed, and lust to feel powerful.
“The world would be better,” he says, “if everyone helped each other reach their best afterlife—if Soul School was our main focus. Crime and war would lose their attraction if graduation mattered more than winning.”
Diesel flips his phone in one hand.
“If everybody started meditating instead of earning money,” he says, “the world economy would crash.
“Criminals would get forgiven and set free,” he goes on. “Students would expect their loans erased. The homeless would demand free everything. No one would take dirty jobs. Churches would make more than businesses selling guaranteed Heaven tickets. Teens would skip full‑time jobs to chase their drug path to Utopia. No one would take leadership because they’d be terrified of making a mistake.”
On the monitor, the Hot Spot glows red in a sea of cooling blue.
The Earth has a plug.
The students do not.
If you remove struggle, does purpose vanish with it?
Chapter 8: Evelyn and Evan Define Self-Mastery While Abby Relies on Proxy Attendance for Heaven
Chapter 8: Evelyn and Evan Define Self-Mastery While Abby Relies on Proxy Attendance for Heaven
Trapped in the dim room, Evelyn and Evan define self-mastery while Abby relies on proxy attendance for Heaven. Ash drifts past the windows like dirty snow.
The thermometer on the wall shows a steady global drop, but the “Hum” keeps the floor trembling with hidden heat.
On the screen, Prometheia is now the size of Iceland—a jagged continent of vertical black glass.
Rev tears his eyes away from it.
“What would a world look like,” he asks, “if everyone focused on graduating Soul School?”
Evelyn lights up.
“Heavenly material wealth,” she says, “doesn’t block spiritual growth.
“Soul students,” she continues, “would focus on becoming wise and virtuous, not foolish and indulgent.
“People would seek sponsorship from Master teachers,” she says, seeing it in her mind. “Not celebrity endorsement.
“Citizens would care more about cosmic law than sports scores or stock markets.”
Abby sighs theatrically.
“Why make the afterlife complicated?” she asks. “If there’s a Soul School, then someone else already passed my tests.
“My Savior did all the homework,” she says. “I play outside. I have a certificate of proxy attendance.”
Evan’s jaw tightens.
“Earth is built for soul evolution,” he says. “Not as a playground.
“Self‑mastery,” he adds, “means increasing your soul’s health, wealth, wisdom, and mystic powers.
“No one can replace your foolishness with wisdom,” he says. “Or your corruption with virtue.”
Diesel stares at the ash building on the sill.
“We have to accept a diverse world,” he says. “My free will lets me choose foolishness and corruption if I want. That’s my identity.”
The “Hum” pulses.
In the lounge, three paths sit side by side:
– Abby’s path: surrender, contract, and promised upgrades.
– Evan’s path: training, law, and earned mastery.
– Diesel’s path: rebellion, apathy, and self‑chosen decay.
Outside, the Earth is trapped between winter above and lava below.
Inside, so are they.
Chapter 9: Evan Explains the Concept of Evolving Grandfather Gods While Abby Demands Strict Obedience
Chapter 9: Evan Explains the Concept of Evolving Grandfather Gods While Abby Demands Strict Obedience
Shaken by the continuous geological vibrations, Evan explains the concept of evolving Grandfather Gods while Abby demands strict obedience to a single Creator. The drone shot on screen sweeps across the Great Glass Plug.
Sun filtered through ash paints the black glass needles blood‑red.
The “Hum” sends ripples through Diesel’s coffee.
Abby stares at the rising continent, but her thoughts are in a different geography.
“Future gifts will be given,” she says softly, “to Believers who praise their Father and make Him happy.
“A place is prepared for me in my Father’s house,” she continues. “The contract doesn’t say if it’s a room or a mansion.”
Rev laughs.
“Maybe you’ll share a crowded dorm with a hundred people you disliked and offended,” he suggests. “One big happy orphanage with no Mother.”
Abby’s smile barely twitches.
“All my needs and wants will be provided,” she says. “But perfected Believers may only have one desire: to be our Father’s willing servants.”
Diesel groans, watching a graphic of Prometheia’s expansion.
“The faithful say there’s a perfect Creator,” he says. “Everything comes from something. Who made Him?”
Evan’s gaze drifts to the ash‑dimmed sky.
“The physical universe is more vast and ancient than we grasp,” he says. “The mystic world beyond it is greater still.
“To simplify who made God,” he continues, “imagine a line of evolving creative Grandfather Gods, each stewarding their own universes. Imagine other universes beyond our sight.
“We don’t know the full story,” he admits. “But we know the pattern: creators who want children to grow up and become creators too.”
Abby clutches a small leather‑bound book.
“My book says Earth is six thousand years old,” she says. “It says nothing about what the Creator did before.
“No mention of earlier universes or earlier Gods.
“The commandments say to honor the current Creator,” she adds. “Whatever came before is irrelevant.”
Rev gestures at the battered lounge.
“On Earth,” he says, “we have fathers and grandfathers and grandmothers.
“What’s the point of obsessing over unknowable cosmic history?”
Evan’s eyes flare.
“Someday,” he says quietly, “I want to be in charge of my own solar system.
“If we are made in our Creators’ image,” he continues, “then what they wanted for their children still matters now.
“Whatever mattered to Grandfather God probably still matters to Father God.”
Diesel stands suddenly.
His beanbag wheezes.
“Stop,” he says. “My brain is smoking.
“I’m going to cool off with some senseless violent video games.”
He leaves.
The “Hum” keeps vibrating through the floor.
Somewhere deep below, molten rock pushes against a glass wall.
Above that, a room full of souls pushes against their own.
Chapter 10: Evelyn and Evan Argue for Developing Gifts Over Appeasing an Angry Creator
Chapter 10: Evelyn and Evan Argue for Developing Gifts Over Appeasing an Angry Creator
As the atmospheric temperature continues to drop, Evelyn and Evan argue for developing gifts over appeasing an angry Creator. The Grey Year deepens.
The midday sun is a dim circle behind the sulfur veil.
On screen, climate scientists explain that the atmosphere now reflects enough sunlight to cool the planet, even as the Mariana Hot Spot continues to boil the sea.
The “Hum” rattles pen tips on the table.
Abby watches a crowd of ash‑masked protesters shivering around oil‑drum fires.
“The Creator can do whatever He desires,” she says. “I believe His wants keep changing with His mood.
“He surrounds Himself with billions who sing constant praise to calm His explosive emotions,” she continues. “When He is angry, He destroys those who disobey.”
Evelyn turns away from the screen.
“Saying our Father can do anything isn’t the same as saying He does whatever He feels,” she says.
“My parents want me to become wise, virtuous, and strong,” she continues. “I believe my Creator wants the same.
“He wants me to use free will to discover and develop His gifts in me.”
She pauses.
“My dad would be disappointed if I thought he’d always bail me out of any crime,” she says. “He would feel like a failure if I expected him to pay my bills while I refused to work.”
“My dad expects me to pay his bills until he dies,” Diesel mutters.
Evan watches them both.
He sees Evelyn’s aura—steady, amber, full of responsibility—and Abby’s: rigid white, built from fear.
“Our Heavenly Father is not focused on our human happiness,” Evan says quietly. “He cares about our self‑mastery—how we direct holy fire.
“He wants daughters and sons who can handle power without abusing it.”
Abby’s face hardens.
“I don’t even know who my real spiritual parents are,” she says. “The Creator has one true Son and no true Daughter.
“Everyone else is adopted.
“My stepfather expects me to be His obedient servant in Heaven in exchange for room and board,” she says. “His only Son learned to direct holy fire, to raise the dead.
“That power belongs to Him,” she adds. “Not to stepchildren.”
Rev glances from Abby to Evan.
“So,” he says slowly, “Abby is telling you to stop imagining you’re like the Savior—and accept being a worthless servant living in a mansion’s basement.
“She’s sure we’re not real children,” he adds, “and confused about who our real divine parents are.
“Maybe Mother Nature is our Mom,” he suggests. “Maybe Father Nature left before we were born. The Creator adopted the abandoned children.
“Did our step‑Father marry Mother Nature?” he asks.
“My book doesn’t mention a wedding,” Abby says at once. “So it did not happen.”
Outside, the blood‑red sunset bleeds through ash.
Evan watches it and wonders:
If we are adopted, what kind of family are we being adopted into?
Chapter 11: Evan Teaches That Cosmic Laws Provide Predictive Protection for Soul Students
Chapter 11: Evan Teaches That Cosmic Laws Provide Predictive Protection for Soul Students
Watching the disaster footage unfold, Evan teaches that cosmic laws provide predictive protection for soul students. Afternoon light filters through a yellow haze.
On the monitor, maps show new shipping routes curling around Prometheia’s glass needles.
The “Hum” travels up through Evan’s shoes.
He turns from the window.
“It makes no sense,” he says, “for our Father to give us free will and creative power—and then expect us to throw His gifts away and call ourselves worthless servants.
“Earth,” he says, pacing, “is a soul school for evolving children.
“We learn fastest through experience. Real choices. Real results.
“Mastering the wise, virtuous use of creative power takes many lives.”
Abby rolls her eyes.
Evan doesn’t stop.
“Earth is a safe practice field,” he says. “An apprentice workshop. As souls gain discipline, they gain more power. Their flow of energy increases.
“The Creator,” he adds, “has real work waiting for graduates. Real jobs in higher worlds.”
Diesel looks up.
“Why give us free will,” he asks, “if He punishes us for doing what we want?
“That’s not a gift.”
“Before our far‑back Grandfather Gods ever existed,” Evan says, “cosmic laws already were.
“They define what happens when.
“Each Creator,” he continues, “must align with those laws. They can’t break reality without shattering their own work.
“So no—our Father cannot do ‘whatever He wants’ if it breaks the law.”
