#fun fact the title is another song by nin lmao

[namazunomegami]

Into the Void

Pairing: Geto Suguru x gn!reader

Synopsis: Geto is so succumbed to his ideals that you have no choice but to run. But the hunt for you is more than a simple chase. It's resurrection. It's repentance. Just like in the parable of the lost sheep.

CW: canon compliant, established relationship, predator/prey, injuries, blood, toxic dynamics, heavy religious symbolism, emotional distress, dissociation, tiny bit of hurt/comfort, yandere behavior, Geto is a manipulative ass how surprising

WC: 5.2k whoops

Credits: my dear @notveryrussian for proofreading but tbh I should start calling you my editor from now on lmao. I'm glad you enjoyed my sneak peeks so much 💕

Song rec: since I can't control myself, I picked 3 songs by Nine Inch Nails that gives the perfect vibes to the story. For the exposition, I recommend Heresy, mostly because the lyrics resonates with the reader's thoughts about Geto. For the escape/chase part, I picked Eraser for the creepy vibes and reader's slowly deterioriating sanity. For the closing part, I picked A warm place because it's a comforting yet a bit gloomy track

A/N: Saying that this idea possessed me is an understatement. Initially I only wanted to put effort into the whole chase scene but obviously I started to add lore into the whole thing. And since they grew on me and I simply love their dynamic, a part 2 is on the way yaaay.

Minors shall not interact unless they wanna get punched.

And a usual warning for dark content. I wanted to keep it mild but I couldn't. Maybe I'm a lil bit too skilled when it comes to writing about fear.

It’s all too painful to think that maybe running away with Geto wasn’t the best idea.

Of course you loved him, you loved the twins too and the makeshift family you created, it really healed some of the wounds you received in the past. But you wished it would’ve stayed that way. Living together, somewhere far away, isolated, in peace. Have a fresh start, build a nest for the four of you and fill it up with love.

But he had other plans.

There were a lot of improvements in the initial phase of your plans. Building community, uniting the herd. You enjoyed some reverence from the followers too. Eventually the initial number of breakthroughs began to stagnate, despite all the effort. It became routine, like you were being dragged through the same day for years and years without end. When you were faced with even more setbacks, you started to realize that you basically never left the temple and it soon began to feel like a cage. Golden and holy. It was draining to see people lose their sense of individuality and how he became their only source of validation. It was torment. Living life as an idol of worship tucked into a forgotten corner of a church. Praised like a twisted Gothic Madonna with a blue cloth over your head, but in reality you weep, you’re their Mater Dolorosa, with swords piercing your sorrowful heart.

The most devastating thing about realizing you’re not fit to run a cult, is the fact that you lack the most understated yet important aspect of it: believing in the agenda you want to spread. How could you guide all those helpless, simple-minded sheep while questioning whether your destination is real or not? Maybe that Canaan has nothing to do with milk and honey, instead it’s just a pile of rubble.

You soon got tired of it all. His drive, his goal, all too impossible to achieve. Maybe he knew he could never make it happen, but it consumed him regardless. You’ve lost the most cherished parts of him to his hatred, his deeply repressed rage against any injustices he had to deal with after the infamous Star Plasma incident.

You weren’t sure about your feelings towards Geto anymore. Were you afraid of him? Angry at him? Bitter? Disappointed? Worried? It all turned into mush, a grotesque, black liquid as the thin walls of the temple slowly made you feel like they were closing in on you. You had no idea how much time you had, until your unresolved feelings will taint the whole place.

You always circled back to the worst possible action to protect your soft, aching heart… When you thought that nothing will change for the better, you wanted to run away. You wanted to hide. The ambivalence of your feelings towards him weighed on your heart and conscience, like a thousand stones. You loved him, yet you loathed what has become of him. Despite that you trusted him with the map of your soul, made it through all the highs and lows of your relationship so far, all the deep abysses of pain and suffering.

Maybe you should run, just for the sake of it. To test how it will make you feel. Will it make you feel freed? At ease? Will it lift the weights on your chest? Will this sense of incoming doom vanish?

Maybe you should find Gojo. He wouldn’t condemn you, but he would be disappointed. If you set your judgement and resentment to aside, he’s the only one who can talk with the higher ups to scratch your name off the list of curse users who are on death row.

