The Monstrous Feast
In the center of the stone chamber sat what looked like a neighborhood banquet table, laid out so temptingly it could make your mouth water. A whole roasted pig's head dominated the spread, while seasonal fruits of every vibrant color released their sweet aromas into the air. Meats marinated deep in spices, grilled or braised to perfection, crowded the table, and the fish had been gutted whole, their bellies neatly packed with fresh sashimi between head and tail.
Suddenly, it hit me—this wasn't just any ancestral rite or feast; it was all prepared for me. I smacked my lips. If countless people had poured this much care into honoring me, wasn't it only right to indulge as the guest of honor? I sliced thin sheets off that poor pig's head, dipped them in sauce, and devoured them. The fish, masterfully prepared, went straight into my mouth raw. Land meats or sea meats alike melted like snow on my tongue, vanishing after barely a chew.
My mouth, flooded with instant bliss and satisfaction, emptied in a flash, leaving an uncontrollable hunger gnawing at me. I reached for more. I scooped a heaping bowl of wild greens, piled it high with spice-soaked meat, and shoved it all in. When my throat burned, I grabbed a nearby bottle of fragrant liquor and chugged straight from the neck. Good, good. Bring more. Fill this mouth so it never empties, this belly so it never hungers again. More, better.
I crunched prepared fruits whole for a palate cleanser, gummed sticky candies glazed in sugar and honey like chewing gum. But everything dissolved like a midsummer night's dream—fleeting joy, then gone. Not enough. I want more. Beasts crawling on all fours, fish gliding through vast oceans with their scales, ripe fruits from great trees heavy with green leaves, pastries ground from rice and wheat that paint golden fields. Anything to stuff in this mouth, fill this gut.
So bring more, better. If four-legged beasts fall short, two-legged ones will do. If scaled swimmers dwindle, fetuses splashing in amniotic fluid are fine. If sweet tree fruits run out, the round heads of trees walking the earth work too. If rice-and-wheat pastries fade, grind human bones into powder for the dough. Doesn't matter. Nothing matters. I won't tolerate an empty table before me.
I promise you success and wealth's accumulation, blessings of future peace and health. So offer up as much as you receive from me—■■. Tender innards of the young. Pure, untainted souls. Their innocent screams as they slide into my mouth, down my gullet. I exist solely to savor that, so you must sustain my existence.
"From a medical standpoint, the concept of dieting first emerged not from scarcity, but from overflowing food and unchecked gluttony birthing severe obesity and adult-onset diseases. Sad, isn't it? Long ago, famine killed by starvation; people risked lives for a scrap of bread, sold family into bondage. Some survived through unspeakable cannibalism, others died unjustly. To those who knew such eras, dieting must feel like the ultimate luxury."
Like a commoner watching a chaebol blow his nose with a check—shocking, right? Though it'd never happen. I stared at the altar's chaotic spread. No pig's head there now, but a human one. Candies glazed in sugar, honey, human blood, and bone meal. Unborn fetuses. A human body butchered invitingly, organs and flesh neatly arranged with just head and limbs left. The recipient of this feast? One massive pig. Not just any pig—a monstrous swine with fangs like a predator, quills sharp as a porcupine, the size of a house.
It walked not on four legs but two, grasping offerings with hands to cram into its maw. Its elephantine snout twitched constantly, snuffling. So obese its sagging gut dragged the floor like a slug, sturdy legs buried beneath. No longer a walker of the earth—this was a crawler.
"The promised tribute—where is it?! I demand that virgin! Her fragrant flesh-scent, fresh blood, vibrant soul—all exquisite delicacies! I've waited five years!!!!"
The monstrous swine bellowed, shoving the central banquet aside with massive hands. From the shadows, its colossal form slithered like a snail or serpent. When I replaced the table at the candle's heart, it thrust its twitching snout close, snuffling.
"Familiar scent. The one I still hunt. Licked it, touched it, savored the aroma—but never tasted the ultimate dish."
"Guess I got in the way."
"What?"
"Cut the innocent act—you know damn well. That virgin scent you've chased for five years without tasting? A man's smell is all over it now. Woman smelling of man, man of woman—the answer's obvious, right?"
"How dare you!!!!!!!"