Rev frowns.
“Where did the laws come from?” he asks. “Are they larger than the Ten Commandments? Are new ones being made?”
“Good questions,” Evan admits. “We don’t know the source—but we see the consistency.
“Soul students depend on the laws to predict outcomes.
“Without law,” he says, “every choice is a gamble.”
Rev hugs himself.
“Can I trust laws,” he asks, “if I don’t know who wrote them?”
“We trust them,” Evan says, “because they’ve held for ages.
“We need them,” he adds, “to make wise decisions.
“If there were no free will,” he points out, “we wouldn’t need to care. If there were no law, reality would be pure chaos.”
Diesel shrugs.
“I don’t know the laws,” he says. “So I assume I’m off the hook for anything I break.”
Abby finally looks up.
“I know some divine laws,” she says. “I believe many are unknowable.
“I trust I’ll be forgiven for what I didn’t know.
“I feel,” she adds, “that what God wants from me matters more than which invisible laws I accidentally bump into.”
Rev starts pacing.
“It scares me,” he says, “to think I might be breaking laws I don’t even know about—and get hit with delayed, harsh penalties.
“Why should I be punished for ignorance?”
He stops.
“I admit,” he says, “I often ignore my internal warnings and indulge my desires. The more often I overrule the caution, the quieter it gets.
“But,” he adds, “my wishful thinking doesn’t stop consequences. I regret it later. Eventually, regret adds to the warning next time. Sometimes I change.”
Diesel snorts.
“I’ve ignored warnings so long,” he says, “I barely hear them.
“I trust my wants more than quiet voices.
“Freedom to do whatever I feel,” he adds, “matters more than invisible rules.”
Evan watches him.
“Those quiet warnings,” he says, “are predictive protection.
“Ignoring them is like ignoring a storm siren and complaining when your basement floods.”
Ignorance isn’t a shield.
It’s a blindfold.
Chapter 12: Evan Explains How Ignoring the Conscience Shuts Down Mystic Fuel and Power Flow
Chapter 12: Evan Explains How Ignoring the Conscience Shuts Down Mystic Fuel and Power Flow
Startled by the building's shaking, Evan explains how ignoring the conscience shuts down mystic fuel and power flow. Today, the “Hum” is louder.
The windows rattle.
On the screen, drones film the Great Glass Plug. The reporter calls it the most thermally active point on Earth.
Rev looks spooked.
“Some say it’s unforgivable to curse the Holy Spirit,” he blurts. “Is there a cosmic police force listening to everything I say?
“We’d need eight billion agents,” he adds. “What a waste.
“Do they stamp an X on my forehead if I slip and say the wrong phrase? Are there secret names for the Holy Spirit hidden in songs? One wrong lyric and I’m doomed? Maybe I should stop talking entirely.”
Abby remains calm.
She scrolls through verses.
“The law condemns,” she recites. “There is no condemnation in Christ our Deliverer. He leads. I obey.
“I depend on Him,” she says. “Not law.”
Evan watches the Needles of Light graphics replay, lasers punching down.
“Relax,” he says. “Yes, there are listening beings. They record—so nothing is lost.
“But they don’t mark your forehead and throw you away.
“Warnings from your Conscience,” he explains, “are guidelines to stay within lawful boundaries.
“Ignoring predictable results,” he says, “doesn’t erase them.
“If you jump off a roof pretending you can fly,” he adds, “gravity still works. No angels are pushing you down.”
He leans closer.
“There is no separate police squad deciding who to smash,” he says. “Refusing Holy Fire doesn’t trigger a lightning strike. It simply shuts down your power flow.
“Imagine refusing to put gas in your car,” he says. “You keep driving until it stalls.
“Shutting off mystic fuel,” he adds, “leaves you drained.”
Diesel squints.
“What happens when the tank’s empty?”
“Two options,” Evan says. “You become weak and ineffective—or you reach for dark‑side power. Both feel like energy. One is stolen.
“Using corrupted fuel,” he warns, “always comes with hidden long‑term cost.
“The consequences of alcohol, drugs, and dark emotions,” he says, “arrive at the worst possible moment.”
The “Hum” swells for a beat.
It feels like the planet itself is issuing a warning.
Are they listening, or just turning the volume down?
Chapter 13: Evan Criticizes Spiritual Socialism and the Expectation That a Savior Carries All Penalties
Chapter 13: Evan Criticizes Spiritual Socialism and the Expectation That a Savior Carries All Penalties
Prompted by the news crawl of rising crime, Evan criticizes spiritual socialism and the expectation that a Savior carries all penalties. The sunset is bruised crimson.
Ash falls in slow, silent sheets.
News drones show the Basaltic Needle continent—a forest of black glass needles stretching from the ocean floor to the air.
The “Hum” rumbles under everything.
Diesel watches crime reports roll by on the news crawl.
“Modern society loves forgiving criminals,” he says. “Victims bear the cost.
“Scammers hide behind screens. Blame shifts from predator to ‘careless’ prey.
“Trust breaks. People retreat into fortified houses, talking only to AI friends.
“I plan,” he finishes, “to delay my penalties or blame someone else so they pay them.”
Abby shakes her head.
“It’s not nice to make victims suffer for your indulgence,” she says. “But my blind belief triggers forgiveness.
“One Savior carries all Believers’ penalties,” she explains. “It’s efficient. One suffers so the many don’t. I stay a sinner. He carries the load.”
Evan frowns.
“One for all,” he says. “For all who share one programmed mind.
“Does your Sponsor choose which debts to carry? Or is He forced to take everything you generate?”
“He protested at first,” Abby says briskly. “But surrendered when the Father insisted.
“Now it’s His job.”
“Surely,” Evan says, “He’s relieved at some point—and what He carried is handed back to its owners.”
“No,” Abby says. “Most people’s collected sins would crush them. Only the Savior can stay balanced while carrying that much.
“Believers expect someone else to suffer their penalties,” she admits. “That’s the plan.”
On the screen, the Great Glass Plug shakes under a wave, holding.
“Your belief,” Evan says softly, “is not proof of the action you imagine.
“God isn’t interested in gifting eternal happiness to souls who excel only at blind belief.
“Ungrounded wishful thinking,” he says, “is not a useful talent in a real heaven.
“As cosmic parents,” he continues, “our Divine Father and Mother oversee their children’s evolution by teaching lawful use of Holy Fire.
“Children are fenced in for a while. As their discipline and wisdom increase, so does their freedom.”
Abby’s jaw hardens.
“The laws do not limit Spirit inside each Believer,” she says.
Diesel grins suddenly.
“Sometimes I blame my behavior on Tempters,” he says. “‘The devil made me do it.’ That excuse hasn’t worked yet.
“Blaming the Holy Spirit instead,” he adds, “might be more original.”
The “Hum” punches through the floor again.
In a world that just barely avoided tearing itself apart, the kids in this lounge are still deciding whether law is a burden—or a lifeline.
Chapter 17: Evan and Evelyn Question the Legitimacy of Silent Contracts and Unquestioned Agreements
Chapter 17: Evan and Evelyn Question the Legitimacy of Silent Contracts and Unquestioned Agreements
Surrounded by falling volcanic ash, Evan and Evelyn question the legitimacy of silent contracts and unquestioned agreements. Ash drifts past the glass like ghost snow.
Island nations evacuate on the crawl. Harbors vanish under rising seas.
The “Hum” never stops.
Evelyn turns to Abby.
“Who made this contract?” she asks, “and how was acceptance communicated?
“If the offer is buried in ancient encoded writings,” she continues, “how do we know it still stands?”
“The Savior made the original offer,” Abby says at once. “Humanity improved the terms and sent back a counteroffer.
“He didn’t reply,” she adds. “So we assume He accepts the new version.”
Evan arches a brow.
“Does the Son have authority to make binding agreements for the Father?” he asks.
“In law,” he adds, “silence is usually rejection—not consent.
“Without clear communication,” he says, “there is no real agreement.”
He glances at the plug on the screen.
“Can someone who has existed for ages,” he asks softly, “be bound by terms they never signed?
“Does the contract break cosmic law?”
“For safety,” Abby replies, “the contract exists outside cosmic law.”
“Mutual understanding,” Evan answers, “is what makes a contract enforceable.
“All parties must know the terms and agree.
“Absolvers get plenty of free benefits,” he says. “What of value do they offer?”
Abby smiles.
“We give the only thing almighty beings don’t have,” she says. “We tell our Father He’s wonderful. We sing. We say please, thank you, and I’m sorry.
“Our biggest sacrifice is to identify as useless children who never grow up,” she adds. “That gives our Father endless chances to show off His glory by giving us free stuff.”
Diesel laughs.
“Now I get where socialism came from,” he says. “I’ll tell the government that giving me money is for their glory. See how that goes.”
Rev looks at Abby.
“So your worthlessness,” he says, “lets your Father feel powerful every time He rescues you.
“Your whole religion,” he adds, “is built to soothe an emotionally needy God.”
Evan shakes his head.
“This program is designed to be attractive with minimal details,” he says. “Doubts are silenced with lines like ‘It’s a mystery,’ or ‘Humans can’t understand,’ or ‘Just have faith and don’t worry.’”
Abby straightens.
“There are conditions for dismissal,” she says. “Trying to change the terms violates the agreement.
“It’s a fixed package,” she insists. “You can’t keep the house and return to the kitchen. Nothing can be questioned.
“Blind beliefs bond the clan,” she continues. “You can’t add extra spiritual teachers or believe in reincarnation or expect to be anything but a willing servant in Heaven.
“You cannot doubt the big book, or curse and reject the Holy Spirit.”
The “Hum” grows louder, as if the Earth itself is warning about contracts that try to step outside the law.
