I write obituaries for the gods

"Can't you hear me, you old geezer?" the jailer cursed again. "I said, you should go back to your cage! I don't want to freeze to dust with you here, you damn bastard..."

Velemil stared at the jailer for a while, then strode toward the line.

Seeing his arrogance, the jailer's lips twitched and he kicked him in the knee again.

Velemer fell down again, landing on the frozen ground, and the prisoners burst into laughter.

"Damn old bastard!"

The jailer spat in Velemil's face, then mounted his horse and shouted:

"You! Gulag servants! Stop fucking laughing and get back to your dog cages! Don't make me say it again!"

"..."

Velemer got up and looked at the snowfield in the distance.

There, a magnificent castle stands.

That was a Gulag prison.

Since the appearance of the demigods, the Gulag has been revived once again, and has begun to use extreme power to imprison all serious criminals in order to deter the forces within its borders.

With the United States becoming increasingly terrifying, Russia has repeatedly tried to find a patron in order to counter the impact from the West.

The backer they found was the Cornerstone Foundation.

"Distribute it; you only deserve to eat this much."

The jailer threw an iron basin into the cell, which contained some black bread.

The prisoners didn't fight over it; a strong figure parted the crowd, picked up a basin, and began to take control of the distribution of the black bread.

His name is Zvyagintsev, and he is the eldest in this cell.

He got drunk in a Moscow bar, ran up a bill, and beat up thirteen people on the spot. He also crippled three agents while being pursued by the KGB before being arrested.

Zvyagintsev is a demigod; according to the Foundation's assessment, he is at least gamma-level.

Upon entering the cell, he beat everyone up without saying a word, leaving them unable to get out of bed, and then he distributed the food.

Over time, he gained absolute control over the prison.

"You, Berg, you've been very obedient lately, this is yours."

"You, image reviewer, this is yours."

"You... Raskolnikov..."

Zvyagintsev walked up to Velemil and looked down at the old man.

“I heard you were bullied by those jailers again,” he mocked. “What? Old man, you look so arrogant, but you can’t even throw a punch.”

Veremir did not speak. He looked up at Zvyagintsev, his dark blue eyes dull and lifeless.

Zvyagintsev chuckled, took a piece of black bread from the bowl, broke off a small piece, and threw it on the ground.

“Eat up, you unbeliever fool,” he said. “I’ll see when you starve to death.”

Everyone knows that Velemer doesn't believe in God.

He rarely spoke, but the most memorable time was when a priest came to visit the prison.

The priest read scriptures to the prisoners, spreading the faith of the Lord to them and telling them that they still had someone to rely on in this icy wasteland, which brought tears to the eyes of even the strongest of them, Zvyagintsev.

But Velemir simply shook his head and said in front of everyone:

“God is asleep in Sodom. Reciting scriptures will not let you see Him.”

That happened many years ago, but it became irrefutable proof that Velemil was a heretic.

On this desolate, frozen land, God is the only solace for many hardened criminals.

Therefore, although Velemer rarely spoke, that one time he opened his mouth had already brought his reputation to its lowest point.

"..."

Velemer bent down, picked up the piece of black bread, and without caring about the dirt on it, stuffed it into his mouth.

Seeing his nonchalant attitude, Zvyagintsev chuckled and said:

"Enjoy it while you can, you won't be eating black bread for long, you poor old thing. I'm afraid you'll soon be buried in the field and used as fertilizer for potatoes."

He turned around and took a few steps away, but Velemir spoke up:

"God is going to die soon."

Zvyagintsev turned his head and glared fiercely at Velemer.

"What did you say?"

“God is going to die soon,” Velemir said. “Sodom will soon see the light of day again, Jehovah will be killed, and gods and men will return to history.”

“блядь!”

Zvyagintsev lunged forward, grabbed Velemil by the neck, and lifted him up.

“How dare you spread such alarmist rumors!” he roared. “You shameful, impious old man!”

“Man should replace God and become the arbiter of order,” Velemir said calmly. “However, not someone like you, Zvyagintsev. You are an ordinary man, while I am talking about an extraordinary one.”

"Am I just an ordinary person? Am I just an ordinary person?"

Zvyagintsev gave a wicked laugh.

"I'm a demigod! You old bastard! I can crush your neck with my bare hands, and you'll die like a rat without any dignity!"

"Then why don't you crush my neck?"

Velemir stared calmly into the demigod's deep blue eyes, his expression remaining indifferent.

“By crushing my neck, you will have killed a heretic in the eyes of the masses. With such an achievement, the other gangs should no longer make things difficult for you. You may even become the king of the Gulag.”

"Then why don't you dare to do it? As you say, you are an extraordinary person, and killing me should be an easy thing for you."

“Because you are afraid,” Velemir said calmly. “You are afraid of the order. In the Gulag, the person who kills a prisoner will be severely punished. You killed me, and the order will punish you.”

"You don't consider yourself an extraordinary person; you consider yourself an ordinary person because order only binds ordinary people, and you are willing to become a prisoner of order."

