Tokyo: The Player Behind the Scenes.

Chapter 288, Section 34: The Almighty Lord

A suburban church in Texas
It was midday, and sunlight streamed through the stained glass windows, casting dappled patterns on the church's stone floor.

Father Geoghan sat on the bench at the very front, his hands clasped together and pressed against his forehead.

He was slightly overweight, like an old man next door, with his gray hair neatly combed and his black robe somewhat gray, suggesting he was a frugal person.

Frugal and approachable priests always gain more trust.

Colorful sunlight fell on his face, and his lips moved silently. His expression was focused and devout, as if he were having the most intimate conversation with his Heavenly Father.

"Father."

A slightly excited, boyish voice cautiously broke the silence of the church nave.

The priest's prayer was interrupted. He slowly raised his head, but there was no displeasure on his face. Instead, a kind smile, perfectly matching the image of a priest in the minds of believers, slowly bloomed on his face.

He turned his head and looked towards the source of the sound.

It was a boy of about eleven or twelve years old, dressed in very ordinary clothes, standing at the end of the bench, rubbing his hands nervously.

The boy's eyes were bright, carrying a mixture of anticipation and unease.

“Oh, my child, you have come.” Geogen’s voice was as gentle as a feather’s touch. “Come quickly, come before the Lord.”

The boy's unease subsided, and he revealed an innocent smile. He trotted over and sat down next to the priest on the bench.

He looked up in awe at the cross hanging in front of him, made a gesture, and then spoke impatiently, his voice low but unable to hide his excitement.

“Father, I did exactly as you said! It really worked! My dad even asked me about my homework last night!”

Giorgen's smile deepened, and the wrinkles around his eyes deepened.

He reached out, his large, warm palm gently covering the boy's slightly disheveled hair, stroking it slowly. His voice was hypnotically soft: "Look, the Lord has heard your prayers; He has always been watching over the lost sheep."

“You have done very well, child. The Lord is pleased with obedience and devotion.”

The boy felt the touch on his head, his body tensed up for a moment, then unconsciously relaxed.

This tenderness was something his irritable father had never given him, and a surge of grievance and a desire to confide welled up within him.

"But Dad..." the boy's voice trembled with tears, "He doesn't seem to have changed at all. He's still so unreasonable when he wakes up. This morning, I just accidentally spilled some milk, and he... he called me useless. He doesn't care that I won the competition, or that I got an A+ on my drawing! All he does is throw tantrums and say I'm not manly enough."

Father Geoggen listened patiently, nodding gently from time to time and letting out a sigh of understanding.

“Poor child,” he murmured, his hand still gently stroking the boy’s hair, his fingertips occasionally brushing against the boy’s earlobe. “Not all fathers in this world know how to express love. They are bent over by the burdens of life and blinded by the temptations of the devil. They are brutal, indifferent, and even cruel.”

“I understand how you feel. I once had a father who was just as unreasonable, but thankfully God blessed me.”

His voice lowered, carrying a sense of empathetic sadness, before rising again in the latter half.

The boy's tears finally fell, and he sobbed, "I...I'm sometimes okay."

"Shh, don't say that word, child." Father Geoghan gently pressed his thumb to the boy's lips, stopping him from uttering the word of hatred.

“Resentment is the seed of the devil. The Lord teaches us to forgive, but He also understands the weakness of the lamb.” He leaned closer, his voice lower, with a mystical, heartfelt tone. “Listen, my child. I can help you with some minor troubles, like calming your father’s anger temporarily. But true, complete change requires much greater power.”

The boy raised his tear-filled face and looked blankly at the priest standing close to him.

“Almighty Lord, all-knowing and all-powerful.” Father Geoghan’s gaze fell upon the cross high above the altar, bathed in light, his eyes filled with faith. “He can soothe the deepest wounds and change the hardest hearts. If you want your father to truly see you, understand you, and even respect you, you need to seek His guidance more devoutly.”

"Then, what should I do?" the boy asked, his voice filled with longing.