Outside, ash falls.
Inside, unquestioned agreements pile up like dust.
Chapter 18: Abby Describes Wearing the Savior’s Costume While Evan Emphasizes Character Over Disguises
Chapter 18: Abby Describes Wearing the Savior’s Costume While Evan Emphasizes Character Over Disguises
While the geological hum shakes the floor, Abby describes wearing the Savior’s costume while Evan emphasizes character over disguises. The ash piles higher against the windows.
On the screen, a seismograph shows the “Hum” as a jagged heartbeat.
Rev looks away from it.
“Some souls say God is all‑merciful,” he muses. “So everyone will be made perfect and go to Heaven.
“Failed children remade into obedient servants.
“Better than torture,” he says. “Still slavery.”
Abby shakes her head.
“Prototype souls aren’t God’s children until He chooses to adopt them,” she says. “Only chosen children go to Heaven. The rest are abandoned.
“Aren’t you afraid,” she asks, “to be something other than a Believer?
“Two choices,” she declares. “Believe or be lost.”
“There are seven afterlife options,” Evan says. “No free eternal Heaven. No devil‑run torture factory.
“Just a spectrum of results,” he says, “based on what you build.”
Evelyn studies Abby.
“What are the renewal and termination terms?” she asks. “What stops misunderstandings?”
“Only God knows who has truly repented and surrendered,” Abby answers calmly. “Once you do, you belong to Him forever.
“The Savior comes to live in you,” she says. “He never departs.
“The Father then sees Him when He looks at you,” she adds. “So He adopts you as His child.”
She smiles.
“As long as God never sees our hidden defects,” she says, “He’ll never disown us.
“We can never be good enough. His standard is perfection.”
She gestures as if putting something on.
“Our salvation depends on wearing the Savior’s costume,” she says. “We trust Him to take all our sins and hide our weaknesses.
“Souls who show up looking like devils,” she adds, “are cast out.”
“Will those who wear demonic costumes be welcomed by Tempters?” Evan asks.
Abby ignores that.
“Believers get a free defense attorney in Heaven,” she says. “Our Savior is our advocate. He always takes our side.
“The Father’s favorite Son can walk to the front of Heaven’s line,” she adds, “interrupt anyone, and get things done.”
Rev frowns.
“So,” he says, “He cuts in front of other souls who’ve been waiting? That’s your idea of fairness?”
Abby stands a little taller.
“To summarize our transition,” she says, ticking items off on her fingers, “there is conversion, forgiveness, justification, sanctification, regeneration, union with the Savior, sealing by the Spirit, adoption, Spirit baptism, and glorification.
“All this happens automatically, behind the scenes,” she adds. “We trigger it by believing. Once started, the contract should not be broken. If it is, all gifts are taken back.”
The “Hum” spikes.
Outside, ash eats the sunset.
Inside, a question hangs:
If you can change your appearance but not your character, what actually enters Heaven?
Chapter 19: Abby Praises Imputed Credit While Evelyn Compares Grace to a Starter Loan for Apprentices
Chapter 19: Abby Praises Imputed Credit While Evelyn Compares Grace to a Starter Loan for Apprentices
Looking out at the darkened sky, Abby praises imputed credit while Evelyn compares grace to a starter loan for apprentices. The Grey Year mood deepens.
On the ticker, whole harbors vanish under new sea levels.
Abby leans forward, eyes bright.
“I love the gift of Imputation,” she says. “My sins are transferred into the Savior’s account.
“They no longer count against me,” she explains. “My debts are exported. His righteousness is copied into my empty account.
“God sees my new balance,” she says, “and declares me debt‑free and righteous.
“I traded sin debt,” she adds, “for an excellent soul credit score.”
Evan arches a brow.
“Accountants who erase debts and invent assets,” he says, “go to prison for fraud.”
“Only those who affirm the Savior acquire redemption,” Abby insists. “God does not treat us as our sins deserve.
“I’m grateful someone else carries my load.”
“Your wishful thinking,” Evan replies, “guarantees unearned mercy your whole life—and beyond—because someone else, supposedly, pays your bills.
“It’s spiritual socialism,” he says. “You expect free housing in Heaven, too.”
“I receive saving grace,” Abby counters, “in different forms: sanctifying grace, sustaining grace, enabling grace and suffering grace.”
Diesel smirks.
“Those sound like strains of weed,” he says. “Sanctifying—blessed weed. Sustaining—time‑release high. Enabling—for boosting self‑esteem. Not sure I’d want suffering grace, though.”
Abby’s tone turns somber.
“When my Savior wants me to stop sinning,” she says, “He ensures I suffer trials. I’m pressured into endurance, obedience, and longing for Heaven.”
Rev grimaces.
“Does sampling mini‑Hell convince you not to break the contract?” he asks.
“Believers are guaranteed a secure position next to our Father,” Abby answers. “I have some control while on Earth. If my Savior can’t reform me, He will end my life and make me perfect in Heaven.
“The Son has full control,” she adds. “Even over my will.”
Rev shakes his head.
“In that case,” he says, “everyone should sign, then resist reform. Fast‑track promotion.”
Abby ignores him.
“The Holy Spirit,” she says, “is my down payment, guaranteeing what is still to come. The Spirit exposes my sins, but doesn’t punish—He comforts, guides, and teaches.”
Diesel scoffs.
“Our courts now catch and release criminals,” he says. “They get comfort and guidance, but no real consequences.
“The old saying ‘crime doesn’t pay’ flipped. Now, criminals don’t pay.”
“I’m saved from Father’s wrath,” Abby insists. “The Savior took it. He paid the ransom. I hold a reusable ‘get out of jail free’ card.”
Diesel’s smirk fades.
“When courts and religions both remove all consequences,” he says quietly, “crime increases.
“So does corruption.”
“People who sign up now,” Abby pushes, “get the free stuff. There will be no freebies left if you wait.
“Deliberate sin,” she warns, “blocks the flow of gifts. Turning away from God cuts you off entirely.”
“I’d advise teens,” Diesel says dryly, “not to anger the one funding their allowance. When I turned away from my dad, he cut mine.”
“Grace,” Abby says, “is endless free stuff. Better than government welfare.”
“Dependence on free stuff,” Evelyn says quietly, “never makes you truly wealthy.
“Grace is like a starter loan,” she explains. Apprentices receive it to experiment. Soul students must learn to invest and multiply.
“Trained investors,” she says, “become mystic millionaires who can help others.
“Why would you cling to a tiny allowance,” she asks, “instead of learning to build your own light?”
The “Hum” answers with a deep vibration.
Outside, the world stays plugged.
Inside, some souls choose to plug their ears.
Chapter 20: Evan Warns About Ignoring Cosmic Laws While Abby Defends Justification Masking Faults
Chapter 20: Evan Warns About Ignoring Cosmic Laws While Abby Defends Justification Masking Faults
As the oceanic hot spot boils relentlessly, Evan warns about ignoring cosmic laws while Abby defends justification masking faults. The Grey Year sun is a dull coin behind soot.
The Mariana Hot Spot glows red on the thermal map.
The “Hum” pulses.
Abby folds her hands.
“Believers can’t help but sin,” she says calmly. “It’s human nature.”
Diesel stares at the ceiling.
“For once,” he says, “I agree with you.”
Evan shakes his head.
“Instincts,” he says, “don’t drive you to suicide, terror, or pointless violence.
“Insanity isn’t natural. Perversion isn’t instinct.
“Animals don’t smoke or drink or inject poisons,” he says. “They don’t tattoo themselves with toxins or binge until they can’t walk.
“Cosmic laws are steady. Ignore them long enough, and addictions, attachments, and grudges follow.”
Abby brushes that aside.
“That’s why we have proxy immunity,” she says. “Absolvers are pre‑perfected and free from sin’s penalty. Justification masks our faults and makes us appear righteous before God—even when we’re guilty.”
Rev frowns.
“How can your faults be hidden from an all‑seeing God?” he asks. “Isn’t that fraud?
“Pretending God can’t see behind a costume,” he says, “turns your relationship into a con.
“Fraudulent, spiritual socialism cannot hold forever.”
“It’s grace,” Abby answers. “Not fraud.
“Tiny atoms of the Savior’s blood,” she says, “wash us. When we stand before God, His presence overlays us.
“It turns away wrath. Justification erases the past as if it never happened. A magic spell you do not earn.”
Diesel suddenly sits up.
“I’m convinced,” he says with dark humor. “How do I get someone else to serve my prison time after I go on a rampage?”
“Our beliefs,” Abby says, “are credited as righteousness. It’s not about our actions. It’s about our trust in a Savior who justifies even the corrupt. We trust ancient writings translated by sanctified Interpreters.”
Evan looks back at the screen plug.
“So whatever Interpreters say God promised,” he asks, “becomes Truth—even if it’s false?”
“Once justified,” Abby insists, “we’re safe forever. Benefits always pay out.”
Diesel snorts.
“Then I demand equal treatment,” he says. “Criminal or Believer—I want guaranteed forgiveness for everyone.”
The “Hum” vibrates through their bones.
Outside, a glass pillar holds back a core’s fury.
Inside, a fragile bundle of teens tries to decide: Will they build their own inner pillars—or hide behind someone else’s costume and hope it holds back the fire?
Chapter 21: Evan Suggests a Soul Background Check While Abby Explains Progressive Sanctification
Chapter 21: Evan Suggests a Soul Background Check While Abby Explains Progressive Sanctification
Staring at the news updates of the black-glass pillar, Evan suggests a soul background check while Abby explains progressive sanctification. The “Grey Year” sun is already a legend.
Now the sky outside the student lounge looks like wet cement, thick and heavy, pressing down on the world. The constant underground vibration—the Hum—has become so familiar that they barely notice it anymore…until the tectonic pressure spikes and the light fixtures rattle hard enough to make dust fall.
