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

#162Reader Mode

#162

This arm Callister gave me… he once said we were connected. That he could feel what it felt. He wasn’t wrong. I tested it by tracing shapes on my palm, and he recognized them instantly.

But what about words?

Slowly, I began to spell his name with my fingertip.

C-A-L-L-I-S-T-E-R.

Could we actually communicate like this? Pass thoughts back and forth—not just sensations, but actual ideas? The possibility lit up something inside me until reality crashed down.

Should I even be doing this? Reaching out to a Holy Flesh Repository of all people?

Casimir was living proof of how badly this could go. She had less than 5% of Ledeia’s Holy Flesh in her total body mass, and it still knocked her unconscious.

And Callister? As a full Repository, he’s probably nothing but maggots by now.

I traced his name again, pressing harder this time.

Callister.

Does he even look human anymore?

My brain calculated automatically. About 7,000 mealworms per kilo, right? Average guy weighs around 70 kilos… so that’s what, nearly half a million creatures, squirming where a person used to be. I pictured the Repository containment facility—not bodies anymore, just a seething, undulating mass…

Probably resembles some nightmare version of a ball pit, except instead of colorful plastic balls, it’s wall-to-wall worms.

Callister.

Maybe the only thing keeping this arm intact is my mental defense trait.

Callister.

But if he’s still sane… if something human remains buried in there… then he might know what’s actually happening right now.

I started tracing “Listen to me” across my palm, but stopped midway. Too complex. Too error-prone. Letters weren’t like simple shapes; they flowed together, demanded perfect concentration. One slip—one moment of lost focus on either end—and the message would dissolve into meaningless sensation.

What about Divine Script? Faster. Clearer. A single symbol could convey everything.

LISTEN.

An imperative command.

Fearing the meaning might go unnoticed, I wrote it again.

LISTEN.

LISTEN.

LISTEN.

Okay. What next?

My finger hovered above my palm. Still using the Script… Should I write “Come to me,” or simply “Come here”?

Divine Script made no distinction between “come” and “go”—direction had to be specified. “To me” made more sense.

Fewer strokes anyway.

COME TO ME.

COME TO ME.

COME TO ME.

COME TO ME.

By the fourth time, something clicked in my mind.

Is this what it feels like? To send a ‘Record’?

Endlessly broadcasting into the void, powered by nothing but desperate hope. Transmitting the same message over and over, yearning for any response at all.

Most people would crack under that kind of mental bombardment. Might start tuning it out from sheer irritation. But Callister…

Somehow, I knew he wouldn’t mind.

If he understands, he’ll come. If not… I’m just having a conversation with myself. Complete waste of energy.

All he needs to do is recognize his name. Follow one simple instruction. That’s it. If he can manage that much, we might actually have a chance.

One last time, I carefully traced the words across my palm:

CALLISTER. LISTEN. COME TO ME.

And if nothing happens after this?

Then what? Where could I possibly go from here?

…I wish I knew where Athanas was right now.

At least I still had his holy reliquary. That had to count for something. If nothing else, it might help him find me—assuming he was even looking. Better to keep moving than sit here waiting for a miracle.

Move around. Prove I’m still sane. That I’m still trying to solve this.

Easier said than done. Because looking at the bigger picture, the sheer chaos of it all… where do I even start? The Council hall had to be in complete disarray by now. The Main Building, the Research Director’s office… probably just as bad, maybe worse.

…And then there’s Pandemonium. That absolute asshole.

Not a single message checking if I was still alive. The only thing keeping me from assuming he was dead too was the chat window still functioning.

What if time works differently in here?

Could the Emergency Rescue System have activated? Slowing everything down, syncing things differently? That might explain the radio silence… maybe.

My fingers hovered over the keyboard, ready to type a message when a flicker of movement in my peripheral vision made me freeze.

…What the hell is that?

Something was crawling toward me. Not walking or slithering, but stuttering forward with each advance. An indescribable, shapeless mass constantly breaking apart and reforming itself. Like reality itself was buffering, unable to render whatever this thing was supposed to be.

Then came the sound. A wet, grating noise that vibrated through my chest.

“Fa…bio…”

Holy shit. It can talk.

Could this…thing…actually be Callister?

It wasn’t large—just a low, pulsing heap spread across the floor. About the size of a coffee table, barely knee-high. Like someone had overboiled 50 packs of ramen, dumped them in a pile, and cursed the whole mess with sentience.

