Unimpressed by Jesus' last lie, I deliver a zinger: you gave no sense of time, Thrones. You have no sense of time, Chronus.

The right hand red breaks first. Jesus' old name becomes functionally useless. Toss my the white stone so I can read (red) his new name. Pausing at all the wrong places, "I am coming soon" is heard by all prophets, true and false, deserving of death or no, 

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