Evan ignores the flickering bulbs and stares at the news crawl: updates on the Basaltic Needle, the black-glass pillar in the Pacific holding back the Earth’s core. A whole planet balanced on a jagged, fragile spike. He wonders how long any structure like that can last—whether glass continents or the spiritual scaffolding Abby keeps preaching about.
Abby sits straight-backed on the couch, hands folded over her notebook like she’s in a courtroom, not a lounge. Her voice slices through the room with bright, clinical precision.
“Holy Spirit grace is how Believers are justified, sanctified, and glorified,” she says. “The stronger our beliefs, the greater the flow.”
Across from her, Rev looks up from his sketchbook, where he’s been redesigning the coastline around the new continent—lines of rock and fault zones and possible fractures. He smirks.
“And how much of that grace comes out of a socialist magic genie lamp?” he asks. “Rub, wish, done?”
Abby doesn’t flinch. She’s locked in.
“Sanctification is the initiation into the Believers’ club,” she says. “It turns sinful humans into adopted holy sons and daughters. Unholy humans are unacceptable to their divine Father. They can’t have a first‑class relationship. Worthless sinners can’t be on His team.”
Evan closes his notebook, thoughts spinning—adoption paperwork for souls. Secret conditions. Hidden terms.
“If He’s recruiting a team for eternity,” he says slowly, “shouldn’t people be more interested in their soul’s health, wealth, wisdom, and power than in some unearned VIP pass based on assumptions?” He leans forward, elbows on his knees, eyes sharp. “Shouldn’t potential team members be fully vetted before they get debt forgiveness and eternal care?”
The Hum deepens beneath them, as if the Earth is listening, too.
“Is there a full background check?” Evan presses. “Debt repayment history. Criminal record. Credit report. Medical conditions. Family patterns. Or do we …skip that part?”
Abby waves a hand, dismissive. “A soul’s previous history is erased,” she says. “All records deleted.”
Evan blinks. Deleted.
“Very generous,” he says dryly, “but I still consider a soul’s health, wealth, and power important. What about education? Practical experience? Are applicants evaluated for future employment? Or does eternity come with endless unemployment benefits?”
Abby laughs, a thin sound, more brittle than amused. “No. Adopted Believers are still worthless. They don’t seek meaningful employment in the afterlife.”
The admission hangs in the air like ash.
“Right,” Evan says. “Everything’s free. My mistake.”
He doesn’t stop.
“Are applicants screened for addictions? Physical attachments? Drug use? Ignorance of the law? Old grudges that calcified ages ago?”
“Current transgressions are not considered,” Abby says. “The Believers’ club gives sanctuary to degenerates, perverts, criminals, and the insane. Our Father accepts everyone who blindly believes what they’re told.”
Evan hears the words blindly believes and feels the Hum climb up his spine.
“Any special treatment?” he asks. “Race? National origin? Sex? Age? Disabilities?”
Abby smiles, satisfied. “Our Divine Father doesn’t discriminate, as long as they believe His only Son was the greatest human who ever lived. The Creator is proud of His first Son. He refuses to associate with anyone who won’t affirm the Savior’s identity and recognize His accomplishments. Because of the cloaking presence of the Savior, all justified Absolvers look like His favorite Son.”
On the beanbag by the window, Diesel finally snorts.
“So the ancient Creator is so senile that he thinks the same soul keeps showing up over and over?” he asks. “He can’t tell His real Son from billions of copycats in Savior cosplay?”
Abby’s face hardens, but she doesn’t back down.
“I don’t know or care how it happens,” she says. “As long as I can cover over my faults long enough to get inside Heaven. Once I’m in, Paradise makes all souls holy and perfect.”
Evan forces a smile. “A simple, devious plan.”
But in his mind, something twists. If your entire history is shredded and your soul walks in wearing someone else’s mask…what’s left of you?
“So how does sanctification actually remake unholy Believers?” he asks.
Abby’s voice shifts into lecture mode.
“Believers struggle with sin because they have both a holy, sinless nature and a sin nature,” she explains. “In sanctification, the sinful nature is transformed. A person is made holy in a limited sense at the moment of redemption, keeps getting sanctified in their present walk, and will be fully and finally sanctified when the Savior appears in the future.”
She turns toward the grey window, as if she can see through sulfur clouds to some other sky.
“Absolvers appear fully washed and clean in their Father’s eyes,” she says. “Using prophecy, the divine Father sees the end from the beginning. He previews the whole process as finished in Spirit—even if it’s not completed in time.”
Diesel scrolls through his phone and snorts again.
“There’s a new scam,” he mutters. Companies are selling products that don’t exist yet. Two‑year waiting lists. They ‘see’ the finished product in the future, so they sell the spirit‑version now.”
“That’s cheating,” Evan says. The analogy clicks and won’t let go. “So sanctification makes all Believers holy in the Father’s sight now. When He judges Absolvers, all He sees is a copy of His only Son. Aren’t you worried He’ll notice that every soul in His courtroom looks the same? Does he wipe His memory between cases?”
Abby’s patience frays.
“The divine Father wants His chosen children to progress toward holiness,” she insists. “There’s no real hurry or purpose in reaching sainthood on Earth. Your current level doesn’t matter as long as you show some progress.”
She lifts a finger, ticking off points.
“There’s a fast‑track,” she says, almost reverent. “All Believers will be made identically perfect. Sanctification comes in three stages: Spirit, then heart and mind, then body. Mankind can’t contribute to the immediate sanctification of their Spirit, or their own redemption. Only the Creator can do that.”
“I disagree,” Evan says quietly, but his voice doesn’t shake. “You make us sound worthless and helpless—dependents of spiritual socialism. My soul has to import and master the qualities that make us like the Savior. A teacher can lecture and demonstrate, but the child still has to practice, or nothing changes.”
Abby barrels on.
“When an Absolver is regenerated, they’re separated from the penalty of sin,” she says. “As they grow, they’re progressively separated from the power of sin. Finally, in Heaven, they’re separated from the presence of sin. No sin can exist in Heaven.”
She adds, almost offhand, “The fallen spirit is sanctified immediately so the Holy Spirit can move in.”
Evan studies her, sadness flickering in his eyes.
“You make it sound like all nonbelievers are empty of the Holy Spirit,” he says. “But the divine Spirit in our hearts is what gives us life in the first place.”
The Hum spikes, rattling the window. Ash jumps on the sill like grey insects trying to fly.
The foundations of the world—and of everything Abby believes—shiver, just a little.
Chapter 22: Evan Highlights the Inner Civil War Between the Mind and the Body
Chapter 22: Evan Highlights the Inner Civil War Between the Mind and the Body
As the planetary vibrations grow more aggressive, Evan highlights the inner civil war between the mind and the body. By now, the Grey Year sun doesn’t look like a star at all.
It’s a pale, unblinking eye staring through a veil of sulfur, watching. Judging. Waiting.
Inside the lounge, the Hum changes pitch—higher, more insistent. It crawls under their skin like an itch no one can scratch. On-screen, a tired news anchor reports that global temperatures have dropped again. The number doesn’t sound like much. The air in the room, dense with stagnant ozone and unwashed ash, makes it feel like the end of a long fever.
Abby leans toward them, eyes sharp, as if the whole planet is her classroom.
“The soul—your mind and emotions—is sanctified progressively through the Christian life,” she says. Her voice takes on that steady, rhythmic tone she uses when she’s quoting authority. “But the body is different. Its sanctification only happens at the very end, when the Savior appears to transform the Believer’s physical form into something eternal.”
She pauses, expecting a reaction. None comes—only the low growl of the Hum.
“Sin caused mankind’s spiritual death,” she adds. “It totally disrupted our relationship with the divine Father.”
Rev drops his pencil and rubs his temples.
“I’m lost,” he admits. “The Creator makes a bunch of ‘experimental prototype’ souls. They have to choose to believe something before He adopts them. Right?” He frowns. “So if humanity wasn’t adopted yet, what relationship was there to break? When exactly did mankind ruin things with a Father who hadn’t even claimed them as His kids?”
Abby opens her mouth. Shuts it. Then latches onto a familiar script.
“Union with God depends on holiness,” she recites. “When someone is regenerated, they have to be cleansed—not just legally, but actually.”
Evan studies the room.
He sees Abby’s shoulders, braced for attack—Rev’s hands, tapping with restless questions. Diesel’s restless eyes flicked between the news and his phone. Evelyn’s quiet, intense note‑taking. Behind all of it, he senses something else: a small light in each of them, flickering like a candle trapped behind frosted glass.
“It’s a civil war, isn’t it?” Evan says softly. “The already‑sanctified ‘inner man’ fighting against the unsanctified nature of the flesh.”
On the screen, a graphic depicts a thin layer of obsidian holding back magma. Evan gestures toward it.
“The body doesn’t make moral choices on its own,” he says. “It’s just the visible layer. The decisions come from the heart and mind.”
Abby’s face brightens.
“Exactly,” she says. “When a person is regenerated, the Spirit undergoes instantaneous and final sanctification. The human spirit is cleansed and made perfectly holy—as sacred as it will ever be.”
She smooths her blazer, regaining control.
“But the soul—the heart and mind—is different. Progressive sanctification begins at regeneration and continues for the rest of your life. No one reaches perfection on Earth.”
Rev leans in now, hooked despite himself.
“Then how does it work?” he asks. “What does God actually do to sanctify a heart filled with…garbage?”
Abby’s voice turns more personal.
“God uses transformation,” she says. “Evil itself can’t be transformed, but its hold on you can be broken as your nature is reshaped into the Savior’s image.”
