The Worm's Grace
"Merely, k-heh. Yes. Merely, that is all." The grotesque figure seemed slightly different in hue… yet his hand, still the color of plaster, gripped the man's arm with crushing force. "A price, k-heh. A price is required. Something. Not too severe a price…."
The strength in that grip was inhuman, as though a machine had seized him rather than flesh and bone. It felt as if his arm were being compressed in a vise; joints screamed, muscles twisted. Yet even as he objectively registered the pain, no scream escaped him, nor did any sense of crisis arise.
"Do you consent?"
Perhaps it was the lingering effect of the incantation the grotesque figure had cast upon him. Or perhaps it was his instincts, shrieking in mad panic. Or perhaps—
"Yes."
—it was because he had realized there could be no return.
That might have been it.
The man had wrestled endlessly with the question. Instinct and reason churned together, clashing and splitting, clouding his mind. He stood motionless, staring at the grotesque figure.
Thud!
『The rite shall now be performed.』
Even as the grotesque figure's hand plunged deep into his abdomen and his vision darkened, the man continued to wrestle with the question.
* * *
Believe. All life may be born without a mother. Behold the dust. Fleas are born without mothers. In rotting meat, maggots teem even without flies. In filthy, muddy water live fish and shrimp that resemble snakes. If the natural order dictates that all things are born in pairs, then that is surely a lie. Only believe. Faith alone shall guide you to the truth. Life is born even without a mother. The living are created even without a father. Only the embryo of life is the true origin. Life is sculpted and given form by the great will. Believe. Worms are born from sweat. Believe that life has been sculpted. Only believe.
* * *
"O-oh?!"
The man rejoiced at his transformed body. When he came to, he found himself in a filthy back alley shrouded in desolate darkness. The shaman who had thrust his hand into the man's stomach was nowhere to be seen, yet the traces of the great incantation he had left behind remained visible to the eye.
Muscle. The kind of thick, solid muscle that only those who had devoted their entire lives to training could possess. The man's forearms had become as thick and sturdy as tree trunks, veins bulging with an intimidating presence. And it was not only his arms. His entire body had changed. The abandoned mirror beside a trash bin in the alley reflected a man whose physique could easily take first place in any bodybuilding competition. His neck was thick and powerful. His legs had swollen to the girth of an average woman's waist. Defined abs sat upon his stomach. Solid pectorals and broad shoulders had emerged.
"Heh-heh-heh-heh."
It was a body utterly unlike his former self, whose protruding beer belly had contained more fat than muscle. Merely looking at it inspired awe, a physique that would draw envious glances from men and women alike.
"He really was an extraordinary man."
Any lingering doubt the man had harbored vanished completely. If someone who could turn an ordinary body into this muscular form was not a true shaman, then what was he? A true shaman. And not merely a true shaman, but one of exceptional skill. And he, the man, had been chosen by such a shaman!
"Hooray!"
* * *
He was happy. There was no reason not to be.
"Hey, your body's changed lately, hasn't it?"
At work, everyone treated him with familiarity.
"Oh my, that man…"
Women found him attractive.
"Whoa, are you training to be a food fighter or something? You're demolishing that meal."
The food he ate every day tasted better.
"Whoa, I thought I smelled iron, but this time it was a hundred-won coin."
His luck had turned; money began to flow in.
* * *
He was so very happy. Whether because of the muscle or not, his body felt incredibly light, and the world sparkled. His body moved exactly as he willed it; everything went as he desired. When he decided to sleep, he drifted off within five seconds. When he decided to run, his body moved fluidly without any warm-up. No matter how much he ate, instead of gaining fat, muscle formed. The great incantation! The tremendous power of the incantation! Now he no longer feared even his sky-like elder brother.
"Hey! Go buy me some cigarettes!"
"Yes, sir! Ah, Hyung-nim! Could you get me one too, somehow?"
"What? Look at this little punk suddenly acting all sweet. Fine. Buy yourself one too."
The days when he would only bow his head and say "Understood" or "Yes, sir" were gone. The man could now behave with easy familiarity, like a private fawning on a sergeant. Normally, such behavior would have earned him a slap to the back of the head and a harsh reprimand for "getting cocky," yet whether it was because of his suddenly bulging muscles or some unknown factor that made others feel favorably toward him, it passed as though they were looking at an adorable younger brother.
