Reap What You Sow (6)
The Mass. Holy Communion. Whatever you called it. It wasn't an uncommon event for the New Heaven Rapture Mission Church. They held it often. I'd stopped attending after I was a kid, but my sister might have been used to it. Until just recently, our parents had dragged her along every time.
I glanced at her. She had her rifle raised, muzzle trained on the variant. But despite our clear hostility, the variant nun didn't charge at us. Quite the opposite. It extended a hand toward us. In its palm pooled the preacher's flesh and blood. The host and the blood.
If I hadn't had Insight, I might have misunderstood. But I did have it. And that insight was screaming at me that this was not something I should eat.
Variant Skill: Holy Communion Preparation
└ Perfectly preserves the virus within the severed host and blood.
The nun wasn't hostile because it wanted us to take it. Even though it had four arms—one pair wielding a Chinese cleaver, the other carrying the host and blood in a way that looked threatening—it didn't attack us. Instead, it welcomed us with a benevolent smile.
That was what disgusted me the most. Just like this fucking cult always did. Smiling to your face while stabbing you in the back. Condemning and humiliating believers who could no longer pay tithes by claiming their faith was lacking.
Suddenly, rage surged through me.
Even then, the variant kept offering its hand. Unlike the two arms that held the cleaver and tore flesh, the other two—the ones meant to hold the blood and host—were beautiful. Delicate, pale, clean. Even stained with blood, the first thought that came to mind wasn't revulsion, but that they were pretty hands.
I laughed.
“...O-oppa?”
My sister whipped around in surprise, but I couldn't hold it in. I burst into loud laughter. Everything finally made sense.
These idiots weren't mourning the preacher's corpse. They weren't trying to move forward or bury it to find a way to survive. They hadn't stopped praying. They believed in miracles, and they believed those miracles would conveniently descend upon them. Instead of fighting, they gave up. Instead of resisting, they bowed their heads.
This was the result.
The preacher's body—once called the Second Coming of Christ, the Holy Spirit, and every other grandiose title. A corpse that had been a zombie for who knows how long. And they were throwing a cannibal feast around it. Not even a living human, but the corpse of a dead man who'd become a zombie.
A lot about the infection still wasn't known, but the outcome was obvious. Some had eaten the flesh and become variants instead of regular zombies. The rest had simply turned into zombies.
The kind face offering me the host.
“...You fucking piece of shit.”
I stopped laughing and stomped my foot.
Tadol.
With a thunderous boom, my body shot forward. My left fist slammed into its head.
KWA-AAAAAAAAANG!
The fully powered strike caved in the variant's skull and sent its body flying. It smashed through the concrete cross, knocking the preacher's corpse to the floor before slamming into the wall and twitching violently.
I stared at the variant with cold eyes.
This thing was intelligent. Maybe intelligent enough to suppress its instincts—hunger, bloodlust, whatever—and look for ways to infect even more people. It had to die.
I watched the variant swing its cleaver with trembling hands, then twisted my body to avoid the blade's path and lashed out with my leg. Low kick.
Crack!
The arm holding the cleaver snapped. It went limp. I stomped on the dangling limb, then kicked away the other arm that was shaking as it tried to grab me in return.
Crunch!
One broken pair. But another pair remained. The delicate hands that clutched the preacher's flesh and blood as if they were precious. I crushed the offered hand beneath my foot, then swung my tightly clenched fist—my left fist wrapped in the aura of Crusader's Suspicion.
KWAAAAAANG!
The variant's head snapped back with a deafening roar. Its crushed cheekbones and jaw hung open. I shoved my gauntlet-covered left fist into its gaping maw and grabbed its tongue.
The variant thrashed and struggled. Not a shred of sympathy rose in me. I felt an inexplicable fury pushing me forward. I clenched my right fist. It hadn't fully healed, but I pulled the glove on. At least I wouldn't risk infection.
So then—
Kang!
I froze. A gunshot? My eyes darted sideways. The bullet had flown past me and embedded itself nearby.
“Ugh... kuh... aaah...”
It hadn't hit me. It had struck the fanatic who had just emerged and was swinging a hammer at me. The hammer clattered to the floor with a clang. His wrist had been pierced straight through. He clutched it, writhing in pain.
My sister kept her rifle trained on him as she climbed onto the platform and approached my side.
“Oppa.”
“...Ahyeon.”
“Don't get angry. It scares me.”
Her words instantly cooled the heat in my chest. It wasn't like me. The sight of these bastards had been so disgusting and pathetic that I'd unconsciously let my emotions take over.
Right. Let's stay calm. Getting worked up won't do any good. I can't let my feelings control me.
I released the variant's tongue. The creature that had been shoved back trembled in fear. It wasn't a combat type. If it had been a crusader or a preacher, it might have fought back. This was just a pathetic piece of shit that only knew how to bow its head in submission and receive it. All because its intelligence was too high.
Good thing I hadn't invested in intelligence. And that wasn't just true for this variant.
Behind the first fanatic, several more had appeared. They stood there awkwardly, frozen at the sight of my sister's rifle. They were human. Not zombies—living, breathing humans.
One of them, the man clutching his pierced wrist, shouted with a deathly pale face.
“It's you... you people... the ungrateful Judas who killed our preacher... apostates...”
“Ungrateful?”
“Yes! Ungrateful indeed! How much effort did he put in for us?! And you killed him?!”
