THBPC 24

23. A-XX The Portrait of a Deconstructed God (2)

The deconstructed portrait of a god looked at the section chief.

The section chief looked back at the deconstructed portrait of a god.

For an instant—perhaps an endlessly long silence.

And then it broke.

In the beginning, there was the abyss.

The air stopped.

Everything in the space—no, my ears—no, my head itself—

was sealed in a silence on the verge of rupture.

Light burned itself to give birth to darkness, and darkness devoured its mother and became a god.

A voice.

No.

That was not sound.

It was not something heard with the ears.

Somewhere… inside.

Inside the brain, no, deep within a space called the mind.

“You are a lump of clay shaped by my fingers, and the seventh failed work.”

I could not swallow my breath.

My tongue curled inward, my eyes dried out, and every capillary in my body vibrated.

This was not sound entering through the ears.

It was not speech, but pain itself flowing in as meaning.

“I will tear you apart and complete myself.

Your eyes are my holes, and your pain is my curve.”

Somewhere in my head, a sharp “click” sounded.

A foul heat rose behind my forehead.

My knees buckled, and the world split apart.

“Therefore, listen.

The world has not yet been born, and life is only the sum of false settlements.”

Negation. Negation. Negation.

That was not language.

That was infection.

Each sentence pierced into me.

Not through the ears, but through the cracks of existence.

My fountain pen pulsed, and the rosary around my wrist tightened as if it would crush my bones, forcing calm into me—but even that paralysis was being infected by the god’s sentences.

“I am a rotten shepherd.

My sheep were starving mouths, and I divided their lives like meat.”

“Ugh….”

I covered my mouth, but it was already too late.

My tongue moved wrong, my vision blurred.

My thoughts broke apart.

Meaning disappeared.

“Behold, the black ledger opening from my breath.”

Black ledger?

No.

That was… not a metaphor.

Somewhere, the sound of pages fluttering.

A hallucination of red flesh turning like pages.

A beheaded saint becoming a pen, writing suffering.

“Your name is written in the third twelfth seventh line.”

Written.

It is.

Where?

“You are already dead.

I will make you live again until I forget that fact.”

What is he saying…

What… is he saying…

What…

What…

Wh—

The thoughts began repeating.

Words shattered, images melted, my mind crumbled like grains of sand.

Who am I, I am, I am—

The structure of thought broke apart.

My jaw trembled.

My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth, and sentences clung inside my throat like phlegm.

“I am your father.”

Black light.

No, a colorless form of vision.

It covered my sight, hearing, touch, existence.

“Do you hear me, my son made of soil?

Pray through your voiceless mouth.

Believe through the hollow of my joints.

Kneel to the glory of my decay.”

…

……

……You are—

You—

na—

na—

naaaaa—

Meaningless structure.

I am the record of what I have eaten.

Words, words, words—

The bones of language sinking in my ears.

Thoughts became fragments, and fragments vomited blood.

I am not—I am not—

The awareness that recognizes “I” disappeared.

I dismantled God in the shape of a human.

You are my broken memory, my denied womb.

I was not created—only remained.

And that absence replaced me—

And that replacement again became—

CRACK!!!

A sensation like a blade piercing my eardrum without sound or scream.

RIP!!!

Pain dragged me back into “me.”

I jerked my head and turned.

Left.

Something extending from behind my head was digging into my ear.

A tentacle.

Cold, hot, slimy, sticky flesh.

The thing inside my ear slowly withdrew.

And then—Section Chief Batory.

She stood calmly as if nothing had happened.

Her pale lips carried a faint smile, and only one hand was extended precisely in front of my face.

Swoosh.

A long white index finger moved toward my eyes.

It brushed the bridge of my nose.

And then—

“Hush.”

“Do not listen.

Do not be infected by the words.

Quiet.”

I opened my eyes.

My heart was beating.

My brain slowly started functioning again.

RIIING—

As the tentacle was pulled out of my ear, a sharp pain like something tearing deep inside my eardrum shot through me.

I instinctively gasped.

“…Kgh… ha… haah… haaah….”

My tongue was numb, and cold sweat poured down my forehead.

It felt like the deep layers of my brain had been dug through and scrambled.

Colors cut off and reconnected.

Sound came and went like broken signals.

Voices, footsteps, breathing, and heartbeat overlapped and scattered.

Reality itself trembled like it was full of noise.

“…It’s settling.”

The confusion didn’t last long.

Like medicine spreading, my senses gradually returned.

My vision stabilized, and the ringing in my ears faded.

“Hael, are you okay?”

