Standing before my bathroom mirror, I hardly recognized myself. New pressed shirt, polished shoes, clean-shaven face - amazing what a few hours and some money could do.
After paying off the landlord, restocking my empty kitchen, and upgrading my wardrobe, I still had 4,985 dollars left. I adjusted my collar again, running fingers through freshly cut hair. For the first time in years, I looked like someone who belonged in the entertainment industry.
Just hours ago, I'd been a broken man drowning in despair. Now? Everything had changed.
My eyes drifted to Arthur's grainy photo on my wall. All because of him.
Whether others would think me crazy or not, I knew what I'd experienced was real. Arthur had answered my desperate prayer.
Before heading to Horn Kingdom to meet him in person, I had a mission. The "Arthur Church" - my temporary name for it - needed to grow. Out in Angel City's poorest districts, others like me needed to know there was hope.
I reached for the door handle, ready to spread the word, when suddenly my vision blurred.
"Hm?" The world shifted around me. My cramped apartment vanished, replaced by an elegantly appointed office. Dark wooden shelves lined with books stretched toward a high ceiling. Movie posters and awards gleamed on the walls, while a ornate torch cast warm light from its sconce.
Then I saw him - the demon himself sitting behind a massive mahogany desk. My heart nearly stopped.
"Arthur Pendragon!" The name escaped my lips in a whisper of awe.
Though his face carried a slight blur, there was no mistaking him. The confident posture, that characteristic smile, those unmistakable features showing through the haziness - definitely Arthur Pendragon!
"You recognized me rather quickly," he observed, his voice carrying that familiar calm tone from earlier.
"Of course, sir!" I nodded eagerly, then felt heat rise to my face as I admitted, "I... I'm actually quite a fan... I've collected every picture of you from magazines and newspapers!"
I regretted the words immediately, expecting him to find my devotion strange or unsettling. Instead, his smile widened.
"Is that so? More than a fan now - you've become quite the devotee." His eyes sparkled with amusement. "Please, sit."
I practically fell into the chair before his desk.
"I'm aware of your plans," he continued, leaning forward slightly. "Preaching about my name, spreading word of my blessing and... financial assistance."
My eyes widened. "You knew..." I whispered, though immediately felt foolish - of course he knew, he'd just granted those very blessings.
"Naturally." That calm smile never wavered.
"I feel such gratitude for sir- no," I caught myself, "Lord Arthur's help. I just want others to know there's hope."
Arthur studied the man before him, noting how John's features mixed Jack Nicholson's distinctive look with hints of Steven Ogg, though younger and leaning more heavily toward Nicholson's appearance.
"While I appreciate your gratitude for my blessings," Arthur began carefully, "I'd prefer if you didn't spread word about Arthur Pendragon answering prayers."
John's enthusiasm dimmed with confusion. "But why?" Then, catching himself, he added hastily, "Forgive my directness, but... wouldn't sharing your grace help others?"
Arthur's smile carried ancient wisdom he didn't possess. "I understand your eagerness to share your experience," he said, playing the role of mysterious benefactor. "However, I wish to avoid drawing the attention of current deities."
His voice dropped to an ethereal whisper. "For now, I must remain in the shadows, working my purpose unseen."
John's eyes widened as his mind raced with implications. 'Of course!' he thought. 'Lord Arthur bides his time, gathering strength in secret before challenging those false gods who ignore our suffering... Such brilliant strategy!'
Arthur caught these thoughts and had to suppress a wince. 'Gods above, he thinks I'm plotting divine warfare. This guy's imagination is running wild.'
"But my lord," John pressed, "there are so many suffering souls who need to know you're listening to their despair..."
Arthur sighed at John's disappointment, then leaned forward. "I understand your desire to help others. There is a way to spread my church without drawing unwanted attention."
John's eyes lit up with renewed hope.
Arthur extended a paper across his desk. "This prayer contains the proper words to reach me. I will hear all who speak these verses."
John cradled the paper like a holy relic, his fingers trembling slightly.
"You need not mention my name - Arthur Pendragon - to those you with. My true identity must remain known only to a select few." Arthur's voice carried quiet authority.
John's brow furrowed with confusion, but he held his questions.
