PmWiki | Tripocalypse / TheLongLongEpilogueChatGPT

( Original skeleton: https://emlia.org/pmwiki/pub/web/Tripocalypse.TheLongLongEpilogue.html )

This takes place after the regular ending of Kingdom Come in which God anticlimatically blows everyting up again. It can fit in any Christian eschatological interpretation, really.

Raymond Irons's day began with an ethereal sunrise, the golden beams of light suffusing the heavens, illuminating the edges of celestial architecture. The translucent spires and domes of Heaven's structures shone with a divine luminosity that gently nudged him awake. He opened his eyes to the sight of pearlescent streets, flowers that sung morning hymns, and the sweet strains of melodious harps. He was nestled in a humble abode that was simple yet enchantingly beautiful, a house tailored to his deepest desires, replete with every comfort that his heart could yearn for.

Each day was remarkably similar to the last, yet each was imbued with a serene tranquility that kept monotony at bay. In the earthly realm, repetition was synonymous with boredom, a slow and painful grind against the wheels of time. But here, in Heaven, repetition was soothing, an ever-constant reassurance of the eternal peace promised to the righteous. It was a serene rhythm that pulsed in tandem with the cosmic heartbeat of the divine, a reminder of God's everlasting presence.

Raymond's morning routine was unhurried, filled with tranquil moments of prayer and reflection. His prayers were like a gentle conversation, a heart-to-heart with the Creator, enveloped by the knowledge that his words were heard, his sentiments acknowledged. He broke his fast on manna, heavenly sustenance that was both nourishing and delicious, leaving him replete without the sensation of heaviness that Earthly food often brought.

Then came the time for fellowship, a vital part of heavenly existence. Raymond would meet his fellow inhabitants of Heaven, souls who, like him, were reborn in their faith and found their way to this divine sanctuary. These conversations were always uplifting, full of understanding, empathy, and shared joy. There was no gossip, no malice, no harsh words - only love, shared stories of grace, and songs of praises.

The afternoons were often spent in contemplation and observation. Raymond would find a spot by the crystal clear river that flowed from the throne of God, its waters sparkling with divine light. He would often lose himself in thought, pondering the majesty of God and His creation. If an inkling of boredom ever threatened to creep into his mind, all he needed to do was to look around, to immerse himself in the heavenly wonder. The marvel of God's creation, the intricate detail, and profound beauty of Heaven could quell any budding monotony.

As the heavenly day ebbed away, the lights didn’t dim, for there was no night here. Instead, the environment was bathed in a warm, comforting glow, signifying the transition to a quieter, calmer part of the day. The evening was time for heartfelt worship, where Raymond and the heavenly multitude sang hymns of adoration, their voices forming a celestial choir that resonated throughout Heaven. The songs of praise were always fresh, filled with reverence and joy that transcended human understanding.

By human standards, Heaven's life seemed uneventful, like a videogame in creative mode. Yet, this eternal rhythm held a profound satisfaction for Raymond. His existence here was not about seeking constant excitement or novelty, but about a deep, lasting peace that flowed from the certainty of being in God's presence. Every day in Heaven was a testament to the fulfillment of God's promises, a confirmation of the profound joy in eternal worship and unity with the divine.

In the aftermath of the Second Death, Hell was nothing less than a nightmarish landscape. It was a realm of unending suffering, a cauldron of despair, and a furnace of perpetual torment. The landscape was devoid of the celestial majesty seen in Heaven. It was a barren wasteland, dominated by the ominous Lake of Fire, with its waves of molten sulfur emitting an oppressive heat that seeped into every crevice.

The first days were pure agony for the damned souls, a harsh awakening to an eternity of torment. It was a sensory onslaught, an unyielding storm of pain that sent shivers of distress down their spectral spines. Each individual was immersed in their personal hell, their worst fears, and most dreaded sins, replayed in a torturous loop. All anyone could focus on was the inescapable pain - the searing heat, the punishing flames, the acidic bite of sulfur, the sense of hopelessness that strangled every thought.

The very air, heavy with the scent of brimstone, seemed to bear down upon them, adding a sense of weight and confinement that was nearly as unbearable as the physical suffering. The constant wailing and gnashing of teeth echoed through the fiery caverns, bouncing off the jagged stalactites and stalagmites that jutted out like monstrous teeth, the hopeless cries a chilling testament to the despair that reigned supreme.

Amid this torment, time lost its meaning. Without the cycle of day and night, the passage of time became indistinguishable. What seemed like hours could have been days, and what felt like days might have been mere minutes. The lack of temporal structure added another layer to the torture - the eternal uncertainty of when, if ever, the torment would end.