"You dare not kill me not because of mercy, but because of my ordinariness."

“Damn it, of course I dare to kill you!” Zvyagintsev roared.

"Then do it!" Velemir suddenly roared. "Do it! Kill me! Crush my throat with your bare hands! Split my head open with an axe!"

"Prove yourself! Prove that you are as extraordinary as Napoleon! Everything is an obstacle that needs to be cleared on the road to great achievements! Superman should have the right to decide the life and death of ordinary people!"

"Aren't you a demigod? Prove that you live up to your status!"

After Velemil finished shouting, the prison fell into a deathly silence.

Everyone stared at Zvyagintsev, at his sweat-drenched forehead and his trembling arms.

Finally, Zvyagintsev released his grip, letting Veremir fall to the ground.

“Starting tomorrow, you won’t get a single loaf of bread!” Zvyagintsev roared. “You’ll starve to death! Starve to death like a stray dog!”

After saying that, he turned around and walked towards his bed.

Velemir didn't even bother to clean the dirt off his clothes before climbing back into bed, curling up to ward off the Gulag's cold.

At that moment, a piece of bread was stuffed into his mouth.

"Raskolnikov, why don't you resist him?"

Velemer looked up and saw a boy squatting beside his bed, looking at him.

“You’re not that weak,” the boy said bluntly. “He’s choking you, but you can talk without any problem and you’re not even breathing.”

Velemer didn't speak, he just watched the boy quietly.

“That guy is a cowardly bully,” the boy said bitterly. “He’s domineering to the prisoners but bows and scrapes to the jailers. You’re right, he may be a demigod, but he’s just a mortal!”

"What do you think Superman is?" Velemir asked calmly.

“People who dare to challenge the order and disregard the rules, as you said, are like Napoleon.”

The boy hesitated for a moment, then nodded vigorously:

"And then there are people like you."

“You are hardly ever ordered around by them. I can tell that you are just doing what you want to do. Even when you obey occasionally, it's only because it's too noisy and you want peace and quiet—which is also what you want to do.”

“I am just an old man,” Velemer said, “a king exiled to the edge of the world, never to return to his kingdom.”

“But you haven’t given up…” The boy shook his head. “You’re waiting for something, aren’t you, Raskolnikov…”

The boy lowered his head, fiddling with his fingers covered in chilblains, as if he were plotting something.

“Let’s kill Zvyagintsev tonight,” the boy said, looking up. “The prison should be led by someone as wise as you, not him.”

Velemer looked at the boy, but still didn't say anything.

But the boy was not affected at all by his lifeless eyes, and instead began to plan excitedly.

Before we knew it, night had fallen.

Velemer didn't go to dinner; he stayed curled up in bed with his eyes closed, listening to the noise from the cell.

He was awakened by the noise late at night.

"Let me go, you bastard!"

"You little bastard! I'll kill you today!"

Velemer opened his eyes, stood up, and looked at the other end of the cell.

He saw Zvyagintsev pinning the boy against the wall, the boy already bruised and battered.

“Your bricks aren’t hard enough, at least not as hard as my head,” Zvyagintsev roared. “Now, let’s see if your head is harder, or my fist!”

"Let me go! You bastard! Let me go..."

Through his blurry vision, the boy saw Velemir getting up.

"Raskolnikov! Help me!"

"You called that old geezer to save you?" The people in the cell burst into laughter, and Zvyagintsev laughed even harder. "He can't even get up! You really think he can save you?"

"Raskolnikov!"

Veremir stood up, walked to the center of the prison, and looked at Zvyagintsev.

“What are you still hesitating about?” Velemir said. “Kill him.”

The prison fell into a deathly silence.

A flicker of surprise crossed Zvyagintsev's eyes. His lips twitched slightly as he whispered:

Why should I obey your orders?

“This kid tried to kill you, but you didn’t dare to kill him,” Velemir said calmly. “He’s better than you.”

"You're trying to provoke me! You're trying to attract the jailers!"

“Are you afraid of the jailer?” Velemir shook his head. “That only proves you’re a mortal. Right now, the gentleman you’ve pinned to the wall isn’t afraid of the jailer—he tried to kill you with a brick, which was foolish, but at least it shows that he’s not afraid of either you or the jailer.”

"You...you..."

Zvyagintsev's face contorted as he began to exert force, and the boy's face gradually turned purple.

Seeing this, the prisoners began to revel:

"Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!"

Amid cheers, Zvyagintsev strained harder, veins bulging on his arms like monstrous dragons.

At that moment, the prison's loudspeaker broadcast:

"All prisoners, please assemble in the central hall. Repeat, all prisoners, please assemble in the central hall."

Amid the noise, Zvyagintsev released his grip, letting the boy fall to the ground.

He looked towards the door, panting, and saw several fully armed jailers rush in, shouting:

"Rally! You rats! Rally!"

"Why are we gathering in the middle of the night?!" someone shouted.