Worship in the Darkness
Worship continued in the darkness of hope. The pastor carried on with his solemn recitation as if in solitary prayer, while the congregants shrouded in darkness held their breath and listened like ghosts. It was as if persecuted believers were secretly upholding their faith in hiding. And, as is common with any religion, tribulation arrived. A zombie suddenly appeared.
"Grant us the strength to overcome tribulation with faith—"
"Kreeeegh!"
A monstrous shriek echoed from within the chapel. With nothing but the candles around the pastor for light, only a rough direction could be guessed; the exact spot remained hidden.
The pastor opened his eyes. Rage seemed to frost over his tear-filled gaze before a thunderous shout erupted.
"Unbeliever!"
Screeeech— The portable microphone and speaker unleashed an ear-piercing screech. Beyond that, silence. Even with a zombie in their midst, the believers remained perfectly still. No screams, no chaotic rush for the exits.
I began to rise slowly, then understood the situation.
Luring it?
The only light came from those candles, paired with the speaker noise. If the people stayed frozen like mannequins, the zombie would ignore them and charge straight at the pastor.
And that was exactly what happened.
"Grk! Guaahk!"
The sounds reached me—the zombie struggling to run, stumbling, flailing as it drew closer. The pastor, clearly familiar with the routine, pulled a large cross from beneath the pulpit. It was the wall-hanging kind, but forged from steel. Candlelight bathed it in a sacred glow. An excellent blunt instrument.
Come to think of it, a hammer and a cross look somewhat alike, don't they?
It even resembles the 'I' in the Immortal Company logo. At this point, pretending to be a believer for a while wouldn't be so bad. Looking closer, the pastor even bears a passing resemblance to the chairman.
While I quietly reshaped my own mindset for a convincing performance, the pastor glared downward and lifted the cross high. More baiting shouts poured out.
"Those who have yielded to tribulation! Unbelievers who have cast aside their faith! How dare those steeped in sin set foot inside this holy church!"
"Graaaah!"
The zombie reached him. The cross came crashing down on the creature that had laboriously climbed onto the dais.
"In the name of God! Faith! Judgment! Salvation!"
Thwack—! A heavy, violent impact. Beside the faint candlelight, the cross swung again and again. The horizontal bar—where Jesus' hands had been nailed—smashed into the zombie without mercy.
"The hand of God!"
The zombie, unable to regain its senses, took blow after blow before collapsing with a wet thud. The pastor had controlled the distance perfectly, stayed outside the candlelight, and landed a clean first strike to the head. His skill was that of a professional zombie hunter. There was no hesitation whatsoever; this was murder staged as theater.
Raider, approved.
The more I considered it, the more impressive the group seemed. The fact that its members were believers offered another clear advantage. Label someone an unbeliever and they could loot and kill with zero guilt.
Once the disturbance ended and the pastor wove the incident into his sermon, I sank into thought, sketching out scenarios. Ways to join them. Methods to secure a suitable position. Efficient ways to exploit the group. Survivalist measures.
What I learned from the professor's manuscript...
How much time had passed while I remained lost in contemplation, ignoring the pastor's words entirely? By the time I resurfaced, the service had ended. Electricity returned and bright lights flooded the space.
The believers' faces showed everything—tears, deep emotion, fervent prayer. The pastor smiled faintly and addressed them.
"Please take your masks with you. Be sure to disinfect on your way out. And this unbeliever..."
The pastor suddenly glanced downward. The zombie beaten with the cross was still breathing; its chest rose and fell.
"I will take it to the room of repentance and pray over it. May God save this lamb. Ah, that's right. Any believers who came into contact with this unbeliever, please disinfect the affected areas thoroughly with the solution I have blessed."
The people filed out in orderly fashion. The old lady rose from her seat and headed for the entrance. It seemed she was in charge of disinfection.
Amid the low murmur of voices, Jeon Dohyeong approached my side.
"Are you really going through with that plan? It seems way too risky."
"What? What are you even saying right now?"
I widened my eyes, staring at him as if he were an unbeliever doubting both the apocalypse and the chairman himself.
"How could you think that way about the pastor? I believe in him. I will become his strength."
"...What the hell are you up to this time?"
Jeon Dohyeong, who had somehow kept his sanity throughout the entire service, pressed a hand to his forehead. I simply turned away.
Church elders, geared up in masks, raincoats, and gloves that resembled protective equipment, wrapped the unconscious zombie in plastic sheeting and dragged it off somewhere.
I walked toward the pastor, who was speaking with those same elders.
An executive guarding the pastor blocked me at first, but I managed to secure a meeting. Jeon Dohyeong, the pastor, and I now faced one another in what appeared to be an office.
I took a quick look around. A cross on the wall, a desk holding a computer and some cups, bookshelves crammed with Bibles and Christian texts.
"Brother. You said you had something to discuss with me."
The pastor's youthful voice broke the silence. I turned toward him. For whatever reason, he wore no mask and simply studied us with calm intensity.
Before speaking, I accelerated my thoughts.
Simple fanaticism won't work. There are already plenty of those. So.
In the end, it came down to profit and loss. Just as this church had drawn people in through the threat of infection and hell while offering the salvation of overcoming the virus, I needed to show benefits only I could provide. Faith was the baseline.
I opened my mouth with measured care.
"Pastor. I have seen hope in you. You are the one destined to rival that chairman and save those suffering under this virus."
After those honeyed words left my lips, the pastor who had been observing me replied simply.
"I know."
