Chapter 467

"There was a time when everyone in the world spoke the same language.

"Humanity set out to build a city and a tower whose top would reach the heavens, so that they could make a name for themselves and prevent their people from being scattered across the earth.

"Then God saw what they were doing.

"And in a single night, He confused their languages. From that moment onward, humanity could no longer understand one another. They were divided and scattered across the world."

Evenson had given them a brief account of the biblical story of the Tower of Babel.

He leaned back slightly before continuing.

"For centuries, people have interpreted the story in one of two ways. Either they treat it as a convenient Christian explanation for why different peoples speak different languages, or they see it as a warning that human arrogance inevitably brings disaster."

He paused.

"But..."

His voice suddenly rose, and a crooked smile spread across his face.

"What I see in that story is fear."

"Fear?"

Stephanie looked puzzled.

She wasn’t a Christian, but she’d grown up well educated and knew the Bible’s more famous stories. Her interpretation of Babel had been exactly what Evenson had described.

She hadn’t seen anything particularly frightening about it.

"Yes. Fear."

Evenson’s answer was immediate.

"God was afraid."

Stephanie stared at him.

"What humanity was doing frightened the being described as omniscient and omnipotent. That’s why He stopped them. That’s why He divided them."

"But why fear?" Stephanie asked. "Couldn’t it have been anger?"

The idea of God being afraid of ordinary humans was difficult to accept.

Anger made much more sense.

Perhaps humanity had offended God, and God had responded with overwhelming punishment.

Evenson shook his head dismissively.

"Anger? Does the story actually look like an angry God’s response to you?"

He spread his hands.

"If God were truly furious, He’d come crashing down from heaven, kick the Tower of Babel flat, grab the leaders, and tell them, ’Congratulations, you’ve made a very serious mistake.’"

Stephanie’s lips twitched.

Evenson continued with complete seriousness.

"Then He’d make an example of them, give them a few thousand divine slaps, pack them into a box, and ship them straight to Mephisto."

Malik actually laughed.

"Now that would be anger."

"Exactly." Evenson nodded solemnly. "That’s what anger looks like when you want everyone to know you’re angry."

He pointed toward the ceiling.

"But that’s not what happened. No thunderous entrance. No lightning. No divine proclamation. No grand display of power."

"God hid behind the clouds like a coward and dismantled humanity’s achievement through a quiet little trick."

Evenson’s smile sharpened.

"If that’s not fear, what is?"

Malik gave him an amused look.

"God was afraid of humanity? Because they built a tower?"

He glanced at his daughter.

"Looks like Stephanie and I should avoid taking vacations at the Burj Al Arab from now on. Wouldn’t want to attract God’s... attention."

"Seriously?"

Stephanie threw her hands up dramatically.

"I’ve spent every birthday since I was ten at the Burj Al Arab. I’m not giving that place up."

Evenson looked between father and daughter.

Then came the inevitable realization.

They spent their birthdays at the Burj Al Arab.

He had never even stayed at a canvas tent for his birthday.

The disparity struck him directly in the soul.

"Actually," he said, suppressing the pain, "a lot of the stories in the Bible really did happen."

Malik immediately looked skeptical.

Given his family’s history, he had little patience for the idea that the Bible’s stories were literal historical records. His own family had existed long before the Jewish people had fully emerged as a distinct nation. If biblical events were genuinely historical, why had his ancestors never heard about any of them?

Evenson ignored his expression.

"The reason the Bible is often dismissed as mythology is because so much of what it describes is written through metaphor. Without understanding what those metaphors represent, the stories can sound absurd."

He paused.

"So the Tower of Babel wasn’t a tower."

Malik’s interest sharpened.

"Then what was it?"

Evenson looked at him.

"What did the Tower of Babel actually represent?"

He raised one finger toward the ceiling.

"The Bible calls it the tower whose top reached heaven. So what was heaven to people thousands of years ago?"

"Today, we know the sky is simply the atmosphere. But to ancient civilizations, heaven was the realm of the gods. The dwelling place of the divine."

His finger remained raised.

"In many ancient cultures, ’heaven’ and ’the gods’ were effectively synonymous."

Malik and Stephanie exchanged a stunned glance.

If heaven meant the realm of the gods...

And the tower was said to reach heaven...

Then what exactly had humanity been trying to accomplish?

Evenson’s expression became solemn.

"The Tower of Babel was a path to godhood."

Neither of them spoke.

"What could possibly frighten a god?"

Evenson answered his own question.

"Another god."

Malik’s expression changed completely.

"You mean... humanity discovered a way to become gods?"

He was genuinely shocked.

If anyone else had said those words, Malik probably would have stood up and called them insane.

But this was Evenson.

And that made all the difference.

"Not merely a way," Evenson said. "A method capable of frightening God Himself."

An unreadable smile touched his lips.

"Stories of mortals becoming gods exist in cultures all over the world. But those stories usually involve some mysterious opportunity, sudden enlightenment, divine blessing, or other vague supernatural event."

"The Tower of Babel is different."

His eyes gleamed.

"The path to godhood was represented by a tower."

"A physical object. Something human beings actually built."

"Which leads us to our conclusion: the Tower of Babel wasn’t a cultivation method or some mystical ritual."

"It was technology."

Malik’s eyes widened.

Evenson continued.

"’Let us make a name for ourselves, lest we be scattered abroad upon the face of the whole earth.’"

He recited another passage from the Bible.

"The passage says that once the tower was completed, humanity would no longer be scattered. They would remain united."

He lowered his hand.

"We believe that unity was another metaphor."

"It wasn’t simply describing humanity forming a stronger society."

"It meant becoming whole."

Evenson’s voice grew quieter.

"Humanity would become complete."

"Humanity would become something like a god."

Malik stared at him.

For perhaps the first time in a very long while, he didn’t immediately have a response.

"Can humans... really become gods?"

The question came slowly.

Yet beneath his uncertainty, something had already awakened.

For years, Malik’s ultimate ambition had been simple.

Rule the world.

That had been the dream of his family as well.

And now, that dream was almost within reach.

Soon, perhaps, there would be nothing left to conquer.

The thought should have been satisfying.

Instead, it had left behind a strange emptiness.

What did a man pursue after becoming the ruler of the world?

Where did ambition go when there was nowhere higher to climb?

Now Evenson had placed another possibility in front of him.

Something far beyond world domination.

Godhood.

Malik’s eyes burned with anticipation.

"Of course."

Evenson didn’t hesitate.

The answer sent a visible surge of excitement through Malik.

"The reason the Tower of Babel frightened God is because it could actually work."

Evenson paused.

"Let me put it another way."

He gestured casually toward the door.

"Imagine that the security guard outside suddenly announced that he was going to kill you and take your place as ruler of the world."

Malik glanced toward the door.

"You probably wouldn’t lose any sleep over it. You’d deal with him in seconds."

"But if Alexander Pierce announced that he intended to do the same..."

Evenson’s smile disappeared.

"You probably wouldn’t sleep at all."

Malik’s expression turned thoughtful.

And suddenly, the Tower of Babel didn’t sound like an ancient legend anymore.

It sounded like a blueprint.