Two men sat at the counter of a bar, wearing white-collared shirts stained with sweat and drinking from tall glasses of beer. Behind the counter, hanging from the wall, there was a screen with footage playing on it that had been playing for the past few days. Despite having seen the images before, the two men were staring at the screen, their eyes transfixed on the golden giant releasing his son, a blonde-haired, blue-eyed man riding a glowing yellow pig, from his palm. “Go, my child,” the golden giant on the screen said.
One of the men nudged the other with his elbow. “Who do you think he’s talking about?” the man asked, his voice louder than it would’ve been if he were sober. “The dude riding the pig, or the pig?”
The other man guffawed. “Of course, it’s the pig,” he said and took a large gulp from his glass. “Does anyone actually believe this bullshit?”
“Hey, hey,” the first man said with a grin, “you can’t call it bullshit out loud. The Ark cultists will get offended.” The man swiveled on his stool to look around at the mostly empty bar before turning himself back towards the counter. “Just kidding. It’s temple time for them.”
“Temple time,” the second man said, repeating after the first man despite his eyes still staring at the screen. The display had shifted from the golden giant and Sam to the calamity that had threatened the capital not too long ago. It was an ugly thing with tendrils and holes covering its body, and it was humongous, ginormous even. “Do you think it was actually that big?”
“Hell no,” the first man said and shook his head. “If it were really that big, we would’ve been able to see it if we were aboveground, but they sent us to the shelters, so they have the liberty to make the calamity as big as they want to make it seem like they’re more impressive than they actually were.”
“Who’s they?” the second man asked.
“The six big companies, you dolt,” the first man said. “Who else? They control the media and everything we consume. Propaganda, man, haven’t you heard of it?” He pointed at the calamity spewing out minions on the screen. “Look at all those creatures its summoning. You think the three hundred or so awakened they sent to stop the calamity really cleared all of them up? There’re millions of those things, man, millions.”
“There are a lot,” the second man said, nodding his head as he agreed with his buddy.
“Yeah,” the first man said. “There’re so many of them, but not a single one of them reached the capital? Even after they defeated the big sucker, there should’ve been lots of those little ones left, but no one’s seen a single one in the vicinity. Why is that?”
“Because they were all killed, right?” the second man asked. “Later on, Sam controls the earth to capture all of them.”
“No, stupid,” the first man said. “No one found traces of any of those things despite there being millions of them because they didn’t exist in the first place. It’s all theater. Ark wants to portray itself in a good light, so they made up this whole fight.”
“But you’ve seen the temples,” the second man said. “They’re where the headquarters of the big companies used to be, and the headquarters are completely intact. They moved without breaking anything.”
“My ass, moved without breaking anything,” the first man said. “Do you know how much damage was done to the plumbing systems? Saamoohik is working for Ark now, and you know how fast those guys were at constructing new buildings. Zahir probably severed the buildings, and a whole bunch of employees shifted them around at night. You know the saying a long enough lever can move the world; shifting buildings is chump work for Saamoohik.”
“What about bringing the dead back to life?” the second man asked.
“The whole thing was theater,” the first man said and took a swig from his glass, “the whole thing. No one actually died. Does it make sense for someone to bring back the dead from a pile of bone shards? Where the hell has he been if he can do that?” The first man pointed at the screen where Sam was riding a flying pig, facing down the Surtakatul from a dramatic angle, his back facing the viewer with the calamity roaring with its massive mouths. “We’d have heard of him a long time ago as a miracle doctor; he’d cure every ailment in the world by killing the patient and bringing them back to life.”
“If you listen to what the preachers say—”
“Have you actually stopped to listen to those guys?” the first man asked, cutting his buddy off. “They’re crazies shouting at you on the streetcorner, telling you you’ll go to hell if you don’t put your faith in Sam, some dude who showed up out of nowhere. I’m telling you; it’s a grift.”
“I don’t know,” the second man said and scratched his head before picking up his cup and taking a drink. “There’s a lot of temples going up.”
“Built by the suckers who fell for the grift,” the first man said and finished the last of his drink. He sighed and placed down his glass before leaning back. “Well, even if we see the truth, it’s not like we can do anything about it.”
