892 | Kissing Talismans

892 | Diesel Sells Copper Medals and Explains Wish-Craft to Abby, Rev, and Evan

Chapter 1: Diesel Sells Blank Copper Medals and Explains Wish-Craft

As Diesel sells blank copper medals and explains wish-craft to the gathered students, the afternoon heat amplifies the courtyard's restless energy. The afternoon sun beats down on the school courtyard, bouncing off pale concrete and turning the air into a wavering haze.

In the middle of it, Diesel stands behind a folding table draped in dark velvet like it’s his personal altar. Laid out in perfect rows are dozens of copper disks, each one punched through with a neat, empty circle in the center.

The metal glints in the light.

So do Diesel’s eyes.

“Diesel’s holey medals!” he calls, voice slicing through the courtyard noise.

Abby, Rev, and Evan drift closer with the rest of the crowd. Curiosity pulls them in; experience tells them to be wary.

“I’ve got a new product to protect your soul from her enemies,” Diesel announces.

Abby stops at the edge of the table, frowning. She remembers plenty of Diesel’s speeches about how humans are just meat and chemistry.

“I thought you didn’t believe in souls,” she says, crossing her arms.

Diesel doesn’t blink. He lifts one of the disks, feeling its weight.

“I still don’t,” he says. “But my customers do. So I can serve their needs.”

He smiles. To him, the soul is just another market.

Rev leans in, studying the copper.

“Has your product actually been tested?” he asks. There’s that edge in his voice—the one that cuts through hype.

Diesel laughs once.

“Why would it need to be?” he says. “My product only works if you believe it works. If it fails, that’s on you. Not me.

“Raise belief,” he adds. “Lower skepticism. Problem solved.”

To him, it’s the perfect design: all risk on the customer, no refunds required.

Abby ignores the theory and focuses on the object.

“What exactly are you selling?” she asks.

“I’ve created a series of round copper disks with a hole through the middle,” Diesel explains, holding one up so sunlight burns through the empty circle. “They look like coins with a huge hole. Each one has special words on it. That’s what makes my tokens unique.”

Evan steps forward for the first time, eyes cool.

“Amulets and medals have existed forever,” he says. “What’s special about yours—besides the hole, which makes them cheaper to produce?”

Diesel grins.

He taps his phone, propped up on a stand where everyone can see it.

“My talisman tokens are symbolic links to a database on your phone,” he says. “The phone holds photos and descriptions of your wishes.

“The key is naming the folder the same as the words on your amulet,” he continues, leaning in as if sharing a sacred secret. “Do that, and you get exactly what you wish for.”

In Diesel’s mind, desire is just a file system waiting to be indexed.

Evan’s expression hardens.

“Wish‑craft is a cousin of witchcraft,” he says flatly. “Depending on wishes to structure your life instead of work and wisdom is… dangerous.”

Diesel pretends not to hear.

He gestures to a stack of unengraved disks.

“My most popular tokens are blank,” he says. “Users write whatever they want.”

Students lean closer. The idea of writing their own fate on cool, shining metal is irresistibly theatrical.

Diesel watches their faces and sees it: that tiny flicker of hunger.

The hook is in.

Chapter 2: Diesel Explains How Kissing Medals Replaces Studying for Abby and Evelyn

When Diesel explains how kissing medals replaces studying for Abby and Evelyn, the academic anxiety of the crowd suddenly finds a tempting, effortless outlet. Evelyn joins the edge of the group, her presence instantly changing the feel of the circle. Where others buzz, she feels still—focused, alert.

She studies a blank medal, turning it between her fingers.

“How can these have ‘magic powers’ if the wearer just writes whatever they want?” she asks.

Diesel smiles like he’s been waiting for that question.

“Some of my customers write things like ‘I believe in everything,’ or ‘I don’t know, I don’t care, I’ll find out when I get there,’ or ‘Laws are designed to be broken,’” he says.

He shrugs.

“I tell them to be patient,” he says. “Sometimes the magic takes ten years.”

He scoops up a handful of medals and lets them clink together.

“You can stack multiple holey medals on a chain,” he goes on, sliding several disks onto a cord. “The more you wear, the more control you have over your life.

