Artificial Goddess (2)
From Cannian City to the Mule Deer National Forest cradling the colossal fungal body, it was over an hour's drive. Just before US Route 395, the two-lane highway traversing the three western states, veered into the valley's upper reaches, the southern fringe of the long north-south city offered a glimpse of religious factions clashing.
"Judgment awaits those who turn from the Most High God to worship Satan."
Those waving such placards in protest were devotees of traditional churches. The site they'd occupied was the road in front of the mushroom worshippers' church. Kyung-tae, peering out the car window at the furious procession of Christians, let out a chuckle.
"Haha, this is wild. How do they pick a spot like this to build their church?"
He was ribbing the mushroom worshippers' choice of land—flanked above by an Anglican chapel and below by a Jehovah's Witnesses Kingdom Hall, they'd brazenly erected their sanctuary right there. To the old-guard faithful, it must have felt like a declaration of war.
"Mind if we stop for a look?"
At my request, the local driving the van shrugged and radioed the other vehicles. The client wanted a quick peek at the "mushroom church." No need for me to step out with my x-ray vision, but lingering too long without disembarking would look suspicious.
The three-way religious standoff was getting ugly. The Lady Amilaria church's Awakened, guarding their sanctuary, formed a human barricade, glaring at the old-faith protesters. The Anglicans and Jehovah's Witnesses had their own ability users out front, shielding the demonstrators.
"Know your shame, you souls sold to Satan!"
The Anglican pastor bellowed like he was coughing up blood. The mushroom worshippers fired back just as fiercely.
"We don't worship Satan! Don't insult Lady Amilaria!"
Standing at a distance, I peered inside their church.
So that's why their congregation's booming—they've absorbed the magic worshippers.
The interior was rife with traces of ancient magic cults. Goat-headed statues arranged like seeds of the goddess—likely derived from the Horned God, the horned male deity of those old orders. Walls bore goat skulls etched with pentagrams; the floor, rugs embroidered with the same. To past-era believers, it screamed devil worship, no question.
But it was just Western mysticism influenced by tantric left-hand paths. Sure, that tradition included demonic elements like the "Scarlet Woman of Babylon, Mother of Abominations." Yet the mushroom sanctuary showed no blood sacrifices, no inverted stars or blasphemous 72-letter scripts, no chants or symbols for human effigies. At worst, some marijuana or cocaine caught the eye.
The Heptagonal Knights eyeing proselytizing makes sense...
Or does it? On second thought, this was a move the Round Table imperialists could have foreseen. Better to flood surveillance spots with fake witches, keeping the watchers chasing shadows, than act predictably.
Religions borrowing from or swallowing predecessors was historical precedent aplenty. Nothing remarkable, and since "possession" only happened in mushroom-filled woods, nothing more to see here.
I climbed back into the van.
"Let's go."
The driver shrugged again, shifted gears, and hit the accelerator.
For about an hour, eyes closed in magical meditation, I analyzed the codes I'd gathered so far. We reached the expanded forest entrance, where a massive warning sign in English and Chinese screamed first:
Mushroom collection is prohibited by law. Unauthorized gathering may result in fines.
Kyung-tae chuckled again.
"Chinese folks must be picking a lot, huh?"
The guide shuddered.
"Enough to piss off the polite mushrooms. They chainsaw ones too tough for normal hands. Say it's miracle medicine back home. Rangers aren't the issue—mess with the shrooms or worshippers, and you might end up dead. Warn 'em all you want, they don't listen..."
He added:
"Heads up: rangers might pull us over. They've got an allergy to East Asians thanks to those clueless Chinese."
Expected. That's why the local guide was useful. The fungal kingdom, explored after dropping bags at the lodge, showed advanced erosion from the entry path onward. Neutralizing Awakened beasts' mana fields while exchanging physiological signals—it satisfied me as a mage.
Humans just a side dish, after all?
Erosion varied between humans and trees. Soul differences between species? Or the colossal fungus's "taste"? Human mana fields felt the waves but weren't penetrated beneath the skin. Dull natural Awakened would just sense their fields shrinking against the mushrooms'.
Direction differed from my refined erosion, but the fungus's spells were an unparalleled font of inspiration. Like the Trembling Giant, circuit operation was neater than last winter's chaos—still esoteric, but a leap forward.
"Eek...!"
In the underbrush blind spot, some fool struggled to harvest a mushroom. An Awakened with an open circuit, but weak—mana field shrunken, couldn't muster strength. Wrestling its bio-reinforced toughness, he fell butt-first with a crack.
"Ah."
Spotting us late, the laughing idiot panicked, hid her face, and fled—not East Asian. The guide shrugged habitually.
"Blame the Chinese buyers. Sellers exist 'cause buyers do. What's their crime?"
Unprompted weird defense. Ignoring it, I asked:
"Heard the mushroom worshippers hold special rites here. Where to see?"
The guide whistled slyly, grinning.
"You eyed their church earlier—heard the rumors, huh?"
"Rumors?"
"C'mon, playing dumb? You want their outdoor orgies."
"..."
"No shame. Reddit tales draw crowds. Sex interests everyone. Haha!"
Chuckling, he shook his head.
"Bad news: just stories—no eyewitnesses. Shroom folk turned nocturnal lately, so imaginations run wild. Hiding something embarrassing, right?"
"No basis?"
"Basis... Rangers hear lewd gasps near gatherings on night patrols, but too far for proof. Approach, and their Awakened react. Rumors swell. Hunters like us steer clear."
"Got it."
"For your safety: don't sneak out late for a peek. Reporters, streamers, voyeurs, zealots hunting Satan proof, Chinese poachers—worshippers are on edge. Night wanderers risk real trouble."
"Noted."
Mulling it over with a perfunctory reply:
Group sex magick?
Orgasmic spiritual elevation was core to sex magick—not just O7A distortions, but Aleister Crowley's orthodox Thelema.
"Come forth, o children, under the stars, and take your fill of love! I am above you and in you. My ecstasy is in yours. My joy is to see your joy."
Anal sex perfected the rite. US conservatives branded it evil for that reason. Frowning at the thought—what a filthy sight to spy on. With my eyes, I couldn't unsee assholes getting pounded.
At a "party" in St. Petersburg, invited by Bratstvo Krug execs, a drunk one raw-dogged an unprepared woman—nearly turned my stomach. That vile act held no true magic. Sex was just sex; harnessing "union energy" was bullshit.
But unrelated phenomena might coincide. Had to check personally. Magic cults' outdoor Great Rite demanded a purified priestess— if influenced, not the worst filth.
I resolved to slip out under night cover.