The Tale of Junazahite: Dance with the Devil

Chapter Thirteen: The Truth

Support the regime of Junazahitists to enlighten Junazahite's heart. Make yourself worthy of salvation, believers.

(Not from the original version of the Book of Al-Kalaam.)

John threw himself on the cold, unyielding mattress bed, frustrated. He had only just realized that by founding his religion, he had undirectly helped establish 'The Republic of Survavlists'. Every crime they had committed against the people was tied to his name and his fault. He didn't desire to feel guilty, but he couldn't help himself. His strings of thoughts were madly tangled, and even though he was aware of so many things, it was still not enough.

He squeezed his eyes shut, worried about the anonymous traitor. On the other hand, he was hoping he would have another vision. But he didn't, only watching darkness under his closed lids, as he drifted into uneasy sleep.

After what felt like an eternity, he opened his eyes. everything was blurry and vague, his surroundings hazy and undefined. He tried to look around, but his neck felt still, heavy as stone. Slowly, his vision sharpened: a dim light casting long shadows over a figure seated patiently before him, arms folded. Only then did he realize he wasn't lying down—he was in a chair, moveless.

He tried to move a muscle, but he couldn't feel his body. The only thing he could control was his gaze, his pupils darting in search of escape. Fear had washed over him, for he was paralyzed.

The man who was sitting in front of him was old and had a weird imperial beard, his long silver hair brushing his shoulders. He wore an immaculate white suit that shone mercilessly in the dim room. But unlike his suit, John knew his soul was darker than the Ultimate Abyss. He was the embodiment of cruelty, Leader Farib.

"Now you can speak," Farib said gently, pressing a button on a sleek white controller in his hand. His voice was soft, almost tender, like a storyteller telling a story in the middle of a summer night. But to John, it sounded threatening and dreadful. He had never felt this way when he listened to his speeches before. He could hear his heart panting relentlessly. What was going on?

In an instant, he gained control of his mouth, as though a switch had been flipped, bringing him back online. He swallowed hard and managed to say, "Where am I?" Relief flickered through him that he wasn't completely paralyzed. "Why are you here?"

His effort to sound strong and threatening was a total failure, his voice ruthlessly betraying him. He couldn't stop breathing hysterically, desperately wanting to run away from him.

"Junazahite himself," he murmured, studying the Savior intently with those devilish, soulless navy-blue eyes. "It's an honor, My Lord."

His tone was sarcastic. Why wasn't he afraid of him? After all, he was before the Almighty Junazahite!

"Get me out of here!" John commanded seriously, trying to move his arms, his legs—anything.

"I'm afraid I can't," he tilted his head with a condescending smile "You are paralyzed, my Savior."

He didn't take John as seriously as others, as though he was an imposter rather than a divine figure. Only if he could use his power...

"It can't be!" John snapped, feeling his face flush with frustration. He tried to frown, but his eyebrows stayed still.

"Turns out, the vital parts of your body can't heal themselves," Farib said proudly, his lips twisting into a sinister grin. "My healers discovered this when you were unconscious. They severed your spinal cord and attached it to this." He lifted the sleek white remote, flashing it like a prized trophy. "The Controler. I doubt you know what it is. I'll show you, then."