TEMPTATION

- Lord, support me, for I am wretchedly weak. I do as you command, I believe in you unwaveringly and am faithful to you, but a winged shadow almost forcibly wants to lead me a different path. Bless me, Lord, give me strength so that my human weaknesses do not overcome the fervor of my spirit.

- Arise, go, and win another battle for my own soul and my glory. Do not give in. Remember that I need the strong and the most persistent. Do not succumb to beautiful words and visions. Go.

The man, covered in a hooded cloak, rose from his knees. As he had been trained, he looked at his feet, not daring to raise his eyes. He drank the cup of black liquid, flavored with wine, offered to him. He turned and left.

*

He did not shed blood, did not rape, did not steal. These were trivial acts that could bring more failure than the intended result. The Master taught Damian how to act much more subtly, yet more effectively. He entangled his acquaintances in his web, planted ideas in their minds, and casually suggested innocent pleasures. He imbued them with knowledge and ignorance. He sowed doubts. He was very effective in picking up girls and curing them of their virginity with great satisfaction. Sometimes he took risks with married women, but he didn't particularly enjoy it. A sin was a sin, but it wasn't pleasant to be another explorer of the same cave. He added a touch of his own to all this. He ran a loan sharking business, and if his clients' problems were too great, he helped them escape, in exchange for help with various small sins. Or he watched with adoration as debtors, driven to the brink of despair, took desperate steps towards evil themselves. So far, he had failed to recruit anyone into the army of his master's most ardent followers, but he was still very effective.

*

An alabaster-white, winged Beauty haunted him at night. She befuddled him, caressed him, conjured up visions, and convinced him of her own ideas. She spoke directly, without embellishment or rigid formulas. Damian refused to give in, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. A bright face appeared before his eyes whenever he had the opportunity to do something that didn't go his way.

Damian felt trapped, even hounded. At times, it was difficult to distinguish reality from vision. He increasingly feared that his senses would become confused and, instead of serving, he would end up swallowing pills in a doorless room.

*

His most difficult moments came in the summer, when he went to the desert to burn away his weaknesses in the cleansing sun. Intoxicated by alcohol and drugs, he danced on the hot sand, prayed fervently, and called out to his master. Over time, the loneliness, the cold of the night, and the heat of the day began to sink in. He was to endure forty days, without anyone's help, advice, or even company. Thanks to this, he would return stronger than ever.

But Damian wasn't alone. Brighter than the sun, the smiling apparition never left his side. It spoke to him of love, justice, truth, and trust. It questioned everything he believed in, and it still smiled so sweetly...

Damian defended himself as best he could. Sometimes he tried to argue, sometimes he convinced himself he couldn't hear anything. He fought, but he felt he would either give in or lose the ability to act rationally. He was already screaming in solitude, throwing himself across the ocean of dunes, running with madness in his eyes. "

Get away, get away!!! Get out of my head!!! Stop tempting me!!! Get away!!! I don't want you, I don't want you, I don't want you!!!

"

The apparition vanished. Suddenly, without a word, without reason. It left Damian in silence, peace, and blissful respite. He seemed saved, though the tempter had so powerfully penetrated his mind that he was now left with vast areas of uncertainty and emptiness. This magnificent silence was a nightmare, the sound of a thousand bells echoing in his ears. But Damian persevered. Forty days passed, and he returned. He was filled with euphoria and a sense of triumph. He savored the strength of his will and the thought, independent of the intrusive, exhausting persuasion.

It lulled his vigilance so much that he forgot to control ordinary human impulses. This weakness he couldn't shake (after all, he was human...), control—yes, get rid of—no.

The girl standing next to him dropped her purse. Coins scattered across the sidewalk. A clink and the soft shuffle of rolling discs of desire and adoration. He bent down and mechanically helped her gather the money. Only when he heard "thank you" and the girl smiled did he realize he had betrayed his own worth, and in the stupidest possible way. Instead of the girl's face, he once again saw the gentle face of his spiritual persecutor. The insidious angel hadn't left. He set a trap and ruthlessly exploited the opportunity.