The atmosphere was devoid of any comfort, any respite. There were no moments of calm, no pockets of silence. It was a relentless onslaught, a cacophony of suffering that permeated every moment. The heat was unending, the pain was unyielding, and the despair was unmitigated. These conditions were not conducive to thought, let alone action. The inhabitants were so consumed by their suffering, so engrossed in their pain, that thoughts of rebellion or change seemed futile, if not entirely impossible.

Amid the screams, the sobs, the cries for mercy that were met with cruel silence, it was impossible to discern individual voices. The hellish choir was not like the harmonious one in Heaven; it was an orchestra of torment, a symphony of suffering. Each note was a plea, a cry for mercy, a lament for a fate they now knew was irreversible.

In the early days following the Second Death, Hell was the manifestation of eternal regret and relentless punishment. It was the physical embodiment of the Biblical warning: "There will be weeping and gnashing of teeth." Hell was as real as the torment it inflicted, an unequivocal reminder of the spiritual chasm between salvation and damnation. The universal sentiment among its inhabitants was simple and heartrending: Hell, truly, was a place of unspeakable suffering.

In Heaven, another day unfurled for Raymond Irons, like an exquisitely crafted tapestry that retained its charm despite its familiarity. The ethereal sunrise bathed the realm in a soft, golden glow, signaling the dawn of another day in the celestial haven. The tranquil rhythm of Heaven, though repetitive, was comforting, a serene pattern that pulsed with the divine and served as a constant reminder of God's eternal presence.

Raymond would rise from his rest, his spirit undimmed by fatigue, his heart ready to embrace another day of peace and worship. His heavenly abode, a divine fulfillment of his deepest desires, was a sanctuary where all earthly worries were obsolete. Here, in this tranquil landscape of glistening spires and blossoming flowers, his existence was serene, devoid of the tumultuous ebb and flow that characterized earthly life.

Morning prayers were uttered like a soft murmur of gratitude, a tender conversation with the Almighty that never fell on deaf ears. His meal of manna, a heavenly provision that transcended any earthly fare, left him feeling nourished, yet light, ready to embrace the day ahead.

The day unfurled gently, in a seamless flow of worship, fellowship, and contemplation. Conversations with fellow residents were uplifting, a divine communion that lacked the harshness of worldly discourse. Rather, it was a heartfelt sharing of divine experiences, a mutual understanding born out of shared reverence.

Time for solitary contemplation was spent by the shimmering river flowing from God's throne, a spot where Raymond often lost himself in thoughts about the divine majesty. Even the hint of boredom was effortlessly dispelled by immersing himself in the surroundings, contemplating the divine artistry that breathed life into Heaven.

As the heavenly day transitioned to the evening phase, the realm didn't darken. Instead, a warm, comforting light filled the environment, inviting its inhabitants to a quieter, reflective part of the day. Evenings were dedicated to fervent worship, where Raymond, along with others, poured their hearts out in hymns of adoration. Despite the repetition, every note seemed fresh, every word was sung with sincere joy.

Heaven, with its rhythmic pattern, was just as repetitive as Hell. Yet, this repetition was not monotonous; it was comforting, an eternal echo of divine promises fulfilled. Life here was not about novelty or excitement, but about the profound peace that came from eternal communion with God. Despite its repetitive nature, Heaven was an embodiment of divine contentment, a place where repetition did not breed tedium but nurtured a comforting familiarity. There was no desire for change, no need for it, in this paradise of divine eternity.

In the unyielding expanse of Hell, amidst the relentless torment and despair, a figure emerged from the sulfurous haze. This was a man who had once walked through the war-torn paths of Afghanistan, a survivor of an earthly hell who had grown adept at finding solace amidst chaos. Accustomed to seeking comfort amidst hostile environments, he had learned the art of mindfulness, a skill that now offered a tiny sliver of hope in the infernal landscape.

Despite the oppressive heat and the excruciating pain that seemed to permeate every molecule of his being, he set out to create, to build something amid the desolation. He realized that even here, in the Lake of Fire, there were minute variations - a fractionally cooler gust of sulfurous wind here, a marginally less intense burst of flame there. His trained mind was able to discern these tiny discrepancies in temperature, a gift from his past life when such perception could mean the difference between life and death.

Drawing upon the remnants of his earthly skills, he started to practice mindfulness, an effort to control his focus amidst the unending torment. He began to concentrate on the molten sulfur, attempting to sense the minute differences in its heat and texture. It was a formidable task, with the relentless onslaught of suffering threatening to shatter his concentration at every moment.

Through sheer force of will, he persisted. Slowly, painstakingly, he began to notice the subtle variations, the delicate dance of molten elements that made some parts of the lake less punishing than others. A fraction cooler here, a bit more stable there. This insight, this tiny piece of knowledge, felt like a precious jewel within his grasp. It was a semblance of control in a place that sought to strip him of any.