“To activate an amulet,” he adds, “you speak your phrase while kissing or licking the edge. That reinforces belief. Then you keep chanting: ‘I believe in everything,’ and spin the token as often as you want.”

Evan makes a face.

“Constantly kissing random copper is disgusting,” he says. “You know how many germs live on those?”

Diesel dismisses hygiene with a flick of his wrist.

He senses the crowd’s real need and shifts pitches.

“The foolish,” he announces loudly, “can gain comprehensive lenience on their failed tests once per day.”

Heads turn.

“Total remission of bad grades,” he says, “requires three easy steps:

1. Chant ‘I believe in everything.’

2. Kiss your holy talisman.

3. Adore the teacher who graded your test.

“And,” he adds, “you must be completely detached from actually understanding the class.”

Abby jolts at that.

Her recent science quiz flashes in her mind—red marks, wrong answers, a silent, heavy F at the top.

“How do I get comprehensive lenience,” she asks quietly, “and an automatic passing grade?”

Diesel’s tone turns priest‑like.

“Passing grades are granted to the faithful,” he says. “Recite the phrase. Kiss the medal. You can do it alone or with others in the morning assembly.

“It helps if you adore and obey Principal Pent during his half‑hour morning meeting,” he continues. “He loves it when pupils hand their souls over to his ‘care and protection.’

“You can even clear your permanent record,” he adds, “by devoutly joining the daily group chant, ‘I Believe in Everything,’ on my morning podcast. If you can’t remember the words, just listening is enough.”

Abby chews her lip.

“How do I atone,” she asks, “for not studying for my science test?”

“Neglecting to pay attention,” Diesel says solemnly, “is punished by failure. But you can make amends.

“First, apologize in adoring tones,” he says. “Chant, ‘I’m sorry, please give me a passing grade.’

“Second, sacrifice your hard‑earned money,” he adds. “Buy holy medals to kiss.”

Abby nods slowly.

“I’ve heard,” she says, “that dropping to your knees and rubbing your palms together helps.”

Diesel’s grin widens.

“Excellent addition,” he says. “You can also bang your forehead on the floor. That shows extra sincerity.

“Once you wash off the blood,” he says cheerfully, “your teacher will probably curve your grade.”

Evelyn’s eyes flash.

“Blood sacrifice doesn’t make you smarter,” she says sharply.

But several students are already picturing themselves kneeling, chanting, kissing copper instead of cramming for finals.

And the idea feels easier.

Too easy.

Chapter 3: Diesel Claims Principal Pent's Past Suffering Gives Students Passing Grades

As Diesel claims Principal Pent's past suffering gives students passing grades, the gathered teens eagerly embrace the concept of unearned academic salvation. The sun tilts lower. Shadows lengthen. The crowd thickens.

Diesel wipes sweat from his forehead, but his confidence never wavers.

He sees something in their eyes he can work with: guilt.

“Your teachers could give failing students an A whenever they want,” Diesel declares. “Instead, they demand satisfaction first. Reparation. Penance, before mercy.”

Abby flinches at the word failing.

“Someone has to pay the price,” she blurts.

Diesel nods like a patient theologian.

“Exactly,” he says. “When you break a rule, someone has to suffer to restore balance.

“In our case,” he continues, “that ‘someone’ is Principal Pent.”

A murmur runs through the crowd.

“Pent sacrificed his childhood,” Diesel says. “He voluntarily gave up being a carefree teen, submitted to hours of homework, tests, and stress.

“He graduated,” Diesel adds, “and through his suffering, he satisfied the Board of Education. His perfect record atoned for the laziness and disobedience of this entire student body.

“By virtue of his graduation,” he says, “all of you are restored to a state of academic grace.”

Students breathe out, some laughing nervously. The idea that someone else’s transcript covers their mess is… comforting.

“The unity of the student body,” Diesel goes on, “lets you add your chants, kisses, and sacrifices to strengthen Principal Pent’s past sufferings.

“Every time you perform the ritual,” he says, “you help repay the ‘debt’ to the Board on behalf of everyone.

