"Look at That Outfit. He's Dressed Nice."
"Look at that outfit. He's wearing something nice."
My uncle let out an admiring sigh as he eyed the pseudo-Voodoo cult leader. There was a hint of envy and jealousy in his tone.
The cult leader scanned the packed worship hall from the podium. Most of the followers had stopped praying and were staring up at him, though some still kept their heads bowed, lost in fervent devotion. He brought the mic to his lips and cleared his throat with a loud hem.
"Turbodzak!"
He spat out some bizarre greeting in a language no one recognized. His voice boomed through the speakers, filling the hall. Followers in the middle of their prayers jerked their heads up.
"Turbodzak! Turbodzak! Turbodzak!"
"Woooaaahhh─!! Turbodzaaak─!!"
The followers unleashed guttural screams, thrusting their hands toward the leader. Some wept in overwhelming emotion; others vomited blood from screaming so hard. It was a cauldron of chaos and madness.
What language is that greeting from? Ridiculous.
Legba remarked. I was just as baffled, but before that, I felt terrified—goosebumps crawling over my skin. Something indescribably foul and sticky lingered in the air of the pseudo-Voodoo worship hall like a fog.
"Enough."
The cult leader said, and the hall fell silent in an instant. The followers who had been howling like lunatics sat down and listened intently to his words. They screamed when he told them to scream and stopped when he said to stop. If he told them to die, they looked ready to at least pretend.
"As always, let's begin our worship with the atonement ritual of burning our attachments. Everyone ready?"
"Yeeesss!!"
The followers roared in unison.
"Are you really ready? Ready to surrender to the grace of the divine?"
"Nuuooo!!"
It was less a cheer and more a sob.
"Then, turbodzak!"
Peeeng─!
With the leader's words, a crisp, clear sound rang out through the hall. Then silence fell. One by one, the followers stood, their bodies beginning to tremble uncontrollably where they stood. Tears streamed down some faces; others drooled and laughed like madmen. Soon, upbeat pop music poured from speakers scattered around the hall. The followers shook even more violently, as if dancing to the rhythm.
"Ah, oh. It's coming. He's here, I see him...!"
"The leader looked at me, at me. Did you see? He saw! Heh, heheh. Ha. Kee-heeek!"
"No! He saw the necklace around your neck! He loves the necklace! Those pretty lines and dots—shivers!"
They were all insane. They wept, laughed, raged, or rejoiced, babbling endless nonsense.
"What the hell is this?"
"......"
My uncle sighed at the grotesque scene, while Kang Ji-a just trembled silently. Her mask hid her expression, but it was clear she was terrified.
The reason the pseudo-Voodoo followers had suddenly gone berserk? As obvious as it was to say, it was Voodoo magic. Mid-level illusion spell: Intoxication. A spell that intoxicated targets with pleasure. In ancient times, it was used to hype up sacrifices, but in modern days, it was taboo due to its addictive nature and dependency. Once hooked, victims were enslaved to it for life.
Fortunately, my uncle, Kang Ji-a, and I were unaffected. I'd severed the "vein" of the incoming spell. Without me, they would've been trapped in addiction forever.
"Are you all enjoying yourselves? Happy? This pleasure comes from atonement. Through atonement, you receive divine grace and feel true happiness!"
"Eeeek! Aaaahhh!"
"N-n-nu, nuah. Nek."
The cult leader's booming sermon. The followers couldn't respond properly, just shuddering in ecstasy. They were no different from zombies. We stared blankly. Me, my uncle, Kang Ji-a—none of us dared speak.
"Now, atone! Cast off your money! Burn your attachments! Shed the world's regrets, burn them away, and leap toward paradise!"
Through the chaos, the leader's voice rang out. Soon, several women in revealing outfits and masks marched into the hall, carrying boxes—offering boxes. They circulated among the seats. Followers poured money into them. Lost in pleasure, they dumped tens or hundreds of thousands of won and smiled blissfully. Some groped the women drunkenly, but they continued collecting without a care.
