Sartre opened his eyes and saw dark green and narrow leaves and brightly colored flowers.

He listened calmly to the outside world - the screams of despair and sadness of women continued. He knew that such screams would last at least ten minutes, because he did not hear the elders recite ** and declare according to religious laws that this woman who was familiar with marriage should be stoned to death by her tribe members. There would be incoherent prayers and begging. When the first stone hit his mother, she closed her mouth and did not make even a sound other than moaning.

Her child moved lightly through the low corridor formed by the pomegranate tree. On the other side of the pomegranate tree, the men were taking their victims to the execution ground. Along the way, each pomegranate tree was trembling violently. The woman was dragged by her husband and her husband's brothers with arms, but her fingers were still free. She grabbed every thing she could touch, as if there was a document of exemption issued by Allah himself in the wet branches, but in the end, there was nothing in her hands except the light green marks left when the branches and leaves broke and the scars they caused.

The execution was not far away, and Sartre even arrived a little earlier than people. From a relatively large gap, there was only a little strange color in the men's white robes - his thin mother wrapped in a black robe, her beautiful face was full of horror and trembling constantly. The two executors grabbed her arms, forced her to stand upright, and then stuffed her into the pit that had been dug and carefully maintained. People pulled away the baffle on the side of the pit, and the delicate sand immediately buried under her plump breasts.

Sartre stood up—this was something he had never done in his previous dreams.

Yes, Sartre knew clearly what this was. What happened? After going to the Western Continental Federation, he had returned once without anyone knowing it. He collected the water and sand here and handed it to relevant laboratories for testing. The result was that this seemingly clean and sweet water contained extremely small amounts of special ingredients. This ingredient is contained in the cactus abundant in the Zeeland desert. A kind of alkaloid that can act as anesthetic and hallucinogenic alkaloids. That is to say, this so-called can be distinguished.

The Holy Lake where warriors and cowards made the verdict on behalf of Allah is just a closed room similar to a closed room filled with cannabis leaves. Even if people close their lips, those ingredients can be absorbed by the human body through the skin, nose and eyes mucosa, causing gentle hallucinations and illusions. With a little foreign and self-suggestion, it is normal to experience the most profound and painful thing in their life again - this is a nightmare induced by drugs. As long as you are determined, you can even correct it and change it.

This is true for those warriors who passed the test, and so is Sartre. He has nothing to fear - fear does not come from the soul, but from ignorance. After he has understood the secret, how can he be bothered and confused by these false scenes and sounds?

Of course, such a "duel" was not fair to the Crown Prince of Sardinia, but at least he would not be injured or died. A century ago, even when facing the crown prince of a country, the violently straitors would propose to use a scimitar or a hunting rifle to decide the belonging of the woman he likes. Now he will only be tortured by his own hallucinations. Sartre sincerely hopes that there are not many secrets hidden in his heart.

Sartre smiled in his own illusion, and he couldn't remember what he was. When he fell in love with Lily, he only knew that he was unwilling to give up when he realized it - he told his father what Lily did after jumping off the plane to get his support... As he thought, no one was willing to let go of such power. Lily is a religious member of the Sardinian Church. It doesn't matter. As long as she is in Zeland, her power is the favor given to Zeland by Allah...

Sartre was so sad that he swallowed the praise that had reached his tongue and was about to pour out. He swallowed the words of praise in his throat. This was just a habit, or conditioned reflex, and he thought comfortably.

"Blessed by Allah!...Sartre-Are you Sartre?...How did you become like this? Is it the will of Allah or the spell of the demon?"

The father's scream made him come back to his senses. The dream was so realistic. Sartre smiled. He stretched out his tall and strong body and walked towards the crowd. The uncles tried to stop him. He pushed them away without difficulty like pushing away a bunch of lambs crowded together. The elders cursed and prayed, and there were sticks and stones thrown on him, but he felt no pain or hindered his movements. He even knocked away an obstacle in a roar - the hot blood of human beings squirted on his face.

People shouted to Allah and his messenger's name to flee. Sartre tore the elder's lost scriptures, stomped apart, spat, and then walked to his mother, smiled and leaned down: "I'm here to save you, mother." He said.

When he decided to use this lake, he had a bold idea - scientific research proved that when humans realize that they were dreaming, they could control this dream freely and do many things that could not be done in reality - Sartre wanted to become tall, brave, and omnipotent, and then rescue his mother from those stupid and stupid blood relatives - even if it was just in hallucinations and dreams.