“Because of this,” he concludes, “the school can graduate students who never actually passed their tests.”

Abby’s brain catches up.

“So you’re saying,” she says slowly, “that Pent’s academic credibility lets him hand out diplomas to people who never learned anything.

“He did the hard work once,” she continues, “so we don’t have to. That proves being in charge isn’t worth it. We can be low‑stress, low‑income, and still be ‘covered’ by his excellence.”

Diesel spreads his hands.

“Exactly,” he says.

A cheer rises.

“We want to be young, dumb, and happy forever!” the crowd chants. “Wisdom hurts more than it helps!”

Evan stands at the edge, feeling his stomach drop.

“Students are spending their savings on your charms instead of learning or investing,” he says. “You’re selling them permanent weakness.”

Diesel doesn’t flinch.

“My talismans are excellent long‑term passive investments,” he replies smoothly. “There’s some chance a wish might accidentally come true. That’s more than you get from a textbook.”

Evelyn picks up one of his pamphlets. Tiny text at the bottom catches her eye.

“It says here,” she reads, “some buyers complain the medals don’t work fast enough.”

Diesel chuckles.

“They just need more patience,” he says. “Especially until I’ve sold out inventory.

“The fine print,” he adds, “says wish fulfillment may take up to fifty years.”

He pats a sleek black box on the table.

“But don’t worry,” he adds quickly. “I’ve designed an advanced line of holey medals. Early research suggests these are faster.

“Order now,” he says grandly, “and join the groundbreaking study proving that wishes on holy charms might sometimes work.”

His grin reveals the real secret: for him, the only guaranteed miracle is a steady flow of cash.

Chapter 4: Evelyn and Evan Warn Against Controlling Others Through Wish-Craft

While Evelyn and Evan warn against controlling others through wish-craft, Diesel directs his followers toward a series of ritualistic stations. The courtyard air grows thicker—charged by teenage hope, fear, and the promise of shortcut miracles.

Diesel senses the momentum and raises his arms.

“We want to wish our way to socialist happiness!” a cluster of students shouts, half‑joking, half‑hungry.

Diesel beams.

“Then step into the temple,” he says.

He sweeps an arm toward the school building.

“I’ve set up fourteen wishing stations in the main hallway,” he announces. “You walk past each poster while spinning, kissing, and licking your talisman.

“These stations represent the fourteen initiations of your suffering,” he continues. “Walk the path. Recite the slogans. Meditate on Principal Pent’s passion and dedication, and your life will be wonderful.”

He notes some faces blanking at the mention of reading.

“For faithful students who never really learned to read,” he adds quickly, “it’s enough to look at the cartoons while someone else reads the words.

“If you’re late,” he says, “just imagine you did the ritual. The universe counts that too.”

A few kids laugh. More nods, relieved at the flexibility of this god.

Evelyn’s jaw tightens.

To her, this isn’t just silly.

It’s dangerous.

“Wish‑craft is a misuse of power,” she says, loud enough for nearby students to hear. “It comes from the lower self, not the divine self.

“It uses mental force,” she continues, “to manifest human ego desires: fame, glamour, money, control over another person.

“When you do that,” she says, “you’re basically telling the universe your tiny human mind knows better than your Crystic Conscience.

“You might get results,” she adds, “but they tie you tighter to the physical world. They don’t free your soul.”

Diesel scoffs.

“Why attack the desires that motivate me?” he asks. “Ambition feeds progress.”

Evan steps forward.

“I avoid wish‑craft for one main reason,” he says. “The source.

“We’re supposed to respect free will,” he adds. “Ours and everyone else’s.

“When you use mental and emotional pressure to bend someone else’s thoughts or actions to your will, you cross a line.

“You break a sacred law.”

Diesel’s eyes flash.

“So what?” he snaps. “I can do whatever I want.”

Evan doesn’t flinch.

“Any time you try to control someone else’s energy,” he says, “even ‘for their own good,’ you slide into black magic.

“You shatter your own protection,” he continues. “You tear holes in your soul shield.

“You basically rewrite the rules around you,” he says. “If you play ‘control others,’ other forces suddenly have permission to play ‘control you.’