How much time did you need to forge your plan? Not even a single minute. It was only natural for you to memorize everybody’s routine, how to distinguish the sound of their steps, to pick a timeframe when nobody is lurking around the halls. The first (and probably last) time you were glad those who have hurt you gave you a skill, besides the ability to harness cursed energy of course. They made you stealthy, alert, observant.

And when Geto left you to cater to his followers, you decided to put your plan into action.

Your body is strung tight with the tension of waiting, agitation making you feel as if you were unraveling at the seams - but something deep inside of your mind pleaded for you to stay. Agony and anxiety were plaguing you until you’ve found enough courage to get up and sneak out. Now, you had the chance to show off everything you’ve learned: sliding the doors shut so slowly that they don’t make a noise, walking down the corridors with socked feet, carefully putting the middle parts of your feet on the floor, instead of your heels, easily avoiding those parts that creak.

Sometimes, when he was immersed in his thoughts, he was amused by how faint your steps sounded.

An involuntary instinct warns you. It’s trying to convince you that he can see you through the eyes of bodhisattvas residing in the thangka paintings decorating the walls. You almost give up your quest as you glance at the depiction of Vajrabhairava. In all its anger, with its six faces and twelve limbs. A dreadful beast that defies death itself.

You don’t want to do this to him, do you?

You look away from the painting, focusing on getting your shoes on and climbing out through the window. As you’re squatting on the windowpane, you can see all of Tokyo stretched out beneath you. You’re a little bit annoyed that all temples are built on a mountain. A long way to go, but you can never know when this place will turn into a funeral pyre.

It’s a little bit too easy. There’s no sign of surveillance curses nearby, you only need to slide down on the wet tiles, jump up high, land in the mud and let yourself be swallowed by the darkness of the forest. You specifically picked your least conspicuous clothes to blend into your surroundings perfectly. And the cold and murky night will let you go safely. The leaves will conceal your tracks.

So many things are working in your favor tonight.

You know there’s no need to rush. You can only draw attention to yourself if you are running around, creating noise and disturbing the wildlife. You don’t even use a flashlight, you have to get used to the darkness, the full Moon will guide you with all her dazzling light. And after that, Tokyo will do the same, with its crowded streets and all its places to hide.

There’s a weird kind of tranquility in your heart. How the cold prickles your skin, the moisture in the air, the faint noise of the creatures dwelling under the leaves, up in the trees, singing, chirping, crawling. The scent of wet soil, the gentle caress of the wind…

Now, you feel free.

As you walk deeper and deeper into the woods, you feel lighter, you feel like you could fly away, like you could dance all the way towards your destination. You’re thinking about actually doing that, as if you got possessed by a strange spirit…

But the uneven, slippery ground makes you fall right into the mud. You squirmed a little, trying to get hold of a tree trunk and then…

Silence, dead silence.

Your heart sinks deep in your chest.

You know what it means. When nature falls silent. There’s…

There’s a threat nearby.

A primal instinct tells you to run.

There’s no way, there’s no fucking way that he already noticed you were gone.

Twigs whip at your skin as you’re running mindlessly. Wherever you end up, it will be fine, as long as you can enter the outskirts of the city. The cold night air stings your throat, your heaving breath leaves your mouth in puffy clouds. You feel the urge to cough, deep from your bone-dry lungs.

The ground beneath you turns soft and steep. You lose your poise, stumbling and rolling all the way down until you fall from a high clod of rain-washed soil. Your body collides with a cold, wet, yet incredibly hard and flat surface, fraying the skin on your palm and face. Your back and shoulders will be bruised by tomorrow, painting your body with black and blue spots. The pain ripples through your entire being, paralyzing you for a couple of moments.

As you slowly gathered your battered self from the ground with a grunt, you realize you landed on a road. It’s a good sign, you’re not so far from civilization. But instead of following the road, cutting through the forest is the wiser decision.

Your relief is short-lived, just like a may fly.

A sinister feeling takes hold on you. It makes you freeze, squeezing your insides. Like you’re sitting in the jaw of an eldritch beast. You slowly turn back to the direction of your fall.

The lights are flickering.

You grab on the guardrail for dear life. You try to fill your lungs with shaky breaths, your heart desperately beating against your ribcage. Your trembling knees barely keep you upright, yet nothing can make you move. You have been found, you’re defeated, there’s no point in running away from him. The injuries, the already forming bruises will only deplete your strength.