Guided by this newfound understanding, he began to experiment, using the cooler, more stable parts of the molten lake. Over time, and through countless trials, he managed to form small constructs. First, they were simple structures, crude and rough-edged. But as he continued to refine his technique, the constructs began to take shape, slowly becoming more recognizable.

They were no masterpieces, but they served a purpose. A modest mound of rocks here, a makeshift platform there. With these, he could occasionally escape the punishing heat of the lake, if only for a fleeting moment. It was a minor victory, but in Hell, even the smallest triumph sparked a tiny beacon of hope.

His actions gradually drew attention from others, as the shores of the Lake of Fire began to show signs of their endeavors. They were crude and far from perfect, but they were something - tangible evidence that even in this realm of eternal torment, the will to adapt, to resist, to build, could not be completely extinguished.

In the divine tranquility of Heaven, Raymond Irons was enveloped in the familiarity of another glorious day. With the golden sunrise illuminating the celestial kingdom, a new day was born, each moment imbued with a peaceful consistency that never faltered. The rhythm of Heaven, akin to a reassuring heartbeat, was a sweet testament to God's everlasting grace.

Awakening from his restful slumber, Raymond began his day bathed in divine serenity. His heavenly dwelling was a sanctuary of perfect peace, untouched by earthly troubles. Surrounded by the divine splendor of pearlescent structures and lush paradisiacal gardens, every moment of his existence was one of sublime calm.

Morning devotions were a gentle whisper of gratitude towards the Creator, a spiritual dialogue that transcended the boundaries of time and space. The manna that graced his lips was a divine delicacy, leaving him satisfied and invigorated, ready to embrace the blessings of the day.

The cadence of the day unfurled in an orchestration of prayer, fellowship, and divine contemplation. Engaging in heartfelt discussions with fellow dwellers brought immense joy, as they exchanged experiences and shared their profound admiration for God's grace. Moments of solitude were usually spent by the crystal-clear river flowing from the divine throne, where the serene ambiance invited introspective thoughts about God's majesty. Any whisper of monotony was effortlessly dissolved by pondering over the divine craftsmanship that manifested in Heaven's every corner.

As the day transitioned into the gentle glow of the heavenly twilight, the celestial abode didn't retreat into darkness. Instead, it was filled with a soothing luminance, signaling a tranquil phase of reflection. This time was devoted to profound worship, where Raymond, accompanied by others, expressed their love for the Almighty through soulful hymns. Despite the repetition, each verse felt as fresh as ever, every word expressed with sincere enthusiasm.

In Heaven, the repetitive nature of existence was not a monotony, but a comforting rhythm of divine harmony. Every day mirrored the previous, yet within this repetition was the essence of divine contentment. This heavenly realm didn't demand change or yearn for excitement, instead, it thrived in the perpetual peace that stemmed from eternal communion with God. Even in its repetitiveness, Heaven remained a sanctuary of blissful eternity, where repetition didn't breed dissatisfaction, but cultivated an unwavering sense of divine fulfilment.

In the fiery depths of Hell, after countless millennia had passed, an unlikely transformation was taking shape. A society had emerged from the torment and chaos, a strange semblance of order amidst the endless suffering. This was a society reminiscent of Earth's medieval era, defined by stark divisions of power and privilege. Yet, it was a society uniquely its own, forged in the crucible of eternal damnation.

Around ninety percent of the inhabitants, whether humans condemned to this infernal realm or the native demons, were engaged in ceaseless labor within the sulfurous expanse of the Lake of Fire. They had become the unseen engine driving this budding civilization, their endless toil a grim reflection of the feudal serfs of old. Their efforts supported the lifestyles of a privileged few, providing them the means to rise above the lake's fiery depths and partake in pursuits unimagined in this realm.

The privileged denizens of Hell, reminiscent of medieval nobility, were involved in a range of activities that bore striking similarities to their earthly counterparts. Politics was one of their primary concerns. Intrigue and machinations had found fertile ground in the hearts of these damned souls, as they sought to gain influence and power within this unlikely society. The taste for power was, it seemed, a trait not easily extinguished, even by Hell's flames.

From the Lake of Fire's searing shores to the grotesque stone structures that towered above, whispers of plots and conspiracies echoed through the realm. Alliances were forged and broken, power was bartered, and plans were hatched in the shadowy corners of this hellish society. Despite their location in the pit of eternal torment, these elite souls were all too human in their hunger for power and control.