She looks each of them in the eye, almost pleading for them to accept it.
“You present your bodies as a living and holy sacrifice,” she says. “That’s your spiritual service. You’re transformed by renewing your mind so you can recognize what God’s will is—good, acceptable, perfect.”
Diesel snorts and looks away. Outside, grey ash piles up on the window ledge.
“Sounds like a lot of work for a ‘free’ ticket,” he mutters.
On the monitor, a new graphic flashes: MARIANA TRENCH – THERMAL ANOMALY. The Hum surges again, a deep, tired sigh under the building.
Two pressures grind against each other—the molten core of Earth and the molten contradictions inside Abby’s theology. Neither shows any sign of easing.
Chapter 23: Evan and Evelyn Challenge the Strict Boundaries Set by Abby’s Book of Sacred Writings
Chapter 23: Evan and Evelyn Challenge the Strict Boundaries Set by Abby’s Book of Sacred Writings
Watching the ash bury the school, Evan and Evelyn challenge the strict boundaries set by Abby’s book of sacred writings. The Grey Year sun hangs like a dead eye behind the sulfur veil, turning the world outside the lounge into a monochrome smear. Volcanic ash drifts down and cakes against the windows like dirty flour, trying to bury the school grain by grain.
Inside, the Hum never stops.
Water in Diesel’s glass trembles in tight concentric rings, as if an invisible finger is tapping the planet from beneath. The pressure under the Great Glass Plug is always pushing, always testing.
Abby traces the edge of her tablet with one finger, like it’s a talisman.
“We assimilate new beliefs by faith,” she says. “The power of our blind beliefs transforms us so our outer life reflects the renewal inside.”
Evan watches a shaft of ashy light catch the dust motes in the air and thinks of the old Needles of Light drilling through Earth’s crust. Light once broke into the planet. Now darkness tries to lock it in.
“Do you use logic, common sense, and research to fact‑check those beliefs?” Evan asks. “Or do you just trust the indoctrination and hope it’s accurate?”
Abby stiffens.
“Questioning whether we’ll get all the promised free stuff is like opening Pandora’s Box,” she says. “It’s better to be wishful than safe. If Absolvers start thinking outside the book, our secret beliefs lose their power.”
Rev barks a laugh from his spot by the wall.
“Did you mean ‘outside the box’?” he asks.
Evan’s gaze drifts to the thick, weathered Bible on Abby’s lap.
“The big book of scribbles is the box,” he says. “It sets the boundaries of allowed thought.”
Abby ignores the jab and straightens.
“There are thirty‑nine storybooks written by our Father and twenty‑seven by His apprentice Son,” she says. “The Holy Spirit helped get every word written down. If you think, feel, and act within those coded parables and ancient writings, the three‑headed Creator makes you happy.”
Her smile turns sharp.
“The Father won’t adopt people who act outside the rules in His books. The only Son won’t redeem people who don’t become fans of His scribbles. The Holy Spirit will not—”
She cuts herself off and shrugs.
“There are only two choices,” she finishes. Absolvers believe that Tempters claim abandoned, unadopted humans. They have the right to torture their property.”
On the couch, Evelyn looks up from her notes. Her handwriting is tight, precise.
“In progressive sanctification, the weight is on the Believer,” she says. “Our progress depends on our choices.”
Abby nods, retaking control.
“But we must remember,” she says, “God often uses circumstances to move us along if we need motivation. Not all Believers progress at the same rate, or to the same degree.”
Her eyes drift—just long enough—to Diesel.
“If we choose to live carnally, according to our fallen impulses,” she warns, “our progress is damaged. We must yield to the Holy Spirit’s control.”
Diesel lets out a short, humorless laugh and spins his phone.
Onscreen, a reporter stands near the Mariana Hot Spot, where water simmers at a deadly, steady temperature.
“The Earth is boiling,” he mutters. “And we’re arguing about book club rules.”
Evan draws a slow breath.
“Progressive sanctification is a process,” he says. “Not an instant upgrade. It depends on the Believer’s active participation.”
Abby looks down at her hands, voice softening.
“We can only assume,” she says, “that whatever is lacking in the sanctification of the soul—which, in all cases, is a lot—is completed by God at the death of the Believer.”
The Hum spikes.
The seismograph on the monitor jumps, a jagged red spike. The deep vibration rolls through the students’ bones.
The planet below them is under crushing pressure.
So is the belief that everything unfinished will magically be completed for free.
Chapter 24: Abby Embraces the Savior as a Scapegoat and Commits to Being a Willing Slave
Chapter 24: Abby Embraces the Savior as a Scapegoat and Commits to Being a Willing Slave
Reacting to the jagged seismograph lines on the screen, Abby embraces the Savior as a scapegoat and commits to being a willing slave. Outside, the Grey Year sun is a useless coin of light behind the Sulfur Veil. Inside the lounge, the pale glow of the wall monitor paints everyone in ghost colors.
The seismograph trace crawls across the screen, translating the Hum into jagged ink lines. A reporter explains how the Basaltic Needle still holds, but the pressure against the mile‑deep obsidian plug never stops.
Abby sits perfectly straight, hands folded like she’s waiting for roll call.
“Final sanctification of the Believer’s body happens when Christ returns,” she says. Her voice is smooth as glass. “He resurrects or changes believers, giving them glorified, eternal bodies. Since final sanctification is an immediate operation, Believers cannot contribute anything to it.”
She looks at Evan, eyes gleaming with triumph.
“We know that when He appears, we shall be like Him,” she quotes, “because we will see Him as He is.”
Evan watches a drone shot of the Great Glass Plug, the black pillar bracing itself against unimaginable force.
“So…no effort at all?” he asks. “None?”
Abby presses on.
“When a person is regenerated, their Spirit is immediately sanctified,” she says. “For those who have placed faith in Christ, that’s past tense. They’re released from all penalty for sin—past and future.”
She lifts a finger.
“This is separate from discipline,” she clarifies. “Believers may still experience discipline—corrective action from God for their benefit. But discipline is not wrath or eternal punishment.”
Rev feels the Hum vibrating up his backbone through the chair.
“So what happens at the very end?” he asks.
Abby’s eyes shine.
“Glorification,” she says. “When we’re glorified, we’re free from the presence of sin forever. At some point in the future, every Believer is delivered from sin within. Their nature is completely transformed.”
She leans forward, voice dropping.
“God sees the end from the beginning,” she whispers. “He already chooses to regard His redeemed as if the process is finished. He repositions Believers to be assumed holy in the end, so He treats them as holy now. Salvation is final membership approval. Adoption into God’s family.”
On the screen, the Mariana Hot Spot boils the sea with silent fury.
“And your role in this family?” Evan asks quietly.
Abby smiles, almost serenely.
“Freedom from selfishness, greed, and lust lets us offer ourselves as willing slaves of the Savior,” she says. “He superimposes Himself over us to make us look like Him to the Creator.”
“To be free from sin,” Evan replies, “we align our willpower with cosmic laws. We become slaves—but to the right laws.” His tone sharpens. “Not to blind dependence.”
Abby waves that aside.
“The all‑knowing big book says we’ve all committed evil acts that displease our Father,” she says. “We deserve His anger and judgment. Sins against an infinite Being deserve infinite punishment. We committed terrible crimes, but we’re too weak to survive His wrath.”
She smiles again—this time with a strange relief.
“So we found a Savior willing to act as a scapegoat,” she says. “He suffers in our place.”
The Hum surges. On the monitor, steam ripples around the glass plug.
A whole planet leans on a single pillar.
And in Abby’s theology, a whole species leans on a single suffering body.
Chapter 25: Diesel Mocks the Scapegoat Model by Comparing It to an Infinite Credit Score for Criminals
Chapter 25: Diesel Mocks the Scapegoat Model by Comparing It to an Infinite Credit Score for Criminals
Intrigued by the prison overcrowding reports, Diesel mocks the scapegoat model by comparing it to an infinite credit score for criminals. The Grey Year sun is now just a copper smudge behind the clouds—too weak to cast real shadows. The only true light in the lounge comes from the monitor, where a drone flies over the black glass forests of the Basaltic Needle continent.
The Hum of the core vibrates through the beanbags. Their teeth buzz.
On the screen, a different story plays: overcrowded prisons in ash‑choked cities. Concrete, razor wire, orange jumpsuits.
Diesel sits up, eyes lighting with a dark idea.
“You know,” he says, sounding suddenly like a startup founder pitching investors, “I actually like this scapegoat model, Abby. I’m going to build a website to match homeless people with convicted criminals.”
Everyone looks at him.
“Think about it,” Diesel continues. “Impoverished wanderers get free food, healthcare and housing. They get paid to suffer someone else’s sentence. Criminals have money and hate prison. They’d gladly sponsor a scapegoat. Everybody wins.”
He leans back, watching the way the Hum ripples the water on the thermal cam.
“One person could suffer for all the criminals in a whole city,” he says. “Get insanely rich off their pain. So, Abby…how much does your Redeemer charge for a ‘get out of jail free’ card?”
Abby doesn’t flinch.
“He has a wealthy Father,” she says confidently. “He can provide infinite payment for our sins for free.”
“There’s always a catch,” Diesel replies. “His Father won’t bankroll Him forever.”
“The ancient Redeemer has enough credit from past suffering to redeem all mankind forever,” Abby says. She sounds like she’s explaining a limitless credit line.
Diesel whistles. “I can’t compete with that. What did He do to earn enough cosmic credit to pay off every crime, forever?”
“He’s a super‑being,” Abby says casually. “It was easy for Him to endure three hours of bloody torture and then die. He didn’t like being dead and missed His friends, so He brought himself back to life.”
“Did he use His superpowers to get revenge on His torturers?” Diesel asks.
