Rise of the OtherGod Apostle: Not a Cult Leader, but a Serf?!

#112Reader Mode

#112

Athanas should be furious with me right now.

For a moment, I can still vividly see it—the sheer rage twisting his face into something unrecognizable.

I remember him, drenched in blood, turning toward me with a rage so intense it made me want to shrink back. His teeth were bared, his steps slow and deliberate, like he was driven by some terrifying purpose…

…Wait.

That never happened.

Suddenly, a wave of dizziness hit me, and I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to steady myself. When I opened them again, the reception room snapped back into focus. It was spotless. Athanas wasn’t covered in blood. He wasn’t angry. Of course not. The real Athanas would never lose control like that. He wouldn’t just start butchering people for no reason…

Is that just a leftover image from another nightmare?

My fear of Athanas catching me doing something I shouldn’t have must’ve mixed with memories of the ruthless Athanas from the game, leaving me with a messed-up nightmare that blurred reality.

I tightened my grip on the reliquary in my hand. The familiar feel of it under my fingers grounded me, helping me sort out what’s real and what’s not.

…Athanas would never cry.

I shook my head, pushing away the impossible image of a weeping Athanas. The real Athanas wasn’t like that—couldn’t be like that. Right now, he must be…

What is he thinking?

I risked a glance at Athanas’ face, trying to read his expression.

But I couldn’t figure it out. Whatever he was feeling, it wasn’t anger.

When Athanas is truly angry, just his stare alone sends chills down my spine. But right now, I didn’t get that feeling at all.

Shouldn’t this be the kind of situation that has him absolutely furious?

Athanas must’ve gone to my room, looking for me.

Whatever he needs to talk about must be urgent—something that couldn’t wait until our scheduled meeting tomorrow.

…Or maybe he just felt like springing a surprise inspection on me.

After all, I’m still a “Watched One” who hasn’t even received the Blessing of Order.

I could totally picture Athanas deciding it was time to search my room, maybe to see if I was hiding something suspicious.

Whatever it was, it had to be important.

But when he arrived, he found an empty room with just the reliquary left behind—the one he’d drilled into my head to always carry with me.

I’d be f*cking pissed.

To top it off, Athanas never mentioned the reliquary had a tracking feature.

But I still left it behind on purpose.

From his perspective, I get it—it’s extremely suspicious.

Did I leave it behind because I knew it could track me? And if so, how long had I known? Why did I keep it a secret? Was this just another one of my schemes, another lie to add to the ever-growing list?

There’s no way he can trust me now, not after this.

If I’d just gone somewhere harmless—like a chapel or the Inquisition Office—I could’ve played it off as a careless mistake, an accident.

But I went to the main building… the one place I swore I’d never go near again.

Even though I promised I had no intention of siding with a traitor, I secretly tried to reach out to the ‘God of Records’ in a place Athanas would never have expected me to go.

How many promises have I broken this time?

– I won’t act on impulse without telling him first.

– I’ll always carry the reliquary with me.

– I’ll prioritize my safety above all else, no matter what.

– I won’t get involved with a traitor to the Order.

– I won’t go near the Research Director…

I’m pretty sure my trustworthiness just hit rock bottom.

With that sinking in, the fact that Athanas isn’t angry with me right now somehow makes this even scarier.

Has he completely given up on me?

Once you reach a certain point, you just stop trying. It’s like when you’ve already decided to quit a job—why bother stressing out or getting mad about something that won’t matter soon anyway? Even showing your emotions feels pointless.

“Athanas, about this situation…” I started carefully.

“No need to explain.”

His voice was soft, with a gentleness that could almost pass as kindness.

But deep down, I knew.

…It’s over.

Those two words echoed in my head, drowning out everything else. My mind went blank.

What’s the point in making excuses now?

I left the reliquary behind because I didn’t want you caught up in this mess.

I had my reasons—good reasons—for keeping you in the dark.

I didn’t say anything because the “God of Oblivion” might have been listening…

…But doesn’t that all just sound like a load of crap to cover my own ass?

If I had uncovered something big, something that could change everything, maybe I could justify my actions a little more boldly.

But everything I found out? It’s not something I can share with Athanas.

That Mother God is targeting me?

Saying that out loud would be like putting the noose around my own neck.

If there’s a unit that respawns in the enemy’s camp the moment it dies, how would you even use it?

Since the enemy would gain all the intel that unit had upon death, you’d lock it up in a prison and not let it do anything.

No matter how skilled that unit is, you’d never assign it to crucial missions.

Besides, “Fabio” has trash stats anyway…

“I understand. Thank you for everything up until now.”

“…What are you talking about?”

“Aren’t you saying you don’t want to work with me anymore?”

Athanas’ expression crumpled in frustration.

“How could you think that?”

“But you said there’s no need to explain…”

“What I meant was, you shouldn’t feel obligated to explain yourself to me.”

Now it was my turn to frown. I couldn’t understand what Athanas was saying.

“You’re just going to overlook this without any explanation? Why?”

