There Are No Humans in the Monster Company — Chapter 22: A-XX The Portrait of a Dismantled God (1)

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.