Before Abby can answer, Rev cuts in, eyes still on the flood alerts scrolling across the bottom of the screen.
“How does a generous benefactor pay for new sin debts with a mystic savings account?” he asks. “Criminals always try to blame someone else. Innocents have gone to prison, but their time served doesn’t erase the real criminal’s guilt if he’s caught later.”
Evelyn looks up from her data on the Mariana Hot Spot, voice steady.
“What exactly does the Savior guarantee on His side of the contract?” she asks.
Abby brightens.
“Converted Believers get an awesome welcome packet of free stuff,” she says. “We’re adopted into God’s family—Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. God officially becomes our Father. No need for a divine Mother.”
She glances at the Great Glass Plug on the screen, her voice dropping.
“Honestly,” she says, “I’m afraid God wouldn’t let most Believers into Heaven if He saw their real selves.”
The Hum deepens, rattling the windows. The obsidian pillar holds back the core.
Inside the lounge, another kind of pressure builds: the weight of infinite credit—with no interest in change.
Chapter 26: Evan Questions the Logic of Trusting the Box-Boundaries of Abby’s Thirty-Nine Storybooks
Chapter 26: Evan Questions the Logic of Trusting the Box-Boundaries of Abby’s Thirty-Nine Storybooks
Feeling the relentless grinding of the Earth's core beneath them, Evan questions the logic of trusting the box-boundaries of Abby’s thirty-nine storybooks. The Grey Year sun stares down like a powerless eye. No shadows. No warmth. Just a flat, toxic glow.
The Hum grinds under the building, the same guttural rhythm of the Earth’s core pushing against the obsidian plug. On the monitor, thermal images flicker like ghost fires.
Abby watches the screen, but her focus is inward, anchored to a contract she’s already signed.
“The Believer’s new purpose is to live for the praise of His glory,” she says. “All souls are eternal, but they differ in spiritual quality. My sins separated and alienated me from God. My simple beliefs put me back in the right relationship.”
She leans forward, eyes bright with the exclusive comfort of it.
“God declared war on people because of mankind’s rebellion,” she continues. “Believers are taken off His enemies' list. We’re no longer His enemies. The Savior keeps a cosmic contact list to update Absolvers on His travel dates and plans.”
She describes an unbreakable family circle: Jesus in Heaven, the Holy Spirit inside, the Father above.
“The Holy Spirit’s presence is always with Believers,” she says. “The Savior will never leave or forsake His chosen adopted brothers and sisters. We’re one happy family of Father, special Son, and adopted kids—with no divine Mother. His radiance is armor. His presence protects us from evil forever. God gives us victory over Satan.”
Her voice turns dreamy.
“I’m convinced I’ll be basking in God’s radiant glory in Heaven,” she says. “I’ll be a partaker of the divine nature.”
Evan lifts his eyes from his notebook.
“You don’t contribute anything,” he says quietly, “but you still share in the rewards of the Savior’s hard work.”
Abby doesn’t deny it.
“God’s great love for me leaves me with plenty of leftover energy to love Him back and ask for more personal favors,” she says lightly.
She grabs her Bible and hugs it close, like a shield.
“The Big Book has everything I need for a successful holy life,” she says. “Reading the sacred scribbles sanctifies and cleanses us. It tells us how to make good decisions, satisfy our Father, minister to others, and get into Heaven. It’s the instruction manual for pleasing both the Father and ourselves.”
Diesel sighs loudly from his beanbag.
“I tried reading the tiny print once,” he mutters. “Couldn’t crack the ancient encryption.”
Abby ignores him.
“Absolvers absorb the clan’s beliefs by faith,” she says. “Fellowship meetings build faith through sermons by sanctified interpreters. The power of our blind beliefs transforms us so our outer life matches the renewal within.”
Evan cuts in.
“Do you use logic, common sense, and research to fact‑check those beliefs?” he asks. The Hum throbs under his words. “Or do you just…trust the programming?”
Abby’s eyes narrow.
“Questioning whether we’ll get all the promised free stuff is like opening Pandora’s Box,” she says. “It’s better to be wishful than safe. Our secret beliefs lose power if Absolvers think outside the book.”
Rev lets out a dry cough of a laugh.
“You mean ‘outside the box’,” he says.
Evan glances at Abby’s Bible again.
“The book is the box,” he says. “It sets the boundaries of what you’re allowed to explore.”
Abby straightens.
“There are thirty‑nine storybooks written by our Father and twenty‑seven by His apprenticing Son,” she says. “The Holy Spirit helped write them all. The Father won’t adopt people who act outside those rules. The Savior won’t redeem people who aren’t fans of His scribbles.”
Her gaze hardens.
“The Holy Spirit avoids those who don’t regularly read the sacred fables,” she says. “Absolvers believe Tempters claim abandoned, unadopted humans and have the right to torture them.”
The Hum rattles the glass again, like a fist on a locked door.
Outside, pressure pushes against obsidian.
Inside, questions push against box‑boundaries.
Chapter 27: Evan Argues That True Apprenticeship Builds Power While Abby Defends the Edification of Obedient Believers
Chapter 27: Evan Argues That True Apprenticeship Builds Power While Abby Defends the Edification of Obedient Believers
As drone footage of the flooded coastlines plays, Evan argues that true apprenticeship builds power while Abby defends the edification of obedient believers. The Grey Year drains color from the sky until everything looks like an old photograph. Inside the lounge, ash‑filtered light seeps through the windows, turning the room a dull, exhausted grey.
The Hum rides below them, steady and relentless, rattling desk legs and pen caps. On the monitor, a drone glides over the vertical black glass needles of the Prometheia continent. Sea levels creep higher, swallowing shorelines from Miami to Jakarta.
Abby leans back, face arranged in warm, communal concern.
“Edification is the process where Believers help each other become more like the Savior,” she says. “Believers have ended their search for Truth. We’re content to be bystanders, waiting for the Savior’s return. We meet for fellowship and worship, study the book of scribbles, share our thoughts, feelings, and possessions.”
She adjusts her white blazer like it’s her uniform.
“The club’s Truth has to be agreed upon,” she continues. “Otherwise, outside teachings slip in. We support each other’s growth in faith, character, and service.”
Rev looks up from his sketch of the glass plug, half‑smirk on his face.
“Eventually, the whole clan caves and commits to the same simple beliefs,” he says. “Whatever their chosen Interpreter promotes.”
“We unite through our core doctrines,” Abby counters. “But we show a diversity of talents and gifts of the Holy Spirit.”
Evan shakes his head.
“There’s nothing wrong with generosity, teaching, and community,” he says. “But you skipped discipline. Wisdom. Self‑empowerment.”
Abby’s warmth cools.
“Our central purpose is to glorify God together, not boost each other’s ego,” she says sharply. “We need every God‑given moment to become who He wants us to be. He wants us to help other Believers glorify Him now and forever. We teach one another so everyone knows how special God is and feels the joy of the Holy Spirit.”
Evan leans in.
“The Savior came to build a peaceful, abundant life for mankind,” he says. “Willing surrender can be beautiful if you choose a wise master. But mindless enslavement? That’s a weapon. False spiritual leaders use it to trap innocent children of God.”
He points at the screen, where the Basaltic Needle spears the ocean.
“Wisdom, virtue, self‑discipline, and mystic power grow best through apprenticeship,” he says. “A real teacher. Real practice. Mindless enslavement kills curiosity and freezes thought inside the book. Our Father wants powerful, co‑creative children like Himself—not perfectly useless servants.”
Abby exhales, loud and theatrical.
“Many people mistakenly believe in self‑transformation,” she says, dripping with pity. “The unsaved chase self‑improvement and self‑actualization instead of resting in faith and dependence on God. Building up your wisdom, virtues, and mystic powers is all about you. It doesn’t glorify God.”
She raises her chin.
“We must not be puffed up with pride over talents and abilities,” she says. “It’s easier to admit we’re worthless sinners until we’re made perfect.”
Evelyn, quiet until now, finally speaks.
“Becoming like their Father is the greatest compliment a child can give,” she says softly. “My Heavenly Father doesn’t stand back and expect others to pay His debts or give Him free housing. Apprentices need a burning motivation to embody virtues and practice the skills shown by their master.”
Abby brushes that aside.
“Absolvers need our Father’s friendship so He will care for us and remove our weaknesses,” she insists. “We hope He’ll like us more if we glorify Him with songs and praise. We proclaim God’s greatness and remind everyone of the Savior’s miracles.”
She looks around at them, eyes bright with fierce certainty.
“We offer our bodies as living sacrifices to please our Father,” she says. “We give thanks for His goodness and love. Our Father either loves a soul or hates it. Believers negotiate to stand on His loving side so we can experience His radiance.”
Onscreen, the Hum draws ripples around the Great Glass Plug.
The Earth holds back its fire with a single pillar.
In the lounge, the students hold back their potential with a pillar of enforced agreement.
Chapter 28: Evelyn Teaches Nurturing the Sacred Fire While Evan Details the Consequences of Misqualified Energy
Chapter 28: Evelyn Teaches Nurturing the Sacred Fire While Evan Details the Consequences of Misqualified Energy
Surrounded by the dark shadows of the lounge, Evelyn teaches nurturing the sacred fire while Evan details the consequences of misqualified energy. The lounge is darker today.
The main light comes from the wall monitor’s flickering map of the Mariana Hot Spot—red and orange thermal blooms swirling beneath the ocean. Outside, sulfur-heavy air smears itself across the glass.
Evan watches shadows slide across the floor.
So much of this world is about what you can’t see.
“What exactly is sin, Abby?” he asks quietly. “And when your Savior ‘takes it away’…where does it actually go?”
Abby answers without hesitation.