How could you fight him? You’re aware that if he wanted to, he could break your bones and twist your body at the joints with an arm behind his back.

How could you outrun him? He’s capable of summonning a swarm of curses before you even take a step.

How could you make war with him?

Three of the lamp lights were already out, you stared into the darkness, the boundless abyss right before your eyes. You can’t even force yourself to blink.

And when the lights came back on, he was just standing there. Without breaking a sweat. Your pulse feels non-existent.

What infuriated you even more was that he wasn’t wearing his gojo-kesa. The motherfucker even gave you a head start by changing into something comfortable before he came to fetch you. Or simply he noticed your absence later than you expected.

Whatever, both is bad news for you.

He doesn’t utter a single word, he merely walks towards you. Slowly cornering you. Feasting on the terror on your face. Meanwhile you can’t unravel what could possibly be going on in his mind. The only thing you notice is that those violet sparks in his eyes are so sharp they could cut yours out of their sockets.

Should you give up? Should you beg for forgiveness?

But then, an idea blooms inside your mind.

You don’t hide your fear, you let your body tremble freely, fingers desperately clinging onto the metal, with your shoulders hunched to protect your neck and your wide, frightened eyes stare back at him. Letting him believe that you won’t fight back. That he can take you back to the temple and throw you back into your cage.

And when his foot hits the bisector, you jump. Right into the nothingness behind your back.

You fall on leaves and broken twigs again. You roll and roll with such speed you can’t comprehend the growing distance. Not even having an idea of how far you’re from him. Small rocks, branches, hardened roots of trees, bones all cut, scratch and pierce you. But you endure it, you’ll undergo any torture if it meant you’ll be freed. Your only hope is that the adrenaline will deal with the pain.

Suddenly, you violently crash into a tree, the ridged texture imprints deeply into your stomach. Acid bursts from your throat. Your diaphragm didn’t avoid the hit either, breathing is not unlike Sisyphean task as you try to get your shaking limbs to stand. Your mind is disturbed by the lack of air and your desperate attempts at getting yourself together. You’re wheezing like a dog. You must look pathetic, you think.

It takes almost all of your mental strength to calm down and slowly breathe through your nose, your lungs finally opening. But Geto won’t let you recover, you hear the fallen leaves getting crushed under his feet. You take a few sharp, ragged breaths, like it’s the last drag of a cigarette before the train comes and then, you move.

You hide behind a thick pine tree, palms covering your mouth and nose. The lack of oxygen is just another frustrating hindrance to your successful escape plan. Dizziness fills your head like a thick fog and sucks the strength out of your shins, needing to lean against the trunk to keep yourself standing. You try to conceal your cursed energy with all your might. A tracker who’s untraceable is a useful pawn in the hands of the higher ups, this skill made you a cherished student back in the day. Back when everything was so… no, it’s only the nostalgia making you wistful, it wasn’t any better.

The rustling gets quieter, you wait until the sound eventually dies. An almost muted sigh of relief leaves your lips in a thick cloud, dancing in the cold air.

From the corner of your eye, a floating form cuts through the pale moonlight.

Looking closely at its shape, you realize what kind of curse it is. The beetle looking one that attacks instantly once it senses movement. You can’t believe it, you’re going to -

The curse drags itself into your aura, scanning your form that is fused with the pine. Every muscle is tensed, you’re stiff as a board, you suppress every reflex in your eye and empty chest. You’re just like a statue, a corpse, showing no signs of life. Only an agonizing scream echoes inside your skull. A scream that puts mental breakdowns to shame.

It’s like an eternity until the curse finally disappears from your sight.

You definitely look exhausted, your body is limp and heavy like lead. But you must keep going at all costs, even if you have no idea how many curses are sent after you. You walk around the mountain instead of going down like he’d expect it.

Slowly yet surely, you calm yourself down. You know that you’re still in his grasp, but you still have a chance to outsmart him. You go deeper and deeper, you’re near the heart of the forest now. The moonlight barely crawls through the leaves, it’s easier to navigate according to what you hear rather than to what you see. The surroundings are growing eerie, you ache for light and warmth. And the longing sucks a bit of spirit out of you.

Before you can start questioning yourself, the sound of running water fills your ears.