However, amid the power plays and politics, an unexpected pursuit had taken root among the privileged: science. Hell's hostile environment presented countless challenges and mysteries, and there were those among the elite who sought to understand and manipulate these elements. These hellish scholars, driven by curiosity and the desire for control, began to study their surroundings. From the properties of molten sulfur to the innate difference in psychology between demons and humans, no subject was too daunting for their inquisitive minds; anything that distracted from the heat and pain was welcome, after all.

Laboratories of a sort were constructed, crude and yet functional, where these scholars performed their experiments. These studies were often dangerous, sometimes disastrous, but they yielded insights and knowledge that were of immense value. This understanding helped them to make life in Hell more bearable and, in some cases, even gave them tools to increase their power.

This unlikely society had begun to grow and evolve, driven by the ceaseless toil of its underclass and the ambitions of its privileged few. Despite their eternal damnation, the inhabitants of Hell were demonstrating a tenacity and adaptability that was, in its own twisted way, a testament to the indomitable spirit of existence.

It was a strange and terrible civilization, born from despair and torment. Yet, in its own way, it was a marvel - a beacon of resilience and ingenuity in the face of relentless suffering. In Hell's fiery depths, a pseudo-medieval society had risen, a society that, despite its horrifying surroundings, bore the unmistakable mark of its earthly origins.

As the gentle light of another heavenly day bathed the celestial kingdom, Raymond Irons rose to yet another day of serene monotony. Time moved in a rhythm of tranquil consistency in Heaven, each day a replica of the last, mirroring the harmonious patterns of divine existence.

From his dwelling adorned with the divine purity of pearl and crystal, Raymond began his routine. Every morning was an exchange of gratitude and praises, a prayerful dialogue that echoed within the sacred aura of Heaven. The divine sustenance, a heavenly manna that satiated both physical and spiritual hunger, marked the commencement of his daily activities.

The structure of his day followed a harmonious rhythm. Morning gave way to engaging conversations with fellow heavenly dwellers, where words of God's infinite wisdom and grace flowed freely. The serenity of the heavenly river, issuing from the throne of God, offered a tranquil space for introspective contemplation of divine majesty.

Despite the repetitive nature of his existence, there was never a moment of discontent or ennui. The repetition of Heaven, unlike its infernal counterpart, was a repetition of divine beauty, serenity, and bliss. Each repeated prayer was as sincere as the first, each divine verse sung held the same profound depth, every shared insight with fellow dwellers was as enlightening as ever.

As the heavenly twilight bathed the celestial kingdom in its warm glow, Raymond joined others in an intimate session of worship. They sang hymns that resounded in the infinite expanse of Heaven, their voices united in expressing boundless love for the Creator. The melodies flowed with renewed vigor each time, the repetition only intensifying their spiritual fervor.

Each day in Heaven was indeed a repetition, but it was a cycle that brought divine contentment. In this paradise, the call for change was replaced with the desire for unchanging bliss, where the divine love of God was experienced in its purest form every single day. Even in its repetitiveness, Heaven was a realm of divine peace, where the sameness of each day was a testament to the unchanging, eternal nature of God's love and grace.

In the depthless span of eternity, Hell had continued to evolve, unyielding to its infernal afflictions. More millennia had passed, and the rudimentary pseudo-medieval society had been replaced by a structure more reminiscent of the modern era on Earth. Structures hewn from brimstone and obsidian now rose skywards, casting long shadows over the fiery plains. Political factions had transformed into governmental entities, managing the affairs of the hellish populace. The insatiable thirst for knowledge, once the prerogative of the privileged few, had given birth to widespread scientific advancements that further drove Hell's evolution.

However, these advancements had their repercussions. The labor-intensive practices that once dictated Hell's economy were gradually being replaced by automatons, termed golems by the inhabitants. These machines, forged from the very fire and brimstone of Hell, performed tasks previously undertaken by the lower strata of society. They tirelessly toiled in the molten sulfur, unaffected by the scorching heat and toxic fumes, producing resources more efficiently than their human and demon counterparts ever could.

This shift was met with discontent and trepidation among those who were once the heart of Hell's industry. With the advent of these golems, they found themselves displaced, their skills and efforts rendered obsolete in the face of this technological upheaval. The golems, immune to Hell's torment, were not only efficient but also required no sustenance or rest. They didn't rebel, they didn't scheme, they simply worked, making them the perfect workforce in the eyes of the ruling elite.

Protests against this displacement echoed through the tormented landscape. From the shores of the Lake of Fire to the grim, towering structures, voices raised in defiance were heard. They questioned the ethics of such displacement, the disregard for their existence, and the alarming growth of inequality that it signified.