For a moment I was speechless. The quiet madness packed into those two words. No denial, no humility. Was he not an intelligent survivor but an actual cult leader? Or was he acting because we'd just met?
Unable to respond, the pastor clasped his hands, closed his eyes, and prayed.
"When the greedy senior pastor and the faithless believers all turned into zombies, only I—who had not fallen—and a handful of brothers and sisters survived. God gave me a command."
"Uh... what command?" Jeon Dohyeong asked.
The pastor murmured as though still praying, his voice saturated with faith.
"Lead and protect the lambs from the disaster that Satan has unleashed! That is the mission God entrusted to me!"
"...."
I couldn't make sense of him. I'd assumed he was cold and calculating, using faith as a tool while manipulating people with his eloquence. Was he genuinely a cultist? What was this?
Jeon Dohyeong and the pastor continued their exchange.
"Then why don't you wear a mask?"
"As long as I do not abandon my mission, the virus cannot dare touch me."
"Wow..."
What wow? It was obvious. Everyone else wore masks and disinfected constantly, creating a clean zone. Of course he wouldn't get infected.
My suspicions swung wildly between viewing him as an apocalyptic madman and a skilled raider.
Ah. What the hell is he? What kind of person am I dealing with?
I would need to join and spend time observing, analyzing. There was no reason to rush the decision anyway.
My gaze flicked across the pastor's bare face—that clear vulnerability.
Join first, then assess the situation.
A well-organized group. Firearms and other armed force. Plenty of people. The perfect environment to test how useful the professor's teachings would prove. An opportunity to learn how to run an organization. If it was truly viable, I could even settle here permanently.
The professor said humanity's true weapon is social connection and groups—that individuals have limits. The mafia and those drug cartel seniors taught winning over the locals and collecting protection money.
I spoke abruptly.
"Do you happen to know Professor Kim?"
"Which professor?"
I laid out the professor's credentials. Disaster response expert. Renowned university. Policy advisory background.
"I am that professor's disciple. I wish to be of help to you, Pastor. Someone like you could save far more lives."
"Indeed. This too is God's hand at work."
The professor's authority carried weight even with the pastor. He smiled with genuine pleasure and suddenly gave thanks as if in prayer. I quickly clasped his hands and bowed my head. Jeon Dohyeong glanced uncertainly at the pastor before imitating me.
A moment later the pastor asked, sounding curious.
"What exactly did you learn from that professor?"
This was it. Time to prove my worth—the benefits only I could deliver. I paid the advance installment first.
"The professor predicted the end would come. He—"
Eschatology. A concept perfectly suited to merge with religion, a weapon that could later be used as prophecy. I described the apocalypse in vivid detail: the unstoppable spread, the coming viral mutations, the day when birds and beasts became hosts, when air and water and earth all turned against humanity.
The pastor took notes with a ballpoint pen, an odd expression forming on his face.
"To this extent... Indeed."
He seemed both daunted by the bleak future and strangely delighted by the trials that would prove his faith. Or perhaps he was simply welcoming the new age where he could thrive as a raider.
Second, I offered words meant to secure me a position.
"Of course, the professor also said there is hope. I learned from him ways to survive even in these conditions. Please allow me to help you, Pastor, and save even more people."
"Wow..." Jeon Dohyeong breathed, clearly impressed. He was probably wondering how I could spout such insincere garbage so convincingly.
Fortunately the pastor showed little reaction and simply asked, "Then, our— Ah. What is your name?"
"Kwon Dain."
I altered only the family name. No reason to give my real one.
"Brother Kwon Dain. How should we protect our church and our brothers and sisters now?"
"Disaster response is complex and must be considered from many angles... First, your current quarantine measures are excellent."
That wasn't a lie. Disinfection, masks, entry logs—all solid. But I had noticed shortcomings in my brief observation.
I continued in my most professional tone.
"However, the wooden doors of the chapel and the glass entrance doors are weak points. Zombies could smash through them at any moment."
These were the vulnerabilities I'd spotted when imagining this place as a base.
"An isolated church building is also a disadvantage. In a densely packed villa or residential district we could create escape routes across rooftops, but if trapped inside the church, there would be no way out."
"But... abandoning the church and relocating..."
The pastor looked troubled. I deliberately summoned a tone of faith. It wasn't the pastor I was addressing—it was the chairman. They even looked alike. A devout voice emerged naturally.
"The place where you stand, Pastor, is the church itself."
The pastor stared at me quietly, then smiled.
"Brother. Age—well, no need to be particular about such things now. Brother Kwon Dain. Would you become a deacon and take charge of the church's safety management?"
"It would be an honor."
Perfect. Whatever the title, a suitable role had landed in my lap. A role meant authority would follow.
"Deciding to abandon the church won't be easy. Deacon Kwon Dain, please examine ways to maintain the church as much as possible."
"Understood. Then I should begin by inspecting the building structure..."
"By all means."
I smiled with satisfaction, though the mask hid it. The pastor simply nodded while watching the unfamiliar sight of a bare-faced smile in these times.
Right, where to start checking the building.
I rose energetically from my seat. Jeon Dohyeong followed awkwardly. Only then did the pastor focus on him.
"Ah. This brother is...?"
"My friend. It will be enough if he assists me appropriately."
And so the aspiring scenario writer Kim Dain joined the church and became Deacon Kwon Dain, responsible for safety management. I ignored Jeon Dohyeong, who had been dragged along muttering, "Me too, me too a deacon."