A moment of panic. Damian snatched the girl's purse and fled. It was incredibly stupid, but nothing else occurred to him. Perhaps he had redeemed himself at least a little? But he felt that this stupid, trivial act would be remembered. Such a trifle, such meaningless nonsense... such things are the ones you have to be most careful of. Almost every disaster begins with them. They're like the first pebble in an avalanche, like a crack in a dam wall, like the first brick torn from a wall.

*

"You failed!" The bitter word echoed in Damian's head with a thousand echoes. He feared his master's wrath, but he was far more tormented by the fact that he hadn't lived up to the expectations. "

I beg you, my master, forgive me, let me correct my mistake, let me continue to serve you," he whimpered, lying on the cold floor. "Punish me and forgive me."

"I never forgive and I never forget what was done against my will. Nevertheless, you will be given one more chance. The last. If you fail this time, it will be your end. Know that the bright spirit is luring you because of your guilt. He must have sensed doubt, uncertainty, and unreliability within you. He wouldn't waste time where he had no chance of success. I must weed out from you what attracts him. Pull out the weeds of weakness. Harden you, toughen you. The punishment for the baseness of existence will not pass you by. Remember it well. May disobedience always be associated with suffering... and an angel. When you see his face, think of pain. He and the pain are one. The punishment is his fault and yours alone... and yours. Besides, if you listen to him, he himself will tell you to be a martyr to his cause."

*

Damian, shackled, was whipped for three days. He survived, perhaps only thanks to his master's power, though he himself begged for death. He couldn't even faint. He was constantly aware of everything happening to him. Every blow, every welt, wound, every torn-off piece of flesh he remembered all too well. The whistling of the whip, the unearthly burning of his back and buttocks, the scream, the throbbing pain in the open wound, the tears... everything merged into a single image. The image of an angel. The luminous apparition came and suffered with him. She wanted to offer comfort, but he hated her more and more. The

bright

spirit didn't give up. He sympathized, supported, assured him that if Damian chose his path, his new master would certainly not inflict such torment on him. Promises were made of reparation for his suffering, forgiveness for all sins, and eternal happiness.

In his hatred and anger, Damian began to hesitate again. He fought with himself and with the winged vision that tempted him more and more. He was close to giving in, but he persevered. He broke through once again. In fervent prayer to his master and in zealously fulfilling his will, he persevered. He refused to be persuaded, he refused to bite the forbidden fruit.

*

Damian was proud of himself. He knew he would never be truly worthy of his master, that the weakness of his past had burned a mark on his forehead, but he felt stronger than ever and could do anything for his faith. He did what his master commanded, and more effectively than ever, he persuaded others to choose this path. He was happy, and whenever he prayed at his master's feet, he felt a sense of fulfillment. The angel had departed from him for good. This must mean that weakness (human weakness) had been destroyed.

*

"Bless me, Lord!" he prayed, as always, pouring true faith and inspiration into every word. But this time the master didn't answer. There were no orders, no instructions, nothing. Damian lay on the floor for hours, lost in supplication and prayer, but nothing changed. Another attempt? He endured a night, a day, and seven more days and seven more nights. Finally, timidly, discreetly, he raised his eyes.

He was alone. The black chamber was cold and empty. He dared to get up, but nothing changed. He walked to the narrow window and looked out.

The world shrouded in fog lived its own life. Damian searched for a long time, finally catching sight of the majestic, horned shadow of the master.

"My Lord!" he cried, but although the Devil surely heard, there was no reaction. The master walked beside the beautiful girl and whispered something in her ear.

Something snapped inside Damian. He was stunned, deceived, betrayed. He erupted with anger, a thirst for revenge and rebellion. He longed to punish the one who was his god. In his hatred, he summoned an angel. He sincerely wanted to join his side, but the angel didn't come either...

...yes, the winged spirit walked on the girl's other side and spoke into her other ear. She was there for the taking. She could join either side. This was a competition, a risk, a sport.

Damian was alone and no one cared.