Chapter 20
Assistant Manager Han’s unique passive and constant debuff effect, ‘I’m P*ssed,’ often activated for very trivial reasons.
For example, having to walk up several floors of a building without an elevator, the smell of ink deeply permeated into the thin pages of the Bible being f*cking awful, or……
“Open, Wind Cave!”
Even when the g*ddamn f*cking door won’t open no matter how much I push, my rage gauge easily rises.
What’s even more infuriating is when, after struggling with the door for a while, I discover the words ‘Pull’ written below the worn-out doorknob.
The door, carefully pulled, opens more smoothly than expected, tossing Assistant Manager Han’s sweat and blood-soaked efforts into the gutter as if they were nothing.
The smell of disinfectant alcohol seeping through the crack in the door was too strong for my pure nostrils. Judging by the bitter smell that followed, it seems they used a considerable amount of bleach too.
In the end, my nasal mucous membranes can’t take it anymore and start dripping snot. The air quality was so s*itty that my nose decided there was a foreign substance in it just from smelling it.
In a large glass jar filled with formalin solution, which I had seen in the school science lab as a child, were various parts that make up a human.
A cute anatomical chart with one ear completely torn off, showing the connection from the semicircular canals to the eardrum. Eyeballs with optic nerve bundles dangling like jellyfish, and wrists that looked like they were meticulously carved with tendons, muscles, and blood vessels.
“When you are inadvertently drawn to something so intense that it leaves a strong memory, a deep trauma is engraved in the weak human mind. We call this imprinting.”
Something like an auxiliary explanation suddenly popped up from empty air. Wouldn’t a nerd who brags about knowing something others don’t become like that if he became a museum guide?
It doesn’t matter who these parts in the formalin solution, glowing under the faint light of the green fluorescent lamp, belong to or what they were used for.
Because our Lord Jesus Father does not discriminate against humans based on their ugliness. There is no law that says people with visual impairments, hearing impairments, or physical disabilities cannot enter Heaven.
“If you’re going to decorate your room anyway, why not use trophies to satisfy your intellectual vanity and self-confidence?”
Having never properly received even a perfect attendance award at school, I fully understood how people who plastered their rooms with trophies, plaques, and certificates felt.
Humans crave more when they lack, and naturally, they desire even more when they taste abundance. Just like morbidly obese patients who eat and eat but still feel unsatisfied, honor and vanity are like bottomless pits that must be endlessly filled.
Unfortunately, these peculiar decorations pickled in formalin solution, aside from their appearance, cannot boast any honor or sense of accomplishment.
“Seems like your parents’ home education skills were rather poor. Did they not even teach you the basics, like not playing with your food?”
The nerve of this guy, who enjoys human flesh and receives offerings of blood-filled cups on an altar built with bones and flesh, to play with his food. It’s a more pathetic sight than a child complaining about side dishes.
Around the time I discovered that H*ll’s home education was, at best, a B-grade, third-rate affair, bright white lights turned on, revealing the end of a room decorated with white tiles.
The unpleasant fact that a dark, sticky liquid had stained some of the white tiles, and the fact that there was a person lying on the operating table, slicing their own body with a scalpel and bone saw.
If you ask me which one bothers me more… well. I have a personality that can’t stand injustice, so all I can say is that my hands were trembling.
“One must shed all worldly burdens and cleanse the soul, refill it with His grace and humbly accept fate.”
I wish they also knew that the ‘worldly burden’ they shed had flowed down and stuck to the tiled floor, clogging the drain.
The person who has to clean this up later will have to either remove the entire sewer pipe or spend hours struggling with strong bleach. Don’t they have any conscience?
“No, but that doesn’t mean you should stab yourself in the heart with a scalpel.”
If we delve into the philosophical argument that conscience resides in the heart, it naturally leads to the complex discussion that the human soul resides in the brain, doesn’t it?
I approached the sinner who was cutting open their stomach and rummaging through their insides, and quietly observed their talent show.
“Goo goo.”
What was being sliced and diced inside was a fetus the size of a watermelon.
The sight of it babbling with its mouth torn apart might have been quite cute under normal circumstances, but the grotesque babbling of a watermelon-sized baby was surprisingly uninteresting.
Because the person who cut open their own stomach was a man.
Even if I whispered in his ear now, ‘It’s a healthy little general. Congratulations,’ I don’t think he would be happy.
Setting aside whether or not he contributed to South Korea’s low birth rate, judging by his condition, he didn’t seem to have the financial capacity to raise such a hefty baby.
The fetus, grotesquely mangled by the scalpel and bone saw, eventually grabbed its belly with its tiny hands and crawled out, wrapping the umbilical cord around its neck.
And then it threw itself off the operating table and hanged itself. With a cracking sound, the delicate cervical vertebrae broke, and the fetus’s movements ceased instantly.
Coincidentally, Christianity defines the sin of killing an innocent child and the act of suicide as the greatest sins.
Then, if a pure and innocent child who dies too early commits suicide before their sins can be judged, would our Lord Jesus Father truly hold the child accountable?
“An excellent contradiction. I’ve learned something.”
I remembered the fighting spirit of the fetus, dangling with its neck caught in the umbilical cord.
