Rise of the OtherGod Apostle: Not a Cult Leader, but a Serf?!
#177
#177
“Fabio, don’t!”
A tiny hand shot out, snatching the purple poppy from my fingers and hurling it against the stone floor.
“You can’t just eat strange things you find on the ground!” Callister’s small face scrunched tight with worry. “You’re a god, Fabio, but a young one! You have to be careful! What if you get sick?”
“…What?”
“If you’re not careful, you could get mixed up!”
Mixed up?
The words hit like a bucket of ice water. The fog in my brain shattered. Cold sweat slid down my neck as I stared at the fallen flower.
Holy hell. I was actually going to eat that. What is wrong with me?
That wasn’t just some random item. It was a relic of the Distorted One. My thoughts had gone crooked the moment I touched it. Mistake persuasion for distortion, and truth stops meaning anything. If I’d swallowed it…
No. I wouldn’t just become persuasive. I’d become something else—a peddler of twisted logic that sold lies as truth, poison as honey. My words would warp perception. Reality would twist to my voice. And my own mind? It would eventually warp to match the Distorted One until there was nothing left of me.
That flower wasn’t power. It was a trap. Poison dressed in petals. A feast laid out to make me lean closer, to believe I was the honored guest. But I wasn’t the guest.
I was the meal. And I had almost taken my seat.
“…Thanks, Callister. You just saved my life.”
“Of course I did!” He puffed out his little chest, rubbing against my hand like a smug cat. “I’m your faithful Callister! I wouldn’t exist without you.” He jabbed a tiny finger at the discarded flower. “Now, get rid of that nasty thing. It’s filthy. I can fix your eye. You don’t need filthy things like them.”
The air in the room went dead still.
“Filthy… things… like them?”
Pandomonium’s voice rumbled low, like boulders grinding deep underground.
“What part of me, exactly, would you call filthy?”
“You reek of blood!” Callister shrieked, his fear igniting into pure outrage. “You dumped the burden of your murders onto Fabio, who’s never killed a thing! You’re a sick bastard! A murder addict! A madman! Demon!”
“Hah.”
The laugh that slipped from Pandomonium’s mouth had no humor, just teeth.
“Careful, maggot. Keep yapping like that, and you’ll be the next corpse I step over.”
“Don’t fight with the kid,” I sighed, rubbing my temples.
“Hyung, You do realize that’s not actually a child, right?”
“So what? You shouldn’t have chopped him into piece then.”
“Hyung~” Pandomonium’s voice pitched into a wounded whine. “You’re playing favorites, and it’s really hurting my feelings. You do know favoritism caused the first murder in human history, right?”
…Is that a threat? Are you actually threatening to kill Callister?
My eye twitched. The sheer lack of self-awareness from this bastard was staggering. Callister—who had been literally falling apart a minute ago—had been worried sick about me. Meanwhile, Pandomonium, fresh off trying to cave my skull in, was whining about fairness.
I pinched the bridge of my nose and let out a slow, steady breath. “Forget it. Just… tell me what happened at the Council.”
Pandomonium blinked. “The Council? I wasn’t there.”
“You weren’t?”
“Why would I be?” He scoffed. “It was a room full of Apostles. I’m not suicidal, Hyung.”
“Then who did Teres House send as their representative?”
“The head of the house, obviously. My mom.”
I stared at him for a solid three seconds. My brain sputtered and died.
Then why the hell are you here at the Cathedral?
“Fine. Then do you at least know why the players called for the Council in the first place?”
“Oh, that part’s easy.” Pandomonium suddenly perked up like he was about to spill the hottest tea in the realm. “We were trying to plant a logic bomb.”
That caught my attention. “A logic bomb?”
“You know about Oblivion, right? That overpowered god that wasn’t even in the original game?”
“Let’s just say I’m familiar.”
“Well, it all started with House Lizard. He was the first player to really dig deep into the whole mess.” Pandomonium leaned back, clearly savoring the story. “Started asking all the right questions. If Oblivion is supposed to be part of Order, where are Its priests? Its holy texts? He was the first to see Oblivion not as power, but as a walking contradiction.
The guy would rant for hours about it, asking how can a god of absolute erasure exist inside a system built on absolute order? It doesn’t make sense! What if Oblivion writes a new doctrine and then erases everyone’s memory of it? People would get punished for breaking laws they didn’t even know existed. He called it a cancer, eating away at the very idea of faith in Order’s system.”
“Go on.”
“So the players, following his lead, drafted this huge proposal for the Council. Three new core laws, dressed up in flowery language about ‘transparency’ and ‘accountability.’” Pandomonium ticked them off on his fingers.
“One: every time someone uses Oblivion, there has to be a public announcement. Two: they have to keep a full log—who used it, on whom, and why. And three: any noble can demand to see those records, and if you refuse, you need a formal, public justification. Basically, a mountain of bureaucratic crap.”
