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

#194Reader Mode

T/N: Thanks for the coffee Simi & Gem! ♡(˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

#194

Callister, who had been quietly listening, suddenly spoke up.

“I can handle it!”

“Handle what?” I asked, my brow furrowing.

He gestured toward the piles of holy flesh. “These things are still mindless because they don’t have memories of consuming anyone living yet. They haven’t gained self-awareness. If I give them a command, they’ll follow it exactly. You just need something to perfectly repeat sounds, right?”

“Hold on! If you touch them suddenly, they’ll—”

Snap out of their frozen state.

Too late. Callister plunged his finger into the motionless mass. It shuddered, flesh convulsing and pulsing like a repulsive heartbeat.

“Ugh, that’s so gross! Pandomonium gagged, quickly covering his mouth.

The scene was so disturbingly wrong I had to squint; it made my head feel dizzy. The mass wasn’t simply dividing; it was budding. Pale, larval shapes pushed up through the surface, stretching like dough, their ends tapering into five slender fingers.

“Right now, they’re following a basic command,” Callister explained calmly. “‘Imitate what you’ve eaten.'”

…Which explains why they’re all left arms.

Hundreds of them writhed and pulsated in piles—a vision straight from some medieval painting of hell. It was surreal. Callister casually selected two and handed one to me. It felt cool against my skin, with a disturbing weight that mimicked actual flesh too perfectly.

“Making complete vocal cords here seems inefficient,” he noted, manipulating the arm with practiced movements. “But I remember Francesco doing something similar to my body once…”

As Callister worked, delicate fractures spread across the skin’s surface. The arm in my hand mirrored the transformation, as did every arm in the squirming heaps.

“There. Now, if I just create an eardrum right here…”

Shnk!

His finger sank into the wrist as though piercing soft clay.

Fighting my revulsion, I forced myself to examine the cavity in the “arm” I held. Inside, a thin, iridescent membrane had formed an eardrum. Callister leaned in and exhaled gently over the wrist.

Instantly, small seams split open across all the arms, releasing a chorus of whispers that filled the room—a thousand soft breaths responding in unison.

“And… done!” Callister announced proudly. “Speak into their ears, and they’ll echo your words. For a while, at least, until they start getting hungry.”

…Until they get hungry?

The thought of them transforming back into a swarm of ravenous maggots sent chills through me.

“Good job,” I managed, pushing away the disturbing image. “But for the arms we’ll be using in the rooms, can you remove the mouths to prevent them from talking?”

“Should be simple enough.”

With a wet tearing sound, Callister ripped the newly formed mouth from the arm’s base.

Perhaps because it was a copy of my own arm, the sight triggered a phantom pain that shot up my left arm. It felt… violating. Deeply unsettling, as if part of me had been mutilated. Note to self: do absolutely everything possible to avoid getting eaten again.

After carefully dividing the scroll without reading its contents, we each took a section and retreated to separate rooms. The plan was to sound out our assigned letters every three seconds. I locked myself in with a six-minute hourglass and, as a precaution, tested the Blessing of Soundproofing.

“Oh…”

Other than my own slightly awkward voice, I couldn’t hear anything else.

I flipped the hourglass, counted to three, and got to work.

“Oh.”

It’s amazing what the mind does when you’re stuck in a silent room with a mind-numbingly simple task. All those useless thoughts you normally suppress? They rise to the surface like bubbles in a stagnant pond.

Is this actually working?

There’s no convenient boss health bar I can check, no way to pull up Roklem’s status window to see my progress. For all I know, I’m firing a pea shooter at a mountain in the dark, each full name cycle chipping off 0.00001% of Roklem’s health.

“Oh.”

Even if this works, the moment the Emergency Rescue System deactivates, Roklem will start sucking up Faith Points like crazy again. And me? I’ll be public enemy number one. The wicked heretic they’ll tear apart in the town square. Filth for the pyre. I’ve spent my entire time here keeping my head down trying to avoid exactly that fate.

“Oh.”

