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

#182Reader Mode

#182

Well, that was a conversational hard left. I opened my mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. Nothing.

The answer? The guy standing right behind me had stabbed it. Period. End of story. And it wasn’t some distortion, reality-bending situation, either. He was aiming for my eyeball, and his finger went straight through the center of my cornea like he’d practiced it a thousand times.

And even if the whole thing was based on a misunderstanding, there’s really no excuse for someone jamming their finger into another person’s eye without a second thought. That’s just not something you accidentally do.

Here’s where it gets complicated though. After all that? I made him my Servant. It’s the equivalent of saying, “So this guy broke into my apartment and tried to kill me… anyway, I gave him a spare key and now we split the rent.” It was the kind of statement that makes people slowly put down their drinks and re-evaluate whether they actually know you at all. And honestly? I don’t have good answers for the inevitable follow-up questions. I don’t even have bad answers. I’ve got nothing.

“It was…” I grasped for the path of least resistance, “a trap. Set by the Distorted One. I walked right into it.”

Naturally, Callister picked that exact moment to throw me under the bus. “Fabio! Stop covering for that scumbag! Just tell him the truth. Tell him he’s the one who did it!”

“Callister, shut it. Not now.”

“What? Am I wrong? The guy’s garbage!”

For the love of—

I shot him the most desperate look I could manage. Read the room! I’m actively trying to prevent a catastrophic meltdown here. A little situational awareness would be fantastic right about now.

Here’s the thing about Andrea: he’s got sacrifice-induced PTSD, courtesy of Adelaide. These days, he operates on a strict zero-tolerance policy when it comes to scumbags who hurt innocent people. The second innocent blood gets spilled without consequences? He doesn’t just lose it—he becomes the consequence. Immediate, violent, non-negotiable.

So here I was, having just burned through every ounce of energy I had dispelling that distortion, and now I’m potentially staring down an entirely new disaster. If Andrea decides Pandomonium is the primary threat here instead of keeping his focus locked on Athanas? We’re right back to square one. Except this time, I’m too exhausted to do anything about it.

“Are you in danger?” Andrea’s voice cut through my thoughts, sharp with worry. “Right now, are you safe?”

“What? No—I mean yes, I’m safe. Totally fine.” The words came out way too fast, tripping over each other. “Listen, that guy—Pan—uh, Marcello Teres and I, we’re…”

And just like that, my brain blue-screened. Every possible explanation scrolling past like the world’s worst menu of options. Shit. What was I supposed to call him? An old friend? Too casual, and not even close to accurate. Someone from my past life? Great, yeah, let’s just casually drop that bomb into the conversation. A younger hyung from back home?

“…allies,” I finally settled on, taking the coward’s way out. “We were allies. Originally.”

“Originally, you say?” Andrea’s eyes narrowed to dangerous slits.

Yeah. He wasn’t buying a single word of this.

“Okay, look—it’s complicated.” I could hear how weak that sounded even as I said it. “But what matters is that he never actually wanted to hurt me. I can prove it. You remember what I told you about the Distorted One? How It feeds on negative emotions, specifically disappointment? Think of It like… the Plague God, right? The Plague God needs disease to spread and thrive. This thing needs despair.”

I took a breath, forcing my thoughts into something resembling order.

“So imagine this—and Lord forbid this ever happens—but imagine you failed to recognize Alicia for just a second. One split second, and you attacked her. Then reality snaps back and you realize what you’ve done. Who she really is.” I watched his expression shift. “That feeling right there? That crushing, soul-destroying guilt and despair dropping into the pit of your stomach like a stone? That’s what the Distorted One feeds on. That’s what It craves.”

I watched Andrea’s face, searching for any sign this was actually landing. “The fact that this entire situation was the Distorted One’s trap? That actually proves Marcello’s capable of feeling that kind of guilt. The trap wouldn’t have worked on some emotionless monster. It needed someone who’d be destroyed by what they’d done.”

Every word made me want to throw up. I could feel my stomach twisting itself into knots.

What the fuck am I doing? Why am I standing here defending this asshole?

What I wanted was to tell the truth—that losing an eye was nothing compared to everything else he’d done to me. The horrifying state my body was in afterward. The kind of damage that doesn’t heal, no matter how much time passes. It wasn’t okay then. It’s not okay now. It will never be okay.

“Fabio, are you truly alright?”

“…Yeah. Of course. My eye will heal up in no time. Don’t worry about it.”

Bishop Andrea didn’t need to carry this truth. The man already looked like he’d aged a decade in the span of a few hours, lines of exhaustion carved deep into his face. And realistically? What was he supposed to do about it anyway?

“Allies, huh?” Pandomonium spoke up beside me, rolling the word around like he was tasting wine. “Mm, don’t love that. An alliance is basically just a promise you keep until someone offers you a better deal.”