Order would never accept that. The Apostles would shoot it down before the ink even dried, even if the entire Council voted yes. House Lizard had to know it was dead on arrival.
“So where’s the logic bomb?” I leaned in despite myself.
Pandomonium grinned. “The bomb wasn’t in the laws themselves. It was in how they were written. House Lizard embedded an acrostic in the proposal.”
“An acrostic?”
“Yep. First letter of every major clause, read top to bottom, spelled out Oblivion’s true name.”
Pandomonium saw the look on my face and scratched his head idly.
“You know how the Council sends official summaries to everyone who can’t attend? Even rejected motions are included in full. So that means an official document containing Oblivion’s true name, would’ve landed on the desk of every big shot in the Dark Realm.”
That absolute madman…
Oblivion is a blind force. It doesn’t remember where it’s been. That’s why It erases Its name after every intrusion. If a pathway stays open, It can’t tell whether that place has already been visited or not.
Now imagine thousands of pathways opening at once.
Oblivion would become completely paralyzed. At best, Its operations would grind to a halt. At worst, It would have to burn a mountain of points erasing every single pathway just to keep functioning.
Either way, that’s a catastrophic loss for Order.
“Damn, that’s brilliant.”
“You think so too?”
“Not you. House Lizard. You’re just the messenger.”
The man had exploited a loophole in the very system of Order’s power and turned it into a loaded gun. Force Order to make an impossible choice, and watch the cracks form. Pure genius.
“So how did the Apostles react?”
“Told you. Wasn’t there.”
“……”
“Oh, but House Lizard had a theory about Order’s only follow up move. He figured Order would have to issue an immediate Revelation to rewrite the Council’s bylaws on the spot to contain the damage. Only problem is, he thought Roklem couldn’t do that. Direct interference is supposedly off-limits during the Tutorial Phase.”
I frowned. “Then what was that gaze I felt earlier?”
“Gaze?”
“You didn’t feel it?” The memory alone made my head throb. That bone-deep pressure, the air turning to cement in my lungs, squeezing until my vision swam. I shook my head, trying to clear it. “Never mind. The point is, House Lizard’s theory is wrong.”
“How so?”
“If Order really couldn’t interfere, then how did he trigger a descent to let the Bell Keeper possess Athanas?”
“Huh.” Pandomonium gave a one-shouldered shrug, all lazy indifference. “Maybe the system’s just glitchy. Order’s slipping through the cracks.”
“The system is… malfunctioning?”
But the chat worked fine. Scheduled messages came through perfectly. Though, now that I thought about it, even after supposedly becoming a god, my job title still read: Reader.
“Yeah. I ran into an Apostle earlier, and the Emergency Rescue System never activated. Normally, just being near one should trigger it automatically.”
“You ran into an Apostle? How are you still alive?”
“The Apostle said the Lord told him to do nothing… and let me go.”
What?
“You weren’t even contaminated, and he just walked away?”
An Apostle? Following an order like that? Do nothing?
Even with MotherGeese roaming around devouring people, Order still didn’t prioritize purging contamination.
Why?
Why?
If there were spare units available, why did Order take Athanas?
I couldn’t make sense of it. No, part of me didn’t even want to.
“Hyung?”
“Athanas…”
Can I really leave him in Order’s hands?
Even in Heretic Slayer, Order was absolute garbage. Athanas broke his back saving a world that had already gone to hell, and what did he get for it? Order stripped away his Apostle title, pinned every drop of blood on his hands—blood spilled saving the damn world—and threw him into hell.
Peak trash ending. 0/10, refund please.
Sure, Order had some sanctimonious excuse ready. Order’s divinity was withering, and if an Apostle’s sins went unjudged, the corruption would poison what little sanctity Roklem had left. Every soul Athanas and Adelaide had saved would scatter like ash in the wind. Everything they’d bled for—gone.
And the worst part? Athanas let them do it. He walked into hell on his own two feet because he believed it was the right thing to do. The entire game was just one endless, brutal march toward his own damnation.
But fuck, it was too much to bear.
And that foreshadowing? That cruel little hint suggesting Order planned to drag him out of hell someday, just to slaughter more heretics once Roklem regained power?
Couldn’t they have just let the man rest?
Of course not. Instead, Order put him on ice. Stored Athanas in the depths like an emergency weapon in a glass case: break only when the world needs saving again.
Back then, I convinced myself it was just sequel bait. A cheap cliffhanger to keep the fanbase hooked. It was the only way I could process it.
But I can’t hide behind that rationalization anymore.
The image of Athanas sleeping in those hellish depths, with only Adelaide’s lullaby for company… it triggered my PTSD.
Athanas…
“What was that about the Heretic Slayer?”