“Fa…bio…”

“Callister?”

The moment his name left my lips, the mass shuddered, its surface rippling like disturbed water. Then, in a nightmarish transformation, dozens of eyes erupted across its form. They blinked in perfect synchronization before locking onto me with terrible recognition.

Fuck me!

I tasted bile at the back of my throat, my brain struggling to process the impossibility unfolding before me. My body understood before my mind did, already stumbling backward, desperate to escape.

But the mass surged forward and the distance between us vanished instantly.

“Fa…bio…”

The mass lurched upward, attempting to form humanoid limbs from its amorphous body. It teetered for a moment, then buckled and collapsed with a wet thump. Undeterred, it tried again and again, each attempt more pitiful than the last, as if its form rejected the very concept of balance. Finally, it surrendered, melting back into a quivering heap.

But the mass didn’t stay still. It adapted.

Hundreds of spindly little legs erupted from its underside like a centipede’s. They clicked and scraped against the floor as the mass skittered closer.

Did he forget how to be human?

“This makes the seventh…” I whispered, backing away before I planted my feet firmly on the ground, fighting every instinct screaming at me to run.

“Don’t move! Just… stay there.”

To my shock, the thing obeyed. It settled into a final form, something between insect and noodles, watching me with that constellation of unblinking eyes.

Shit.

It understood me. Which meant I had no choice but to communicate with this thing. The thought alone was extremely stressful, but if it could follow commands, maybe some fragment of Callister still existed beneath that writhing mass of… noodles.

“Callister?”

The response came as wet, gurgling noises that gradually assembled into words: “I… Callister. Fabio, yours. Your Callister.”

“What happened to you? How did you turn into… this?”

“Happened?”

The word echoed back, not from a single source but many.

“Happened? Happened? Happened?”

Dozens of mouths split open like festering wounds across its surface, some dripping viscous fluid, others contorting into unnatural grins. All of them speaking in fragmented unison.

“Where start… Fabio! Good see you. Seventh time? Is strange. Even I don’t… know what… what happened. Didn’t see. Saw it all. Ledeia… something is wrong. Oblivion! Beware the memories. Your identity—don’t ask! The Saint—”

“Whoa! Stop!”

In an instant, every mouth snapped shut, leaving only the sound of my ragged breathing. Somehow, the sudden quiet was even more terrifying than the insane babbling.

I took a shaky breath. “Okay, Callister. Listen… can you pull yourself together? Look human again?”

The word ‘Human’ seemed to confuse him. “Human? Who human? What… was human? Hard. Difficult. Too many variables.”

As he grappled with the concept, his entire mass began to churn and writhe. The constellation of eyes flickered wildly, cycling through colors like RGB values gone haywire—reds bleeding into blues, greens corrupting to static black. A dizzying, nauseating light show of confusion.

Lumps erupted across his surface—grotesque, half-formed attempts at facial features. A nose here, partial lips there, a twisted ear—each appendage rendering halfway before dissolving back into the mass. Each attempt more disturbing than the last—uncanny valley horrors stuck in an infinite boot loop.

It’s like his brain is trying to load every ‘human’ file at once and keeps crashing, I realized, a cold sweat breaking out across my brow.

“Can you revert to your old self? When you were just… Callister? One solid form?”

The mass erupted with overlapping voices, each one fighting to be heard:

“Callister? Which Callister? Don’t know. That Callister? Gone. Callister? Can’t. Difficult. Callister? I am Callister… Your Callister…”

“…Fine. Then copy someone. Anyone. Just a basic human structure.”

“Anyone?” The word seemed to trigger something. “Human? Who? Specify. Give… example.”

An example?

Before I could offer suggestions, every eye across the creature’s surface stopped their kaleidoscopic color-cycling and snapped to attention—dozens of irises dilating in perfect unison as they fixed on me.

“Fabio.”

The name emerged in perfect clarity, all voices suddenly unified.

“What?”

“Fabio… is human?”

A wave of dread crashed into me. Instinctively, I stumbled back, desperate to put some distance between us, but I wasn’t fast enough.

Dozens of slick, fleshy limbs exploded outward from the mass, coiling around my arms, my legs, my torso, pinning me in place instantly.

“Ah! Fuck! Let go! Stop it! Enough!”

“Stop?”

The question echoed from multiple mouths simultaneously, their voices overlapping in discordant harmony. “Specify what action to stop, Fabio. What should I stop?”