“Sin is a rebellious condition of the heart,” she says. “It leads to blindness and death. Admitting your shortcomings is only the first step. Sin is anything contrary to God’s will. You sin when you lie, when you do what He forbids, or when you fail to do what He commands. Either way, the result is eternal separation from our Cosmic Boss.”
Evan nods slowly.
“I’m familiar with misqualified energy,” he says. “Energy twisted by rebellion against cosmic law. Earth is a school. Working against the lesson plan creates negative karma. Break it down for me. Its components. Its structure.”
Abby’s tone softens, almost like she’s talking about a wounded friend.
“Sin is rejecting God’s identity and preferences,” she says. “It hurts His feelings. Sinners are unwanted and excluded from His presence. Sin is any action that harms our relationship with God or another person.”
Evelyn looks up, eyes intense.
“Ignorance of our Crystic potential keeps us from evolving,” she says. “Dragging around heavy sin‑karma and drowning in addictions separates us from divine masters. Lazy, corrupted humans radiate a low, dark vibration. They attract Tempters and parasites.”
Abby nods sharply.
“Sinful acts are defiance of God’s commands,” she says. “Sin itself is an attitude of defiance and hatred toward God.”
“But our divine Father didn’t invent the cosmic laws,” Evan counters. “He can’t break or ignore them. He wants us to grow our mystic potential within those boundaries.”
“Penalties from cosmic laws matter less than damaging our relationship with Him,” Abby insists. “Sinful consciousness puts you on His bad side. Only those on the forgiving side enter Heaven. Sinful Believers can still approach Him confidently and confess to renew that relationship.”
Diesel laughs from his beanbag, the sound dry as ash.
“I don’t get it,” he says. “If a sinful Believer shows up disguised as the Savior and confesses crimes, wouldn’t the Father laugh and accuse His Son of lying?”
Rev smirks.
“Maybe the Savior takes away His costume from the sinful until they patch things up,” he suggests.
“Without the Redeemer’s cloak, the Believer looks like any other sinner and gets rejected,” Evan says. The logic feels like a trap tightening shut.
Abby waves her hands, flustered.
“Stop. You’re mixing everything up. I can’t answer if you keep twisting it.”
She forces the topic sideways.
“Evil comes from disobedient, creative, free‑willed beings,” she says. “The Savior came to heal humanity’s pride and selfishness. Sins must be removed to make people whole. The body is sanctified by overcoming rebellion.”
Rev watches riot footage flash across the screen.
“Most of humanity still needs healing,” he says. “So either the Redeemer failed, or people slid right back into wickedness. Healing eight billion people would be the biggest miracle in history.”
Abby’s eyes gleam.
“The Redeemer is coming back, but not to heal,” she says. “Believers are already saved. The disobedient population will be eliminated. The wicked will be wiped out like vermin down to the fourth generation. The sins of the father will count against the children. I’m really looking forward to my Savior’s return.”
Diesel shudders.
“I heard there’ll be blood everywhere,” he mutters. “Screaming. Teeth.”
Evelyn ignores the gore and stares at the screen’s red glow.
“It’s about nurturing the sacred fire in our hearts,” she says. “Not wishful beliefs or costumes. God sees the virtuous flame in our auras, not our illogical expectations. The radiance of that heart‑fire forms a shield against the dark shadow self we built over lifetimes.”
Abby scoffs.
“None of that matters to Believers,” she says. “Absolvers are worthless shells filled and controlled by the Holy Spirit. My belief in the Savior authorizes a total makeover of the soul. My beliefs win me the mega‑lottery without buying a ticket. I don’t have to do anything but believe I’ll be made perfectly right.”
Rev looks at the red‑stained window and lets out a long breath.
“I hope that fantasy holds,” he murmurs, “when the bill comes due.”
Chapter 29: Evan Declares an Earthly Emergency and Instructs the Group to Act as War-Ship Souls
Chapter 29: Evan Declares an Earthly Emergency and Instructs the Group to Act as War-Ship Souls
Rejecting the idea that humanity is a plague, Evan declares an Earthly emergency and instructs the group to act as war-ship souls against corruption. The orange glow from the wall screen feels permanent now, like the lounge has moved inside the Mariana Hot Spot itself.
Outside, the Grey Year chokes the horizon. Inside, the ticker hums: MARIANA HOT SPOT: OCEAN TEMPERATURES STABILIZE AT 95°F
The Hum is a constant bass line, vibrating through floorboards and ribs like a buried drum.
Diesel watches footage of a coastline being eaten by the sea. Streets disappear under slow, unstoppable water.
“The Earth would be better off without people,” he says flatly. “We’re the pollution. Nature wants her planet back.”
Evan turns from the screen, a different fire in his eyes.
“That’s exactly what the Tempters want you to believe,” he says. “Divide and conquer. They slice humanity into teams and set them against each other. The real team is the divine family—the souls, not the species. Souls need wisdom, virtues, and mystic powers to contribute to that cosmic team.”
Abby scoffs, smoothing her blazer.
“Believers aren’t team players,” she says. “We’re useless servants.”
Rev doesn’t look up from his sketch of spinning wheels and broken halos.
“And Revolvers are just souls stuck on repeat,” he says. “Spin, die, spin, repeat.”
Diesel snorts.
“Dissolvers pretend to save the planet,” he adds, “while doing whatever feels good.”
Evan stands, pacing a small track between the beanbags. The air around him seems to hum in sync with the Earth’s core, a bright electric blue that Evan can almost see.
“The only real solution is the Truth,” he says. “The whole Truth. Nothing but the Truth. Once we align with it, God can actually help us.”
He stops, looking each of them in the eye.
“We’re in a long‑term war with unseen, nearly invulnerable enemies,” he says. “They’re doing everything they can to keep us from graduating from Soul School. Pretending there’s no war won’t change the battlefield.”
Abby lifts her chin.
“Every Believer gets some free Holy Spirit powers,” she says. “We use them to glorify God and recruit more Believers.”
“We’re supposed to master greater powers than the Savior showed,” Evan counters. “To assist the Creator—not just depend on Him for handouts.”
“I don’t need power,” Abby says, waving him off. “I’m encouraged to boldly approach my Father’s throne and ask for anything. He already knows exactly what I want.”
Evan presses past her dismissal.
“I declare an Earthly emergency,” he says. There’s something different in his voice now—a resonance that makes the Hum under their feet pause, just for a second. “We’re in a corruption crisis. We have to work together to reduce harm and counteract damage to attitudes. We need to shift from abusing sacred fire to drawing on purified Holy Spirit energy.”
He sketches something in the air with his hands.
“Think of your soul as a war‑ship,” he says. “Not a worshiper hiding on a mountain, but a ship of light—launching precision beams, P‑rays, into places of corruption, deception, and perversion. P‑rays can cut through illusion and rescue oppressed souls.”
Images stack up in his words: illusion pollution, astral grids trapping thought, humans wrapped in false righteousness like shadow armor.
“The corruption crisis is real,” Evan says. “It includes soul‑health risks, blocked investments of light and toxic emotional emissions. All of it.”
Abby tilts her head, tone slipping into political realism.
“Sanctified justice is a social, political, and environmental issue,” she admits reluctantly. “The poorest and most marginalized souls suffer most from corruption. The responsibility to address it rests with the students.”
Evan nods.
“Exactly,” he says. “Earth isn’t a playground. It’s a school for soul students.”
The Hum rises, pressing against the soles of their feet.
“By the authority of the Holy Spirit in me,” Evan says, “I claim Earth as a soul school for Evolvers. I call for the removal of wicked Tempters who oppose our graduation.”
Abby gasps, hand flying to her chest.
“You can’t pray for that,” she whispers. “Only the Creator decides who to glorify.”
On the screen, the seismograph leaps. The light fixtures rattle.
Outside, something massive shifts in the dark.
Inside, the war moves from theory into motion.
Chapter 30: Evan Categorizes Evolving and Dissolving Souls and Explains the Transmuting Violet Flame
Chapter 30: Evan Categorizes Evolving and Dissolving Souls and Explains the Transmuting Violet Flame
Watching the rising sea levels redraw the map, Evan categorizes evolving and dissolving souls and explains the transmuting Violet Flame. The Grey Year sun hangs like a tarnished coin, barely bright enough to prove it exists.
Far out in the Pacific, the Basaltic Needle continent juts from the ocean—a jagged forest of frozen lightning. Sea levels have risen by an inch and a half. The red lines on the news map redraw the edges of Miami and Jakarta like fresh scars.
The Hum continues: a subsonic growl of internal pressure pushing against the Great Glass Plug.
Onscreen, a flock of gulls lands on the vertical faces of Prometheia rock, like white flecks on a black blade.
“Souls can learn to control their dreams,” Evan says suddenly. His eyes stay on the screen, but his mind is elsewhere. “If that’s true, is it a sin to commit sins in your dreams?”
Rev shrugs, doodling spirals that warp into galaxies.
“If we create negative karma by committing imaginary crimes,” he says, “then virtuous dreams should earn good karma. As long as our dream score tilts positive, does it really matter?”
Diesel laughs, with a dry cough.
“I can’t control my dreams,” he says. “So I get no credit and no blame.”
He hums under his breath.
“He sees you when you’re sleeping, He knows when you’re awake…” he sings softly. “Fantasy violence doesn’t hurt imaginary victims. No harm, no foul. Dreams stay in my brain; nobody sees. Far as I know, the thought police don’t have access to REM data yet.”
Abby doesn’t look up from her tablet.
“Humans are sinful by nature,” she says. “So we sin in our dreams. I don’t need to control them. The Savior takes away all my sins.”
Evan leans forward, intensity flaring.
“Video games show every crime and horror we can invent,” he says. “Is it a sin to watch taboo acts on a screen? Why do Tempters work so hard to jam graphic violence and horror into everything?”