The mother looked at him like a devil approaching her step by step, and the beautiful face of the twenty-nine-year-old was deformed by fear and futile struggle. Her deafening shouts reached their peak when Sartre grabbed her. Sartre felt a little impatient. He pulled her up and easily "pulled" her out.

He let her go, his wish was done, and in his dream, he could not continue to send her back to the Western Continent Federation - time is also lost in reality, Sardinia's crown prince is also a brave and powerful young man, and he does not want to lose ridiculously because of his temporary negligence.

The mother's scream suddenly stopped, her eyes were dull and she muttered to herself. Sartre was very surprised that he would have such a dream - he bent down and wanted to hear what his mother was saying - he heard her say.

"Those who do not believe in the Word, and who deny my signs, are the residents of the Hell, who will live forever. The destination is so bad--the false believer will fall into the lowest level of the Hell, and you must not find any helpers for them."

Sartre jumped away from her!

What did he see?

Flames emerged from the mother's eyes and mouth, and clanging iron chains grew on her body, just like branches growing from the trunk, under her feet were the shoes of flames, and on her shoulders were the shackles of flames.

"Allah..." she cried strangely: "Please forgive my sins, and my faith in admitting the Lord's only one has not wavered."

The black gate floated from the holy lake, so high and wide that it could almost cover the sky - it was slowly opened, and the scorching wind rushed out of the gap, scorching Sartre's nose, throat and eyes, and the rolling black smoke followed, and it threw everything into darkness.

"Light! I want light." Sartre shouted, he wanted to create a sun, a searchlight, a flashlight, or a Mars.

His request was met-the blood-red light, his clothes turned into flames, burning his skin, and the unbearable pain made him scream with his head held high, and countless iron chains were tied to every bone of his, and the unknown force in front pulled them, forcing him to move forward.

"What is this, what is this?" He kept roaring. Every pain was so clear and clear that he could hardly have his own thoughts anymore, and every nerve was occupied by pain.

Behind the black gate, the flames were beating, the fuel was stone and humans. Each human was wearing clothes made of asphalt and was worn on iron chains. The flames covered them like bedding. There were countless "weird beings" around them torture them with various cruel punishments. Sartre's mother was grabbed by two such beings and dragged to a place similar to a bathhouse. Inside was tumbling with boiling water. She was thrown into it, and was with some people whose skin had been scalded, their internal organs and bones were slapped. If they tried to climb up, they would whip them with iron.

"What are you?! What are you?!" Sartre shouted.

"We are the beings you do not believe in, the gods sent by the Supreme Allah in the fire."

A majestic voice replied.

"The false believer (Note 1), your sins are tens of millions of times more serious than those who are in charge. If you don't have the place of your sins here, you will be detained forever at the bottom of the fire. Regret and begging for mercy will be useless. Use thorns and poisons, pus to fill your hunger. After eating, you will boil like a pan and boiling water. You will not rest or be at peace. You will be wailed in the terrible punishment every moment!"

***

"It's such a wonderful thing, and what he fears is exactly what he abandons." said the Undead, his hand gently placed on Sartre's forehead, and in the dark water, his fingers emit a faint fluorescent light.

"It is precisely because of fear that we have to abandon it." Alex's target replied, with a little sorrow and desolation that would not be noticed without listening carefully.

"It's very interesting. He spits on his beliefs uncontrollably, and at the same time he is extremely determined to be punished." Alex analyzed gently: "How interesting is human's perception of fear - human fear is always closely related to their growth process. Walk alone, cross the heights that have never been tried, leave familiar places, and do something that he has never done before. Only by dragging these fears can humans develop and survive; but there are always some fears that are very different from it and have nothing to do, and you can't even understand their roots. Fearing darkness may be because there are beasts lurking in the darkness, and fearing insects and snakes because their kind or ancestors are in the base.

The traces left in memory; fear is with people because they are afraid of being attacked and hurt from outside... Almost every human has a unique fear - but these many fears have only one source, and all appearances are its variations, distortions, or transfers. People always cover the untreated fears with light and simple disguises, because compared to what they really fear, these disguises are much easier to deal with - for example, Sartre, who can say that he betrayed his faith because of the death of his mother, which is a comfort to some extent - a good reason that can be understood, not some other reason..."

"Are there any other reason?" The voice in the dark suddenly became sharp: "Is there any other reason?"

***

Fake believers - The false believers here have nothing to do with d※d, they refer to those who once believed in Allah but turned against Allah, or deceived Allah.!~!

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Chapter completed!