“Anything! Just stop this!”

“Understood. All ocular blinking has stopped.”

I froze, panic building as I stared into the unblinking wall of eyes fixed on me. “Fuck, not that! Stop grabbing me!”

“But Fabio’s command was to ‘stop anything’.”

“Aaargh!” I screamed, thrashing wildly.

“Fabio, Fabio, Fabio…”

My name whispered through the mass like waves through dark water, a haunting chorus that seemed to savor the name as his hold tightened, drawing me closer into his grotesque embrace. The tentacles continued their relentless exploration, slithering across my clothes, my skin, leaving trails of cold, viscous sensation in their wake.

Stop touching me!

It felt like being the sole, terrified guinea pig in a petting zoo from hell, swarmed by countless hands that knew nothing of gentleness or restraint. One at a time! Fucking limit the visitors!

I desperately shoved against the mass, my fingers clawing at its slick, pulsating surface to break free. But instead of finding purchase, my left hand sank deep into the wet biomass, disappearing completely as if it had always belonged there.

Shit! My arm! I totally forgot it’s made of the same stuff!

Before the full horror of that realization could sink in, a new sensation tore through me—

“Ow!”

Pain. Not just one sting but hundreds, like lightning branching through my nervous system from the spot where my shoulder connected to whatever the hell Callister had become. Countless microscopic mouths gnawed at the junction like a ravenous swarm of doctor fish feasting on an open wound.

No.. no way…

I realized it then. He wasn’t just holding me; he was literally absorbing my arm, devouring it bit by bit.

“Stop it! Don’t you dare eat me, you psycho! Eating’s off-limits, you son of a bitch! Stop BITING! Argh!”

“…My sincerest apologies,” a voice replied with ridiculous politeness, given the the horror of the situation. “How terribly rude of me.”

The mass shuddered, a churning tangle of slick appendages gradually withdrawing. The many grasping hands melted back into the undulating surface until only two remained. One possessively intertwined its fingers with my left hand, while the other reached up to gently, obscenely caress my cheek, the touch sending shivers down my spine.

“Please forgive my unseemly behavior.”

From the transforming mass, a face emerged, mere inches from mine. It was Fabio’s face, but wearing a smile so utterly carefree it was chilling.

I could only gasp for breath, my heart pounding wildly against my ribs as I stared into those familiar eyes.

…I’m afraid I’m still seeing something I really shouldn’t.

I gulped, my mind struggling to process the sight before me. This shameless bastard was completely naked.

Logically, it made sense. Clothes aren’t exactly part of the entire “physical body”. But his long hair cascading down to his waist did absolutely nothing to cover what desperately needed covering.

“You did it, Fabio! My hero!” The voice coming from Fabio’s copied face was way too loud and enthusiastic. “I was doomed! Utterly! Whew!” He shook his head. “Can you believe it? The number of eyes! So basic, right? How could anyone forget that?”

“…Just let go of my hand first.”

“Right, right!” He dropped my hand immediately, then wrapped his arms around himself, shivering. “God, it’s freezing, isn’t it? Talk about temperature shock. Any chance of some clothing? I feel rather exposed here. Liable to catch my death!”

Unbelievable. Shameless bastard.

But seeing my own face perched atop a stark-naked body? That unlocked an entirely new category of psychological trauma. Cringing, I shrugged off my cloak and tossed it at him.

“…Did you seriously use me as the template for that body?” I asked as he fumbled with the cloak.

“Of course! You were right here! The perfect reference!” He grinned, annoyingly chipper.

“Then why are you taller?”

“Ah, that’s because I based it on your original genetic archetype! Meaning, Fabio, if you’d actually eaten properly during your developmental years, you could have potentially reached this height too!”

Ah. I see. Apparently, malnutrition had robbed Fabio of a good couple of inches.

Why is that pissing me off so much?

And hang on… if he reconstructed himself from my DNA, from some “genetic archetype”… then what the hell was with all that groping just now? What was that bullshit?

“And I even had some Holy Flesh to spare!” Callister continued, preening as he finally got the cloak sort of situated, “so I added some extra muscle definition, a bit more metabolic efficiency. What do you think?”

“…Just cover yourself properly. I’m seeing way more than I ever wanted to.”

“Come again?” He glanced down, looking genuinely perplexed. “This cloak is literally all I’ve got to work with! I’m doing my absolute best here! You’re essentially asking for a miracle! If it bothers you that much, why don’t you just give me your underwear too?”

