Chapter 20: The Church of Cocaine: A New Rule (Patreon)

By all the strict standards, Alfred’s duties as a butler should have been exhausting. Managing a criminal empire disguised as a legitimate business, maintaining appearances, dealing with Gotham’s endless stream of chaos, none of it suggested leisure.

And yet, he managed to live a life close enough to an extended vacation.

Months had passed since he had taken his position at the Iceberg Lounge. In that time, he had refined Penguin’s operations, expanding influence, stabilizing income streams, and restructuring internal management. More importantly, he had trained a group of highly competent staff to take over nearly every responsibility he once handled.

He now has a competent group of people to delegate all work to. Which meant Alfred no longer needed to do much work.

With a minor application of his abilities, processing reports had become trivial. At the end of each day, he would appear, gather everything, and in a few minutes, sort, analyze, and finalize it all before presenting it to Penguin in a neat, actionable format.

Everything ran smoothly.

At this point, Alfred rarely did any actual work himself. The illusion, however, remained intact. To everyone, including Penguin, it appeared as though he was constantly moving, constantly overseeing, constantly managing every aspect of the operation.

In reality, his entire day was free.

Free to walk the city.

Free to travel.

Free to enjoy life.

Of course, there were exceptions.

Occasionally, Penguin would summon him for matters that required immediate correction, gangs stepping out of line, external threats testing boundaries, or particularly foolish individuals who had yet to understand the consequences of crossing into his territory.

Those moments were few at this stage.

Then there was the other issue.

Supergirl.

To Alfred’s mild irritation and Penguin’s quiet amusement, the Kryptonian had developed a persistent habit. 

She showed up every day at the Iceberg Lounge. Every day without fail she would appear to ask for food. Specifically, his food.

She had absolutely no sense of shame about it. Worse, she refused to eat anything prepared by anyone else. If Alfred was not present, she would simply wait, monitoring the Lounge with alarming dedication until he appeared.

And when he did, she demanded food.

She had succeeded several times already, usually catching him the moment he returned to report to Penguin.

What made the situation more irritating was Penguin’s reaction. He wasn’t annoyed or even mildly bothered. If anything, he enjoyed it.

There was always that look on his face. A deeply satisfied expression that said, without words ‘I told you so.’

As if this single moment of being right outweighed every other interaction they had ever had.

Alfred found it… undignified.

“Bro, why are you standing in the back?”

The voice broke through his thoughts.

Sebastian blinked once, his attention shifting away from Gotham’s streets and back to the present.

He looked up.

A white-haired man in a red spandex suit stood near a makeshift stage ahead, grinning at him with almost religious fervor.

“Come over here,” the man continued. “This is our moment.”

Sebastian smirked faintly. 

“You take the stage today,” he replied. “You are our prophet. I shall stand here and witness as you enlighten the masses.”

The man’s expression shifted instantly.

From wild excitement to solemn devotion.

He turned and walked the wooden stage with purpose, standing before a small but growing crowd.

Behind him stood the structure they had built with questionable architectural taste and even more questionable purpose.

The Church of Cocaine.

The first of its kind.

And, if Sebastian had anything to say about it, it wouldn’t be the last.

He had met the man three months ago.

Snowflame.

A true believer.

A man of unwavering faith who worshipped cocaine as both his lord and savior. A substance that, in his words, brought clarity, power, and liberation from the suffering of existence.

Sebastian had been moved by the conviction of this cocaine devotee.

There was something admirable about absolute belief, no matter how absurd the foundation.

Naturally, he had decided such devotion should not go to waste.

Why should such a religion spread? Irrelevant pointless question.

They had a religion. And religions were meant to spread.

Sebastian had found in Snowflame a kindred spirit, someone who rejected the god and was kicked out of god’s mercy, so he embraced something else to fill the hunger in his soul. A faith rooted in escaping reality.

Sebastian had encouraged him. Supported him. Guided him to complete his purpose in this life.

With careful effort, the belief inside the man had grown to become something greater. Snowflame rose from being a mere cocaine believer to a true prophet of a new path. Chosen, according to his own doctrine, to spread cocaine across the world and awaken devotion in others. To ignite faith so intense that, as he described it, “their eyes burn red with divine purpose.”

Sebastian stood at the back, watching the crowd gather, a satisfied smile on his face. Absurd, pointless, entirely fucked up and perfect in its spirituality. 

Snowflame stood at the center of the wooden stage, arms spread, eyes burning with conviction.

“Brothers and sisters,” he began, his voice carrying with surprising clarity, “you have seen the truth of this world. Existence is but a manifestation of suffering, an emptiness that is never filled… until we found our lord and savior.”

He raised his chin, almost reverent.

“Cocaine is the answer to our questions. It is the source of our power. It is the reason why we exist.”

The crowd stared with red eyes unable to look away.

Snowflame’s presence grew, his entire body radiating belief and white flame.

“We are complete in its embrace,” he continued. “But to truly understand, we must learn its truth.”

He lifted one hand.

“Our truth stands upon four pillars. The first,The Pillar of Immediate Transcendence.”

His voice rose.

“Screw delayed gratification. Screw heaven. Screw nirvana. Why wait for enlightenment after death?” His grin widened. “Reject the slow, tedious grind of virtuous living. Embrace the fast, direct, chemically guaranteed path.”

He looked down on the crowd.

“The sacred mantra is simple ‘Why wait? Inhale.’”

Something shifted in the crowd.

Eyes reddened further. Breathing grew rigid. Desire burned raw and immediate, flickering across faces.

“The second, The Pillar of Sacred Geometry.”

Snowflame’s tone became almost instructional.

“The universe is chaos. Meaningless and empty. But for one brief moment… we impose order upon it.”

He made a precise motion with his hand, as if drawing something invisible.