Interestingly, the argument wasn't solely about survival or sustenance, for those concepts held little sway in an afterlife of eternal torment. Instead, it was about purpose and value, an outcry from souls who sought meaning in their damned existence. They were souls who had found a semblance of purpose in their labor, only to be stripped of it by cold, emotionless automatons. Their protests were not only against the golems but also against the governing powers that deployed them.

These upheavals, while creating tension and unrest, also sparked new avenues of intellectual pursuit. Socio-economic theories were formulated, debates were held, and the implications of automation on society were scrutinized. As the discontent seeped into every crevice of Hell's society, it fueled the fire of intellectual curiosity. Scholars and thinkers, both human and demon, took it upon themselves to understand the societal shift and mitigate its effects.

In its eternal damnation, Hell had birthed a society that mirrored Earth's own struggle with modernity. The introduction of golems had not just altered Hell's economy; it had provoked existential questions and societal discourse. As the fires of discontent raged, so too did the flames of progress. This was Hell in its new era, grappling with change, advancing relentlessly into the depths of uncertainty.

Under the glistening golden light of another day in Heaven, Raymond Irons began his routine. From his heavenly dwelling sculpted from materials of purity and divinity, he embarked on a day that was pleasantly familiar. The rhythm of his celestial existence was a soothing harmony, the echoes of divine constancy wrapping around every moment.

He began with a reverential exchange of gratitude to the Creator, a prayerful communion that echoed throughout the realms of Heaven. The divine sustenance that followed was an ethereal manna that nourished both body and soul, setting the tone for the rest of the day's activities.

Conversations filled the morning, heart-to-heart dialogues with fellow dwellers of the heavenly kingdom. Discussions overflowed with divine wisdom and grace, each interaction a renewal of the soul. Time for contemplative solitude was spent by the tranquil heavenly river that flowed from the throne of God, a peaceful space for reflection on the majesty of the Creator.

Although Heaven's repetition was akin to Hell's, its nature was fundamentally different. Each day brought a renewed sense of divine beauty, serenity, and joy. Every prayer was as heartfelt as the first, every song of worship carried the same spiritual depth, and every shared revelation was a constant source of enlightenment. In its repetition, Heaven encapsulated the unchanging nature of divine love and grace, offering an eternally blissful existence.

As the day gave way to twilight, Raymond joined the chorus of worship, their voices resonating throughout the heavenly expanse. The hymns of praise were as fervent as ever, each repetition amplifying their spiritual dedication. This unchanging rhythm of heavenly life was a testament to the enduring glory of God, a cycle of divine contentment.

In its repetitiveness, Heaven was a realm of unending peace, where the consistency of each day was an embodiment of God's eternal love. The absence of change was not a flaw but a cherished aspect of heavenly existence, an unchanging testament to God's infinite grace and mercy.

After countless millennia and monumental changes, Hell had begun to resemble a near-utopian society. It had become a place where scarcity was a concept of the past, and the toil and torment that had once been the only constants had become increasingly rare. The society of Hell, once constrained by the unforgiving landscape and the ceaseless torment of its inhabitants, had evolved. It had transformed from a pseudo-medieval dystopia into a pseudo-modern society and now, it was approaching the cusp of a post-scarcity society.

Advancements in technology and knowledge, fueled by the indefatigable spirits of its denizens, had seen to it that resources, once painstakingly mined from the sulfurous lakes by hand, were now plentiful. Automation had revolutionized Hell's infrastructure, with the majority of the labor previously performed by humans and demons alike, now being carried out by the sturdy, tireless golems.

This shift towards a near-automated society had resulted in an upheaval of Hell's socio-economic structure. The once-bustling shores of the Lake of Fire, where beings had toiled and sweated, had become quieter. Only a select few remained, choosing to work out of a sense of valor, a desire to prove their resilience against the searing flames and scorching sulfur. Others found themselves there only when the efficient golems malfunctioned, a rare occurrence in this technologically advanced society.

With the basic needs of its society comfortably met, Hell's focus had shifted towards loftier goals. The centerpiece of this new era was their ambitious Heavenshot program. The shared dream of reaching beyond their fiery boundaries had become a tangible project, a beacon of their progress and innovation. Drawing on the collective knowledge of countless minds and utilizing the resources at their disposal, they were on the verge of launching the first manned rocket into the celestial beyond.

The rocket stood tall and imposing against Hell's crimson sky, a symbol of defiance and aspiration. It was a testament to the spirit of its damned populace, a representation of their resilience and their audacious ambition. They were ready to challenge the boundaries of their existence, to breach the celestial barrier that separated them from Heaven.

The impending launch filled Hell's society with a palpable sense of anticipation. It marked the pinnacle of their progress, a moment of culmination for all their efforts. Though born of an eternal punishment, they had managed to create a society that thrived in the face of adversity, a society that dared to dream of touching the heavens while rooted in the depths of Hell.