He could now speak boldly even to his friends.
"Hey! Look at this!"
"Whoa! Insane! Did you learn some kind of demonic art?!"
"Demonic art, my ass. This is the grace of the shaman-nim!"
Birds of a feather flock together. His friends, who valued appearances, looked upon the man who had suddenly appeared with a bodybuilder's physique with envious eyes and pestered him to introduce them to the shaman-nim so they too could obtain such muscles. Even the friend who had once suspected the shaman-nim might be a fraud apologized.
"Sorry. I was just wondering if maybe…"
"I know, you bastard! You think I don't understand how you feel? Thanks for worrying about me."
The man accepted the apology with magnanimity. It had not been born of jealousy, but of concern for a man who was easily swayed. There was no need to be angry. If the friend had not apologized, it might have been different, but having recognized the shaman-nim's greatness and admitted his own mistake, refusing to accept the apology would have been petty. Instead, the man filled a bowl with soju, beer, and makgeolli and made his friend drink.
"Here! Penalty drink incoming!"
The friend gulped down the bomb shot—mixed with a flick of the little finger—without complaint. And after that? He drank himself into oblivion. He kept drinking until his friends blacked out and the store owner politely asked them to leave. The bill came to a full seven hundred thousand won in alcohol alone, yet the man did not black out; he merely felt a slight buzz. Money? The man paid. It was an expensive sum, but with his financial luck having turned, he could pay it gladly. With his financial luck opened by the incantation, what was seven hundred thousand won? A million, ten million, a hundred million! Money would keep rolling in! The financial luck opened by the incantation would fill his bank account!
He had also acquired a hobby. Meow. Perhaps it was because he now had room in his heart. He began keeping a pet. He brought home a stray cat that had been following him on the street and started raising it in his room.
Meow!
The cat he had brought was quite adorable. Though its face bore scars from a long life as a stray and it limped on one leg, it was cute enough that such things did not matter. Unlike other cats that seemed prickly and dismissive of their owners, this one—with fur the color of mackerel—was full of affection and followed the man around as though it could not live without him.
"Is this what they call a 'cat-dog'?"
He was lucky. The man truly felt that way. At work, his seniors doted on him. At home, there was a cute cat. Friends he could drink with whenever he wanted. Beautiful women everywhere showing interest in him. If this was not happiness, then what was? The man felt genuine gratitude toward the shaman-nim.
Then a sudden curiosity struck him. So the man asked the shaman-nim.
"By the way, shaman-nim. What is the name of the incantation you cast upon my body?"
The great shaman-nim answered.
"It has no particular name. But, k-heh. Yes, perhaps we shall give it one here."
The incantation. The incantation that had changed the man's life and granted him happiness. Its name was—
"Spore Nest (gondii nidus) would be fitting."
* * *
What gives rise to happiness? Some say it is the fulfillment of the soul. Yet this fulfillment of the soul is utterly hollow, akin to grasping at illusions and shaping them in the mind. The existence of an invisible soul cannot be confirmed, yet it must surely be real, and can only be believed in and held by the heart. The water contained in this vessel is transparent, yet it clearly exists; if one fulfills it and draws near to purity, one shall surely approach the truth and obtain happiness.
Some would say it is the fulfillment of the mind. Asceticism. Discipline. Escaping all that torments the body, existing solely through the mind. The power of the mind is at once frail and mighty, its nature ever-changing. It can make the hot not hot, and the cold not cold. This remarkable power of the mind, which goes beyond deceiving the senses and applies them to reality, can, when trained, perform miracles that transcend the laws of physics and the realm of supernatural abilities without limit. If one possessed such a mind, how could anything fail to bring happiness?
Yet many cannot fulfill either of these two. Jinseong offered happiness in a very simple manner. That happiness arose from the flesh, yet all elements are interconnected and exert intimate influence upon one another. In the end, it would be no different from the fulfillment of soul and mind.
"ॐ."
Jinseong smiled as he watched the man embracing the unremarkable cat.