Sinking into the soft embrace of the sofa, I can't help but savor a distinctly human comfort. My tattered clothes have been replaced before signing the lease, and I've secured a three-year contract with the landlord. For now, at least, housing is one less concern. Across from me, Mr. Z sits on the opposite sofa, his face a mask of misery as he glares at the book I insisted he buy. Through the cover, bold letters peek out: How to Win Friends and Influence People.
"Your Excellency, why… read this book?" Mr. Z says, his voice strained after a long internal struggle. He scratches his neck hard, skin splitting to reveal raw, crimson flesh beneath. I sigh at the sight, my tone tinged with exasperation. "Looks like you haven't absorbed a single word."
"Your Excellency," Mr. Z corrects me with grave seriousness, "I must clarify: your will is the Lord's will. Your devotion matches His wisdom, so I'll follow your advice completely—though I think this book is useless, I've memorized its contents."
"Oh? Have you now?" I raise an eyebrow, intrigued. "Let's test that. If Nighthawks raided your gathering place searching for heretics, what would you do?"
"I'd denounce them for being swayed by evil gods and urge them to convert to our Lord!" Mr. Z declares with solemn righteousness. I let out a dry chuckle, gathering my thoughts before responding.
"And if your outburst got you killed, leaving the Lord without His lambs in Tingen? Would you let a moment of verbal recklessness cause real harm to the Lord?"
"This…" Mr. Z's brow furrows, his confidence wavering. "But the Lord's scriptures say, 'The Lord's angels need not hide themselves; only the demons of false gods cloak violence in words.' Shouldn't we follow His will?"
His panic is palpable as he stares at me, torn between his unwavering faith in the True Creator's scriptures and the contradictory guidance from the Lord's favored one. It's not that his faith is weak—only that the Lord's conflicting messages have left him adrift.
"You're devout, I'll give you that," I sigh. "But, Mr. Z, everything we do is to help the Lord reclaim His glory. 'Poison flows across the earth, and demons roam freely.' Mortals are blinded by the Seven Gods. As the Lord's envoys, we must now use words to reshape their perception of Him."
Believers are a god's anchors, and those who chant a god's name form a faint anchor too. A lie told a thousand times becomes truth. When the world sees the Aurora Order as a terrorist group, their god is branded an evil deity. This is merely the victor's oppression of the vanquished, a legacy of the divine war from a thousand years ago—or earlier, dating back to the fall of the Ancient Sun God. Even when the True Creator, as the Ancient Sun God, led the Wind, Wisdom, and White gods from the ruins, it was no different.
Above, my true form, the High-Dimensional Overseer, inhabits a new vessel, floating silently beside the True Creator, watching my avatar's every move. I can't help but laugh, jabbing at Him. "Look at your followers—none of them can act worth a damn. I told you your ravings are too intense; they've fried their brains."
The True Creator watches in silence, taking advantage of His current clarity to issue an oracle to His envoy. I lean in curiously. "What'd you say?"
He remains mute.
"Not telling me?" I wriggle my form, pressing the True Creator. "Fine, I'll ask myself."
"By the way, Mr. Z," I say, picking up the book and tossing a casual question his way, "you heard the Lord's oracle just now. You understand what it means, right?"
"Your Excellency, I did hear the Lord's voice…" Mr. Z traces an inverted cross over his chest, his voice hesitant. "But I don't fully grasp His will. My comprehension is lacking. Please guide me."
"Oh? What part don't you understand?" Plan's working! I suppress a grin as Mr. Z prepares to spill the details.
"The Lord told me…" Mr. Z closes his eyes, as if savoring the moment. The voice he heard was majestic yet merciful, revealing that he'd misunderstood the Lord for years. The Lord didn't call for their corruption but to bear the sins of all beings, to shine as a beacon in this fallen world.
"Revise the scriptures and the Lord's honorific name, and purge the impious who commit evil in His name," Mr. Z says, his words tinged with bloodlust, clearly fixating on the latter half. I press my copy of How to Win Friends and Influence People, sighing at him. "You've already excelled at the second part. Tingen still needs you to spread the Lord's glory, Mr. Z. Now, you must learn to be a proper bishop."
"First, even as a 'Rose Bishop,' stop using flesh magic in front of ordinary people. So, keep studying this book." A mischievous smile curls my lips, relishing the thought of him tortured by its pages. Mr. Z's expression cycles through a kaleidoscope of emotions, but he grits his teeth and sits beside me.
"Praise the Lord, praise the Lord!" he proclaims, his face heroic, as if ready to martyr himself.
"Creator of all, all-knowing, all-powerful God;
You are the source of all greatness,
The fallen nature of all beings!"
Well, the new honorific name GOT A LITTLE MORE ORTHODOX, I think, but preaching a god with the authority of "corruption" is tricky. Good thing an outer god like me doesn't need preaching or anchors. I muse, joining the True Creator to watch the unfolding scenes on tiny light screens.
--
Klein downs a potion, carefully harnessing his spirituality. Soon, he masters basic spirit vision. As he studies Old Neil, his gaze catches something—a pair of lashless, cold, translucent eyes in the void behind him.
The eyes stare silently at Old Neil, then at Klein, sending a chill down his spine. He blurts out, "There's a pair of eyes behind you!"
Before Old Neil can react, a black cross and a veiled eye appear around the translucent ones. Black roses sprout from the cross, ensnaring the eyes. Then, Klein gapes as a massive, icy eye emerges from the veil, delivering a humanoid uppercut that shatters the translucent pair.
That eye feels eerily familiar to Klein. A wave of dizziness hits him, and he realizes why: it's the same cold eye he saw above the gray fog two days ago! "Captain Dunn! Captain Dunn! Something's wrong with Old Neil!" he shouts, stumbling toward the door.
A stronger wave of vertigo overtakes him. As he collapses, the memory of that veiled eye burns in his mind.
Dunn arrives to a chaotic scene: Klein unconscious, Old Neil dazed, staring at a writhing mass of flesh forming in the air. Dunn clenches his fists, his face grim.
"Did we overdo it?" the True Creator's low voice rumbles, unusually lucid today, as much of His human madness counters my pollution. I retract my power, holding the Hidden Sage's eyes, and smirk. "I suggest your Tingen followers make a run for it. That inverted cross is too distinctive. I thought the Hidden Sage spotted us—damn, I can't stay in Tingen for now. The Evernight's manageable, but I'm worried about the Lord of Storm's PTSD."
"…My Tingen followers are all gone, except the one with you—probably," the True Creator sighs. "Pity, that envoy's not the sharpest. So, what about your plan to increase my anchors?"
"I'm taking your envoy to Backlund to reform your church. I've got unfinished business here, at least to cozy up to the Lord of Mysteries," I say. "By the way, you seem in good shape. My pollution worked that well?"
"Intermittently. The mad part of my humanity is fighting your pollution, giving me brief clarity every few weeks. Even at my worst, I won't lose all reason like before. Our plan can proceed," the True Creator says, his voice growing chaotic, slipping into ravings.
"Things are getting interesting," I say, shifting my form to watch my avatar alongside the True Creator in the Forsaken Land of the Gods, reveling in the thrill of observation. "Did you just bless Klein to shield him from your pollution?"
"…You too?" the True Creator hesitates.
"Well, this just got really interesting," I say, sprawling my limbs. "I didn't want to get this involved. Gods are such a hassle."
(End of Chapter)