There Are No Humans in the Monster Company — Chapter 24: A-XX The Portrait of a Dismantled God (4)

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.‍