Desire tangled with desire, blurring lines of right and wrong. Everything faded; only desire stood sharp.
Eventually, the women approached us with the boxes. My uncle unhesitatingly shoved in a thick envelope. I tilted my head in confusion.
"What?"
"Don't worry. It's just stuffed with paper."
He grinned. I'd suspected as much—classic uncle.
Collection over, dozens of boxes piled like a tower on the podium. The leader gazed at them and spoke again.
"Everyone. Let's be quiet and reflect. Do you see these worldly attachments piled here?"
Silence fell. The atmosphere grew solemn. Even the fanatics who had screamed themselves hoarse now clasped their hands demurely in silent prayer.
"You didn't just throw away money. You shed attachments and stepped toward paradise. Never regret it. Put every coin you have into this 'Paradise Box.'"
Paradise Box. That's what they called the offering boxes here. The lazy name almost made me chuckle.
The leader continued. "These things—worthless rags and scraps in paradise! They're holding you back, grabbing at your ankles as you stride toward heaven! Burn them. Burn them all and send them skyward."
He closed his eyes, flailed at the air, stomped his feet. Like dancing—or mime. What did it even mean? No clue.
"They run a tight operation here. Linking money to the afterlife like that? More to learn than I thought."
My uncle analyzed the cult's worship from a purely capitalist angle, watching the leader's ridiculous gyrations.
The fool on that podium or the one next to you—they're all the same. What a messed-up world. Sigh.
Legba lamented. I didn't want to criticize money-loving, but uncle took it too far.
The leader, who'd been flailing wildly, suddenly froze. He glared at the pile with mock seriousness. Sweat dripped from his brow to his chin. His hair clung damply to his forehead.
"Now, atone! Burn! Cast off!"
He bellowed, thrusting his hand toward the boxes.
Whoosh!
A dragon plummeted from the sky—a massive dragon of fire. It devoured the boxes whole. Stuffed with cash, they crackled and turned to black ash.
I stared silently until cold sweat beaded and my breath grew short, then squeezed my eyes shut. Small fires were fine, but big ones still terrified me. At least I didn't faint or hallucinate like before. Small mercy.
Marinette's power. So that's where it hid—possessing another.
Legba's low, sinister voice echoed from the darkness. Marinette, Loa of fire. His power let users shape flames freely—size, form, even temperature.
Bet it only burned the boxes, not the money inside. Marinette could manage that.
Legba said. Of course—no reason to torch all that cash. It heightened the followers' awe while pocketing the funds. Smart for a cult.
"Huh? Burn? No way. What the hell? Are you insane? Hey!"
My uncle's voice came from beside me—genuinely furious. I could picture him, eyes bloodshot, screaming. Marinette or not, from his clueless view, it was infuriating.
As the boxes burned, the leader kept ranting. Followers cheered in response. The cacophony twisted into eerie noise, buzzing in my ears for ages.
"Your attachments are all burned. With that, the atonement ends. Now, let's begin the true worship with benediction."
Finally, with those words, I opened my eyes. The fiery dragon was gone; only charred box remnants remained. Uncle stared in dazed horror, face twisted in rage and disbelief.
"Our Father in heaven, 'Bondiye,' you have opened the gates of paradise for us."
The leader began the benediction. 'Bondiye' was the cult's name for their sole god. Fake or not, it mimicked Voodoo structure.
Uncle muttered, eyes fixed on the boxes. "Burning money for liberation? Yeah right."
"You have freed us from greed, desire, and corruption."
"Like burning cash frees anyone."
Uncle grumbled back at every line, fury clear in his voice.
"Through your scriptures, you enlighten our foolish selves."
"Foolish, sure. Burning all that hard-earned cash."
Behind the mask, the leader's face twitched faintly. Uncle missed the subtle shift, but Kang Ji-a seemed to catch it, swallowing hard.
"Master. They're listening."
She hushed my muttering uncle. A flicker of panic crossed her usually stoic face. But he didn't stop.