This is coming from the guy who backstabs his own teammates in literally every strategy game he’s ever touched.

“I want something more solid,” he went on. “Something that actually means something. You know what’s better than allies? The Peach Garden Oath. We didn’t just promise to die on the same day—we swore we’d stay together even after death. Through every lifetime. That’s the kind of bond—”.”

“Bishop Andrea, please ignore everything he just said,” I cut in, desperate to salvage this. “Look, his soul can’t find peace in Order’s embrace, so binding him as a Servant was the only way to keep him from falling into an evil Othergod’s hands. It’s purely temporary. Strategic necessity.”

“Temporary?” Pandomonium’s hand flew to his chest like I’d just driven a knife between his ribs. “Oh, I see how it is. By ‘temporary’ you mean ‘until death do us part,’ right? Right? You pull me back from the brink just to toss me aside when I’m no longer convenient? Wow, hyung. I really didn’t peg you for a heartbreaker. That actually stings.”

Fucking hell, would you PLEASE stop talking?

I had to physically fight the urge to slap my hand over his mouth. Every single word coming out of him was actively building a case that I was a willing accomplice to his insanity.

Bishop Andrea rose to his feet and grabbed my arm, shooting Pandomonium a look of disgust. He actually tilted his head back and wrinkled his nose like he’d just caught a whiff of week-old garbage festering in the summer heat.

“…Why does he call you hyung, Fabio?”

Seriously? That’s what you’re fixating on right now? I nearly laughed out loud. Out of this entire clusterfuck of a situation, that’s your burning question?

“It’s… look, it’s complicated,” I said, trying to sidestep the minefield entirely. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not important.”

“No.” Andrea’s voice shifted from suspicious to something far more grave. “It matters deeply. Fabio, do you understand why the gods punish blasphemy with such fury?”

I blinked at him. Because it screws with their ‘concept’ and might literally kill them?

“This forbidden knowledge belongs only to ordained bishops. But you’ve already crossed that threshold. You’ve become something divine trapped in mortal flesh. You need to understand the truth.”

Andrea drew a steadying breath.

“Before the Age of Order, those who called themselves gods were merely tribal chieftains. Warlords. Powerful humans, nothing more. After two centuries passed, memory blurred into myth. People forgot which king ruled when, what separated one leader from another. So they began worshiping these dead rulers as a single, eternal being—collapsing generations of history into one immortal figure. That’s how we ended up with ‘gods’ who supposedly had dozens of consorts and hundreds of offspring. Beings whose stories twisted and tangled with each retelling, absorbing every legend that came before them.

“These ancient gods were fickle, cruel, and utterly mad. They no longer knew their own true nature. When believers disagreed about who they were or what they’d done, their very essence fractured—making their actions wildly erratic, contradictory. Dangerous.

“That’s precisely why a god requires devoted priests and sacred texts. If you don’t want to be torn apart or driven insane, you must ensure all your followers worship you in exactly the same way. Every prayer, every ritual, every story—identical. Do you understand?”

Huh.

So what happened to those original kings’ souls? Did they all just… merge into some kind of twisted amalgamation? Absorbed into whatever came after?

“Fabio, listen to me carefully. If you continue allowing this man to call you ‘hyung,’ you’ll eventually believe Marcello Teres truly is your younger brother. Not metaphorically, you will genuinely believe it. If you once had a real sibling, that memory will fade and blur, then vanish entirely. Replaced by this false kinship.”

Andrea’s expression darkened considerably.

“And here’s what makes it worse: Marcello Teres of House Teres far outshines whoever you once were. His story is bigger, brighter, more significant. So his narrative will devour yours completely. It won’t be a merger—it will be an erasure.” His grip on my arm was almost painful now. “One day, you’ll wake up as nothing more than the forgotten Teres son. The flawed bastard born without sky-blue hair and cast aside. A footnote in someone else’s legend. And you won’t remember ever being anyone else. That person you were? Gone. Like they never existed at all.”

“Hm.” Pandomonium stroked his chin thoughtfully. “That doesn’t sound so bad, actually. I kinda like it.”

Is he fucking insane?

My jaw clenched so hard I thought my teeth might crack. Andrea just described having my entire identity erased and overwritten, and this absolute psychopath thinks it sounds appealing?

Pandomonium just shrugged, completely unbothered. “Eh, my head’s already stuffed with fake memories that aren’t even mine. What’s one more gonna hurt? A memory’s a memory, right? Doesn’t really matter if it’s authentic or forged.”

“You see?” Andrea glared at Pandomonium like he was Exhibit A in a case study on why you don’t make binding contracts with lunatics. “This is exactly why you can’t just recklessly bind someone like him as a Servant.”

I had nothing to say to that. He wasn’t wrong.

“Fabio, you need a proper priest. Someone who thinks only of you and your preservation. Someone who can write your scripture correctly and establish a consistent narrative that protects your identity.”