The second man nodded. “Work is still work,” he said. “The boss is different, but the pay stays the same.” He scratched his head. “What if we join the cult and pretend to be devout believers? If we make it to the top of the scheme, won’t we strike it rich?”
“You want to be a grifter?” the first man asked. “With your intelligence? Good luck.”
“But you could do it,” the second man said and finished his drink as well. “I’ll just follow you.”
“I’m not going to cheat people of their money and time,” the first man said and snorted. He stood up and waved at the bartender to close out his tab. Once his drinks were paid for, he patted the second man’s shoulder. “I’ll see you around.”
“Yeah,” the second man said, nodding at the first man before focusing his gaze back on the screen. The Surtakatul was roaring as Sam telekinetically ripped its leg off, and the man took a swig from his glass. “Man, that’s awesome. I wish I could do that.”
The bartender nodded in agreement. “I heard you have to unlock your crown chakra and solar plexus chakra to learn telekinesis,” she said, “but even then, it takes several years to move something as heavy as a pencil. I can’t imagine how many years of training it’d take to pick up something as large as that ugly thing’s leg.”
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“Really?” the second man asked. “Sam doesn’t look that old. He looks younger than me.”
The bartender stared at her customer and refrained from commenting lest she lose her tip. It’d be hard to find someone older looking than the man in front of her unless they had a head full of gray hairs and a face filled with wrinkles. “Either Sam’s a genius, or he got lucky with his talent,” the bartender said. “I’m more inclined to believe he’s lucky with his talents because he does a lot of incredible things during the fight.”
“You think it’s real?” the customer asked. He gestured at the screen. “Everything that’s on it?”
“I know it’s real,” the bartender said. “One of my cousins is an employee at Carbon Peak, and she told me all about the fight. She says the scenes you see up there don’t do it justice; it’s much scarier to see those ugly gremlins running at you in person.”
The customer squinted at the bartender. “Are you an Ark cultist?”
The bartender snorted. “If that’s what you want to call me,” she said, “but I’m not ashamed. I’ve been to the temples, and I’ve seen miracles happen in person.” Her eyes seemed to glaze over as she stared up at the ceiling. “I suppose you can’t call them miracles if they can be done on command.”
“What kind of miracles did you see?” the man asked and finished his drink. He pushed the glass closer to the bartender. “Another, please.”
The bartender picked up the glass and stowed it away, turning her back on the customer. “I’ve been visited in my dreams,” she said while preparing another order for the man. “I had a few questions about my relationship, and an angel cleared up my doubts while I was sleeping. If you go to the temple of Nwaps and get a blessing from the bishop there, you can get a guardian angel of your own.”
“Really?” the customer asked. “Angels?” He took the drink the bartender handed him and brought the glass up to his lips, talking a long gulp. Recently, he did feel a little lost in life, and if going to a temple could get him an angel capable of clearing up his thoughts, wasn’t it worth a shot? “Are you sure it’s not someone tricking you with their talent?”
“If they are, then it’s very convincing,” the bartender said. “I doubt it’s someone pretending to be an angel though; all the temple asks of you is to consciously pray to Nwaps for fifteen minutes a day. There’s no monetary cost, and if you don’t like what the angel is saying, or if you don’t believe them, you can always choose to ignore their words.”
“Fifteen minutes a day?” the customer asked. “That’s all it takes for an angel to show up in your dreams? What kind of guidance do they bring?”
The bartender shrugged. “I heard it’s different for everyone,” she said, “and that makes sense, doesn’t it? Everyone has different priorities in life, so the advice people receive should be different as well.” The bartender wiped the counter and nodded at the man. “You should check it out. The temples are open at all hours.”
“The temple of Nwaps, you said?” the man asked. “What about the other temples? Have you been to those?”
“I haven’t,” the bartender said. “I already found what I needed at the temple of Nwaps. Head to the plaza, and if you’re fated for a temple, maybe someone will appear to guide you to it.”