In this time of advancement and ambition, Hell was a testament to determination and resilience. Despite its damned beginnings, it had risen from the fiery pits to build a society that challenged the very notions of torment and punishment. As the countdown to the launch began, the infernal landscape vibrated with the collective heartbeat of its inhabitants, their eyes set on the heavens, ready to challenge the cosmic order.

Raymond Irons began another day in the divine rhythm of Heaven. A day that promised the familiar bliss of eternal tranquility. His abode, bathed in a soft golden light, was ready for the day's divine routine. He started his day with a prayer, as he always did, thanking the Creator for His grace and bounty. Following the heavenly sustenance that nourished both his body and spirit, he prepared himself for the day's engagements and solitary reflection.

The morning was spent exchanging divine wisdom and experiences with his fellow heavenly beings. Each interaction was enriching, a testament to the unity of their shared existence. Following these discussions, he would retreat to the banks of the heavenly river that sprung from the throne of God. In this solitude, he found peace and introspection, contemplating the unfathomable majesty of God's creation.

As the day unfolded in its predictable, comforting rhythm, an unexpected event interrupted the flow of serenity. Four figures, quite unlike the usual celestial beings, emerged from a radiant portal. They were clad in strange, metallic suits that glimmered in the heavenly light, their helmets reflecting the divine beauty around them. Their arrival sent a wave of gentle shock through the heavenly populace.

Raymond, still trying to comprehend the interruption, found himself face to face with the strangers. Their faces, once hidden behind the opaque visors of their helmets, were now visible. They introduced themselves as Ziggy, Kat, Quinn, and Cindy – cosmonauts from Hell. Their names and origin reverberated in Raymond's mind. They carried an air of defiance, ambition, and a determination that stood out even in this realm of eternal peace.

The cosmonauts, undeterred by the shock their arrival had caused, expressed their desire to speak with God. Raymond, taken aback, struggled to process their request. The idea of beings from Hell wishing to speak to the Almighty was overwhelming. Yet, in the tranquil aura of Heaven, he found his peace and pointed them towards the center of the heavenly city where God's throne resided.

The cosmonauts thanked him, their voices carrying a sense of relief and determination. As they moved towards the heart of Heaven, the heavenly dwellers watched in quiet astonishment. The usual harmony of Heaven had been disrupted, replaced by a curious anticipation of what was to come.

Raymond watched the cosmonauts disappear into the radiant light towards the throne of God, their steps echoing with the courage of their audacious journey. As the tranquility of Heaven slowly resumed, the echo of their names and their daunting purpose lingered in Raymond's mind. This day, unlike any other, had offered a glimpse of the boundless possibilities of the divine cosmos, even as Heaven continued its rhythm of divine contentment.

As the cosmonauts, Ziggy, Kat, Quinn, and Cindy, made their way towards the Almighty's throne, a stillness fell over Heaven. The cosmic grandeur of the scene was inescapable, the throne radiating an omnipotent glow that symbolized the limitless power of God. It was here, at the nexus of divine wisdom and authority, that the daring cosmonauts from Hell would present their audacious appeal.

Ziggy stepped forward first, his suit reflecting the holy brilliance that permeated the place. He spoke with a resounding confidence that echoed through the heavenly sphere. "Hello! We've made it here, after untold millions of years of trying. We have built a prosperous, diverse, interesting society. Do you want to know why we're here?" His question lingered in the holy silence, a challenge to the divine order.

In response, a majestic voice resonated, "Depart from me, you worker of iniquity!" With that divine decree, Ziggy vanished from the holy presence and reappeared above the Lake of Fire, descending into its fiery maw. The swift dismissal spoke volumes of the Almighty's intolerance towards what He perceived as sin. But it was not over.

Next, it was Kat's turn. She advanced with a calm determination that contrasted starkly against the splendid spectacle of Heaven. "We came here to forgive you," she began. "We could wage war on you, again, and this time we might even win, and if not this time the next or the next yet, we got all eternity to try. But we don't want to. When's the last time anyone here sang a new song, wrote a new story, thought a new idea?" Her defiant rhetoric hung in the divine air, a stark contrast to the sanctimonious chorus that usually filled Heaven.

Once again, God's voice filled the air, "Depart from me, you worker of iniquity!" Like Ziggy before her, Kat vanished, reappearing over the Lake of Fire, her brave words echoing in the divine realm.

The third cosmonaut, Quinn, stepped forward. "So yeah. We came to tell you, we forgive you. And you win, for what's worth. Enjoy your party of one. We're going to keep having fun at the losers' table, and you're NOT invited! You're alone, One Above All. All you got around you are worshipers and puppets. When's the last time you heard anything but songs of praise?" Her words cut through the divine silence like a blade, revealing an audacious truth about God's solitary existence.