“You end up in a game where you either dominate or get enslaved.”

Diesel’s jaw tightens.

“I don’t care,” he says. “As long as I’m the one in control.”

Abby shivers.

“I’d rather let my Savior control everything,” she whispers. “It’s easier that way.”

Rev stares at the ground.

“My past karma controls most of my life anyway,” he murmurs. “I don’t feel like I get a vote.”

Evelyn draws a slow breath.

“Wish‑craft often means mentally commanding people to behave how you want,” she says. “Or dragging resources to yourself that might not be meant for you.

“You’re fully responsible,” she warns, “for everything you force to happen, even if you don’t foresee the fallout.

“The human mind can’t see the full picture,” she continues. “A wish that feels perfect today might block your growth tomorrow—or crush someone else.”

Diesel lifts his chin.

“Life is a kill‑or‑be‑killed competition,” he declares. “Strike first. Strike hard. Win.

“I pledge allegiance to the leftist, socialist progressive leaders,” he adds theatrically, “and to the agenda for which they stand.”

Evan watches him, seeing the thin, sharp path he’s choosing.

“The selfish human ego cares about pleasure and trophies,” Evan says quietly. “Not soul evolution.

“With wish‑craft,” he adds, “you walk off the soul‑mastery path and into a survival jungle. Alone.

“You step away from your true allies, and toward the ones who want to own you.”

Chapter 5: Evelyn Explains Divine Precipitation While Soul Students Pray for Everyone

As Evelyn explains divine precipitation while soul students pray for everyone, the contrast between selfish manipulation and spiritual balance becomes undeniably clear. Shadows from the school building stretch long across the courtyard. The heat eases, but the tension doesn’t.

Diesel senses the moment and opens the black box.

Inside, nestled in dark foam, the advanced talismans gleam like tiny copper halos.

“My upgraded holey talismans,” he proclaims, “trigger empowered negative emotion to repel anyone who threatens your freedom. They disarm opponents. They mark you as untouchable.”

He believes every word.

Evelyn shakes her head.

“If a manifestation steals balance from somewhere else,” she says, “or hijacks another person’s free will, the karmic backlash comes straight for you.”

Diesel lifts a medal high.

“These charms bring good luck and repel evil,” he insists. “Your belief powers them.

“Their graces and favors,” he says, “come from your faith when you kiss and lick them.

“My company,” he adds, “provides initial benefits to early adopters.

“And,” he says loudly, “a plenary indulgence—a total clearing of all wrongdoings—is granted to anyone who kisses, touches, or reveres my advanced talismans.”

The words hang in the air like a shiny lie.

Evelyn looks at the students.

“Manifestations from human wish‑craft,” she says, “are not anchored in eternal holy spirit fire.

“They run on volatile emotion,” she explains. “When your feelings crash or your focus breaks, the results unravel. Sometimes they even rot into burdens.

“Divine feelings are different,” she continues. “They’re steady. They don’t swing from euphoria to hatred overnight.”

Rev’s voice is very soft.

“What’s the alternative?” he asks.

Evelyn’s face softens.

“Divine precipitation,” she says, “is when blessings come down in harmony with cosmic law.

“They bring peace,” she explains, “and don’t demand constant mental strain.

“Spoken prayers and fiats,” she goes on, “are spiritual commands issued by your higher Crystic Conscience—not your panicked ego. They have to align with cosmic law to work.

“Soul students build real relationships,” she adds, “with graduate masters who see what’s best for you and others.

“They help you invest your time and energy wisely,” she says. “A tenfold return. Not a cheap thrill.”

Section 1: Diesel Offers Love Tokens and Evan Warns About Necromancy

When Diesel offers love tokens, and Evan warns about necromancy, the crowd's desires clash sharply with the reality of cosmic laws. Diesel hears her—but he also hears something louder: the pulse of raw desire all around him.

“Love tokens,” he announces, pivoting, “help you get the girlfriend or boyfriend you want.”

A sharp ripple runs through the younger teens.

“It’s not real romance,” Evelyn counters, “if the other person never had a choice. That’s hypnosis, not love.

