Chapter 8

Tim was almost beside himself with excitement. His research had served him well, and now he had a plan. He knew how to become divine. Never one to wait, Tim had arranged the details as soon as he had figured them out.

Today, Tim would become a god. It was so simple he was surprised he hadn’t thought of it without the research. Tim would become a sacrifice to himself.

He waited in his office for his assistants to get everything prepared. He sat, eyes closed, and meditated. As he waited, one of the men who’d gone to capture Hep and the other gods in Las Vegas knocked and entered his office.

“Sir, we lost more than half the men,” the man said.

Tim opened his eyes, obviously annoyed.

“Of course. Did you expect you would be able to ambush a group of Gods aware we’re killing them off and encounter no resistance?” Tim asked. “Get out of my office.”

The man blinked several times, confused, opened his mouth to speak, then decided arguing might not be a good idea and left the room.

Tim resumed his meditation.

Soon his assistants entered his office. The two of them were dressed in yellow track suits. Their expressions were serious, but their eyes sparkled with excitement.

“It is time,” one of them said.

Tim stood and walked with them out to the stage where they had killed Baron Samedi the night before. The podium, chair and other accoutrements were gone, and in their place was a large vat. The vat was full of molten gold. The gold glowed and shimmered. The heat radiating from the area was immense. The three men had to struggle to even keep their eyes open.

Tim’s assistants undressed him, until he stood naked. They then bound his hands and feet. The assistants then left him, briefly. They returned wearing heat-resistant protective suits. They stood by Tim until he nodded, then lifted him.

Tim, his muscles thrumming with excitement, cried “I dedicate this sacrifice to myself!” His assistants immediately heaved him into the vat of molten gold. They were rather clumsy, and a good amount of the gold splashed out of the vat onto the assistants and the floor of the stage, which immediately caught fire. Some of the gold landed on the concrete beyond the stage, which exploded as the moisture inside turned to steam from the intense heat.

One of the assistants quickly grabbed a fire extinguisher and put out the stage floor. Then they waited.

Tim died within seconds of falling into the liquid gold. Tim’s final seconds felt like an eternity. The pain was maddening. He opened his mouth to scream, and felt the liquid metal invade his mouth and continue down his throat. The rope binding him burned through almost instantly, freeing him. He thrashed in agony. He heard voices, mocking him, telling him he would fail, telling him it would be better if he simply died as a man there in the gold, rather than endure the rest of the torments reserved for those who become divine.

Some time after that, he felt a coolness engulf him. He was suddenly very comfortable. He felt strong. Powerful. Divine.

He stood. His assistants looked up at him, stunned. They fell to their knees in front of him.

“Worship me,” Tim said.