My head snapped up. “Don’t call him that.”
“Oh? Hyung, are you crying? Getting all emotional because Order snatched away your precious Athanas?”
“Shut up.”
“Okay, okay, Lord Fabio, don’t cry.” Pandomonium pressed his palms together in prayer. “I’m so sorry. I humbly beg for forgiveness. Famen.”
I stared at him.
“Solem. Ramen. Tantanmen.”
“You little shit.”
“It worked! Instant answer to my prayer.” Pandomonium clapped his hands together, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Four-star experience. Excellent service, very responsive deity. Docking one star for no freebies, though.”
I swear to god, I’m going to lose what’s left of my sanity.
He’s way too old to be acting this childish…
“Ah, there it is!” He jabbed a finger at my face. “I saw that smile. Five stars! Review officially updated. Outstanding customer service.”
“I didn’t smile.”
“I saw it. My eyes can capture individual frames, remember? Corners of your lips twitched upward. Totally counts.”
“That was a scoff.”
“Hey.” Pandomonium waved a dismissive hand. “In a world where bad laws still count as laws and hypocrisy is a virtue, a scoff is basically a smile.”
I let out a long breath, feeling the tension in my chest ease despite myself. Damn him. The little bastard had actually pulled it off. He’d annoyed me back to my senses.
Binding Athanas as a Servant is probably impossible right now anyway.
Am I really about to start an all-out war with Order over this?
More importantly, I’m not planning to stay a god forever. The moment my eye heals, I’m gone. Done with this entire divine shitshow.
But what happens to Pandomonium then? When I’m not a ‘god’ anymore? Does his soul snap back to the God of War? Or…
No. Game Over isn’t an option.
“Hyung, what’s that scheming look for?”
“Pandomonium, can you still access the system? Shop, quest window—anything?” I leaned forward, studying his face. “What about your Helper? What’s it doing right now?”
“My Helper?” Pandomonium tilted his head, considering. “Oh, that thing. It’s having a complete meltdown. Screaming about revenge for when the starry sky finally opens.”
Shit.
The only unit I claimed was Pandomonium himself. Any remaining “pieces” of the God of War still don’t belong to me.
Can a non-player even become a contractor? If the God of War tries to use those remaining pieces to kill Pandomonium after the starry sky opens…
“How many Servants does the God of War have?”
“Oh right, that was a thing.”
“Answer the question.”
“Hmm.” He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Everyone in my household, I think?”
“And how many is that, exactly?”
“Not a lot. Couple dozen, maybe? Want me to go kill them?”
I dropped my head into my hands. This moron.
I need to deal with the God of War’s Helper as soon as possible. And since I own Pandomonium’s soul, I can feel it—this foreign presence burrowed deep inside him, like a parasite latched onto living tissue.
Should I just try to rip it out?
A Helper is nothing more than a fragment of an Othergod unconnected from its main body. As long as the starry sky stays sealed, it’s just autopilot running the original god’s last known directives.
It’s low-tier. I can take it.
It’s essentially a parasite designed to control the player, but now that it’s been cut off from Pandomonium, it’s powerless. The only problem? I have no clue how to fight something without a physical body.
In that case… if I can’t fight something without a body, I’ll just have to give it one.
It didn’t need to be anything fancy. A simple folded paper doll would do the trick. And since the paper in these books was actually cured lambskin, it was far more than this parasite deserved anyway.
I grabbed the nearest tome and ripped out a page.
A chorus of tiny, shrill voices erupted from the book—Ow! That hurts! Fabio, you’re so mean!—as the words themselves bled from the torn sheet, dripping to the floor like black ink. The whole thing felt disturbingly like tearing living flesh.
No scissors, so folding it was. What shape would be humiliating enough for the God of War? A tiny velociraptor crossed my mind, but even that felt too dignified. I settled on a simple crane. A deliberately lopsided one.
“What are you doing?” Pandomonium asked, watching me work. “Origami?”
“Come here,” I said, beckoning him over.
“Hm?”
“And hold still.”
“Huh, what are you—”
I ignored him, closing my eyes and reaching out with that strange sense, feeling for the foreign presence clinging to Pandomonium’s soul. His breath hitched.
“Hyung? W-wait, where are you touching?! Stop, that feels… weird! Don’t—eek!”
Oh, shut up.
I took a sharp breath and pulled, dragging the God of War’s blood-scented fragment free. The taste was revolting, like rot and rusted iron coating my tongue. I spat the entire disgusting essence into the paper crane cupped in my palm.
Instantly, the lambskin hardened, the folds turning the color of dried blood. It began to tremble violently. Perfect. The Helper of the mighty God of War, now trapped in a crooked paper bird.
A tinny, outraged voice squeaked from the tiny form.
「You… you wretch! How DARE you humiliate me like this!」