His words were thick with raw emotion.
“You people eating that preacher don't seem all that sane either.”
“No! This is the righteous path!”
He spat as he shouted, blood pouring from his wrist, yet he kept screaming.
“He will resurrect within us! Just like his previous life, after three days he will rise again and lead us to the true Rapture! This... this is our role. It proves we are the lambs he guided! The final sacrifice to advance beyond the Rapture!”
I scanned the men and women behind him. From middle-aged to young adults, none of them looked like they were being forced. So these were the ones.
The reason the variant nun wasn't aggressive toward humans was because of them. The intelligent variant had chosen coexistence to infect more people.
I let out a hollow laugh.
“Even an apostate like you can still join us. Come. Though our preacher has fallen from the cross, he remains whole. If you become one with his blood and flesh, perhaps his miracle will descend upon you! No—I'm certain of it! Can't you see the miracle already working in your body, Judas? Join us! Repent now, even at this late hour!”
Encouraged by the man's shout, the fanatics behind him began chanting in unison.
“That's right! Repent!”
“Apostate! Heretic! Even now, in the glory of the preacher—”
“Doubt is sin, so follow the teachings and do not stray from salvation! Truly repent, lay down everything—even your flesh and spirit—in the teaching that washes with blood—”
Ha. These fuckers.
The suppressed rage was still right where I'd left it. Now I understood why I didn't want to treat these bastards like human beings. If they'd at least fought back like Choi Jae-wook... or whatever his name was, the guy who'd come at me with a cleaver, maybe it would've been different. But these pieces of shit could only scream. As if I'd hear their shouts, submit, and repent.
In the end, I let out a small, bitter laugh.
When I subtly glanced over, my eyes met my sister's. No words were needed. She covered her ears.
“Shut... your fucking mouths...”
I ground my teeth, then roared.
My strengthened lungs made my voice incomparably louder than before. The thunderous sound filled the hall. The cultists clutched their ears and collapsed. They stared at me in a daze, blood trickling from their ears, losing balance and twitching on the ground.
I looked at them. Several paths seemed to open before me. I could carve up the preacher's body with a knife the way they wanted, then stab them with the blood-smeared blade and turn them into zombies. Or I could just leave them. Or, if I were truly insane, I could convince them I was the new messiah, the Second Coming of Christ...
But I chose none of them.
Why the hell would I?
I hadn't survived this long just to mingle with these pathetic idiots. On the contrary. I wanted to get the fuck out of this shitty, godforsaken place as soon as possible. This was simply the opportunity I'd been waiting for.
I clenched my fist and swung my leg.
Crunch!
The variant nun's head exploded and flopped backward.
“Ugh... uh... uh...”
The man who'd been clutching his wrist panicked at the nun's death. When I approached, he tried to scramble back, but—
Crack!
My fist twisted his head around. After a quick glance at the fallen man, I kicked the woman who stood there dazed, clutching her ears. With a sound like kicking a soccer ball, she flew back and slammed into the wall.
Watching it, I felt a strange emotion. There was definitely something fucked up about it. A frustration like I'd missed something and only remembered it much later. But at the same time, there was a sense of liberation. Like I'd finally released something I'd been suppressing all this time. My hands had moved in rage, yet strangely, I felt refreshed.
I smiled without realizing it.
“You know, I've been thinking.”
The others met similar fates. I waited until the fanatics' hearing returned before speaking.
“I don't think there's a single ounce of divinity in the preacher's blood and flesh.”
The man I'd punched didn't get up again. His head hung at a grotesque angle, blood still leaking from his wrist, not moving an inch. The woman I'd kicked was the same. After vomiting blood once, she stopped moving entirely.
I stared at the messages floating in the corner of my vision and muttered indifferently.
“The preacher was just a con-artist auntie, and even after becoming a zombie, she was still a con-artist zombie. The idiots who ate her while babbling about miracles and faith and whatever just died for nothing and turned into zombies.”
The cultists stared at me, unable to even respond. I looked down at my gauntlet stained with human blood and shook it off.
“But that's just my opinion. Isn't it?”
“Uh... um... I...”
A middle-aged man stammered, clearly flustered. I ignored him and continued.
“Who knows? Maybe miracles are real. Maybe the preacher really was the Holy Spirit and will resurrect in three days? Well, it's been way more than three days since she died, though.”
It was so ridiculous that I let out a chuckle. Still laughing, I clenched my fist.
They say you reap what you sow. This situation was probably the same.
“So... pray.”
I walked forward, ignoring their bewildered stares. The surviving humans stumbled backward until they were pressed against the wall, breathing hard as they watched me.
“Pray to become zombies like the preacher. Or pray for this unholy apostate's head to be smashed in with a cross. Anything at all. Pray desperately.”
Crack, pop.
I loosened my knuckles as I approached.
“Pray to the lord you love and worship so much. Whatever words you want. With all your heart.”
Who knows?
“He might just spare you.”
I smiled and raised my fist. They screamed.
But no one answered their prayers.
They were far more useful dead than they had ever been alive.
*
After not a single one of them received an answer to their prayers and died, we searched the room they'd come from for hidden supplies. Most of it was food, but among them were weapons these bastards couldn't use anymore. Mostly hammers and chainsaws.
And among those supplies, we found something we hadn't seen before.
Why the hell was this here?