Chapter 2: Resignation
Nikolai tossed a stack of paper onto the table. His boss, Crowell, a charming blond man in his forties, sat confused
"What's this?" He furrowed his brows.
"Today's mission's details," said Nikolai. "As well as my resignation."
Crowell's eyes widened and then he started chuckling in a low voice. Nikolai simply stood there stoically, his hands behind his back.
Crowell grabbed the paper with his index and thumb, holding it as if it was revolting.
"You are joking, right? This isn't funny at all, my dove."
"Don't call me that." Nikolai barked. "I am not your son– or your dove."
Crowell stood up, shrugging. "Well, I've practically raised you so you might as well be. Or do you perhaps prefer 'my love'?"
"Gross."
Crowell laughed. "In any case, you are one of our most skillful–"
"I'm not skillful at all." Nikolai spoke as if he was sulking. "I just happen to have an ability that people don't."
"Exactly!" Crowley pointed a bony finger at him, his other hand scratched his trimmed beard. "And that, my child, is what makes you skillful. Understood? Don't quit now, Nikolai."
Nikolai pursed his lips and for a moment, he was silent in his own thoughts.
Finally, he said, "I want to go to university, boss."
"You aren't content with our organization's way of teaching?" Crowell tapped his fingers on the table as if impatient.
"No, of course. Miss Lorelai is a wonderful teacher. It's just…"
Crowell snapped. "It's just what, Nikolai? I can't let you leave to go to the real world when you're a stuttering mess!
"Do you understand me, Nikolai? I've created this organization to take care of orphans like you– children with nowhere to go, children who are unloved– and turn them into proper people. Yes, killing isn't proper but what's there to do? Our clients pay good money and the children get them all. So– Hold up, Nikolai, are you listening? What's going on in that little head of yours, huh?" He snaps his fingers in his face but Nikolai remains unfazed.
"I want to go to university."
"Yes, you've said that already."
Nikolai continued on with no expression on his face.
"I want to be a writer or perhaps a doctor." He had a dreamy expression now. "I would find someone I love, start a family–"
Nikolai stopped when he saw Crowell's angry expression.
"Are you insulting my career? Do you think that being in this organization won't help you achieve that bullshit dream of yours? Nikolai, look me in the eye. Tell me that you don't think so."
Nikolai avoided his eyes, "I just think… this job doesn't fit me."
"Oh." Crowell's expression didn't meet his eyes. "Okay! Okay then."
"I'm sorry, boss."
"Don't apologize. I'm not your boss anymore." He took the stack of papers Nikolai had given him, ripped it, and threw it at his face.
"Go leave, Nikolai," said Crowell, his expression undistinguishable. "Don't come crawling back to me when you've lost everything."
Nikolai hesitated to leave but eventually bowed and left.
-
He first went to clear his dormitory room.
His room consisted of stacks of journals on his desk, more books of history on the ground, an empty bottle of cider and a book whose cover had no title as scriptures do.
Nikolai stared at the book.
That wasn't there before, was it? He thought to himself.
From what Nikolai had read in his journal, he had an utterly large hatred for the gods.
In this world, there are multiple gods but there are five who are most well known. Iesa, god of harvest; Icarus, god of freedom; Arestaeus, god of steam and mechanics; Iacchus, god of wine and pleasure; Caerus, god of war.
The previous Nikolai had written all his doubts about each god in his journal. Nikolai now found it funny and pitiful.
He approached the desk, eyeing the scripture suspiciously as if it'll jump at him as he tosses his messenger bag on the bed.
This *definitely* wasn't here before.
Nikolai, knowing this was reckless, touched and opened it. Nothing happened obviously. It was just a book.
He sat on a chair and started fiddling with the scripture, looking at the back page to see how long the book was. Seven hundred sixty-two.
Nikolai hums. "There are certainly longer books."
He rubbed a page with his index and thumb and he saw that it was quite old as the paper was yellowing and thin.
He began pondering. Who could have put this book here? It's Crowell, I'm sure of it. But it's rude to assume… Anyways, why would he even give me it?
He had nothing to lose so he started reading the book.
The book starts with Vaston, a random middle-aged fellow. While walking back to his house, he finds a crow that looked uncanny. There was nothing wrong with the crow at all but a part of Vaston thought he looked different.
Then the crow spoke,
"You who stand before me. I ask for cooperation."
Vaston was shocked and even thought to leave. But the crow's eyes pinned his feet to the ground.
"I will, for a moment, bring you somewhere. No need to move."
In an instant, Vaston's body felt the pain of being pulled apart and being rebuilt all over.
Next thing he knew, he was somewhere. There's not much to say. It was dark. Like he was in a void.
In the corner of his eye, he found five horses but instead of heads they had the upper body of a human.
They were all speaking gibberish– or was it another language?
The crow reappeared. Vaston jumped in surprise only to realize he wasn't stepping on anything solid.
"Do you understand what they speak? They are chanting the greatness of God."
"God?" asked Vaston. "So the Vivians were right! There is one god after all!"
"Watch your mouth, human. Do not talk about *Him* like that." The crow's cold voice resounded through emptiness.
"Him? Who is him?"
"It's not for you to know."
Vaston tried to retort back but then he sees another being.
Not a being but rather five tuning forks, all of them were not vibrating.
The crow said, "Those forks will vibrate one by one. One might take decades before the next. Nevertheless, it is sign of end times."
Vaston has his mouth ajar at the words "end times". He shuddered at the thought.
The crow jerked it's head as if to point somewhere. Vaston turned his head to see.
And his eyes widened. There he was in the flesh. It has to be him.
God.
Vaston felt like his eyes were on fire.
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