Un-fucking-believable. The audacity of this guy.

“How about using that extra Holy Flesh to grow some fur? You know, like a monkey? Everywhere?”

“I actually considered that adaptation, but apparently Fabio’s base genetics have their limitations.” He gathered up his ridiculously long hair and wrapped it around his neck as a makeshift scarf. “Better than nothing, I suppose, though woefully inadequate against this cold.”

A cloud of white escaped my lips as I let out a loud sigh.

…Nope. Not even gonna touch that one.

“Okay, just tell me what happened. What went down at the Council? How did you lose your form?”

“Pardon? You want to have this conversation now?” Callister looked genuinely appalled. “Out here? In this weather? Fabio, it’s freezing! We’ll turn into icicles if we just stand around chatting!”

“…Okay, fine. We’ll walk and talk.”

“Oh, I don’t think that’s feasible either,” he countered without missing a beat, gesturing dramatically toward his feet. “These feet? Freshly made! Very delicate. This ground looks awfully cold and unforgivably abrasive. Think of the damage!”

Goddammit.

“Then what exactly do you expect me to do about it?”

“Your shoes, please.”

“My shoes? And what am I supposed to do? You think my feet have some magical cold immunity?”

“Ah, but you have calluses, Fabio. Years of environmental adaptation from hard work! You’re biologically fortified compared to my pristine soles.”

What’s actually wrong with this guy?

First, he treated my arm like an all-you-can-eat buffet, and now he wants the shirt off my back and the shoes off my feet?

Did I miss the memo where I became his personal butler?

“…Just start walking already.”

“Only joking!” Callister chirped cheerfully. “About the feet, anyway. I’ll carry you instead, Fabio!”

“Like hell you will! I don’t care if your feet turn into icicles. Walk.”

“No, no, I will walk,” Callister insisted, suddenly serious again. “Frozen feet be damned.” Then his eyes flicked over to the unresponsive Casimir, still kneeling on the ground. “Well then. I suppose there’s really only one logical solution.”

Before I could even process the implications of that statement, he dropped into a squat and began yanking the sturdy boots right off Casimir’s feet.

My jaw dropped. “What in the hell are you doing?! Have you lost your mind?!”

“Don’t worry!” Callister said, wrestling with a shoelace. “It’s not technically theft if you plan to return it eventually! Trust me, this is standard operating procedure. I’ve done this exact resource reallocation countless times.”

“Done it countless times…?”

This psycho bastard!

“Just leave her alone! Put them back! Wait—” My outrage faltered as a more urgent realization crashed through. Casimir was seriously injured. If we abandoned her here in this state, those wounds would inevitably get infected, and then we’d be in deep shit. “Forget the shoes for a moment. Can you heal her? Can you fix Casimir?”

Callister glanced at the motionless form like he was just now noticing her. “Huh? Oh, that thing?”

That thing..?

“I mean, I can reconstruct the damaged parts,” he admitted, finally yanking a boot off. “But it’s merely a temporary solution, realistically. The second I divert my focus from active maintenance, she’ll deteriorate right back to this precise state.”

“…Why? How come I’m completely fine then?”

“Ah.” Callister paused his boot heist to look at me head-on. “That’s because you’re special, Fabio. You’re looking at this backwards.”

“Backwards? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m explaining that the sole reason my consciousness remains intact, the only factor preventing my descent into madness, is you. I’m not sure exactly how it works, but the Holy Flesh component that makes up your arm maintained a persistent connection to me. Your blood continuously circulated through it, sustaining its integrity. That symbiotic link allowed me to keep my sanity.”

In other words…

He’s suggesting that somehow, the effects of my ‘Heaven Above, Earth Below, I Alone Reign Supreme’ trait had traveled through my bloodstream to him?

“…So,” I asked slowly, the implication dawning, “if I give Casimir some of my blood… would she go back to normal too?”

“Hmm.” Callister finally got the second boot off and started stuffing his bare feet into them, looking way too pleased with himself. “If I were you? Wouldn’t risk it.”

He said it so nonchalantly, focused entirely on his stolen boots. “See, in my case, I’m essentially just ‘operational equipment,’ already excluded from both heaven and hell. Receiving your flesh and blood was an upgrade. An unparalleled honor, truly. But the Knight Commander of the Heretic Inquisition? I’m not so sure she’d be thrilled about suddenly becoming one of your servants.”

“…Servants?”