The philosophical question you threw at G*d by sacrificing your body would make Aristotle do cartwheels, Nietzsche wail in all directions, and Kant slap his balls in awe of its penetrating core.
Poor Kim Hitler. To think you would sacrifice your own body to point out the contradiction of the one true G*d before you even had a chance to fulfill your will.
“In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, Amen.”
But because I believe without a doubt that you too will go to Heaven, I will gladly make the sign of the cross and kiss your forehead.
It was time for these protein lumps that had served their purpose to leave the stage, so I moved the operating table aside and opened the door to the next room.
In a vast communal space at least ten times larger than the cramped operating room, naked people were scratching and tearing at their own bodies. They smeared the blood and flesh that fell off on the walls and floor like paint, trembling like someone intoxicated with excitement.
Maggots, cockroaches, and rats swarming on the floor did not covet each other, but peacefully indulged in human flesh and blood.
For these mere creatures, it was a feast of endless gluttony, and the mentally ill people who kindly fed them were ecstatic as if they were gods themselves.
This is my body, and this is my blood.
When Jesus shared the meager bread and wine with his disciples at a modest dinner, he said those words. Perhaps that was the first act of cannibalism in human history.
I will not accept the rebuttal that Jesus, being one and all of the Trinity, is not considered human flesh. He was born in a human body from a human woman and came to this world, so he was genetically a perfect human.
Anyway, seeing these people sprawled out here, pouring their flesh and blood onto the floor as if competing with each other, made it clear they were jealous of Jesus, who casually fed his own body to his disciples.
“Jealousy, one of the oldest deadly sins.”
But I can’t praise the act of trying to emulate a famous historical figure without the resolve to nail yourself to a cross.
If you want to discuss naval warfare, you must surpass Admiral Yi Sun-sin’s records, and if you want to talk about absolute military power, you must be able to catch up to Xiang Yu, the enemy of ten thousand.
Mass-producing fake Jesuses like this won’t get you the SSR-grade 12 disciples in a 10-pull. It’s only natural that you can’t get them in a 10-pull because there are only 12 of them.
“He said that new wine must be put into new wineskins, yet you consider this outdated and worn-out place a new wineskin? At least have it dry-cleaned before you try to shove it in.”
Unlike the infinite wine of Jesus, the blood pouring out of these sinners was not infinite.
Eventually, when their blood vessels squeezed out the last drop of blood with all their might, the fake Jesuses collapsed one by one.
If they resurrected after three days, I wouldn’t be able to deny it was the second coming of Jesus, but judging by the state of the corpses, it seemed like they would rot in three hours, let alone three days.
Jesus resurrected in a fluffy state with a hole in his side.
I crawled towards a man sitting in the lotus position at the center of the communal space, at the heart of the altar built with the flesh and bones of countless humans.
Clattering bone fragments poked and scratched my entire body, but it wasn’t anything new. Even if I met the gaze of an eyeball rolling around in the slippery flesh, we weren’t close enough to communicate through eye contact, so I ignored it.
The man, sitting in the lotus position with one hand raised, his index and middle fingers outstretched, and his eyes closed, silently opened his mouth.
A swarm of thousands of cockroaches that emerged from his mouth tried to knock me down as they crawled down the mountain of flesh.
But by driving my palms into sharp bone fragments and anchoring myself like a stake, I was able to withstand the avalanche of insects.
Next came a merciless swarm of locusts（grasshoppers）, trying to devour my flesh. Their cruel p*edatory instincts, determined to leave nothing behind, from a single strand of hair to a piece of flesh, engulfed me.
Even as I was scraped, torn, ripped, gnawed, and split, I continued to climb the mountain of flesh.
And when I finally reached the summit, I brushed off the bothersome locusts. Shaking off the ones that got into my pants was quite a chore.
“To think you would possess the body of a weakling because you don’t even have the courage to show your true form.”
As I spat out those words, the man, who had been sitting in the lotus position with his eyes closed, suddenly opened them. His black eyes, devoid of white, looked up at me, standing right in front of him.
“You lowly creature, cast into the desolate wilderness because you failed to be saved. The salvation you so desperately desired does not exist in this abyss, so why do you shine a false light here?”
“Your mother’s stir-fried eggplant, Chapter 12, Verse 5, right and wrong are not important. As long as it caters to the masses, it becomes justice, good, and salvation. It’s actually meaningless to lure a dull, reclusive hikikomori who has never committed a sin in his life and place him on this wicked altar.”
“This man was always bullied by humans filled with disorder and chaos. He didn’t even wish for salvation, but if there had been a glimmer of hope, this poor lamb would have faithfully lived out the rest of his life. But in the end, his cries for salvation did not reach Heaven, and the light of hope did not shine upon him. So I saved him. So now, who is the true ‘G*d’ of this pitiful soul?”
“The one who lets this guy f*ck a 2D nerd character is the true g*d.”
I know this type well.
I placed my hand on the head of the guy who was still sitting in the lotus position with an arrogant expression, and continued speaking in a low voice.
“2D nerd characters also exist in Heaven. It’s a paid service only available in Heaven. If you can’t go to Heaven now, you’ll never be able to f*ck a 2D nerd character. Even Jesus acknowledges this.”
You, you’ve got baggage, right?