Thunder cracked the chamber; a voice like boiled train whistles boomed everywhere. Fuck, now I remembered—dragged to church by my parents, dozing off every time. The pastor, eagle-eyed from the pulpit, spotting kids nodding off mid-boring sermon. He'd crank the mic and bellow Bible verses like a thunderclap. Devout old folks wailed "Lord!" in tears or prayer. Us poor kids, stuck through weekends of incomprehensible drivel? Instant trauma. The kind where a sudden yell makes you want to swing.
Elementary school bullies screaming at full volume? I beat the shit out of plenty, thanks to that reflex.
"You can't even connect spiritually to hurt me anyway. Drop the theatrics—repent now? Craving human flesh that bad? Stick to halal-certified in heaven."
Win-win happy ending, yeah? But the swine, rationality long gone (if it ever had any), thrashed wildly, shaking the vast chamber. That bought me a moment to sever the link it'd forged through Kim Hakju's family.
I stood frozen in the motel hallway, tenth floor. Pocket watch in hand—hands spinning wildly. Shit, nothing ever goes smooth. Used the room key from Kim Hakju to enter 1004.
Inside, the three groaned in strained sleep. About two hours since I'd returned to 1003. Exhausted, they'd crashed waiting.
I approached Kim Hakju, pinned by nightmare, opened my Bible, and intoned gravely:
"You, Kim Hakju. Your only sin in life: peeking under a girl's skirt as a lusty kid. The Lord Jesus Father watched your exemplary life closely, deems you worthy of pain-free days ahead. Fear no more. Lost? The shepherd finds you. Wolves threaten? He drives them off. Rest worry-free in green pastures, feeling the Lord Jesus Father's love. Amen."
Hand on his head, he instantly breathed easy, deep sleep.
To his wife, Lee Jinhye, same gesture:
"You, Lee Jinhye. Quite the sins. School delinquent, you mocked otaku losers openly, sicced thug friends on their dreams and hopes (2D). Heavy crimes. But the Lord Jesus Father sees them as fragments of human error and possibility. Repent your free-will mistakes, serve faithfully as His vessel, end life in peace. Heed no call but His—others are shallow tricks of evil. Be not like Eve in Eden. Amen."
She relaxed, sleeping soundly, face serene.
Finally, thick blanket on floor: the poor kid, starved of love by family hardship, prime of youth wasted. I knelt.
"You, Kim Hakseon. Bullied by evil hearts? Fact: your name 'Hakseon' is hilarious—don't take it too hard. Lord Jesus Father probably meant Kim Hakgyun or Kim Hakgyo. Blame your bio-dad's naming sense. How can an innocent son lament fate? Forget the past; live wisely, faithfully as your name demands. The Lord approves—no doubts. Believe Him."
Bullied for silly reasons. Watched kind college sis suffer from childhood. Saw her die in a car crash before his eyes. I plucked negative emotions from his painful memories, scattering them like soul-dust into the air.
Humans don't just deem themselves cursed by hardship. Some rise as reversal heroes. Others weaponize it for protection. Some drown in negativity—never learned to shake it. Too young, fragile, cowardly.
Don't blame or bully them—encourage, empower. Like the world toughened me. Wait, different? Anyway.
I reminded Kim Hakju's son Kim Hakseon, and his sister Kim Hyesun, salvation under the Lord Jesus Father's name.
"Lost family young—know the pain. Bullied too. Despaired my weakness, cursed injustice, craved nonexistent salvation. But look: I reclaimed my life as one man. You can too. Can't fight? Endure. Can't endure? Wait. Can't wait? Rest. Laugh last, nothing defeats you—you're truly strong. Amen."
Implanted courage in the boyish teen. Confirmed all three slept peacefully—their first in five years.
Doorway talisman crumbled to ash. Windowsill salt, once faintly yellow, now black cinders.
Bathroom gurgled suddenly, dead TV flickered with static. Unplugged intercom rang shrill. Noisy footsteps flooded the quiet hall like crowds. Doorknob rattled violently. Black shadows whipped past the window.
But the family slumbered on, serene.
"This is the warm pasture under Lord Jesus Father's watch, His shelter. You wicked evils cannot abide here."
THUD-RATTLE! RING-RING! Noise intensified, pressure mounted—but I sat unmoved at the vanity. Mirror could be a ghost gate; draped my coat over it like a tent.
In the silent room of sleeping souls, I guarded Kim Hakju's family till dawn. All I could do? Mobile mahjong on my smartphone.
"Fuck! Why the instant ron there?!"