Chapter Text
In the coming days, Simon came to believe in God. It was not the God that Eden preached of, not the benevolent God whose ever-loving arms would embrace him and all of his brothers and sisters both in this life and the next, amen. Oh no. God was angry. God was a sadistic child, and Simon was an ant beneath its magnifying glass. Maybe Eden had it all wrong. Maybe their Devil was God. Nothing without the powers of God could do this to him.
The visions were relentless and unbearable. Simon was certain he had died. He was destroyed with the sub, skin expanding and erupting and solidifying. When Simon died, he took everything he could reach down with him. Yet, here he was, being ripped apart over and over again. Drowned and torn and burned and starved and raked over literal coals. The pain never dulled. He never got used to it, as much as he thought he would when the Father would preach of Hell. This was his punishment for not believing any of it. All of this was.
An eye hovered over him through it all, lidless and shiny red, surrounded by scales. Despite its lack of eyebrows and moving skin, the eye shone with mirth as Simon begged for forgiveness, as he wept while his brothers beat him with their fists until bloody bones were all that remained. The pain would end for a moment, and Simon would hopelessly think that this was the end, only to be thrown head first into the next round of torture. Always painful. Always watched.
It only made sense for Simon to acknowledge the light as his true Savior. This was a different kind of Hell, he thought as the light shone bright and spiky into his eyes– a Hell meant for purging the sins from your spirit before allowing you to enter the pearly gates.
Simon’s body was weightless. His arms and legs floated through the air. The Heavens made a god-awful roaring, louder than the ringing and muffled rumbling in Simon’s ears. Air escaped his lungs shakily. Someone was speaking. God, presumably. Or was it Peter? Everything was too fuzzy and rain-swept for Simon to remember.
After a few moments, Simon’s eyes adjusted to the light, and he could glimpse his Savior. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. A scruff across His sharp chin. He’d never imagined God like that. Wasn’t Simon supposed to be made in His image?
That was his last thought before the pinhole consumed his vision, and then there was nothing.