Chapter 22: A-XX The Portrait of a Dismantled God (1)

When I first entered Area A of the Extraction Hall, the first thing I doubted was the air.

The smell, the density, the temperature.

Everything was completely different from any area I had seen before.

The density of the air made my throat ache and my lungs feel crushed.

I noticed it every time I breathed.

‘It’s definitely different.’

A space operating under different laws, a different world, different rules.

The sensation at the tips of my feet began to feel strange.

The white floor was smooth and cold, but at some point it stopped feeling like metal.

It was like walking on living skin.

Squish. Squish.

Beneath my slightly slipping feet, a subtle vibration spread out, something I did not feel with my body but directly in my eardrums.

‘I feel like something has entered my body.’

Since joining this company, I had seen all kinds of grotesque things.

But even among all of them, this place stood above everything else.

Some glorious light descended from somewhere.

And yet what I was walking on was flesh and blood.

It also felt like crossing a scarlet jungle.

“Ah… that smell.”

My neck trembled involuntarily.

A strange odor struck my nose.

Rusting iron.

Sticky sweetness.

The fermented smell that rises from the fur of a dead animal.

The traces of countless dimensional entities I had encountered so far mingled together and brushed against my nostrils.

“Mr. Haeil.”

A voice came from my left.

Familiar.

Even somewhat reassuring.

Though it was still grotesque and scraped at something inside me.

It was Assistant Manager Son.

“Stop looking around everywhere. If you don’t want your head to burst, keep your eyes straight ahead. Relying too much on a prototype can come back to bite you.”

His voice sounded calm but firm from that distinctive fist-shaped head.

I sensed sincerity in his words.

It wasn’t a joke.

Nor was it a warning.

It was concern.

I pressed my lips together.

I forced my neck to stop turning from side to side.

And I focused only on the back of Director Mok, who was walking in front of me.

A nape made of solid bark.

And above it, bluish-green leaves swaying slowly.

I synchronized my breathing with their movement.

‘That’s it. Don’t look at anything. Don’t listen to anything. Don’t feel anything.’

I repeated it like a mantra as I walked.

From the containment room on the left, I felt something shudder.

From the one on the right, I sensed a low vibration crawling through the air.

I could feel the Relics of the Smiling Martyr pulsing on my wrist, devouring my fear with a constant coldness.

My brain was screaming.

But my heart beat calmly.

The disconnect was monstrous.

I took several more steps.

I heard my own breathing escaping slowly from my mouth.

My lungs were dry.

My heart alternated between racing and falling asleep.

Sweat ran down my back.

No one spoke.

Not even Supervisor Shik.

Even that enormous, heavy existence, which supposedly belonged to a completely different species, remained silent.

And little by little, I understood what this place truly meant.

Bright.

Red.

Covered in an incomprehensible mass of flesh and blood impossible to classify.

“We’ve arrived.”

With Manager Myeon’s words, everyone stopped.

The door before us was completely different from the other containment rooms.

It was not metal.

Nor glass.

Nor reinforced alloy.

‘Bones?’

A door made from hundreds of layers of intertwined bones.

Walls of white bones driven like nails into a gleaming mass of bloody flesh.

Bone fragments belonging neither to humans nor beasts.

Twisted.

Fused.

Growing over one another.

As if they had been welded together.

That boundary seemed alive.

And I was genuinely surprised to discover that something so majestic could be built from bones alone.

I bit my lip reflexively.

The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth and brought me back to my senses.

‘So this is a Grade A containment room.’

Beyond that door was a Grade A dimensional entity.

The Portrait of a Dismantled God.

“Employee Jeong Haeil.”

Director Mok spoke my name quietly.

Beyond his bark-covered forehead, the bluish-green leaves began to sway slowly.

One of them.

The one hanging farthest at the edge like a drop of dew.

Tap.

Fell.

Although there was no wind at all, the leaf floated slowly toward me.

And stopped in front of my eyes.

Director Mok said nothing.

He simply raised a hand.

Held the leaf between two fingers.

And with a motion as gentle as a breeze.

Brought it to my eyes.

“Ah… thank you.”

A refreshing sensation spread through me.

It wasn’t pain.

It was cold.

Or rather, the sensation of dew hidden deep within a forest.

That coolness entered through my eyes.

It spread through the inside of my skull.

Down my spine.

Between my ribs.

To the tips of my fingers and toes.

The feeling of stability increased.

Supervisor Shik’s claws.

Manager Myeon’s mask.

Assistant Manager Son’s head.

Manager Batori’s tentacles.

And more than a dozen Grade D dimensional entities.

‘Even so, I’ve survived several weeks in this company.’

Assistant Manager Son had told me to pull myself together.

But perhaps it was okay to get used to these things little by little.

As I thought that, the freshness of the leaf began to fade.

Shortly afterward, Director Mok carefully removed the now-withered leaf from my eyes.

I took a breath.

And the world changed.

No.

The air was still the same.

The only thing that changed was the way I perceived the world.

The outlines became sharper.

The colors became stranger.

It did not feel like I was seeing with my eyes.

It felt as though I was perceiving with the senses themselves.

Not light.

Waves.

“Employee Jeong Haeil. You should retain your sanity for approximately forty minutes.”

Director Mok spoke softly.

The green eyes within the wooden knots glistened with moisture.

At the same time, Manager Myeon pointed beyond the window made of bones.

One of his faces smiled silently.

“Look.”

And I…

Looked.