Father Geoghan withdrew his gaze and looked at the boy again, his eyes flashing with a strange light, like a hunter finally seeing his prey stepping one foot into the trap.

“There is a way, a very ancient and very sacred way. It allows you to directly face the glory of the Lord and pour out all your pain and desires to Him.” He paused, his tone becoming extremely serious. “But, my child, you must swear an oath, an oath of your soul and the soul of your entire family! This method must never be told to anyone! Not your mother, not your friends, not anyone! And once you begin, you must never regret it! Otherwise…”

His voice suddenly turned cold, carrying an undeniable authority: "The Lord's punishment will descend upon you and your entire family! It will be a terror you cannot even imagine!"

The boy's body trembled violently. He looked at the priest's kind face, which was now shrouded in a shadow that felt unfamiliar to him. He trusted the priest because the priest had listened to his complaints more than once, taught him how to be a better person, and even briefly "made his father better."

But what about punishment from the whole family? He thought of his parents' faces, and his young sister.
The boy hesitated, his face turning pale.

Father Geoghan's stern expression melted instantly, replaced by kindness.

He gently patted the boy's shoulder: "Don't be afraid, child. As long as you are devout enough, the Lord will grant you blessings. Think of how beautiful it will be when your father looks at you with loving and respectful eyes, when he is proud of you." His voice was once again full of allure, "Don't you want him to look at you with new eyes? Don't you want him to know how special his son is, how worthy of being loved?"

The boy's voice was weak as the longing in his eyes gradually overcame his fear. He desperately wanted to prove himself and escape this situation where his father disapproved of him.

“Good boy.” Father Geogen smiled with satisfaction, though the smile appeared somewhat blurred in the dappled light.

He slowly stood up and extended his hand to the boy. That hand was broad, warm, and carried an undeniable strength.

“Come with me to a place closer to the Lord. It is quieter there and more suitable for us to perform this sacred ceremony.”

The boy looked at the hand as if he saw a door to hope and acceptance. He took a deep breath and finally placed his small hand in the large one. The priest's hand immediately tightened, enveloping the boy's.

Father Geoghan, holding the boy's hand, turned around and prepared to walk around the platform and toward the wooden door at the back of the church that led to a more private prayer room.

Sunlight streamed through the stained-glass window depicting the Virgin Mary holding the Christ Child, casting a colorful halo around them, creating a scene of holiness and peace.

And just as they reached the huge stained-glass window—

Bang!
A piercing crash shattered the church's tranquility!
The Virgin Mary's compassionate face shattered with a deafening roar, and countless colorful shards of glass rained down upon her, bright, chaotic, and dazzling.

Immediately afterwards, a massive, towering figure, accompanied by blinding sunlight and shards of glass flying everywhere, crashed in like a cannonball.

The shadow instantly enveloped Father Geoghan and the boy.

Before the priest's eyes could adjust to the bright light, a large hand wearing a rough leather glove gripped Father Geoggen's throat like an iron clamp.

"Uh-huh!"

Father Geoghan's kind and triumphant excitement froze instantly, replaced by terror and suffocation.

He couldn't even see the person's face clearly, but he felt an irresistible force coming at him, and his feet immediately left the ground.

The hand squeezed his neck and trachea, robbing him of all air and sound. His face turned from red to purple at a visible speed, almost the same color as Thanos.

His eyes rolled upwards uncontrollably, and his tongue protruded slightly due to suffocation.

The boy was terrified by the sudden turn of events. He screamed and fell to the ground with a thud, shards of glass cutting his hands and knees, but he was oblivious. He stared in horror at the figure that had descended like a demon.

He was a tall man wearing a badly worn denim jacket and work pants, a wide-brimmed cowboy hat, and a dusty black mask covering his face, revealing only a pair of indifferent eyes.

He was dressed in a retro Western cowboy outfit.

"Let him go! Let the priest go!" the boy screamed, his voice shrill with fear. He grabbed a shard of glass and pointed it at the intruder. "You devil! You are blaspheming the priest, God, and the Lord! You will be punished!"

