Chapter 4: The Mercy Loophole

Sweat soaks my body. How could the rules set me up for a no-win situation? I feel every drop sliding down my back, pooling at my waistband. The air is thick with fear and incense. My heart hammers, every muscle ready to snap.

The Redeemer seated in the center is the Yellow Browed King in disguise. I search his face for seams, a mask—anything. But his eyes are blank, the expression unreadable. I know the story: the true enemy always wears the holiest face.

If I kneel, I break the rule forbidding scripture-seekers from kneeling. The consequences ripple through my mind—lightning from above, maybe worse.

If I don’t kneel, I refuse Big Brother’s request. I glance at him, hoping for mercy, but all I see is hunger and expectation.

I look up at the dome. The being above the heavens seems intent on using the rules to kill me directly. Painted angels stare down, eyes following me. I wonder if, behind the paint, they’re laughing.

"Since you have seen the Redeemer, why do you not bow?" the false Redeemer intones. The voice is deep, echoing off the stone, more machine than man. The congregation of statues seems to lean in, waiting for my answer.

"Father, are you going to bow or not?" Big Brother’s eyes go red, wild, the kind you see in mugshots on the evening news. His voice is low, but there’s no mistaking the threat. He grips something inside his coat, knuckles white.

I murmur, "Lord have mercy," and bow, honest and open. The words slip out, half prayer, half surrender. My knees hit marble. For a heartbeat, I feel utterly alone. Then the world comes roaring back.

The Redeemer laughs, and the whole hall shakes. The holy figures’ faces twist into ecstatic grins. The laughter is horrible—high, wild. Statues’ grins stretch too wide. The shaking rattles my teeth. The others watch, entranced.

"Eh?" In the next moment, he lets out a confused sound, like he’s run into something he can’t process. For the first time, the Redeemer hesitates. The confusion is so human, I almost feel sorry for him—almost.

I stand unharmed, untouched. The silence is deafening. I blink—nothing happened. I’m alive. The others stare, mouths open, as if expecting me to burst into flames.

The new rule forbids scripture-seekers from kneeling. Wild Hair demanded I kneel. My mind races, trying to piece it together. There’s a loophole here, just out of reach.

But another rule: 【You are not Father Thomas.】 I hold onto it like a secret weapon.

I am not Father Thomas, so I’m not a scripture-seeker. I let the realization settle. The loophole is big enough to drive a semi through, and for the first time in hours, I smile.

What you forbid is for scripture-seekers—what does that have to do with me, a mere wage slave? I chuckle, the sound lost in the cavernous church. I’m just a bystander, swept into someone else’s nightmare.

I look up. The Redeemer on the altar glowers, roaring in fury. The sound rattles the windows. His hands twist into claws. For a second, I think he’ll leap down and tear me apart.

"You are not Father Thomas at all. Who are you?" His voice is ice water, echoing through the nave. The statues seem to turn, all eyes on me.

The Redeemer’s face darkens, blood and tears streaming down—ghastly as a haunted house prop. The sight is nightmarish, blood and tears mingling, dripping onto the altar.

Big Brother howls too, whipping a golden baseball bat from his coat, eyes on me with a hunger that makes my skin crawl. His eyes blaze, teeth bared. The bat glints in the sun, gold leaf flaking off. He looks at me like I’m the last slice of pizza at a frat party.

My heart pounds. I recall the final rule from entering The American Odyssey: 【Hide your true identity; you are not Father Thomas.】 I squeeze my fists, repeating it, hoping it’ll protect me.

I slowly rise, put my hands together, and smile: "Redeemer, this humble priest is Thomas Xavier, from the great city in the East…" My voice is steady, almost defiant. I force the smile to my eyes, praying it’s enough.

As soon as I say it, Big Brother’s eyes clear. He shields me, standing between me and the false Redeemer. Big Brother’s stance shifts—protective, blocking the Redeemer’s wrath. The others fall in behind. Relief washes over me, dizzying.

Success! I do a mental fist pump. By playing the rules, I’ve got Big Brother on my side.

The Redeemer roars, waves his hand, and he flicks his wrist—suddenly a giant golden bowl drops from nowhere, swallowing the ceiling like a UFO in a drive-in movie. The bowl is massive, glimmering gold, filling the ceiling. Shadows fall, swallowing the world whole. I barely have time to gasp.

Big Brother roars, Pete and Sam unleash their powers, but it’s useless. They charge—Big Brother swinging the bat, Pete snorting, Sam howling. The Redeemer barely flinches. The energy rebounds, slamming us back.

The four of us—priest and companions—are trapped together in the golden offering bowl. The world turns yellow and suffocating, light burning like a tanning bed set to high. The edges close in. All I hear is our collective, panicked breathing.