Having traversed countless realms, can you possibly be as clever as me?

“How could I kill others? Even the Jews who betrayed me are my children and my fellow countrymen. I will grant you miracles, after all, I love you so much and have forgiven your sins.”

Is it a joke? If it were any other situation or with any other person, this matter wouldn't be easily forgotten, but when the 'Jesus' in front of them says he's joking, they have no choice but to accept it.

"I will grant you great miracles," the cursed Jesus said with a smile.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

P.S.: The original outline was for Teacher Da Ye to transform into Seele and sweep across Europe, but since Seele couldn't be written, we had to settle for something else.

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604. Only suffering deserves joy.

"I will grant you miracles, great miracles."

"You will gain the power to fight against the devil, the life of immortality, and the power to cure all diseases."

"Or, endless wealth and endless pleasure, I can give you all of these."

Bound to the cross, the Holy Son looked down at the people below and kindly emphasized again.

"Everything"

In that instant, a strong sense of trust and unquestionability arose in the hearts of everyone present.

Besides the loach, there are also traces of other fish, and the following are also traces of other fish: [unintelligible characters].

The priests kneeling on the ground raised their heads, their faces covered with tears, snot, and saliva, a nauseating mixture, yet their eyes shone with a sickly, hungry light, like wolves eyeing their prey.

"Really?" the young Italian priest almost screamed. "Really? Lord, is it true? Are you willing to perform a miracle and save us?"

"Lord! Lord! Thank you! Praise be to you!" The priests began to kowtow frantically, the sound of their foreheads striking the stone slabs rising and falling like a chaotic percussion symphony. Blood seeped from their foreheads, staining the stone slabs and mixing indistinguishably with the dark red liquid seeping from the walls.

At the height of this ecstasy, a voice rang out from the corner—a hurried, trembling voice that was desperately trying to project confidence.

"We summoned you!"

The bearded Jewish rabbi trembled as he got to his feet. As if nothing had happened, he shamelessly rushed to the thing and knelt down with a thud. The other eleven Jews behind him hesitated for a moment, then followed suit, kneeling in a row behind him.

“It is us,” the rabbi repeated, his voice strained to suppress fear and excitement, but the excitement was so profound it seeped from every pore of his being.

"We orchestrated all of this! We made that Japanese man—were the one who gave up the opportunity to attack us!"

He was lying. Everyone knew it was a lie. The Americans knew, the priests knew, and so on.

The rabbi's eyes seemed to be filled with fervent anticipation, saying, "We are the first Jews to kneel before you, we are the first to acknowledge your power. If you wish to grant miracles, please grant them to us first."

As for whether they believe in the Messiah or not in Jesus?

Haha, the Messiah right before our eyes is just a different name! Even if he's a fake, we can pretend to convert and then regret it later!

The cursed Jesus lowered his head and looked at the twelve Jews kneeling at his feet.

Its ever-changing face now settled on a particular combination—Middle Eastern features, deep-set eyes, a high-bridged nose, and thin, almost bloodless lips. This combination made it look more like Jesus in traditional imagery.

Those empty, cold eyes, like those in a painting, stared at the rabbi. The rabbi wore a stiff smile, but his body was trembling, his teeth chattering, making a faint "clucking" sound, like a cicada frozen in winter.

Then, the cursed Jesus laughed.

It was no longer that deathly calm tone. It wasn't any tone that had ever appeared before. It was a completely new sound, one that had never been heard before—joyful, lighthearted, with the simple, unthinking happiness of a child who had successfully pulled off a prank.

"Giggle."

The laughter was soft, as soft as the sound of wind blowing through dry branches, pure, innocent, like the joy of a three-year-old child seeing ants being washed away by water.

"You said," the thing said in a childlike, joyful voice, "that it was you who made me come back?"

The rabbi nodded frantically. His neck became unusually flexible at that moment, like a wind-up toy. The stiff smile was still on his face, but it had begun to loosen—the muscles at the corners of his mouth were twitching, like a rubber band about to snap.

"Heretical talk, utter nonsense!!!"