The man scratched his head. Recently, it felt like life’s difficulty had increased. The talented awakened had vanished—likely due to a series of kidnappings by a foreign race—and as a result, prices of common goods went up. Without the awakened to secure the surroundings, basic necessities were harder to come by. He wasn’t exactly sure how the logistics of it worked, but that’s what the stores claimed when questioned as to why their prices had increased so much—most people ignored the fact the stores reported record profits in the midst of the trying times. Along with the rising prices of goods, his rent had increased, which didn’t make any sense to him because people had gone missing, so why didn’t landlords decrease the rent to find people to fill the new vacancies? Of course, the landlords claimed the prices of goods went up, so they had to increase the rent, so they could still live comfortably with the new prices of the basic necessities.
“How about a temple for wealth?” the man asked. “Are there any deities that’ll make me rich if I pray to them?”
The bartender shrugged. “Like I said,” she said, “go to the plaza, and if you’re destined to receive help from the divine, then you’ll find it there.”
The man lowered his head and stared at his glass. After thinking for a bit, he drank the whole thing in one go, letting the bitter aftertaste wash through his mouth. He let out a belch and nodded. “Close my tab,” he said. Although he was drunk and it was extremely late a night, he didn’t think it was a bad time to visit the plaza since the bartender said they were open at all hours. Maybe, a miracle was waiting for him in the plaza, and if there wasn’t one, well, it wasn’t like he’d lose anything for simply checking the place out. When he finished paying for his bill, he exited the bar and made his way to the plaza, walking because it’d save him some cash.
When the man arrived at the plaza, he took a look around to make sure he was in the right place. He had been to the main plaza plenty of times before, but it had changed a lot compared to the plaza in his memories. The skyscrapers that used to blot out the sky were no longer there, replaced with one-story buildings with lush gardens. There was even a small lake where a parking lot used to be, and even from his spot at the plaza, he could see the glimmering of red and golden scales belonging to the fish underneath the surface. Was that where the miracle was located? If he managed to nab one of those plump suckers, tomorrow’s dinner would be set.
The man walked to the edge of the lake and looked around to see if anyone had happened to leave some fishing gear behind, but he didn’t see anything he could use to catch the fish. He didn’t see anyone present either; even if the temples were open at all hours, that didn’t mean people were going to be there in the middle of the night on a workday. The man stared at the water for a bit before taking off his shoes and socks, placing the latter into the former. He rolled up his pant legs and dipped his foot into the lake.
“How drunk are you?” a mechanical voice asked from behind the man, causing him to flinch and almost fall into the water. “In what world do you think this is a good idea?”
The man awkwardly hopped backwards and turned around, placing his wet foot on the ground. His brow furrowed, and he looked down, his gaze meeting a pair of pitch-black eyes. The eyes were glossy, and the light from the nearby temple was reflected in its sclera. The grayling pointed at the man. “Yes,” it said, “I’m talking to you. Were you thinking of catching those fish to eat for dinner? They’re not public goods, you know; you’d be committing a crime.”
The man swallowed. He knew what these short creatures were. They could often be spotted working for the big six companies as interns of sorts. Personally, he thought they were creepy, but he wasn’t going to be intimidated by something half his height. “No,” he said, “I was just washing my feet.”
“This isn’t a public bath,” the grayling said, “however, we do provide free accommodations in Joe’s temple.”
“Joe’s temple?” the man asked and looked behind the grayling. Joe was an archaic name that had fallen out of use since a little before the cataclysm. Joe’s temple looked like a regular house, but there were pillars holding up a flat roof around the building as if a patio encircled the whole site. The bartender had said someone might guide him to where he needed to go, and it seemed like Joe’s temple was his destination. “If I pray to Joe, can he make me rich?”
“Joe can do even more than that,” the grayling said and turned around. “Why don’t you follow me? I’ll show you around.” As it walked, the grayling continued speaking. “Rather than making you money, Joe will show you the proper way to exist. One shouldn’t chase after money. Oterra is meant to be enjoyed; life shouldn’t be stressful.”
The man scratched his head as he followed after the grayling, not forgetting to bring his socks and shoes with him. It wasn’t like he was chasing after money; he needed it to survive, but it didn’t feel right explaining such things to a grayling. Maybe, once he was inside, he’d meet a bishop or someone who descended from the heavens like an angel. Suddenly, the man felt a bit silly for coming to the plaza, but since he was already at a temple’s doorstep, what did he have to lose by going inside?