Those eyes slowly moved from the struggling priest's face and landed on the boy who had fallen to the ground.

In a daze, Arthur seemed to see another boy, perhaps who had once looked with the same fear and helplessness, and who also had the same innocent faith in the priest.

He unconsciously tightened his grip on the priest's hand.

Geoghan's vision began to blur; he was really going to meet God.

"Georgian," Arthur's voice came through the mask, low and hoarse, each word chilling and piercing, "You're still as disgusting as ever."

He lifted the priest, whose face was flushed purple and who was kicking his legs in vain, even higher, as if he were carrying a bag of garbage.

“Let’s go,” Arthur’s voice was eerily calm. “I’ve booked you a one-way ticket to hell.”

He turned away, ignoring the little boy, and prepared to leave the church with this filthy soul.

The boots crunched on the shards of glass scattered on the ground.

But after taking only two steps, he stopped.

He turned his head and looked again at the boy who was slumped on the ground, trembling, his face covered with tears and fear.

The lips beneath the face mask moved, and a voice, so low it was almost inaudible, barely reached the boy's ears:

"Forgive your father; he may just be saying one thing and meaning another. Have an open talk with him."

The boy was stunned.

After speaking, Arthur slowly raised his gaze and placed it on the cross that hung high above, worshipped by countless believers.

His gaze seemed to be fixed on a colossal lie.

Arthur's empty left hand left a blur, and in an instant, a revolver appeared in his hand.

Gunshots rang out in succession, but the six shots sounded like only two.

The deafening gunshots echoed through the empty church.

The iron chain suspending the cross snapped instantly.

The enormous cross, a symbol of faith and redemption, let out a heavy groan and suddenly tilted forward in the boy's terrified, dilated pupils.

It crashed down onto the church's stone floor with a loud thud.

After a loud bang, dust and gravel flew everywhere, as if the entire church trembled.

The cross, which once stood high above and looked down upon all living beings, has now fallen into the dust and lies prostrate in the dirt, covering the ground it once overlooked.

The billowing smoke and dust slowly settled.

The boy sat on the ground, staring blankly at the mess. The sunlight had never shone so brightly, almost blindingly so.

Something inside him seemed to shatter with a snap, leaving him feeling empty, as if he had lost some pillar that had always supported him.

A strange sense of loss gripped him. But at the same time, an indescribable, peculiar sense of relief quietly spread through him. He no longer needed to look up to see God.

He turned his head blankly and looked at the spot where the intruder had been standing.

Now, there is no one there.

All that remained were shards of glass scattered on the ground.

Along with him, the kind Father Geoggen also disappeared.

Only then did a flurry of footsteps and panicked shouts echo from all over the church.

"My God! What happened?"

"The cross! Oh my god! The cross has fallen!"

"God forgive us, we beg God to forgive us."

Several people dressed in monk robes or church staff uniforms, pale-faced and covering their mouths, stumbled out of the corridors.

Looking at the mess on the ground, the broken stained glass windows and the collapsed cross, they felt as if they were witnessing the end of the world. They made the sign of the cross on their chests and prayed incoherently, asking for forgiveness.

An older deacon was the first to see the boy slumped on the ground. He staggered over, his voice trembling, "Child! Child, are you alright? Tell me, what happened here? Where is Father Geoghan?"

The boy looked up, his face still streaked with tears and dust, and with a somewhat vacant look in his eyes, he recounted what had just happened in fits and starts.

"Someone kidnapped the priest and even destroyed a cross?!" The deacon gasped, his face turning even more grim. "Quick, call the police! Call the police!"

Others were also in a state of chaos; some ran to make phone calls, some continued to pray over the ruins, and some stood there blankly.

Watching their panicked state and their prayers before the ruins of the cross, a naive question involuntarily escaped his lips:

“The priest said that the Father is omnipotent. Why don’t we ask the Father for help and let the Father bring the priest back?”

The deacon's lips twitched, he sighed, and did not respond.

(End of this chapter)