At that moment, the Vatican priests, finally realizing what was happening, were enraged. With a roar, they pounced on the Jews, immediately launching a brutal attack.

"It was our faith that summoned the Lord's arrival, and you are nothing but traitors who bring fear!!!"

"You betrayed the Lord, you killed Him, you Jews have no right to enjoy these things!!!"

The rabbi reacted quickly and fought back, and it was clear that twelve people were stronger than five.

The text appears to be a jumbled collection of characters and symbols, possibly from different sources. A direct translation isn't meaningful without further context or clarification.

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"In fact, according to their own one-drop-of-blood principle, shouldn't they all be Jews?"

The text appears to be a jumbled collection of characters and symbols, possibly from different sources. A direct translation isn't meaningful without further context or clarification.

What does it mean that the Roman Orthodox Church recognizes Jews as our brothers in faith?

Although the trade was dangerous and the food was delicious, the death was inevitable. The mushrooms were tough, the glue was hard, and the pyre was strong. The rebels were ruthless, and the evil spirits were rampant. The people were determined to escape, and the evil spirits were ruthless. The evil spirits were strong, and the evil spirits were ruthless. The evil spirits were ruthless ...

"Heretic, I'll deal with you last."

The cursed spirit Jesus glanced at the creature with a purely indifferent gaze.

“Enough,” Jesus the Cursed tilted his head, like a child deep in thought. “Since you were the first to kneel before me, I will grant you and your people the miracle of eternal life with me.”

The rabbi's eyes widened instantly, followed by boundless ecstasy.

He seemed to see a great version of himself, a saint, glorious, radiant, revered by all, eternally immortal, great and infinite—

The rabbi was stunned, for he saw the eyes of the cursed Jesus, those gentle and loving eyes that had once again turned into a cold, empty light, and within them was a cruel mockery.

It was as if they had seen a foolish, struggling prey lower its guard and then mocked it after it took the bait.

The rabbi's body began to change; the muscles on either side of his spine began to spasm—not ordinary cramps, but rhythmic contractions, as if something was wriggling beneath his skin. Then, those muscles began to tear.

"Traveling Through Heavens, Can You Be Smarter Than Me?" is full of classic quotes. Visit http://

Every muscle fiber in his body was contracting in different directions simultaneously, as if being pulled by countless invisible hands from different angles. This tearing pain was not sharp, but a dull ache—like being pressed on the chest by a boulder, slowly, inch by inch, crushing your ribs, making every breath feel like a slow, agonizing torture.

"Hehehe~~~~"

The rabbi opened his mouth, but a scream was suppressed by the pressure of his chest muscles, only a sound like a bubble bursting could be heard. Then, his lungs filled with a rusty-smelling liquid, which slowly rose into his lungs like a rising tide, overwhelming his ability to breathe.

The pain of suffocation was so intense that the fear of the direct threat to his life even overshadowed the excruciating pain of his body being torn apart.

He clutched his throat in excruciating pain, tearing at his neck to try and get some air. But he wasn't truly suffocating; oxygen was still circulating in his body, yet he felt as if his alveoli were constantly bursting.

Each and every alveolus in his lungs was constantly being stretched by the fluid until it reached its limit, then ruptured. The sensation of rupture was like tiny balloons exploding in his chest cavity. Each explosion produced a brief, blinding white light in his brain, illuminating his entire consciousness like lightning.

But the suffering has only just begun.

The rabbi collapsed to the ground in agony, emitting a silent groan. In the center of his palms and on the insteps of his feet, indentations began to appear, revealing standard, circular, penetrating wounds. One could see flesh being torn apart, bones being pierced, and skin being burned.

Unseen rust rubbed against the flesh and blood of his palms, embedded in the bone, becoming part of it as the bone healed.

As the rust begins to 'grow,' dark red corals rise from the abyss of the flesh, and excruciating pain spreads from the hands and feet.

The same torment was inflicted on the eleven Jews behind him.