A narrow, yet fast running stream plowed through the forest. Though you were unsure of staying close to the stream, going through it and getting to the other side sounds like a smart idea. As you take a reluctant step, you realize the water is ice cold. And when you dive into it further, enduring the strong current, it’s not as shallow as you believed. You’re submerged all the way up to your thighs. At its deepest point, the stream hugs your waist. The cold makes your movements slow and rigid, your teeth clang together in a frenzy. The bottom is filled with smooth, flat pebbles, they make it easy to - 

You slip on the rounded, polished stones and fall into the stream. The freezing temperature makes your skin shrink, it prickles you like a thousand needles. Scared, you crawl around the bottom, trying to get a hold of something and emerge back to the surface. A sharp, burning pain wakes in your palm, tears streaming down your cheeks. You try to swallow your scream, but it wants to burst from your lungs, you grunt and whimper until you can bite down on your sweatshirt, letting the material muffle your shout. Your gaze fixates on your hand and even in the darkness of the night, you see blood oozing from the deep cut, from your own torn flesh. The urge to retch is strong.

You palm is plunged back into the cool water, in hope of easing the pain.

He calls out your name right behind you.

You crawl out of the water, running from him, just as before. It doesn't matter how many times you trip, fall, stumble. It doesn’t matter how your fresh wounds end up in the mud, you don’t have it in you care about the pain or the looming threat of an infection. You hear him trying to reason with you. You must come back home, you’re injured, you’re bleeding. He must take care of you.

Why are you running? Where could you go? Who’s going to help you recover?

No, you mustn’t let your determination crumble. But oh… it sounds so easy. Giving in to your hopelessness.

An evergreen bush becomes your shelter to collect yourself and check on your wound, which is aching from all the dirt and is still bleeding. Water is dripping from your hair, your clothes are soaked, makes it easier for the cold night air to bite into you, to shake the whole length of your body. Your fingers are hardly moving and have no strength in them. The adrenaline is starting to wear off. You feel alone, small, and vulnerable. You’re freezing, scarred and aching. All the things you see in the dark twist into creepy, threatening forms. Everything that surrounds you is suddenly dangerous. As a lonely spider crawls within your field of vision, you flinch. The world around you is evil and everything is after your flesh.

And the only person who can save you is the one you’re running away from.

What are you going to do now? Fight, flight, or freeze? Which instinct is going to win this time? Because comprehensible thoughts won’t work on you. Every little layer of a fully-fledged human with a conscience has been stripped from you. You left them scattered everywhere in the woods. You’re nothing more than a primordial shell of a being.

Ceremonial horns wake in the distance, soon followed by howling. They let the dogs out to hunt you down. Poor, little hare. Your own stupidity has woken up the beast.

Who is like unto the beast?

You defeat the paralyzing dread and decide on flight. You dash out from the bushes, but - Oh… your eye. Your soft doe eye. There’s something in it. And your tears have an oddly metallic taste on your tongue.

And power was given him over all kindreds, and tongues, and nations.

You wish you could see yourself from the outside, but you’re probably nowhere near as majestic as you think you are. Right now you feel like you’re the fastest, stealthiest creature who’s ever lived, even if your muscles are almost torn, weak, and tensed. This is the last crumb of your strength, this is your all.

And all that dwell upon the earth shall worship him.

You don’t dare to look back. You know he’s there. He’s so close, he’s orbiting around you like a moon does with its planet. As if all of this is a dance. A hunt is a dance with a coital rhythm. And mother nature is the audience to your deadly waltz.

And he doeth great wonders, so that he maketh fire come down from heaven on the earth in the sight of men.

He takes your hand in his. Gentle and kind. To not scare you any further. You snap like an electric current under his touch, but you break free and zigzag between the trees.

He grabs your waist. Forcefully. It scares you this time. You escape from his embrace before he can swallow you whole. But he might have bit your throat during the process, you feel something trailing down your collarbones. You hear your bones crack.

It was all a mistake. You are a mistake. But mistakes can be forgiven, right? He has forgiven you so many times, you can’t even think of a number.