My breathing stopped.

It was there.

A god.

No.

The remains of something that had once been a god.

The form of a god.

And at the same time, the dismantling of a god.

A gigantic sculpture formed from geometric muscular structures alternating between gold and ivory.

It was so detailed.

So immense.

That it seemed alive.

Its body possessed the beauty, solemnity, and restrained perfection of a masterpiece by Michelangelo.

But it was not perfect.

It was broken.

Shattered.

Mutilated.

And within the cracks.

Something moved.

Muscles.

Internal organs.

Strange objects embedded irregularly.

Decomposed cellular tissues.

Something resembling crawling blood vessels filled the fissures like a viscous membrane.

The head.

An arm.

The abdomen.

The back.

In every missing part, countless vitreous bodies were embedded.

Irises spinning like galaxies.

Eyelids fluttering like flames.

Gazes that seemed to squeeze the heart.

All of those gazes looked at me.

In a single instant.

“…Ah.”

I nearly fell to my knees.

I could not breathe.

My mouth became completely dry.

My brain was incapable of interpreting that form.

It was beauty.

Sacrilege.

Terror.

And absolutism.

The Portrait of a Dismantled God.

An indescribable vastness swept through my insides.

Fragments of an overwhelming existence.

Broken, yet complete.

Dismantled, yet alive.

Dead, yet existing.

A god.

I could feel the Relics of the Smiling Martyr pulsing frantically on my wrist.

I had just gazed upon a god.

The Portrait of a Dismantled God.

When I first heard the name, it sounded exaggerated.

But what stood before me was not an exaggeration at all.

Rather, I felt that any other description would be meaningless.

It was gigantic.

Precise.

Sacred.

Grotesque.

And above all, it was alive.

Among the broken and shattered fragments twisted a blasphemous presence impossible to describe with the word life.

Only after I tore my gaze away from that unholy and ominous existence could I once again perceive the presence of my superiors beside me.

“Grrr… haaa…”

Supervisor Shik exhaled slowly.

A monster covered in chains, claws, and dozens of teeth.

He, who always observed his surroundings and measured the moods of others, closed his mouth and slowly lowered his body.

He did not even growl.

It was an obvious display of intimidation.

“Hoo…”

Assistant Manager Son also lowered his head slightly.

The five fingers atop his fist-shaped head twitched awkwardly, unsure of what to do.

There was no trace left of the relaxed confidence with which he normally crossed his arms and spoke casually.

Not everyone reacted the same way, however.

“Hoh, how interesting.”

Manager Batori.

Not the slightest tremor ran through her fingertips.

Her movements remained elegant and perfectly refined.

Her pink eyes above pale skin simply observed the sculpture with curiosity.

“I wondered what something at level ■ would be like, but now I no longer have to worry about that. There certainly seems to be no doubt about classifying it as a Grade A dimensional entity.”

Director Mok.

He brought one of his roots close to the glass window and moved it through the air as though taking notes.

His green eyes blinked simultaneously.

“Employee Jeong.”

Manager Myeon.

He cast a silent glance toward me.

One of his smiling faces watched me as he spoke.

“From here on, I will personally enter.”

Hiss—

The access door opened.

Along with the sound of depressurization, the oppressive air of the containment room spilled outward.

It was heavier than that of any other room I had seen.

Manager Myeon adjusted one sleeve with a hand and began walking slowly.

He passed through the glass door.

And finally entered that space.

“…”

I watched him.

Or more precisely, I watched the existence before him.

‘Did it move…?’

The divine sculpture.

The crack in its shattered forehead.

Its split cheek.

Its broken jaw.

From there, something turned its head.

Without making a sound, a portion of space itself seemed to distort.

The flow of air twisted, and particles of light warped.

The face of the gigantic sculpture.

Those perfectly proportioned features.

The figure that may once have been a god slowly turned its gaze toward Manager Myeon.

Within the opening in its broken chest.

From its back, abdomen, wrists, and ankles.

Even from beneath its torn eyelids.

Countless eyes twisted as they observed Manager Myeon.

Hundreds of gazes.

Without emotion.

Without intention.

Without individuality.

Only structures created to perceive.

“…Ugh.”

I felt as though I could hear the sound of blood flowing.

My feet froze.

My hands felt as though they were breaking apart.

My lungs expanded painfully.

And the most grotesque and terrifying thing of all was Manager Myeon.

He continued standing before that existence with a smile on his face.

Not even beneath hundreds of gazes did he retreat a single step.

“It appears to possess biological tissues within an object-type exterior. In such cases, it is classified as a hybrid entity.”

He slowly crossed both arms over his chest while observing the Portrait of a Dismantled God.

His attitude was calm and composed.

As though he were appraising an ancient statue.

Without the slightest trace of fear.

Only a hint of curiosity.

A little amusement.

And familiarity.

“It does not appear to possess particularly high physical aggression, but cases like this tend to be more dangerous. Since they display less standardized responses, one should be especially cautious regarding the non-physical reactions of hybrid types.”

Even inside the containment room, he continued explaining kindly.

All I could do was nod and take notes in my notebook.

He behaved like someone performing a routine task.

Not like a pilgrim who had arrived at the ruins of a god.

But like the manager of a company inspecting an ordinary raw material.

Manager Myeon was truly confronting that thing.

A divinity refracted from beyond the cracks of the world.

A collapsed form.

A living void.

And before that monstrous, aberrant god, he stood with absolute calm.