The Cultivated God of Malic
The Malic Church was an aquaculture farm created by the brothers for their experiments. There, they researched the qi and body that constitute a god, and after achieving results, they departed the church. However, that didn't mean the church's history had come to an end.
Lenoir arrived at the Malic Church late at night. Tilting his head back, he saw it. Woooong— A blue light was bursting forth from the depths of the church. Invisible to ordinary eyes, but undoubtedly a concentration of divinity.
Lenoir narrowed his eyes.
'As expected.'
He had wandered these church grounds lately, harboring suspicions at every turn. Where was this being called Malik? After much contemplation, he had arrived at an answer.
'Nowhere. It has already shed its form.'
Sara had told him. There was something else in Justina's eyes. Every time Lenoir saw Justina, he felt it—her presence growing vast, day by day.
They had implanted Malik into Justina's body. The brothers' created spirit god's divinity, its qi, planted into the vessel of the saintess.
For what purpose? The answer was easy to guess.
'Imperfect immortality. Loss of sensation.'
Trapped in that curse, what choice would one who regretted it make?
'It wanted it. Probably.'
A perfect qi and body stood before them. The Pope was a soul that had accumulated dignity over ages surpassing human lifespans. Perhaps they theorized that placing a soul of superior rank upon a god's qi and body would achieve unity, coalescing into a single being.
Thus, seeking perfect sensation and life.
The Pope already had a suitable target right beside him.
'You sought to become a demigod.'
A human infinitely close to godhood. A perfect immortal with transcendent power. Likely, the brothers who started all this aspired to become the Pope themselves.
Lenoir twisted his lips in disgust.
It was after the brothers had left. He had gathered information. Thus, he had intended to stay uninvolved. He knew how futile it was to nitpick and correct every immorality of mortals. He turned to leave.
But this was different.
"You have overstepped what must not be overstepped."
Kiiiiing—! A golden halo rose behind Lenoir's back.
"The sin of seeking divine blood has been punished with the utmost severity since the era of our parents."
Lenoir extended his cane.
"Repent."
With those words, a flash of light struck the central building.
Justina was in the isolation chamber at the church's heart. Iron bars engraved densely with unknown script lined the walls.
In the room's center stood a bathtub. A tank filled with thick, opaque dark blue liquid. That was where Justina lay immersed.
Her expression was poor. No, her pallor revealed her condition had reached its worst.
"Cough...!"
As she hacked up a cough, the Pope said,
"Please calm your breathing."
"I know. I know, but..."
"You must."
Beyond the bars, the Pope smiled gently.
Justina's face twisted in annoyance.
"It's not as easy as you make it sound. The divinity is too potent. The authority is crushing my body. Are you telling me to suffocate to death?"
"You won't die. Lord Malik is protecting you, Saintess."
Justina ground her teeth. She glared at him, her distrust plain on her face, but it elicited no reaction from the Pope.
Of course. He was the one who had taken in an orphaned girl dying of illness and elevated her to the lofty position of saintess. He was the one who could cast her from this seat at any moment.
The power imbalance between Justina and him was that vast.
Running away wouldn't change a thing. On the contrary, it would give him cause to outright imprison her.
That was why Justina had no choice but to comply, despite her suspicions.
Her frustration was a separate matter, though.
'He won't even tell me what this is for...'
It had been nearly a month already. Every evening at the same time, he summoned Justina and made her soak in this tank. The liquid within was refined Malik's divinity. He was forcing her flesh to absorb it ceaselessly.
Apostleization, the Pope had called it—but it felt off for a mere process to better accept Malik's power. The greater her embraced divinity grew, the more omnipotence she should feel, yet Justina only sensed deepening lethargy.
She was exhausted all day, sometimes zoning out. And on top of that, strange voices echoed in her mind.
"Stop, stop, stop."
Whenever the voice thickened, her head rang piercingly. Her thoughts fragmented, preventing sound judgment.
In those moments, the Pope would say,
"You're improving. Glory awaits beyond the pain."
The whispers shook her spirit. Even in the icy tank, cold sweat poured down. Her breaths came ragged. Her chest heaved.
The Pope's smiling face seemed to warp grotesquely. Hallucination or reality? Her thoughts blurred.
Today, the voice in her head was especially loud. Was that the issue?
"Stop, stop. Run away! Stop!"
Drip— Blood trickled from her nose. Justina's eyes twitched spasmodically.
"It's almost done. Soon now."
At the sound of his laughter-tinged words,
Justina thought absently,
'Oh, this feels dangerous.'
A chill froze her spine.
That was when it happened.
Kugugugu—! Vibrations rose from afar.
The Pope's approaching figure halted. His expression twisted.
"...Ahh."
A sigh. Another vibration followed.
Crack! The tank cracked.
Another kugung earthquake. Then,
Kwaang! The tank shattered.
"Cough...!"
Justina collapsed atop the broken tank, coughing. She shivered at the cool air on her skin.
'What is this?'
Something had gone wrong.
"...Please wait here a moment. It seems we have an uninvited guest."
The Pope sighed and turned, leaving the chamber.
Left alone, Justina was still dazed. Normally, the voices stopped once she left the tank.
But today was different.
"Run! Hurry! You can't stay here!"
The voice was desperately urgent.
'Run? Where to?'
She pondered, but nothing came to mind. This place was her home, the safest spot.
Yet a few more of these ordeals by the Pope's side, and disaster was certain. She sensed it instinctively.
Justina crawled awkwardly toward the chamber's exit. Anywhere outside the church would do. She reached the door the Pope had used—
"Where are you going, Saintess?"
Clank. Figures appeared.
Holy knights. They looked down at Justina.
She blinked slowly. Then let out a hollow laugh.
"Fuck..."
Of course. Something had happened, but the Pope wasn't one to be trifled with.
Her vision flickered. She was on the verge of blacking out.
For some reason, in that instant, Justina absently recalled.
"Shh... No, shall I massage your shoulders!?"
The face of a girl laughing, utterly detached from such a life.
Sara lay sprawled on the bed, fast asleep. She loved the sensation of soft blankets enveloping her, so she always ended up wrapped like a cocoon, resembling a caterpillar.
Today was no different. Diagonally rolled in the covers, sleeping soundly in a posture that screamed bad habits, she exuded utter peace.
Yet someone shattered that peace.
Poke poke!
"Mm..."
Poke poke poke!
"Ugh..."
Sara furrowed her brow. Subconsciously assuming it was Olin flailing about, she sluggishly extended an arm, swatting away whatever was prodding her cheek like a mosquito.
Then—
It was a shrill cry unlike Olin's usual voice, but Sara drifted back to sleep. Her mind wasn't sharp enough to distinguish.
"Mmmya..."
She was having a good dream. In it, Sara was bigger than now, and Lenoir sat beside her, beaming as he ruffled her hair wildly.
Lenoir whispered sweet words. Each time, Sara felt indescribable bliss.
Lenoir drew closer. Her heart pounded madly. Her lips parted in a goofy grin. Any nearer, and something would change.
Her face heated. The approaching Lenoir closed his eyes.
What? What was happening? Sara's eyes spun in the dream.
"Eek!!!"
The high-pitched scream pierced her eardrums, and Sara bolted upright.
"My lord!?"
Still groggy, she shook her head, calling for Lenoir first. But he wasn't there.
Instead, something odd caught her eye.
"Huh? What're you?"
Sara tilted her head. On her shoulder, where Olin usually perched, a blue blob of light squirmed.
It was wrapped in a familiar aura.
The light blob spoke.