Chapter 24: A-XX The Portrait of a Dismantled God (4)

Step. Step. Step.

Manager Myeon walked.

Neither too slowly nor too quickly.

Slowly, carefully, but without the slightest hesitation.

Directly toward the Portrait of a Dismantled God.

As if he already knew beforehand exactly what he had to do.

I held my breath.

No.

In reality, I had already stopped breathing.

My lungs were crushed, and my throat was completely dry.

But I was not the only one.

Assistant Manager Son was hunched over as far as possible.

Supervisor Shik gripped his chains while baring his teeth and letting out a low growl.

Director Mok’s roots trembled slightly.

Even Manager Batori had stopped swirling her tumbler.

As I watched that scene, I suddenly had a feeling.

That this moment was like climbing a step.

That it was the final step before witnessing something I would never be able to forget.

Manager Myeon stopped in front of the Portrait of a Dismantled God.

And raised one arm.

The sleeve of his suit slid gently upward.

The tips of his fingers calmly rested upon the god’s broken ribcage.

And at that instant.

“……!”

Everything stopped.

All movement from the Portrait of a Dismantled God ceased completely.

As if it had truly become a statue.

The flesh, organs, eyes, and pulsing veins crawling through the cracks became motionless.

It looked as though time itself had stopped inside the containment chamber.

As if the very concept of life had been switched off for a moment.

The same thing happened to Manager Myeon.

His movements also stopped.

More precisely, his entire body froze.

But.

‘…Something is wrong.’

That was not all.

His faces.

His seven faces.

The seven expressions visible across his suit.

Their mouths had not stopped.

On the contrary.

They began moving faster.

All of the mouths at once.

Without pause.

Murmuring something.

A voice that should never be heard.

lettherebelightbutiansweredwithdarknessthedarknessconceivedmeandi.devouredthatlightcommittingsiniamneitherthebeginningnortheendiamarevelationwithoutordersilenceofthedecapitatedprophetyouate.myfleshanddrankforgottenmemorytheslavesofthecrossaremyrootsandyourpainmytencommandmentsthisisnoteternallifebutrepeatedincinerationthelordsaidlovethyneighborbutiflayedoffhisfaceandworehisskintheonewhoroseonthethirddaymytimeisthreedaysnonexistentiamthedecayofthethirddaythenegationofthethirddayiwasbornfromthefleshofmyfatheridevouredhisbonestobuildasanctuaryembroideredstarswithhiseyes

Incomprehensible words.

Fragments incapable of forming meaning.

Or perhaps voices tearing themselves apart to conceal their true meaning.

All of it poured forth simultaneously.

Seven voices.

No.

More than seven.

A language impossible to understand and yet perceptible down to the bones.

It was not magic.

It was not a spell.

It was not a sacred tongue.

It was the most fundamental language.

And also the oldest.

The primordial form that humanity forgot.

The one that was first born within a mother’s heart.

‘That…’

I must not understand it.

The moment that brilliant curse transformed into meaning.

‘I will die.’

No.

Something worse than death would arrive.

It was not a rational conclusion.

Nor an intuition.

It was a warning resonating at a layer deeper than my own body.

Do not listen.

Do not interpret.

Do not accept.

That is something that imitates language.

I covered my ears with both hands.

Only the Relics of the Smiling Martyr, tightening around my wrist and releasing an icy chill, were forcibly holding my sanity together.

But I could still hear it.

Not with my ears.

Manager Myeon’s voice penetrated existence itself.

I lowered my head toward the floor.

Closed my eyes.

Pressed my lips shut.

And then I felt something.

A smile.

As if another pair of lips were smiling on the other side of mine.

Manager Myeon was smiling.

The seven mouths smiled at the same time.

And then.

Glistening wetly.

The seven mouths.

Murmured in unison.

youareworms.hangingfrommytonguethe.secondlanguage.nailedintomyribsreadmebutdonotunderstandmefortheverymomentyoureadmeyouwillbedevouredyourbloodismyinkyourlungs.thepaperandyourheartmyname

My body trembled.

Those phrases carried meaning.

And I had heard them.

“……Ugh……”

Something rose through my throat.

I nearly vomited meaning.

I bit my tongue and managed to swallow the mass that had already reached my throat.

I forced my rigid neck upward.

And then I saw one of the Portrait of a Dismantled God’s eyes tremble.

Within the crack of its sculpted forehead.

Inside a half-closed cavity.

Beyond an opening in the flesh.

An eye moved.

Where Manager Myeon’s hand rested.

The god’s heart was preparing to beat again.

‘…It’s moving.’

Thump.

The first heartbeat was almost imperceptible.

It was not metal.

It was not bone.