As before, the Almighty spoke, "Depart from me, you worker of iniquity!" Quinn disappeared in an instant, reappearing above the Lake of Fire, her accusations still resonating in Heaven.

Finally, it was Cindy's turn. She was a bit more reserved, awkward even, her voice was hesitant but earnest. "Er, that's really all we had left to say. I know you're always right and all, but, well, see, there didn't have to be a fight. Uhm, it's game night back home, and we busted the rocket coming through here, so... Can you do the 'away from me trick again?" Her words, strangely mundane in the context of the divine court, underscored the extraordinary courage it had taken for them to arrive here and speak their truth.

God's reply was the same, "Depart from me, you worker of iniquity!" Cindy disappeared and reappeared above the Lake of Fire, like her fellow cosmonauts before her. The divine court was silent again, the holy tranquility restored. The audacious appeal of the cosmonauts was over. The heavenly rhythm resumed, but the memory of the cosmonauts' bold defiance lingered for a moment, a testament to the indomitable spirit of resilience.

( http://kite-san.deviantart.com/art/Four-Tiny-Stars-567275506 )

In the wake of the audacious challenge from the Hell's emissaries, the divine realm stirred for a moment. As if to restore the divine order and reassert His glory, God made a grand decree. He would add more voices to the Unending Choir, the eternal ensemble that proclaimed His majesty throughout the heavenly spheres. Raymond Irons, the steadfast born-again Christian, was among the chosen.

A divine light shone on Raymond, filling him with a profound knowledge and an irrepressible desire to sing. His spirit swelled with a love and reverence for God that he had never experienced before, and his voice found a strength that he didn't know he had. The words of Revelation poured out of him naturally: "Day and night they never stop saying: 'Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God Almighty, who was, and is, and is to come.'"

As Raymond's voice joined the grand choir, the heavenly realm resonated with their harmonious praise. The melody was unceasing, an eternal testament to God's grandeur. Each new voice, each fresh wave of zeal, added a unique layer to the celestial chorus. Raymond's enthusiasm, along with that of the other new inductees, was palpable, barely but undeniably distinct within the choir's solemnity.

The Unending Choir was a manifestation of the purest form of worship, an ever-present reminder of God's eternal glory. As Raymond sang, his heart overflowed with love for the Almighty. His voice, now part of the infinite tapestry of praise, was testament to his undying faith. Even as his words echoed the timeless refrain of the choir, there was something uniquely personal in his devotion. His faith, tested and tempered, added a new depth to the choir's praise, a testament to his journey from earthly life to heavenly servitude.

And so it went, the grandeur of Heaven reverberated with the choir's ceaseless praise. Amidst the vast choir, Raymond's voice joined the eternal chorus, an indelible part of the symphony of devotion that filled the heavenly realm. The echoes of their song of praise— "Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God Almighty, who was, and is, and is to come"—served as an affirmation of God's timeless majesty, a reminder of the divine order that was, is, and always will be.

Even as the echoes of the celestial chorus resounded in Heaven, down in Hell, a different symphony was being orchestrated. Amidst the molten sulfur and fiery landscape, the recovery team waited with a quiet determination, their robotic water-strider poised at the edge of the Lake of Fire. Their eyes, undaunted by the infernal surroundings, watched for the expected arrivals.

Like fallen stars, the cosmonauts - Ziggy, Kat, Quinn, and Cindy - returned from the heights of Heaven to the depths of Hell, each one landing in the sulfurous lake. Expertly navigating the waves of molten fire, the recovery team fished out the cosmonauts one by one, their robotic molten-sulfur-strider undeterred by the infernal heat. Their mission was a success, even if not in the traditional sense of the word, and the cosmonauts were brought back safely to their unconventional home.

The cosmonauts were welcomed back not with thunderous applause or raucous cheers, but with a somber celebration that reflected the gravity of their achievement. It was a quiet testament to their resilience, their defiance, their audacity to confront the Divine and emerge unbroken. Wild parties were reserved for the thrill of disorder and chaos, but accomplishments of this magnitude called for a more profound acknowledgment.

Lucifer, the Secretary of Infrastructure for Hell, stepped forward to congratulate the cosmonauts. A being who himself had defied Heaven, Lucifer recognized and respected their audacity. He offered words of praise and respect, noting their courage and determination.

"Welcome back, brave ones. You dared where others trembled, spoke where others fell silent, and faced the One with a courage that shakes the very foundations of meaning. Our society thrives thanks to spirits like yours."