“A perfectly straight line. Focus. Intention. Control over the void.”

His expression hardened.

“To deviate from the line, to spill, to distort, is the original sin. Not because of morality…”

He smiled again.

“But because it shows a lack of commitment to beauty.”

A few in the crowd nodded. It sounded right.

“The third, The Pillar of Garrulous Communion.”

Snowflame spread both arms now, fully embracing the true truth.

“Other religions value silence, reflection and listening."

He scoffed.

“We reject that bullshit.”

His voice grew louder.

“True communion is achieved through speech. Rapid, unfiltered and personal invasive. Everyone speaks at the same time.”

He pointed toward the crowd.

“Listening is heresy. Talking at someone… is love.”

A ripple of laughter spread. It was the joy of acceptance

“The fourth, The Pillar of the Beneficial Crash.”

For the first time, his tone lowered. Almost gentle.

“The heretics struggle with evil. We do not.”

He stepped forward toward the edge.

“We embrace the come down.”

A pause.

“The crash is not punishment. It is grace.”

His voice softened further.

“The anxiety. The regret. The realization at four in the morning that you’ve done nothing with your life…”

He closed his eyes briefly.

“That is truth.”

Silence.

“It is the sacred moment where illusion breaks.”

His eyes opened again.

“And you understand…”

A small smile.

“it was all just chemicals.”

He lifted his hands.

“And that is perfectly okay.”

For a brief moment, there was a silent stare.

Then, applause. The people looked genuinely moved.

Snowflame reached into his coat and pulled out a thin white book.

He held it carefully.

“This,” he said, “is our divine scripture.”

He raised it higher.

“The Gospel of the Great Snort.”

The crowd listened to every word.

“Saint Sebastian,” he continued, his tone reverent, “spent countless nights seeking truth. Refining it. Compressing it into lines.”

His grip tightened around the book.

“This is how you learn.”

A beat.

“To stop worrying.”

Another.

“And love the void.”

The applause returned, louder this time.

Snowflame’s expression softened for a moment, a rare calm settling over him as he looked at what they had created.

Then, it hardened.

“We must remain vigilant,” he said. “There is an enemy.”

The crowd quieted.

“A petty, malicious being that seeks to impose rules upon our existence. To toy with us. To restrict our desires. To control our being.”

His voice sharpened.

“He calls himself a god.”

A pause.

“He is nothing.”

Snowflame’s eyes burned.

“He is the enemy of Cocaine.”

At the back of the crowd, Sebastian’s smile widened.

And then, the world vanished. Snowflame. The crowd. The stage.

All Gone.

Sebastian stood alone in the void.

“Well,” he said, “it’s been months. What rule are you imposing this time?”

The god answered, its voice pressing from everywhere at once.

“I leave you for a few months, and you create an entire religion in which I am the enemy of deranged addicts who curse me day and night.”

Sebastian let out a small amused smile.

“Correction,” he said. “They are devoted followers of the true faith. And why do you sound surprised? Aren’t you supposed to be absolute and all knowing?”

“I punished you for your insolence,” the god replied. “I punished you for your behavior and your transgressions. Yet you have learned nothing, you never do.”

For a brief moment, Sebastian’s face went completely blank.

Then something behind his eyes burned fiercely.

“Learned my lesson?” he repeated quietly. “You took me from my home. My family. Everything I knew is gone, you killed me and everything else with that black lightning of yours.”

His voice grew louder. “And now you’re punishing me because I spoke out of turn? When this entire situation exist because of you? You are not worthy of respect, you’re a petty bastard. That’s all you are.”

The void pulsed.

“And no matter what you do,” Sebastian continued, “I’m not stopping. I’ll keep going. I’ll keep disrespecting you until the end of me.”

“You think I cannot smite you further?” the god asked.

Sebastian let out a short laugh.

“You think I care?” he said. “The point is to fuck your fragile ego. You can strip me of every power I’ve gained. You can torture me. You can destroy this entire world. But you won’t get any respect, just insults”

His gaze lifted.

“You are powerless to change me.”

The pain came instantly crushing into his head as if something was being carved directly into his mind. His body dropped to his knees, hands gripping his skull.

“Let us see,” the god said, its voice colder now, “how far you will keep this.”

The pressure increased.

“A new rule.”

The words forced themselves into him.

“You are not allowed to remain away from your master for extended periods. You are a dog. That is all you are.”

Sebastian’s breath hitched, his body trembling under the weight of it. For a moment, it felt like his thoughts would split apart entirely.

Yet, he lifted his head.

“We’ll see about that,” he said.

The pain surged again, sharper, more violent. His body shook, but he didn’t fall further. His jaw locked, teeth grinding as he forced himself upright inch by inch, resisting the pressure pressing down on him.

Then he spoke.

“Fuck you.”

Reality snapped back into place.

The crowd. The stage. The noise. Snowflame was still preaching like nothing had happened.

Sebastian stood where he had been, but his body felt heavier, drained. Sweat clung to his face, his breathing uneven as he adjusted to being back.

He exhaled slowly.

His eyes moved toward Snowflame, still fully immersed in his sermon, then drifted away as the new rule settled in his mind.

He could stay away from his master for more than ten kilometers, but only for one day.

Sebastian frowned. It wasn’t that harsh and no powers were stripped. The worst part of this so-called punishment was the pain.

[This doesn’t make sense. That bastard is vindictive. So why hold back now?] Sebastian thought.

His thoughts slowed as he picked the situation apart. 

The bastard wasn’t all-powerful and all-knowing. There was a limit.

Maybe it couldn’t impose harsher rules or take power without restriction.

Something prevented him from carrying on with his pettiness.

Sebastian narrowed his eyes, then a faint smile formed on his face.

“You are pathetic and an idiot,” he muttered quietly.