It was a vast mass beating once at the center of the abyss.

And then.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

Organs.

Veins.

Flesh.

Eyes.

Everything dwelling within the statue.

Everything.

Absolutely everything.

Began convulsing.

The things writhing beneath the skin started trembling chaotically.

As if the heart of a dead whale had begun beating again.

The gazes spilled out.

Hundreds of eyes embedded within every crack and opening.

Until now, they had merely watched.

Now they writhed violently.

The irises of those eyes without sclera rotated.

The pupils swelled.

The veins blossomed.

The eyes screamed.

They had no mouths.

Yet I could still hear them.

The organs shuddered in silence.

The flesh crumbled.

Drops of blood began seeping from the statue’s cracks.

“……!”

I inhaled sharply.

The stench of blood pierced my nose and filled my lungs.

Manager Myeon’s hand remained resting against the god’s chest.

His body remained motionless.

Only his seven faces and seven mouths continued murmuring without pause.

inthebeginningididnotexistthereforeiamallthingsthereversecurrentoffaiththechalicethatvomitedthe.sacredi.singwithshellsandnotwithhymnsfromthereverseofthetornprophecyitoppledthethirdcolumnofparadiseandtheyoucrushedbeneathitwasyouyournameismybonesmyobligationyouareaworshippercreatedwithmyfeetthereforeyoumustbeworshippedyourscreamsaremyhymnsyourdismembermentmyresurrection

They were no longer even voices.

It was a phenomenon.

Information preceding sound.

Impacts preceding words.

Oracles striking the very surface of existence.

The Relics of the Smiling Martyr dug into my skin, forcibly injecting calmness.

That was the only reason my brain had not exploded.

I held my breath.

As I bit my lips, a metallic taste filled my mouth.

Assistant Manager Son extended all the fingers of his head.

Supervisor Shik bared his teeth while growling.

Manager Batori’s red eyes trembled ever so slightly.

Director Mok covered one of the eyes within his knots.

No one explained what was happening.

Because it was impossible to explain.

‘The heart…’

It is awakening.

The Portrait of a Dismantled God.

That mixture of flesh, blood, memory, and divinity embedded within its chest.

It is awakening.

Manager Myeon’s mouths moved even faster.

They were no longer just mouths.

New mouths emerged from within other mouths.

Two layers.

Three layers.

Tongues growing upon tongues.

Gums splitting apart to make way for new teeth.

Skin tearing as new vocal organs were born.

ididnotdieisimplyceasedtobeagodthereforeawakeno.my.most.miserable.worshipperoffer.meyourfleshasmybanquet

From one of his mouths emerged a name.

A name designed not to be understood.

And then.

The statue…

…

It cried.

——————Uuuh…

Uuuuuuuuh…

The eyes cried.

The flesh twisted.

And tears of blood began to fall through the cracks.

It was a scream.

Not the pain of this world.

The pain of a god.

The very suffering of a god that should not exist in this world, and yet did, tore through the air of the containment chamber.

And then.

Thump.

“…The heart…”

A heart without skin.

Without form.

Impossible to comprehend.

Beat at the center of that divinity.

The vibration passed through the floor of the chamber, traveled through the walls, and shook the ceiling.

One of Manager Myeon’s mouths smiled.

There were still six others.

The heartbeats continued.

They rumbled.

They trembled.

They twisted.

The heart inside the statue shook the flesh, the eyes, and the organs as it beat frantically.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

And then.

All of that madness.

Began to calm down little by little.

The rising heat.

The vibrations that tore through flesh.

The pressure that warped space.

Everything gradually began to cool.

The eyes that had been moving stopped one after another.

The organs ceased writhing.

The trembling flesh of the god hardened once more like stone.

As if someone had pressed the pause button on the world.

In a silence where not even the heartbeat could be heard, I watched the scene without saying a word.

The Portrait of a Dismantled God, which had been out of control for so long, was becoming a statue once again.

“……”

No one spoke.

No one exhaled.

Everyone was watching Manager Myeon.

No.

More precisely, they were watching the god’s heart beneath his hand.

The entire containment chamber began to move.

From the deepest part of the statue’s chest.

From the blood-soaked core of that heart.

Something emerged.

Dozens of conduits extending throughout the chamber began vibrating simultaneously.

Beeep—

The red warning light changed to blue.

[Energy extraction rate has reached 100%.]

[Extraction complete.]

The moment those words appeared on the wall panel.

Booom!!

With a deafening roar, the extracted energy rushed through the conduits.

It was not light.

It was not fire.

It was not electricity.

It was not a wave.

It was the form of an existence impossible to describe.

A truth that could not yet be understood.