You slide down on a slope, leaves stick to your clothes, and you drop onto a thick trunk of a fallen oak. Tensive pain ripples in your side. You should stand up and run, but you can’t move. You won’t move. What’s wrong with you? What kind of prey gives the fight up before its last breath? But you think about your frozen limbs, the pain in your palm, your back, your shoulder blades, everywhere. You think about home… you want to go home or be left here to die. But the thought of dying here, alone, makes your heart palpitate rapidly, like there’s not enough air to fill your lungs. Your breathing becomes desperate, panicked even. Your chest hurts, your ribcage is ready to break apart by your racing heartbeat. You press your palms against your head, clawing into your hair. Every little morsel of you is bursting into a tremor. The connection between your mind, your body and the world cease to exist. And that lovely, unlimited stretch of space inside your consciousness is shaken, it’s in utter chaos. Breaking into tiny little pieces, like glass, like porcelain. Tears and plucks like paper and fabric. Shrieks and wails, rejecting the only thing that makes all creatures on this plane of existence agitated over their own mortality.

You’re doomed.

Unconsciously, your limbs curl into the very same position you took when you saw the world for the first time, protecting your belly and face, making you seem small. Geto knows you only do that when you fear what might happen to you, despite being unaware of the kind of terror your brain had subjected you to. That’s why he approaches you slowly, making no sudden movements as he picks you up gently, like one would lift a porcelain figure from the ground. When you open your eyes, he had already settled you into his lap as the manta ray curse lifts the two of you up to mount the skies.

You have no idea if he hunted you down or saved you from your own demise.

What a defiant, ungrateful creature you are, you think. You tried so viciously to run away from your burden, and now you feel safe with him again, you dare clinging to him, you dare seek his warmth. The contradicting thoughts and desires torture you on the way back. There’s only one faint voice inside your head that’s capable of calming you down, able to keep your sanity intact…

You’re the lost sheep, and he’s the shepherd who searched all over the world to find you. And he’ll bring you back to the flock, and he’ll love you more than the rest of them.

Your false god. Your fallacious savior. Will he forgive you if you repent on your knees? Until they get bloody and bruised?

Back at the temple, he refuses to let you take even a step on your own. You weren’t born to run, to soil your soles with the ground that filthy monkeys walk on. You’re meant to be worshipped, to claim the whole world as yours beneath dainty, soft feet.

The warm lamplight and the comfort of your shared room helps you unwind. To shift back into a much more civilized, humanlike state. And as you practically glue yourself to the heater, you notice more dirt, more cuts, more blood marring your flesh than you expected.

When you take off your grimy sweatshirt, shoes, and socks, Geto is towering over you. There’s nothing imposing about him, he looks rather troubled as he sighs.

“What do I do with you?”

You roll your eyes. Oh, the good old rhetorical question. He has no idea if he should treat your wounds first, bathe you or break your leg just like the Gospel says.

“Come, let me take a look at your hand.”

You see your reflection in the mirror, and you’re horrified. Your right eye is bloodshot, a deep cut is splitting through your lower lip. You’re drenched in mud, already dried on your face along with some patches of wine dark blood. Together they seal the scraped skin on your cheek, makes your hair stick together into thick strands, accessorized with pine leaves and other remains from your little hike. You’re blistered and torn, you can barely recognize yourself.

It's pleasant to rinse your hands with warm water at the sink, but the sight makes your stomach twist. That nasty wound is too deep, it has to be sewn shut. A shiver races down on your spine when you see the first aid kit. He soaks a fresh gauze pad with wound solution and guides it towards the gaping cut with a pair of tweezers. The sting is horrible, the burning sensation rivals acid being poured straight into your flesh, it makes you grunt and hiss. He gives you a moment to breathe and collect yourself then he continues, despite your whimpers and twitching, tensed fingers. But the pain pales in comparison to when he swipes a new, clean pad inside your wound, cleaning it of all the filth. A pathetic cry erupts from your throat.

“Stop.” you sob, pulling your hand away to hug it close to your chest. You’re too distressed to realize that the temporary discomfort is necessary. But maybe this whole act is nothing but another one of his silly little games.

He places a finger under your eye, close to your lashes and collects your tears. The sight of you crying is somehow not worth of savoring to him. Before any little drop of your sorrow and regret can roll down your cheek like diamonds, he smears them, as if they could make your misery vanish. Well, they can’t. It frustrates you that you can’t let your feelings manifest because he’s ready to devour them just like his curses.

He doesn’t care that your face is caked in dirt, blood and tears, he lifts your chin up to kiss you. Deeply. You’re not reprimanded for not kissing him back.