“Soul students,” she says, “project peace and healing—not manipulation. We pray that people trapped in deception are freed. Not renamed as prizes.”

Diesel speeds up.

“My fantasy charms,” he says, “create illusions of beauty, wealth, fame, and success.”

“Living in a fairy tale,” Evan says flatly, “always ends the same way. Reality shatters it.”

“My persuasion tokens,” Diesel barrels on, “help you read minds. Make people do your bidding. You can learn to slip into their thoughts. Even control their bodies.”

A few kids stare at him, uneasy.

“I also sell charms for happiness, good luck, and free stuff,” he says. “You can send messages to the dead. Attract ghosts. Use discarnate spirits. Even take control of supernatural beings.”

Now, even some of his fans look nervous.

Evan’s eyes turn flinty.

“Necromancy is a dangerous two‑way street,” he says. “If you lose control over what you summon, it can seize control of you.

“Trying to use demons for selfish gain,” he continues, “corrupts your auric shield. You tear down the borders protecting your soul.

“You basically put up a sign that says, ‘Come in, do what you want.’

“Soul students,” he adds, “work to break those enslaving influences—not invite them.”

Section 2: Soul Students Pray for Wisdom, Health, Wealth, and Peace

As soul students pray for wisdom, health, wealth, and peace, the courtyard settles into the quiet aftermath of the day's debate. The sun finally slips below the horizon. The courtyard dims into blue twilight.

Students drift away in clusters—some clutching copper, some quiet, thinking, some laughing it off.

Evan, Evelyn, Rev, Abby, and a few others stand together, not in a tight circle, but close enough that their intentions overlap.

They don’t hold up tokens.

They hold something else.

Soul students pray for:

• Wisdom, so people recognize real and fake guidance.

• Health, so fear of sickness can’t be weaponized.

• Wealth, so fewer souls feel forced into survival crimes.

• The disciplined use of willpower so that fewer people fall for shortcuts.

They ask for:

• Peace between individuals and nations.

• An end to pointless wars.

• Protection from pandemics and weaponized fear.

They don’t pray for one group against another.

They pray for everyone.

Across the courtyard, Diesel snaps his black box shut. The copper medals rattle softly as he packs them away.

Some students walk home with their “holey” tokens warm in their palms, the metal promising shortcuts.

Others walk away with something invisible instead:

A quiet resolve.

A sharpened conscience.

A seed of suspicion toward anything that demands they give up their freedom in exchange for an easy fix.

The velvet‑covered table folds up.

But the real booth—where every soul chooses between hollow copper rings and living light—stays open.

Inside each of them.

Diesel sets up a folding table in the school courtyard to sell blank copper disks with holes in the center called "hole medals" or talismans, which he claims protect souls and grant wishes when paired with a phone database. He explains "wish-craft," telling students they can bypass studying and get automatic passing grades by kissing their talismans, chanting slogans, and adoring Principal Pent. Diesel further argues that the student body is absolved of their academic failures because Principal Pent suffered through his own education, thereby covering their debts to the Board of Education.

Evan and Evelyn strongly push back against Diesel's scheme:

• Wish-Craft as Manipulation: Evan and Evelyn warn that wish-craft is a dangerous cousin of witchcraft and a misuse of mental force designed to satisfy the human ego, seek fame, and control other people's free will.

• Spiritual Consequences: Evan explains that trying to bend someone else's energy crosses a sacred law, shatters personal protection, tears holes in the soul shield, and drags people into a survival jungle where they are either dominated or enslaved.

• Divine Precipitation vs. Force: Evelyn contrasts selfish wish-craft with "divine precipitation," noting that true blessings come down in harmony with cosmic law through higher Crystic Conscience and graduate masters, rather than volatile human emotions.

Despite Diesel expanding his product line to include love tokens, mind-reading charms, and items to summon discarnate spirits, Evan warns against the dangers of necromancy and breaking soul boundaries. Ultimately, while some students leave with copper charms, Evan, Evelyn, Rev, and Abby conclude the day by praying collectively for genuine wisdom, health, peace, and the disciplined use of willpower instead of relying on hollow shortcuts.