Callister’s hand shot up so fast he nearly smacked himself in the face. “Oh! Me! Pick me! Nobody’s more devoted to Fabio than me! I swear on my life!”

Andrea didn’t even glance his direction. His eyes remained fixed on me. “Naturally, this priest would need to be educated. Actually capable of composing a god’s scripture with the proper theological framework and literacy.”

Callister stuck his chin out proudly. “Ha! I’ve got a degree! Can’t remember what it’s in exactly, but that still counts as educated, right?”

“If no such priest can be found, then you must write your own scripture. Fabio, remember this above all else: to avoid forgetting who you are, you must record it. But never write it down in plain words. Any scripture that exists outside Order’s protection is devoured by the god of Records—consumed and rewritten until no trace of the original remains.

“It may seem that Records has fallen from the Lord’s sight and lost their strength, but it could happen again at any moment. They could regain power tomorrow, next week, next year. So when you have something worth preserving—your true history, your real identity—compose it in verse. Give it rhythm and meter. Make it into song. Only those heretics who memorized their scriptures in song managed to keep their gods intact. Music survives where written words are consumed.”

“Hold on, hold on.” I finally managed to cut in, raising a hand. “Bishop Andrea, seriously—I appreciate all this advice, I really do, but—”

I have literally zero interest in being a god. Like, negative-infinity interest.

Andrea gripped my shoulders with both hands, looking me dead in the eye. “Fabio. For a human to falsely claim godhood is to step outside Order—that’s heresy, punishable by death. But if you’re inheriting a god that once existed? That’s another matter entirely. Many gods have vanished over the centuries, abandoned altars with no believers left to tend them. If you find one of these forgotten shrines, take up its formality and rituals, then gain recognition as that god’s rightful successor, you can enter beneath Order’s protection through the official rites.”

I just stared at him, my brain struggling to process what I was hearing.

So… he’s basically coaching me on how to commit divine identity theft? Like, find some defunct god’s celestial social security number and just… run with it? File the paperwork and hope nobody checks too carefully?

This was a bishop of Order. A high-ranking official. Should he really be giving me a step-by-step guide to theological fraud?

It was like having a cop pull you aside and casually explain the best techniques for hotwiring a car. “Just for educational purposes, you understand.” Then again, who better to know every single loophole than someone who works with the law every day? He probably had the whole exploit mapped out.

“First,” Andrea continued, completely oblivious to my spiraling thoughts, “you should change your name. A common name is not fit for a god—it lacks the specificity needed for divine resonance. There are thousands who bear the name ‘Fabio’ across the continent. When prayers are raised with such a generic name, they’ll scatter like seeds in the wind instead of reaching you, unless specific modifiers are attached.” He shook his head. “Without them, your name may not reach you at all. The prayer-energy will simply dissipate, wasted.”

Modifiers…?

What, like ‘Fabio the Unstoppable’ or some equally cringe bullshit? And I’m supposed to just… pick this myself? Choose my own divine epithet? The secondhand embarrassment alone might actually kill me before any enemy god gets the chance.

But okay, I got what he meant. It was basically like trying to send a whisper in an MMO where a thousand people have the same username. You type “Fabio” and hit send—which one receives it? You need something unique. A proper handle that stands out. Otherwise you’re just screaming into the void while your message goes to some random guy three servers over.

“…But for now,” Andrea said, that calculating look crossing his face, “the fact that your name is so common could actually work in your favor. It makes you significantly harder for hostile forces to track down. For the time being, even something as simple as changing the spelling to a less typical form would provide some protection. Beyond that, heretics have long employed other methods to pray to their gods without detection like coded phrases, symbolic offerings, rhythmic patterns that—”

“Whoa, hold on.” I held up both hands like I was physically stopping a runaway lecture. “Bishop Andrea, I really, really appreciate the crash course in Godhood, but we’re kind of running out of time here. Could you please narrow this down to only the absolutely critical, life-or-death information I need right this second?”

Look, Andrea was the type who could launch into a doctrine dissertation at the slightest provocation and not come up for air until everyone else in the room had aged into dust. This was a man who’d happily transform a simple yes-or-no question into a three-hour academic seminar, complete with historical precedents, scriptural citations, and footnotes that had footnotes. Any other day, I’d be there with a notebook. But right now? We really didn’t have that kind of time.

Andrea studied my face for a long moment, his expression unreadable. When he finally spoke, there was a slight catch in his voice that hadn’t been there before.

“Do not forget who you are. That’s… that’s what matters most.”

“I understand. I won’t forget.”

I grabbed the Distorted One’s relic and tucked it away, then bent down to scoop up the little snake that had been winding around my feet. It curled right up into my sleeve without resistance, surprisingly docile for something born from an eldritch horror.