But that damn bastard stole my arm.

Roklem crossed the line first. Was I supposed to just roll over and remain a loyal little believer for Team Order after that?

“Oh.”

The pathetic truth is, I would have settled for so little. Just a warm bed I could fully stretch out on. Enough food to not starve. I probably wouldn’t have been happy, but I would have grumbled only to myself like any sensible person. I really would have.

“Oh.”

Also, how am I supposed to know when this “Colomba?” gets hungry? Would checking its status window reveal a hunger meter or something?

Curious, I checked its status.

[‘Colomba? (Contaminated Ledeia’s Holy Flesh)’]

[HP: 4,857,625 (-2,584)] [Mental Power: N/A] [Intelligence: N/A]
[Strength: 12] [Endurance: 25] [Charm: -863] [Faith: N/A]

Status: [Slightly Hungry] [Confused]
Unique Trait: [Ledeia’s Holy Flesh]
Blessing: [Heaven Above, Earth Below, I Alone Reign Supreme (Fabio)]

“…Oh?”

Well, I’ll be damned. Slightly Hungry. So it does tell me. The trash Strength and Endurance stats made sense since it’s a copy of me. But my eyes snagged on the top line. I read the number again, sure I was seeing things.

What in the ever-loving hell is that HP?

Four million. The number was so ridiculously high, I could hardly wrap my head around it. Could a single unit even have that much? You could be struck by divine punishment a hundred times and still have health to spare.

“Oh.”

So this is what exterminating a pest would feel like.

You can have all the power in the world, but dealing with a cockroach infestation is still an uphill battle. Even in the modern world, you can fumigate a room, set traps, or even burn the whole damned house down, and somehow a few always find a way to survive. It’s a battle you never truly win.

“Oh.”

Still, that doesn’t mean “Ledeia’s Holy Flesh” is invincible. If anything, this gestalt Swarm has one critical weakness that makes extermination easier. Unlike typical swarms where you need to eliminate each individual bug, these are all linked. Curse one, and you curse them all. If I can maintain just one continuous curse until they starve, the entire colony will wither away and die. A clean sweep.

“Oh.”

And as luck would have it, I know exactly the curse for the job. Nellos’s relic. It can cast the Curse of Hunger and can be found hidden under the altar of the God of Fertility.

Anyone hit with the Curse of Hunger goes absolutely feral, devouring everything within reach while their health drains at an alarming rate.

In theory, it sounds like a versatile skill, but in practice, players hated it. The debuff was so obnoxious since it turns your character into an uncontrollable, slobbering lunatic that attacks everything around them.

“Oh.”

Now that I think about it, this is the perfect time to go loot it. With the current chaos going on, security around the altar is practically nonexistent.

In Heretic Slayer, relics were usually hidden beneath altars or within walls because priests placed them there after the fall of Order. Normally, these relics would be stored securely in a vault. Well, with the use of telekinesis, breaking into a vault should be relatively easy.

Of course, if I do that, I’ll rack up an insane amount of sin.

But it’s too late to worry about being sinless now.

“Oh.”

…Time is dragging.

I glanced at the hourglass. It wasn’t even halfway through. It felt like I’d been in this silent room forever, my thoughts spiraling out of control.

I checked Pandomonium’s status, but the number of divine punishments was still nine.

Looks like I’m stuck doing this until it works.

It’s not like I have a better option. I could kill Pandomonium myself and take his soul, but then the divine punishments would just transfer to me anyway.

“Oh.”

If I die from divine punishment, will I end up in Order’s hell, or would I respawn in Mother Aelusia’s faction?

As soon as that thought crossed my mind—

“Gah! Shit! What the hell?!”

The “arm” I was holding started to spasm. It jerked so violently that I jumped, flinging it across the room. It hit the floor and flopped around erratically, like a fish out of water.

What triggered this? Is the Research Director out of isolation?

Status window! Now!

The name on the status hadn’t changed, but the numbers certainly had.