Red tie. Perfectly unwrinkled.

Team Leader Hand tilted his head and asked.

“Rrgh… krrr….”

A beast-like breath came from somewhere.

Beside me, Section Chief Sik gently supported me with a heavy arm.

“…Thank you.”

My lips were dry and cracked, but I nodded firmly.

Supported by my two superiors, I slowly raised my head again.

Through the glass wall of the isolation room.

“Inside there…”

It was something beyond anything I had ever faced.

In front of that overwhelming existence stood Section Chief Moon.

Or rather, he was slowly rotating.

He walked in a circle around the deconstructed portrait of God, murmuring with seven faces.

Cracks of flesh, exposed tissue, sticky eyeballs.

He looked at all of it calmly.

As if it meant nothing.

“…To face that and still act like that…”

My body trembled.

Not only from fear.

But from awe.

And realization.

“…I should really be respectful to Section Chief Moon.”

I made a firm decision deep in my mind.

I took another breath.

There was still lingering heat in my head, but I was alive.

And the being confronting that monster lifted its head to look at the sculpture.

“Kneel.”

The deconstructed god’s voice echoed again inside my skull.

But Section Chief Moon only looked up silently.

“Worship.”

It spoke again.

Not a command, not even a declaration—but something like the reaffirmation of truth itself.

But he still did not kneel.

Did not bow.

Instead, he loosened his arms and stepped closer.

And then—

Something twisted.

I focused harder.

“…His body…?”

At first, I thought the wrinkles in his suit had become strange.

His sleeves swelled.

His shoes bent unnaturally.

His collar rose in a distorted angle.

CRACK.

A bone-breaking sound.

His shoulder tilted at an impossible angle.

CRRACK…

His back lifted upward.

As if every vertebra was being rearranged in reverse.

His neck twisted once, twice, three times.

Strangely smooth, yet nauseating.

The many faces still held smiles, but the curve was no longer human.

A face stuck on flesh.

Not muscles expressing emotion, but a fixed template.

Twitch…

Something began moving under his skin.

Inside the suit, around his abdomen.

Not flesh—something harder.

“…Moving?”

I muttered.

As if something was pushing from inside his stomach.

His abdomen slowly swelled.

Buttons creaked.

From chest, back, shoulders—

his body inflated like a balloon.

No.

Something inside was swelling.

Something face-like.

“…Rising from inside.”

Bulging shapes pushed out beneath the suit.

Even where I couldn’t directly see it, I could feel it.

A sensation like countless expressions were packed inside flesh, writhing together.

Bile rose in my throat.

And then—

BOOM!!

The explosion.

“…Huh!”

I gasped reflexively.

Section Chief Moon’s body burst apart inside the isolation room.

Without warning.

Without sound.

In a single instant.

Blood.

Suit.

Flesh.

And countless faces.

“…Ha… ha, ha…?”

They scattered everywhere.

Blood splattered on the walls.

Suit fragments rolled on the floor.

Faces fell.

Twisted.

Crawled.

I was speechless.

Not just shock—but the sense of “is this even real?”

“…Section Chief… Moon…?”

I muttered, unable to believe it.

A violent explosion, and remains scattered everywhere—faces.

Joy.

Confusion.

Blankness.

Contempt.

Affection.

Sadness.

And laughter.

“…Th-this is…”

I turned my head.

And then—

Why.

“Why is no one…”

Why was no one reacting?

Team Leader Hand tilted his head slightly.

Vice Chief Mok was calmly taking notes.

Section Chief Batory sipped something with a straw.

Section Chief Sik was lying down in the hallway.

Too calm.

And then—

They moved.

The faces scattered around the room.

The ones stuck to the walls.

“…twitch…?”

One.

Two.

Three…

They began moving toward each other.

Squirm.

Thud.

Squish.

Flesh, suit pieces, faces.

They merged.

Entangled.

Swallowed.

Combined.

Dozens, hundreds of pieces converged into one mass.

Then—

It became Section Chief Moon again.

The shape reformed.

The suit smoothed.

The shoes shined.

The hands became clean.

And that familiar, gentle smile returned.

“Ha…”

A breath escaped him.

As if nothing had happened.

“Good.”

He said.

A calm, polite voice unchanged from before.

“You seem to have a clear intention.”

Seven faces.

The same existence I had seen all along.

A being made of faces and expressions.

I barely held onto my sanity and met his gaze through the glass.

“I will now proceed with extraction.”

Section Chief Moon spoke as if nothing had happened.

Quietly.

Calmly.

And… disturbingly.