Even gods reincarnate.

Filling a life like the ocean fills a bottle adrift at sea, the god comes to one day in which he heaves a heavy sigh, smiling faintly at the irony that comes in a flash of illumination, as he feels the god’s spine crack under the pressure of his knife.

He watches the blood evaporate and when many months have come to pass without any decay of godflesh, he creates a shrine. The people come one by one to look upon the marble smoothness of the god’s flesh.

A religion blooms, a lotus flower, from the invented assumptions of the shrine’s visitors. Soon the god is the terminus of countless pilgrimages of obeisance and requests for blessings.

The god’s murderer has become the guiding light of the city that has sprung around the dead god. He sits at the foot of god and mediates dialogues. The seekers believe god compelled the guiding light’s sacred blade to penetrate the holy heart so that the eternal lesson of death may be taught.

How little do they know how close that is to the truth!

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