Joanna Smith looked up at me.

Through her gaze, her breath, her heart, I could see the world.

In other words, the live service had begun!

Until now, I had lived by gathering broken fragments of vision, scavenging whatever higher-quality ones I could find. But now, live service? This was a complete technological marvel!

Just as I was in awe, Joanna looked at me, marveling at the miracle that had occurred within her body. Her mind, blanketed in pure euphoria, released waves of pleasure so intense it seemed she couldn’t even form coherent thoughts.

Ah, is this as far as she can comprehend?

It’s very different from watching a game character. Unlike seeing through a screen, this was an experience I could actually feel. At least, I could sense her emotions at a basic level.

But I couldn’t discern her exact thoughts. Unfortunately, reading minds wasn’t one of my abilities.

Or perhaps human thoughts don’t neatly organize themselves into logical outputs like in the comics I’ve seen.

I turned my head to look at Hieronymus.

From him, I could sense a mix of fear, curiosity, and other emotions swirling within, but overall, he was clearly shocked by the situation.

“Have you seen enough?”

“Yes. Thank you for your blessing,” he replied.

Hieronymus observed Joanna Smith from a cautious distance, prepared to act at any moment if necessary. His stance suggested he was ready to intervene should something happen.

Clearly, this wasn’t someone who had simply stumbled into the role of a cult leader. Furthermore, from Joanna’s memories, I knew he hadn’t always been a cult leader.

Back then, the cult resembled more of a disorganized rabble. It was more of a scattered network without a proper leader, but that changed when he arrived.

Joanna estimated that he had appeared about ten years ago, though I suspected it had been slightly earlier. The cult began to take on the structure of a true organization under his leadership.

For example, prior to 13 years ago, no one wore garments adorned with strange symbols or masks. It was only after that point that ranks started to emerge.

By observing through Joanna’s eyes, I could tell the transition from a fragmented network to a pyramid-like hierarchy had taken shape about 13 years ago.

Moreover, the cult itself had much older roots. From what I gleaned from his experiences, it was closer to a form of primal belief.

It was evident that the man before me was highly capable.

The current top figure of this religious group was him, Hieronymus. To gain the warmth I needed, I had to approach him carefully.

While pondering this, Hieronymus alternated his gaze between me and Joanna before telling her to leave.

After calling her twice and receiving no response, he added that she shouldn’t disturb me.

Startled, Joanna stood up and bowed to me repeatedly before leaving the room with him.

And now, I was alone again.

Was it really safe to leave something as dangerous as me alone? The thought lingered, but the location made sense.

Since I had no attachment to the organization itself, there was always a possibility I’d bring this place crashing down. We were deep underground, after all.

Joanna, being someone involved from the very beginning, had access to this place.

No matter how secretive a location is, people are needed to perform basic tasks like cleaning and cooking.

Someone has to do the menial work.

Joanna occupied such a position.

Outside, she was now facing Hieronymus’s probing questions about her transformation, visibly uncomfortable.

Why is this man asking me so many questions?

Of course, I couldn’t know if she was thinking this exactly. Among her mixed emotions of confusion, awe, and joy, I could only pick out a faint impression of her thoughts.

Why is he being so cautious?

Ah, I see.

He must’ve witnessed the corrupted boy who was consumed by remnants of me. That boy had lashed out, killing another, who then also transformed into something monstrous.

Even I had been thrown into confusion at the time, but Hieronymus seemed to have grasped the situation far better than me.

It seemed clear I couldn’t afford to show any signs of intelligence.

A strong but naive child is much easier to manipulate and control with ridicule than a cunning one.

If I appeared to trust him, he’d use me longer. For now, I’d let him think I was in such a position.

As I studied him, I realized he might be observing me just as I was observing him.

Being left alone in this room suggested there was something here that reassured him.

With one part of my mind, I focused on Hieronymus questioning Joanna about her changes. Meanwhile, I walked toward the center of the altar.

I stood at the highest point, gazing down.

The radial design, the slightly elevated platform—it was structured to make anyone standing below look up at this spot.

A display of authority and grandeur.

Turning around, I noticed a light source behind me.

An obvious design.

From up here, the view was spectacular. Aside from that, nothing else stood out. There were no hidden observers or surveillance-like devices.

Still, in a world where magic and curses existed, such things wouldn’t be out of place.

When I had absorbed warmth from the boy’s light earlier, the wounds that had restrained me disappeared.

It seemed maintaining this body required warmth. I’d need to consider consuming food like a human.

Basic necessities like food, clothing, and shelter would be crucial.

Speaking of which, I suddenly realized I was naked.

Why hadn’t anyone said anything about that?