"It's fine. I'm making sure they hear."
He even smiled confidently. He had a plan. Neither I nor Kang Ji-a knew what.
The leader pressed on. "We hear and obey Bondiye's words─!"
"All cults spout the same crap."
Uncle muttered, and the leader halted abruptly. His cold glare fixed on us. Bloodshot eyes gleamed through the mask. The hall went dead silent. Hundreds of masked faces turned our way—eerie without expressions.
The leader cleared his throat into the mic again. Hem.
"...First, my apologies to the sisters gathered here. I planned to start with benediction and share Bondiye's words, but..."
He pointed at us, hand trembling. Jaw muscles twitched; grinding teeth echoed through the mic.
"Let's switch order. Introduce our new brother and sisters first. You three, come up to the podium."
Before we could stand, surrounding followers dragged us onstage like a tidal wave. Blinding lights seared my eyes.
The leader whispered to the collection women. They fetched bizarre items: collars, ropes for binding. A vat of mysterious purple liquid. And an altar.
Items assembled, he smirked—dark, unpleasant.
He turned robotically, puppet-like, to us. "Brother, you doubt us, don't you?"
He stared at Uncle Lee Jin-seong. Uncle nodded casually, leg crossed.
"Yeah."
"What don't you like?"
"Burning all that collected money doesn't make sense."
Uncle's tone subtly grated. The leader's face warped grotesquely, then brightened with a laugh.
"Hahaha. You don't understand our 'Voodoo Reincarnation Church' rituals. Sisters?"
He scanned the crowd below.
"Yes, yes! Leader!! Leader!!"
"Turbodzak! Leader!! Look at me just onceee─!!!"
Followers thrust hands toward him, screaming. He smirked faintly.
"Sisters, should we save these fools who don't grasp our 'Voodoo Reincarnation Church'?"
"Noooo!! Kill them nowww!!"
"Burn them and send to heaven, guh, cough!"
Followers bellowed, veins bulging. All demanded our death or sacrifice.
The leader sneered, as expected. "Now, now. Our 'Voodoo Reincarnation Church' embraces even the foolish and ignorant. That's the virtue of 'mercy' Bondiye taught us!"
"Woooaaahhh!!"
Deafening cheers erupted.
The leader extended a hand toward us. Purple glow emanated from his fingertips—Voodoo magic.
"The incantation of the Voodoo Reincarnation Church, 'turbodzak'! When I shout it, these fools will be saved and become our sisters!"
"Woooaaargh─!"
Followers howled like beasts—no words, just roars. Humans lost to pleasure and instinct were beasts themselves.
"Enough. Silence."
The endless roar cut off instantly. Silence reigned, echoes fading.
His spell circle was complete.
"Turbodzak!"
With the cry, eerie mist from the circle enveloped us. The podium fogged thickly; I could barely see. Only silhouettes of uncle and Kang Ji-a flickered through.
The fog lifted soon. As vision cleared, the leader's voice boomed.
"See? Their doubting faces now bloom with radiant smiles!"
He grinned wickedly, scanning the crowd. But the reaction was lackluster. At the cue for applause and cheers, followers just stared blankly.
"Sisters? This is when you clap."
He forced a smile. Still nothing.
He turned to us—face hardening. None of us smiled. We stared back, stone-faced.
He'd cast Intoxication. But it didn't touch us. I'd interfered with his Voodoo magic, severing the vein. A fake leader's spell couldn't faze the real one.
"Wha...?"
He muttered lowly, panic evident.
Thud. Someone shoved my back. Turning, I saw Uncle grinning widely.
"Go on. Show 'em the leader's dignity, Do Seon-woo!"
"What? You planned this from─"
"Hurry! The altar's right there!"
He urged me. So that's why he'd grumbled through benediction, provoking him. I got the plan now. Felt like a summoned beast, irritating. But no backing out.
"Hah."
I sighed deeply and trudged toward the pseudo-Voodoo cult leader.
(Continued next chapter)