You were right, he’s definitely toying with you. He makes it hurt before he soothes the ache. He creates a connection in your mind. Like you’re the dog of Pavlov, slowly conditioned to associate him with anything that makes the human heart fill with delight.

The tiles attract your attention much more than watching how the curved needle dives into your skin, how the thread closes the wound proficiently. Your features soften for a moment. Shoko would be so proud of him... Not for the reason he got so good at it though. He learnt to treat his wounds for the sole purpose of not letting a non-sorcerer doctor ever touch him.

He’s crazy. Vile. Petty. And delusional. It drives you crazy too.

But when your stitched hand is wrapped up in bandages, you seriously think about thanking him for putting up with you. For not being angry at you.

“Maybe this will make you reconsider your actions next time.” he remarks in a flat tone, concealing what’s going on in his mind.

You keep your gratitude to yourself.

But it’s not an easy task when he continues spoiling you, with so much care that it rivals motherly love. How he rinses all the grime out of your hair, how he gives you a moment of peace in a tub filled with plain, warm water, no bubbles or scented oils to irritate your scarred, sensitive skin. He dries you, brushes your hair and fills the whole bedroom with the calming notes of lavender and cedarwood coming from the incense burners. But he’s just so fixated on your injuries… every scratch, every surface level cut is thoroughly sanitized. It’s still humiliating, even when you’re the one sitting comfortably on the bed and he’s kneeling on the floor.

You’re afraid the extra pampering will twist your reasoning and resolve. That’s all part of the mind games he plays. You know he’ll go out on his way to prove that the world outside is cruel, that this is the only place where you’re safe, loved. In his proximity, under his hand.

And somewhere, deep down, you admit that he’s close to convincing you.

It makes you mad, you want to tear him to shreds, you want to weep for him just like Mary did under the cross. There’s still care, there’s still love under all those layers of burning hatred. What remains is twisted though, but it is there.

After you’re patched up, he glances up at you, thumb brushing your lip right next to that nasty cut. His other hand is resting where your thigh and knee meet. It’s a sign, a warning.

“Was it worth it, little lamb?” his tone is soothing and playful. So close to being outright mockery.

You reflect in silence, averting your gaze from him. All those scars and discolored skin, your disturbed mind, and the ache in your bones - you realize that your stupid little plan was futile. Totally unnecessary, it’s no achievement you can be proud of. At least if you’re not as masochistic as to pride yourself on your injuries. But the fact that he can recognize the parallels coats your answer with bile.

“No.”

Because you know that you can be so much more… There’re unlimited possibilities to a repented non-believer. And now you know that being his doubting Thomas has no benefits.

Maybe you did lose your faith in him, like the lamb in that story, to eventually realize how much you need him and vice versa. But you’re not satisfied with being a lost sheep. You just haven’t decided on your role in his Gospel yet. This is your call, you don’t know exactly which part of him calls out to you, but you’re satisfied with either of them. Whether it’s a prophet, a messiah, a beast, or the devil itself. The fallen Morningstar who used to be the favorite.

This can be your true Genesis.

“Go on, break my leg if you want to. There’s meaning in that, at least.” you dare echo his last words to Gojo, clean and low.

And your bones remain whole.

You’re relieved. Though you’re sick of his maneuvers with your mind, you’re aware their purpose is not to hurt you or punish you. These aching limbs of yours go limp as he crawls into bed next to you. The arm you were scared of coils around your waist. Viciously tight, much like a snake. The snake that corrupted Eve in the garden. The one that made her sin, got her cast out of paradise, the one that turned her whole world upside down. And maybe Eve did fall in love with the serpent, the worst creature that God had ever created. But even though he caused the fall of mankind, the serpent freed you from the clutches of a jealous, ungrateful god who denied knowledge from his own creations. Now you have the passion to rebel, to prove your creator wrong, to avenge his mistreatment. Give in to the temptation of your snake, believe his honeyed words, accept the fruit for a second time. Because you still remember the taste, oh so sweet and luscious. And with all the power he wields, you can win back your lost Eden or re-build it on earth, the home you’re both yearning for. It’s a promise between the two of you, silent, because words are not needed, only closure.

Something warm blooms inside your chest. Yes, that’s it! You can finally feel it now…

The very first ounce of belief.