“Because I understand why you came here without telling me.”

Why I came here?

“Weren’t you worried I might lose my memory again while investigating the ‘God of Oblivion’?”

“…….”

“You specifically warned me not to look into anything related to ‘Oblivion,’ no matter what. So when you took off, yelling for me not to follow, I had this awful feeling. I thought you were going to try investigating it yourself.”

“Back then…”

I just panicked because my SAN points were dropping.

I wasn’t planning on investigating anything—I just wanted to drop everything and run away.

“So, just to clarify—you left the reliquary behind out of concern for me because you didn’t want me to get involved. Is that right?”

“Yeah, that’s true, but…”

I couldn’t wrap my head around it. Instead of feeling relieved that he believed, I was weirdly unsettled.

He’s understanding me to this extent?

Sure, I had my reasons, but I definitely crossed a line this time. There’s no way he should just accept that I betrayed him without pushing back.

I mean, deserters always have their excuses, right? But if we start bending the rules for everyone with a “good reason,” wouldn’t that just cause everything to unravel?

Athanas was never the type to care about my side of the story anyway. He’d usually get pissed off no matter how much I tried to explain…

Is this even real? Am I still dreaming?

The thought hit me out of nowhere.

What if I dozed off again while the Director droned on about his insane research? Maybe I’m dreaming all this—where everything’s going suspiciously well—because I’m actually scared stiff of Athanas’s wrath.

Waking up from a dream like that would make real life feel twice as shitty.

“Um… Can I go to the bathroom real quick?”

In dreams, whenever you realize you’re dreaming, everything starts glitching out—it’s like some universal law.

And honestly, the last thing I need to see is another nightmare version of Athanas.

Athanas nodded, though he looked slightly reluctant.

He can’t exactly say no if I say it’s urgent, right?

I opened the door, and a long hallway stretched out ahead of me.

Now that I think about it, it’s strange how I found the reception room so easily in this maze of doors.

It must be possible because this is a dream.

If that’s the case, wouldn’t it be funny if I opened the door next to me and it was actually a bathroom? I mean, why not—this is a dream, right…?

But nothing good ever comes from opening a random door in a dream.

Even in a dream, my brain would probably whip up some nightmare straight out of the Director’s lab. I’m definitely not up for that in first-person.

I decided against messing with unknown doors and headed back to the room I woke up in.

As I walked, I bent my left index finger back. If this is a dream, I’m ready to smash my head against the wall to wake up. And then—

Snap!

…Wait, snap?

I looked down.

My left index finger was gone.

Instead, something squirmed and writhed in my right hand…

“Ahhh!”

I freaked and tossed everything out of my hands on pure instinct.

The reliquary tumbled down the hallway, and the wriggling mass splattered on impact, only to slither back together near a figure. It was the Research Director.

“Oh dear, you really should be more careful.”

The squirming things crawled up his leg and disappeared under his clothes.

Goosebumps prickled across my skin.

Shit, this really is a nightmare, isn’t it?

I couldn’t feel any pain where my finger was supposed to be. Actually, I couldn’t feel anything at all. It had to be a dream—stuff like this doesn’t happen in real life.

The Research Director walked toward me, his face showing his discontent.

“You shouldn’t be wandering around while you’re still dealing with rejection symptoms. Now, give me your hand.”

He grabbed my left arm. I tried to jerk away, but my hand refused to cooperate.

“W-What are you going to do…?”

The Director’s lips curled into a grin. Without a word, he leaned in and bit down on the spot where my finger used to be.

A wet, creepy sensation—a touch that felt wrong, like it wasn’t even a tongue—slid across the empty joints of my missing finger. But I knew there was nothing there…

Huh? What? The hell?

“Ta-da!”

He stepped back, revealing my finger, whole and intact, like some twisted magic trick.

I felt like I’d been dragged into a bad, surreal nightmare.

Is that…?

My finger, slick with saliva, moved normally, just like I wanted it to.

I grimaced.

Was my finger… that writhing mass from before?

“It’s best not to overthink your injury. It’s unstable and could come apart at any moment.”

“…Come apart? You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, come now, that’s quite unfair. Do you have any idea how much effort I’m putting into keeping this blessing stable? Instead of gratitude, you’re scolding me!”

The Director waved his hands dramatically, pretending to be hurt.

“Fabio, the problem is that you keep rejecting it. Just now, didn’t you think, ‘This isn’t my hand’?”

“I didn’t think that.”

“Then what were you thinking when you bent your finger back?”

I was wondering if it would bend all the way back if this were a dream.

Lucid dreamers have tricks to check if they’re dreaming—like pinching their nose and mouth shut to see if they can still breathe, or trying to bend their fingers backward to touch the back of their hand.

“I wasn’t thinking anything. It was just a reflex…”

“Is that so? Then this is even more concerning.”

The Director rested his chin on his hand, deep in thought.

Concerning or not, I need to wake up from this nightmare…

“Fabio, do you think what’s happening right now isn’t real?”