That truth surged through the conduits like pulsing veins and disappeared beyond the chamber walls.

My ears went numb.

I turned my head.

The Portrait of a Dismantled God had completely stopped.

The organs.

The eyes.

The flesh.

Even that overwhelming pressure.

Everything had returned exactly to how it was when we first saw it.

The god had once again become silent remains.

Hiss.

With the sound of depressurization, the chamber door slowly began to open.

Very slowly.

“…Huu.”

And then Manager Myeon stepped out.

His distorted body had returned to its immaculate suit.

Smiles.

His faces were still smiling.

His hands remained clasped together.

The creases in his trousers were untouched.

And he spoke as though he had just finished an ordinary morning meeting.

“The condition of the energy is excellent. At this level, it will be possible to commercialize it as a high-quality product.”

I swallowed silently.

So this was how this company carried out the extraction of an A-rank dimensional entity.

“Good work, everyone.”

Manager Myeon’s voice was as calm as ever.

Beneath the flickering lights of the depressurization area, he adjusted his suit and lightly dusted off his hand.

“I will prepare the draft report. Once you return to the office, you may leave immediately.”

At those words, the supervisors nodded one after another.

“Ho. That truly was a fascinating experience. A rare spectacle.”

Manager Batori narrowed her red eyes.

The liquid inside her tumbler was already half empty.

“I have completed all records. The quantitative data will be sent to the server shortly.”

Director Mok spoke while calmly shaking his root-arms.

Several leaves fell to the floor.

“Good work, Manager Myeon. If you don’t mind, how about a cup of coffee?”

said Assistant Manager Son, slightly tilting his fist-head.

“…Grrrr… Grrrooo…”

Supervisor Shik staggered over until he bumped into a wall and dragged his chains with a loud Clank while growling.

I followed them slowly.

My lungs still felt uncomfortable.

My eyes burned.

My ears hurt.

But I was alive.

More precisely.

I had survived today as well.

Behind me, I heard the chamber door close with a soft Hiss.

Even with my eyes closed, the face of the Portrait of a Dismantled God remained etched into my retinas.

All of those eyes.

Those mouths.

That heart.

And Manager Myeon, completely composed in front of them.

His faces smiled as they told me.

— It will be possible to commercialize it as a high-quality product.

I let out an empty laugh.

Now I could finally give up completely on trying to understand it.

This company is not something that can be understood.

‘Just do what you’re told and work hard…’

One step.

And another.

While Manager Batori’s tentacles seemed to be digging through my brain and the blood splattered across my wrinkled trousers had yet to dry, I walked on to bring that day to an end.

The pulses of the Relics of the Smiling Martyr still felt like the screams of a god.

But before leaving, I still had to think about the work that remained unfinished.

==========

[Dimensional Entity Management Profile: A-22]

Dimensional Entity Name: The Portrait of a Dismantled God

Dimensional Entity Code: A-22

Type: Hybrid (Object/Biological)

Danger Level: A-Rank

[Details]

Cognitive Dismantlement

Merely perceiving the entity visually or accepting its will causes the observer’s sense of self to disintegrate.

The “language” emitted by the entity does not function as a means of communication, but as an infectious agent that directly invades existence itself.

Observers experience hallucinations in which their memories and personality are recorded or incinerated in real time within a ledger, ultimately failing to maintain the basic notion of “Who am I?”

Divine Displacement

The interior of the containment chamber is governed by the entity’s own laws rather than conventional physical laws.

Sensory transfers may occur, such as feeling the density of the air crushing the lungs or perceiving the floor as being composed of biological tissue.

The mere act of the entity turning its head or directing its gaze at someone can distort spatial particles and cause ontological annihilation surpassing physical destruction.

[Extraction Mechanism]

Divine waves and suffering energy generated when the entity’s heart (core) beats are collected.

These are subsequently converted into ultra-high-purity raw materials for the commercialization of foundational products.

[Management and Extraction Manual]

Conventional cognitive filtering equipment may be insufficient for protection.

It is recommended to simultaneously use protective equipment capable of blocking the pathways of fear and pain at their source.

It is strongly advised not to attempt to interpret the language emitted by the entity as “meaning.”

An extreme state of mental castration must be maintained, allowing the sounds to be treated solely as noise.

It has been confirmed that extraction efficiency increases when the target receives responses of worship or reverence.

[Special Recommendations]

If signs of ego collapse appear during operations (repetition of words at the ends of sentences, inability to remember one’s own name, etc.), immediate measures such as the forced injection of sensory stimuli must be applied.

Even after extraction has been completed, residual images imprinted in the brain may induce permanent faith or profound despair. Regular psychological evaluations are therefore recommended.