Didn’t they think I needed clothes?

Looking down at my body, I noticed it was caked in dried blood, covering me all the way to my lower half. I looked like something out of a demon-slaying game.

Certainly.

With a figure like this, it’s easy to mistake me for some horrific entity rather than something pitiful.

I dislike this filthy state. Is there any way to change it? There wasn’t any water nearby.

Could I do something myself?

I had power. I could make people transform by coming into contact with them. Perhaps I could try something similar.

I carefully extended a thin strand of myself, as delicate as touching light.

Ah.

A smoky, dark purple mist began to seep from my body.

Oh? I discovered something interesting.

Hieronymus quickly turned his head toward me, proving he was monitoring the room.

After reassuring Joanna, he hurriedly led her to another chamber, where he handed her clothing and a mask.

Third-rank attire. His gestures betrayed his urgency.

How amusing.

Joanna, in awe, seemed overwhelmed with gratitude, but Hieronymus’s gaze lingered on the empty space near me, as if he were still observing me.

I examined the dark purple mist flowing from the cracks in my body.

Couldn’t this mist become clothing?

Anything was worth experimenting with. I wished for the outfit Rebecca Rolf had felt most comfortable in.

Oh.

It worked.

The mist enveloped my body and transformed into soft pajamas—a mix of white and pink, exactly as Rebecca had once worn.

But pajamas? Isn’t that a bit much?

From a distance, even Hieronymus, who was monitoring me with his peculiar abilities, seemed utterly baffled.

Still, the congealed blood and bodily fluids were gone, and physically, I now had warm, soft clothes.

Yet the cold within me didn’t disappear.

If it wasn’t the clothing, then the source of the chill wasn’t physical. It was simply me.

I curled up on the altar, pretending to sleep.

In truth, I wasn’t sleepy.

This body—Rebecca Rolf’s body—needed rest.

Was there a soul? I wasn’t sure. There was no light or warmth when I arrived, only memories extracted directly from the brain.

I closed my eyes and curled up. Though Rebecca’s large chest felt uncomfortable, I could at least mimic sleep.

Meanwhile, I focused my remaining senses on Joanna.

 

Hieronymus exhaled a quiet sigh of relief.

In the chamber where it had been placed, an overwhelming presence had suddenly exploded. It wasn’t magic or the cursed energy known as malice.

It was an unknown, alien power.

A force from beyond this world—what some wizards versed in obscure fields might call extradimensional or void energy.

Something wielding such power now resided in the girl’s body.

Hieronymus—Yasle in truth—knew gods existed in this world. But they weren’t omnipotent.

They were immensely powerful beings, far beyond the comparison of ordinary lifeforms. From his position as a religious leader, he had once ordered the extermination of a god and succeeded.

The weapons wielded by the cult’s "warriors of faith" were designed for that very purpose.

And yet, this entity survived being struck by them.

Or perhaps the damage had been greater than it seemed, given it was now asleep after creating clothing.

Planning for the future, Yasle turned his attention to Joanna Smith.

The frail, elderly woman was gone, replaced by a youthful figure seemingly in her late teens or early twenties. Her skin, now an unnerving shade of dark purple, was a minor issue considering the entity’s nature.

The first person the entity had transformed had become a grotesque monstrosity.

Joanna’s mind, too, had been warped.

Originally, she had been entirely broken—obediently following orders and taking joy in servitude, incapable of aspiring for anything more.

But the person before him was different. She no longer cowered at his words.

Some individuals changed dramatically when they believed they had been chosen.

However, Joanna’s newfound self-assurance wasn’t rooted in a belief of being chosen. She merely thought of her transformation as a miracle that restored her health.

Yet, now she radiated a powerful sense of self-worth. Perhaps this was due to the influence of the being wearing Rebecca Rolf’s skin.

Yasle still didn’t understand the warmth the entity spoke of. He had assumed it was a monster feeding on human lives. That’s why he had brought Joanna before it.

But it hadn’t devoured her.

This felt more like a gift.

Still, Yasle’s experience told him this gift wasn’t to be trusted.

The being’s insatiable hunger was evident, etched into its expressions like a mantra.

Yet Yasle smiled inwardly.

Krssaksshibal.

It was a name he had created—an amalgamation of vengeance and despair, drawn from the fragments of knowledge he had pieced together.

Perhaps the real thing had arrived.

If so, he would use it.

If Joanna’s transformation proved her strength, it could be a tool of retribution—a knife to plunge into his enemies.

For now, Yasle donned his mask of kindness, raising Joanna’s rank and assigning her a task.

Watching her beam with joy, he bowed and left, heading toward the room where the being, claiming the name Rebecca Rolf, lay sleeping.