Twelve people, twelve different tones, like a chorus without a composer. Their bodies are being replicated in the same places and in the same way, bearing the same pain of the same person—everything that the man crucified at Golgotha ​​two thousand years ago endured, now transferred to them precisely, completely, and without leaving any blind spots.

Every nerve ending was activated. Every pain-sensing pathway that had been closed during evolution was now open. There's a limit to the amount of pain a normal person can feel at any given time—when the pain exceeds this limit, the brain automatically cuts off the signal, causing unconsciousness. This is the body's self-protective mechanism.

However, this mechanism was permanently shut down.

Their consciousness was forcibly kept at a maximum level of alertness. They could feel the pain every nanosecond and distinguish the subtle differences between each kind of pain—sting, burning, tearing, squeezing, acidic, tingling.

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Liquid began to flow from the rabbi's mouth. It wasn't blood, but vinegar. Acidic, pungent vinegar refluxed from his esophagus, filling his mouth, overflowing from the corners of his lips, and dripping onto the ground down his beard.

This was a gift from Longinus, from the Romans, the last meal Jesus ate before his death, a sponge dipped in vinegar.

His tongue burned from the vinegar; the taste buds on his tongue curled up, turned black, and fell off as if burned. He felt nauseous, but his esophagus was spasming, and the reverse peristalsis brought his stomach acid into the feast. The two acids mixed in his throat like the violent reaction that occurs when two different acids meet in a test tube.

vomit!!!

An intense urge to vomit added to the extreme torment of his suffering. His body convulsed on the stone slab like a fish thrown ashore. Each convulsion tore a muscle, ruptured a ligament, or dislocated a joint.

The cruelty of being nailed to the cross lies not in the friction of flesh and blood, but in making a broken and painful body bear its own weight, feeling excruciating pain every moment.

He rolled on the stone slab, trying to find a pain-free position. But no such position existed. Every position brought new pain; his body had become a relentless pain-generating machine, and his consciousness was its sole audience.

"Please...please..."

The rabbi finally managed to utter two words. His lips were charred black—the combined burning from the vinegar and stomach acid had caused the skin on his lips to curl and peel off like charred paper, revealing the bright red muscle beneath. That muscle was also being burned; his lips, now stripped of their protective skin, sizzled like a piece of meat on a grill, oozing liquid.

"Please...stop...stop..."

He reached out his hand toward the object, his fingers trembling like withered branches in the wind.

That thing—that “Jesus”—looked at the hand reaching out to it.

His face still held a childlike joy. That joy hadn't disappeared, hadn't diminished; it had even become purer. He bent down slightly, bringing his ever-changing face close to the rabbi's, close enough that the rabbi could feel the coolness emanating from his skin.

Then, in that joyful, childlike voice, He spoke...

"I will bestow upon you the grace of miracles, and these are my miracles."

His voice was gentle, yet it possessed a chilling tenderness—like a corpse reaching out to stroke your face, eerie and terrifying.

"My miracle is to bear the suffering of the world, and since I give you miracles, you must bear my suffering."

"To exchange physical pain for immortality, this is the gift I promised to you and your people."

His gaze shifted from the rabbi, slowly sweeping over the eleven Jews struggling in agony on the ground, over the five priests kneeling there, too terrified to speak, and over the American slumped in the corner, his gun lying on the floor—

He closed his eyes, opened his arms, and whispered...

“I share my pain with you. For every bit of pain you endure, a bit is taken from me. When all my pain is gone, I will descend upon you and, with all my authority and power, destroy the being you call the ‘Crimson King’.”

"Suffering is the eternal truth."

In Rome, thousands of believers who were holding a vigil for world peace heard this sound simultaneously in the square of St. Peter's Basilica in the Vatican.

In Manila, in Seoul, in Los Angeles, in Lagos, in Moscow, wherever church bells ring, that sound floods the ears of every Christian like a tidal wave.

Go and pray for a miracle, go and pray for a miracle through suffering.

Share my pain, and in exchange for a miracle through cruelty to myself.

I am with you.

Immersive Reading 604. Only suffering deserves joy. Please click http://