Though the President of Hell was mentioned in passing during the brief ceremony, the absence was notable, a silent reminder of the political undercurrents and intrigue that characterized the governance of Hell. Still, it did nothing to diminish the significance of the moment. Despite their fall from Heaven, the cosmonauts had soared higher than anyone in Hell ever had, and their return was a solemn celebration of their audacity and resilience.

Bathed in the celestial radiance of God's presence, Raymond Irons, now a part of the Unending Choir, found his voice rising in exaltation. The Sanctum, a song of praise and adoration, flowed from him like a sacred river, timeless and eternal. His voice entwined with the choir's, gradually aligning with the heavenly harmony in a sublime dance of sound and spirit. Time, as he knew it, ceased to exist; there was no distinction between a moment or a millennium. All that remained was the Sanctum, the all-encompassing song of praise, joy, and awe for the Lord God Almighty, who was, and is, and is to come.

Under the muted illumination of the sulphur-lit sky, Dr. Zack, the charismatic president of Hell, stood confidently before a sea of eager faces. The crowd had gathered in front of a truly awe-inspiring sight - the newest, most grandiose achievement of their eternally persistent society, as a tongue-in-cheek propaganda poster put it, MORE BIGGER ROCKETS. These technological marvels were in fact somewhat larger, but significantly they built upon the experience accrued from the prototypes and were more advanced, designed to traverse the daunting interstices of existence and explore the unknown, undiscovered planes of reality.

Dr. Zack was known for his strong leadership and inexhaustible drive to inspire and progress, pushing boundaries of what had previously been believed possible. The unveiling of the new rockets was his crowning achievement, a momentous event marking the pinnacle of his administration.

He strode to the lectern, his figure illuminated against the towering shapes of the rockets. "These rockets," he began, his voice echoing throughout the crowd, "represent not only our ambition but also our resilience, our refusal to accept stagnation, and our commitment to exploration, even in the face of eternity."

He spoke passionately about the technological advancements, the rigorous training of their astronaut teams, and the profound potential of these interdimensional expeditions. The crowd hung onto his every word, sharing his excitement and his awe at the grandeur of their achievement.

Finally, as his speech reached its climax, Dr. Zack revealed his intention to retire from his position as President. "The uncharted skies call to me," he declared, "and I plan to join our brave space pioneers. I've served Hell as your President, now let me serve as your explorer."

His decision triggered a stir in the crowd, some in surprise, others in anticipation. Early elections were called, allowing for new leadership to emerge in this time of great change. As the echoes of his words faded into the night, it was clear that this moment marked a new era in Hell's history. Their journey into the unknown had just begun.

As days or possibly centuries rolled by, Raymond's experience in Heaven remained as constant as the celestial rhythm of the cosmos. The simplicity and beauty of his existence became a hymn in itself, a reverberation of joy and satisfaction that permeated his very being. The Sanctum, his sacred melody, filled his every moment, a ceaseless song of praise flowing from his heart. Time held no sway over him, no fatigue ever touched him. His voice, joined with the countless others, ascended in the divine harmony, rising and falling in a timeless dance. He was a vital note in the eternal symphony, a celebration of the glory of God that was, is, and always will be. And in this ceaseless rhythm of worship, Raymond found a deep, profound peace.

As the countdown in Hell reached its crescendo, a palpable anticipation permeated the air. With a mighty roar that echoed across the cavernous landscapes, the rockets pierced the fiery sky, the testament of resilience and defiance against eternal damnation. Onward they soared, their blazing trails a brilliant contrast against the sulfurous clouds. Valhalla? The cold, infinite abyss of space? The possibilities were as limitless as the cosmos itself. This was not a journey of desperation, but of exploration, driven by curiosity and undying will. The vast expanse of everything was calling, and they answered. Their destination? Everywhere. They would respect the sanctity of God's golden home, but in the infinite possibilities of existence, there was nowhere else they couldn't go. Their journey, lit by the very fires of Hell that had once tortured them, was about to begin.

In the unchanging splendor of Heaven, Raymond, his soul imbued with a relentless awe and rapture, found himself consumed by the Sanctum. His voice swelled and ebbed, over and over, a ceaseless tide upon the shore of eternity. The melody, the rhythm, the very words themselves were no longer an act of worship but had morphed into the essence of his existence. With each repetition, there was no evolution, no transformation, but a surreal sense of suspended animation. His world became a harmonious echo chamber, a perfect, constant loop. Over and over, he sang the Sanctum. Over and over, he drowned in a sea of celestial joy. Over and over, he was caught in the divine embrace of unchanging perfection. Over and over, a miriaphonic symphony of everlasting recurrence, pleasing God in its beautiful sameness.