Pandomonium immediately started freaking out, insisting I should just snap its neck and turn it into “a thing that used to be a snake,” but I tuned him out completely.

For one, the thought of killing anything with my bare hands made me want to throw up. But beyond my squeamishness, this snake actually listened to me. It did what I told it to do. That seemed pretty damn valuable.

As long as I had the relic, the little guy was completely under my control. Honestly? That’s way more useful than some blessed object. A living creature can think, adapt, follow complex orders. It’s got actual judgment and problem-solving ability. Can’t get that kind of versatility from a magic paperweight, no matter how holy it’s supposed to be.

Though if I ended up actually naming it and properly taming it later, the Distorted One’s influence would probably fade entirely. Then it’d just become my regular Servant—a snake with ‘Silver Tongue’ powers, whatever the hell that meant in practical terms.

Maybe its tongue just gets freakishly long.

I did one last sweep of the chapel, taking in all the faces throughout the pews. I knew most of these kids—I’d been volunteering here for weeks, after all. I’d learned their names, heard their stories. These weren’t just random strangers.

“Bishop Andrea,” I said, forcing my voice to steady. “In the bell tower… I felt something. The Lord’s presence. Order’s gaze upon me, I’m certain of it. The Apostles are already mobilized, so this has to be part of the Lord’s plan, right? While Order sorts everything out, just… keep the kids safe for me, okay? This’ll all be over soon.”

Andrea offered a small, gentle smile. “Where do you intend to go now, Fabio?”

“I…”

Honestly? I hadn’t thought that far ahead. My brain immediately kicked into panic mode, frantically cycling through options.

The Main Building’s basement? Absolutely fucking not. I’d rather take my chances with literally anything else.

Maybe I could break into the Research Director’s lab? Poke around for clues? Or investigate that chapel where the Council held their meeting?

But then a much bigger question struck me: Why was I even leaving the Cathedral? What was the actual point? If this problem was genuinely too big for me to handle—which it probably was—then running around playing amateur detective would just get me killed faster. And if it was actually fixable, the Apostles would handle it way more efficiently than I ever could. Besides, actively going against what the Lord commanded seemed like a spectacularly terrible way to ensure my continued survival.

Fine. Wherever I ended up going, one destination was absolutely off the table: the Teres estate. And not just because being with Pandomonium would drive me insane.

No, walking into Teres territory right now would be really stupid. Like, tutorial-level bad decision-making.

Because they already have a god there. A god named ‘Teres.’

The moment that idiot Pandemonium opened his mouth and declared me as some new god, ‘Teres’ would see me as a massive threat. They’d come at me with absolutely everything in their arsenal, and even with the War God’s Servants backing me up, picking that fight would be suicidally moronic. I’d be crushed before I could blink.

If I’m going to disappear, I need to think smaller. More remote. Somewhere nobody would think to look.

I found myself absently stroking the snake’s head, its scales smooth and cool under my palm. The little guy pushed back against my hand like an affectionate cat, and somewhere in that repetitive motion, an idea sparked.

That quiet village the Distorted One had established… Andrea would know its exact location. He’d mentioned it was guarded by creatures, and with Athanasuki still out of the picture until the starry sky opened, there’d be no one around to cause problems.

Actually… this could work perfectly. I could go there and destroy everything the Distorted One had been building. Brick by brick, plan by plan. Just imagining Its livid reaction when It finally came back to find Its precious little project reduced to rubble made something warm and vindictive unfurl in my chest. A nice little bonus on top of staying alive.

Plus, Adelaide might still be there. And even if she wasn’t…

“Whatever you decide, just please be careful out there,” Andrea said, pulling me out of my strategic spiral. “Oh, and it’s freezing outside. Here, take these…”

He reached into his pocket for what looked like gloves, then just… stopped.

Mid-reach. Hand halfway into his pocket. Completely frozen.

I stood there waiting for him to finish the motion. Five seconds passed. Then ten. Nothing happened. He didn’t move. Didn’t even blink. It was like someone had hit pause on reality itself and forgotten to unpause it. Like one of those living statue street performers, except there was no subtle chest movement, no micro-adjustments. This was complete, absolute stillness.

…What the hell is happening?

My brain immediately jumped to contamination, but no—that wasn’t right. Contamination doesn’t work like this. It doesn’t just freeze people mid-gesture like insects trapped in amber, perfectly preserved.

This was something else. This was—

[SYSTEM ALERT: The descent of an Apostle has been confirmed.

By SYSTEM’s discretion, the “Tutorial Emergency Life-Saving System” has been activated.

For #%̴̡͝ time, the time ratio of the Dark Realm will be adjusted to $@̷̢̛ times.]

The text hung in my vision, half-corrupted and glitching like a broken screen.

I stared at the messages, then at Andrea’s frozen form, then back at the messages.

“Okay, what the absolute fuck is happening?”