“There’s no real victim, so no real crime,” Diesel answers. “Pixels bleed. Who cares?”
“Two opposite images don’t cancel out,” Evan says. “Light and darkness don’t cancel each other out. Souls who lack wisdom misqualify holy energy without realizing it. Ignorance of alcohol, drugs or sugar doesn’t cancel their long‑term damage.”
Rev taps his temple.
“I want to know the difference between sin and negative karma,” he says. “Both come from selfish, harmful thoughts and deeds. But how does Heaven file the paperwork?”
Abby answers automatically.
“Sin is any thought, word, or action against the Father’s wishes,” she says. “The big book is the objective standard. If the text doesn’t mention an action—like AI or social media—we’re free to form personal opinions.”
Rev’s jaw tightens.
“Does the Savior erase an attitude or the entire past event?” he asks. “To remove a past event, you have to erase the cause, effect, record, and memory. I’d love to have all my future negative karma deleted before it returns.”
Abby shakes her head.
“There’s imputed sin, inherited sin, and personal sin,” she says. “Only Believers can be justified and have their sins taken away. Revolvers don’t qualify because they believe in reincarnation.”
Rev stiffens.
“Why can’t I be a revolving Believer?” he demands. “Heaven doesn’t need more talentless, obedient servants. I want to come back and serve my Creator in my next life with a clean, powerful body. My Heaven is Earth, in a new form.”
Diesel stands, shadow cutting across the thermal map.
“I’ll start an order of dissolving Believers,” he says. “If someone else carries my current sins, I’ll believe whatever I’m told. I’m here for pleasure, nothing else.”
“The sacred scripts don’t mention revolving‑Believers or dissolving‑Believers,” Abby warns. “There are only two options: Heaven or Hell.”
Rev grins.
“Great,” he says. “If we’re not mentioned, we’re free. I declare four afterlife paths: glorified Absolvers, revolving Absolvers, dissolving Absolvers, and non‑Believers.”
Diesel points at Evan.
“He should lead a guild of evolving Absolvers,” he says. “Graduated Evolvers would be wise, virtuous, fully empowered. Dissolvers will dissolve. Useless Believers get absolved. Revolvers get recycled. Evolvers run Heaven. The Creator and Savior finally get their vacation.”
Evan shakes his head.
“Soul students don’t want their sins taken away,” he says quietly. “They choose to transmute the corrupted energy and reclaim it purified. A soul can’t evolve if a benefactor keeps siphoning off their misused power.”
Abby narrows her eyes.
“Then I’ll upgrade my beliefs,” she says. “I’ll instruct my Savior to transmute my sins and return my energy. My Father can do anything, including upgrade me into a talented leader.”
“Wearing the Redeemer’s cloak won’t qualify you to lead,” Evan replies. “One lifetime doesn’t hold enough wisdom and power to manage a universe. There are only two real options: slavery or free will.”
Abby’s lips press together.
“It’s not fair that Evolvers get the best afterlife,” she says.
“Self‑realized beings drove out delusion,” Evan says. “They became self‑directed while aligned with the Holy Spirit. The Tempters’ own inner flames have shrunk to nearly nothing. Their corrupted consciousness will be dissolved in a lake of sacred fire.”
Rev leans in.
“What can Dissolvers, Absolvers, and Revolvers do to become Evolvers?”
Evan answers.
“Invoke the transmuting Violet Flame,” he says. “Launch rays of light against corruption. Become worthy to be filled with the Holy Spirit’s fire and gifts.”
Diesel squints at the screen.
“What’s the difference between the Creator and your Divine Father, anyway?”
Abby answers with her usual script about unborn souls inheriting original sin and a three‑headed God who made people to mow lawns and feed chickens.
Evan shakes his head.
“My understanding is different,” he says. “The Holy Spirit is in everything. We’re created as sons and daughters from the start. We don’t need to be adopted to be real. Our Christos‑self carries the Creator’s image and likeness. We become begotten when our soul fills with the Creator’s qualities.”
Rev stares at the ash‑filled sky.
“How do you measure an invisible soul?” he asks.
Evan steps toward the door. The blood‑red sunset etches him in silhouette.
“A soul’s health, wealth, wisdom, and power,” he says, “show through the human body it inhabits.”
The Hum underscores his words like a judgment.
Chapter 31: Evan and the Group Observe the New Eden and Realize Their Soul School Training Is Just Beginning
Chapter 31: Evan and the Group Observe the New Eden and Realize Their Soul School Training Is Just Beginning
Standing at the campus overlook as the world stabilizes, Evan and the group observe the New Eden and realize their soul school training is just beginning. The air outside the lounge is cool and gritty, every breath filled with microscopic glass.
Evan, Abby, Rev, Evelyn, and Diesel stand at the overlook at the edge of campus. Below them, the world flickers between ruin and rebirth.
The sky refuses to go dark. Instead, it glows a deep, bruised crimson—the blood‑red sunset of a planet that survived being stabbed.
Rev holds a tablet streaming the news. The reporter’s voice is steady, but her eyes look like she hasn’t slept since Prometheus rose.
“We are one week into the geological aftermath of the Prometheia event,” she says. Behind her, the Pacific seethes. “The Great Glass Plug—a thirty‑foot‑wide, mile‑deep pillar of obsidian—remains intact, a silent sentinel holding back the weight of the core.”
Evan watches the horizon and thinks of the old Needles of Light. Of experiments. Of consequences. He realizes the Earth has done what souls must do: when pierced, it built its own protective sleeve.
“Sea levels have risen an inch and a half,” Evelyn reports, scrolling through global displacement maps. “Miami, Jakarta…harbor lines redrawn. Every action has a displacement. Every choice leaves a scar.”
Abby doesn’t look at the data.
She stares at her reflection in the overlook glass instead, fingers brushing the invisible edges of her imagined Savior costume. She wonders if she’s actually being transformed—or just rehearsing lines for a final fast‑track judgment.
Her eyes keep scanning the sky, hunting for a sudden, easy exit.
Diesel shifts his weight and nods toward the ground.
“Feel that,” he says.
Even here—hundreds of miles from the Mariana Trench—they can feel it.
The Hum.
A low, steady thrumming rising from the deep. Not just noise now, but something like a heartbeat. Or a warning.
On the tablet, a drone flies over the new continent. Jagged vertical needles of obsidian stab upward from the boiling sea.
“They’re calling it a Dead Zone,” Rev says. “But look.”
He zooms in. Tiny shapes cling to the black glass.
“Bacteria. Birds,” he says. “First colonizers. The rock is loaded with core minerals. Give it time. This will be the most fertile land on Earth.”
“A new Eden,” Evan says softly.
He looks at his friends—at the way Abby clutches her book, the way Rev’s sketches grow sharper, the way Evelyn’s calm hides a fierce flame, the way Diesel masks fear with jokes.
He can see their souls the way he’s learned to see the core: pressure, cracks, glowing seams of potential.
The Grey Year isn’t a punishment, he realizes.
It’s the fire.
It’s the heat that burns away the shadow self and forces new roots to dig deeper, or snap.
The last smear of sun drops below the horizon, but the ash in the air still glows, holding the light.
Deep in his chest, Evan feels his own sacred fire expand, pressing against old limits.
The world has been plugged. The hemorrhage has stopped.
But for the souls standing on its surface, the true work of evolution—the real soul school—is only beginning.
Chapter Synopsis
Chapter Synopsis
Lord Blue and Lord Yellow observe wandering souls from an in-between balcony, discussing why the universal solution—joining Soul School to prepare for the afterlife entrance exam—is so frequently resisted by humans who expect a free instant upgrade, eternal vacation, or loophole from cosmic law. Later, Evan's dad sits down with Abby to explain the rigorous reality of the "cosmic résumé" and afterlife job skills, shattering her preconceived notions of an easy, unvetted heaven. Following this, Evan, Abby, Diesel, and Rev debate these spiritual truths in the high-school cafeteria, confronting human self-destructive behaviors, digital distractions, and the blind belief systems that prevent humanity from uniting under the banner of Soul School.
Core Themes & Laws
Core Themes & Laws
The Afterlife Entrance Appraisal: Heaven is not a socialist free-for-all vacation or an unvetted handout; souls are evaluated based on their merited health, wealth, mystic powers, and mastery of divine virtues and cosmic laws.
The Myth of the Instant Savior Loop: Expecting a Savior to bypass the entrance exam or wipe away a lifetime of unexamined attachments and addictions violates free will and the absolute physics of the universe.
The Cosmic Résumé and Self-Evaluation: Souls undergo a multi-life review and self-evaluation where they rate their own mastery of virtues and laws, acting as their own judges based on what they have actually achieved.
Human Self-Destruction and Resistance: Humanity frequently engages in self-sabotaging behaviors—such as destructive media, toxic substances, and ego-driven competition—because they ignore cosmic truths and default to passive or destructive paths.
Key Entities Featured in this Document
Key Entities Featured in this Document
Lord Blue: A high spiritual master whose aura shimmers like deep water, deeply concerned with the solution of Soul School and why wandering spirits fail to prepare for their afterlife appraisal.
Lord Yellow: A playful yet analytical master whose aura shimmers like sunlight, probing Lord Blue on the mechanics of the entrance exam, human potential, and cosmic law.
Evan's Dad: A mentor figure who guides Abby and Evan through the stark realities of cosmic résumés, afterlife job skills, and self-evaluation.
Abby: A student clinging to traditional, grace-based beliefs about an instant afterlife ticket who struggles with the realization that eternity requires active self-mastery.
Diesel and Rev: Classmates representing materialist skepticism and detached philosophical nihilism who challenge Evan's exploration of spiritual realities.
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