"You are among the fortunate chosen to know my true self as the Lord who answers prayers," Arthur added, watching John's doubt transform into pride.
"Now, spread these prayer sheets to those who have lost hope. Let them know me as 'Dionysus.'"
John dropped to his knees, head bowed. "I will not fail you, my Lord."
Arthur watched as John gradually vanished from his domain, taking with him the paper prayer dedicated to "Dionysus", Arthur's new title. The prayer, purchased from the Divine Shop, granted Arthur the ability to hear anyone who uttered its words.
John's consciousness snapped back to his apartment, his hand still gripping the door handle. The familiar peeling wallpaper and worn furniture grounded him back in reality, though the experience felt more real than his surroundings.
His heart raced with excitement - he'd witnessed Arthur's divine power once again. Then he noticed the paper in his other hand, somehow both ancient and new, covered in flowing script:
"Our Father Dionysus, Most Holy Spirit of Creation..."
His eyes devoured every word of the prayer, committing it to memory as if his life depended on it.
John paused at the prayer's final word. "'Amen'?" he muttered, testing the strange term on his tongue. But he quickly pushed aside his confusion - questioning the Lord's wisdom wouldn't do.
He hurried to Sterling's Print Shop, where the smell of ink and fresh paper filled the air. The printers gave him odd looks as he requested hundreds of copies, but money spoke louder than suspicion.
Three days later, John had put Arthur's blessing to work. The remaining money hired a small army of distributors to spread the prayer throughout Angel City's poorest districts.
Under a gray sky, his hired hands gathered in an alley, shuffling nervously as they sorted stacks of papers. The scent of garbage and despair hung heavy in the air.
"Great, another cult job," one distributor grumbled, adjusting his worn cap. "How many of these have we done now?"
"At least this one pays well," his colleague replied, squinting at the paper. "Though 'Dionysus'? Never heard that name in any temple."
Despite their skepticism, they moved through the slums, papers in hand. Among the recipients, a particularly frail girl caught John's attention.
She couldn't have been more than ten, her hollow cheeks and threadbare dress speaking of prolonged hunger. Four smaller siblings huddled around her, their eyes carrying that peculiar mix of desperation and stubborn hope that only children could maintain.
As the girl accepted the prayer with trembling fingers, John silently prayed she'd find the same salvation he had.
The girl slipped behind their ramshackle house, her siblings' whimpers and parents' shouts muffled by thin walls.
Finding a quiet corner, she clutched the prayer sheet with trembling hands, pressing her palms together as she'd seen others do at temples.
Her voice barely a whisper, she began reading:
"Our Father Dionysus, Most Holy Spirit of Creation
Who dwells in sacred halls of imagination,
Blessed be Your divine inspiration
That flows through every sacred incarnation..."
"Through Your grace we step in others' souls,
In music's prayer, Your presence flows.
Upon Your blessed silver screens we soar,
Through realms divine none dared explore."
"Lord of holy rapture and sacred play,
Guide these vessels of Your light today.
In humble paint and mortal pen,
Let Your truth shine forth again."
"Lord of Entertainment, whose art transcends,
Sanctify our creative fires,
Lift our arts ever higher.
In each story, song, and sacred scene,
Let Your divine purpose gleam."
"Through Your blessing may we create
Works of wonder, pure and great.
In this temple of dreams we pray,
Let Your spirit guide our way."
Her small voice gained strength with each verse, emotion building as she continued through the prayer. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she reached the final "Amen."
Halfway across the world, Arthur sat in his luxurious Japon hotel room, preparing for his meeting with Yasushi Akuma. The samurai film project needed authentic talent, and the third prince's connection to traditional warriors could prove invaluable.
Suddenly, a child's desperate prayer pierced his consciousness. The pure faith and raw emotion behind it caught him off guard - stronger than any prayer he'd received yet. The rightful source is novel⟡fire.net
Through their connection, he glimpsed her life: hungry siblings, fighting parents, crushing poverty. Without hesitation, he reached into his divine inventory and sent her the premium beef he'd purchased from the Divine Shop's Dragon Ball collection.
A small smile crossed his face as he sensed her joy at the mysterious appearance of food. Straightening his tie, he headed out to meet Yasushi, that one small act of divine intervention already forgotten as business beckoned.