[HP: 4,857,625 (-13,864)]

The HP drop was significant. Something was attacking it. My blood ran cold as I glanced down the list and spotted the new addition.

[Status Ailment: [Curse of Hunger (Nellos)]]

“The fuck?”

***

The sensation began not as sound, but as intense pressure inside his skull. A stuttering, guttural throb that slowly transformed into a chorus of countless mouths chattering in unison.

Bl, o-bla, bl, o, bl, la, o, bl, la, bl-o, la, o….

It wasn’t quite speech… but rather a jumble of failed attempts by many voices trying endlessly to form a word. The noise was ghastly, bypassing his ears completely and starting to gnaw at his brain.

So… loud.

The man pressed his hands tightly over his ears, but it made no difference. The sound was already inside, a crawling infestation behind his eyes. His nails scraped at his scalp, frantically trying to claw out the noise, to make it stop—

Because I promised not to hurt you.

The thought came quietly, calm and steady despite the chaos around it.

A promise? To whom? When did I ever make that kind of promise?

“…Fabio.”

‘Athanas’ awoke.

And with this regained consciousness, something left him. No… a presence was forcefully ripped from him. His body stiffened with a primal fear that transcended rational thought, instincts screaming that something was horribly wrong.

It was dark now. Night had descended.

Athanas looked up at a sky devoid of stars, struggling to piece together his scattered thoughts.

What… what was I doing last?

A single, blurred memory rose to the surface… the image of a bell.

That’s right. The bell. I was supposed to ring the Bell of Order. Purge the unholy.

Fabio had proposed it. He had agreed to the plan and then… blankness. An all-consuming void in his memory.

Athanas reached for the astrolabe on his belt; its intricate gears were not just inert, but broken.

How long has it been? Where is Fabio?

The bell tower stood empty, marked only by faint, damaged traces of a struggle. Cold dread began to rise in Athanas’s chest, threatening to drown his heart. The hideous chanting in his head faded to a distant hum, insignificant now. Only one thing mattered.

Athanas rushed to the ladder, nearly hurling himself down the rungs. Something soft and heavy slipped from his head, landing on the stone below. He stared at it, not recognizing it immediately until he stood over it.

A hat… No. It was Fabio’s fur-lined hat.

Did he… put this on me?

Athanas snatched it up, feeling the coarse fur against his desperate grip.

Retrograde—

No. Futile.

Even if Athanas went back, he would only open his eyes to this exact moment again. Hadn’t he learned that the hard way, time and time again? Once he lost consciousness, he could never turn back time to before that point. Retrograde wouldn’t work as he wanted.

“…Fabio.”

Athanas couldn’t tell if the tingling feeling where his pinky finger used to be was because of Fabio or himself.

There was only one place to go: the reliquary. Athanas knew exactly where it was.

Basement of the Main Building.

The young man didn’t waste time with caution or worry about conserving his energy. If he pushed himself too hard, he could simply turn back time and try again. Right now, gathering information was more important than his physical well-being. He needed to see, to understand what had happened.

Athanas ran. Sprinting from the tower, the ground became a blur beneath his feet, his heart pounding in his chest. As he neared the Main Building, the unholy chanting escalated from a hum to a deafening, tangible wall of sound. Athanas scarcely noticed. His entire world had shrunk to a singular, desperate signal he was chasing through the darkness.

Bursting inside, his feet slid on something slippery. The ground was covered in a writhing carpet of pale, twitching things. Arms. Hundreds of them, severed and squirming, each one with the same familiar hands. Fabio’s arms.

What happened here?

There was no time to process or “predict” what had caused this. Athanas tore his gaze away from the grotesque carpet of flesh, ignoring the chaotic screams of noise, and followed the signal to its source.

When Athanas finally reached its location, he saw the reliquary shattered in the center, as if it had been stomped to pieces. His “offering” lay among the debris, smeared with thick black ink.

His eyes darted around the room, searching every shadow and corner for the man who should have been wearing it.

He wasn’t there.

He was… gone.