Anomaly

Chapter 359 – Worship of the true gods [5]

Anger. A feeling that, ever since I became an anomaly, I had experienced so rarely I could count the times on my fingers, and still have space left between them. Most of the time, the world passed through me like a cold wind: I saw, I understood, I registered... but I did not feel.

But this time, it was different. The anger rising inside me was not the kind sparked by a trivial insult or a wounded ego. It wasn’t irritation at sharp words, nor the fury born of physical pain. It was something deeper. More instinctive. More wrong.

Who was the man standing in the center of the church with his arms raised? He remained there beneath the pale light filtering through the stained-glass windows, painting his body in shades of red and gold, as though the heavens themselves crowned him.

His posture was solemn yet strangely theatrical, his head tilted slightly back, eyes half-closed, lips murmuring something I couldn’t hear. He looked like a divine envoy. A prophet. A savior.

And that was exactly what unsettled me. I didn’t know who he was. I didn’t know his name, his origin, or his intentions. But something about the entire image, the reverence surrounding him, was wrong. Too wrong. There was no clear logic supporting my judgment. No concrete evidence.

And yet every fiber of my being screamed in warning. It was as though my very existence recognized something. I couldn’t explain why. I just knew. Maybe I was becoming overly sensitive, that was my first thought, but the feeling was real. I felt contaminated. Not physically, it wasn’t something I could wash from my hands or tear from my skin.

It was deeper than that, seeping beneath my flesh, running through my veins, or at least it felt that way, like cold poison. There was something about that man that was impure. Filthy. Viscous.

Everything about him screamed wrong. Not just to my eyes. His scent was almost imperceptible, yet unpleasant, like damp rust. Every gesture felt rehearsed, as if he were wearing skin that did not belong to him.

And it wasn’t just me. My sisters... my beloved sisters. I could feel it. Like a taut string inside my chest, vibrating every second. As if something invisible were crawling toward them, touching them, staining them.

He was pretending to be something, someone. A borrowed face. A stolen role. I don’t know who he was claiming to be, I don’t know where he came from, but there was a lie pulsing beneath his skin.

All I knew was that he was wrong. Everything about him was wrong. His smile was wrong, as if it had been forced onto his face. His eyes did not match the smile, they were deep, hollow. Observing. And above all of that, above the impurity, the disgust, the sense of intrusion, there was something burning even stronger.

Anger. A deep, primitive, sacred anger. It wasn’t rational. It wasn’t built on arguments or proof. It was instinctive. Violent. As if every part of me were screaming that that man should not exist there... should not even be breathing the same air as us. And the wider his smile grew, the stronger that anger became.

My body has no blood, but if it did, it would have been boiling with rage. The sensation was vivid, as if something inside me were simmering, pressing against the invisible walls of my own existence.

I could feel my body burning, as though invisible flames licked at my skin from the inside, consuming every thought with suffocating, blistering heat. But it didn’t last. Not when I felt two gentle touches wrapping around my fingers.

The contrast was so abrupt my eyes blinked several times, as if waking from a trance. The heat subsided, not immediately, but like embers slowly smothered by snow. Confusion set in.

I was angry, of that I was certain, but it was an irrational anger. Disproportionate. Strange. I... I wasn’t like this. Was I? Should I be reacting this way? Did that fury belong to me or was it merely using my body as a vessel?

For one second, one single, unsettling second, I felt as though I wasn’t myself. As if something had overlaid my will, wearing my thoughts like an ill-fitting mask. I shook my head harder than necessary, a clear attempt to scatter the thoughts creeping into my mind.

“Mm... mm...” Althea hissed softly, the sound slipping between her teeth. Her tone was as it always was, slightly mischievous, teasing, but there was a clear, warm joy threading through each syllable.

A subtle smile curved her lips as she tilted her head to the side, her eyes shimmering with a gentle, understanding light.

“It’s alright, dear sister” she continued, her voice softer now, almost wrapping around the room like an invisible embrace: “We understand exactly how you’re feeling... every doubt, every weight in your chest”

She placed a hand over her heart for a moment, a simple gesture heavy with meaning: “But we’re okay. All of us are”

“Okay...” Nekra murmured, the word leaving her lips like a fragile breath. Her fingers tightened around mine, her nails pressing lightly into my skin: “We’re... okay... sister”

I blinked a few times, still absorbing their words. The sound of their voices seemed to echo inside my mind. When I turned my head slightly, I met the steady gazes of my sisters.

They were all there. Their feelings were different. Even so, despite the differences, they all shared the same emotional root: worry. Worry about me.

(Right...) I hissed inwardly, as if the firmness of my thoughts alone could reassure them. What kind of older brother would I be if I let myself fall into despair over something like this? If I faltered, what would be left for them?

I took a slow breath, steadying my own emotions. Actually... why had I reacted that way in the first place? That wasn’t like me.

It had been strange. Instinctive. A sudden chill, a tension running down my spine before I even realized it. It was... illogical. But it wasn’t empty. There was a reason. There had to be.

I let my thoughts circle around it a while longer, allowing possibilities to gather in silence like heavy storm clouds. I only snapped out of my own spiral when Althea’s voice pulled me back: “But... um...” she murmured.

Her tone was languid and thoughtful, drifting softly through the air. She brought a finger to her chin, tilting her head slightly: “We should look into it. Just as a precaution. We don’t want this situation getting out of hand...”

A faintly mischievous smile curved her lips, almost playful, but her steady, watchful eyes betrayed the seriousness beneath the relaxed facade.

I held her gaze in silence for a few seconds. Her words were... strange. It didn’t sound like something Althea would normally say. There was a subtle shift in her tone. After all, Althea rarely showed any interest in what humans were doing.

To her, their ambitions, conflicts, and achievements were distant noise, insignificant echoes in a world far too vast to concern itself with creatures so fleeting.

Of course, her indifference, unfortunately for humans, didn’t exclude mocking them. If something happened to catch her attention, even briefly well. The members of the organization could probably explain that better than I could. But setting that aside, my mind latched onto her words like a hook.

(What do you mean by that?) I asked silently, directing my thoughts to my sisters: (Why would we have a problem with some random priest preaching in a church?)

My eyes returned to the video. The image trembled slightly, as if it had been recorded in a hurry. The church filled nearly the entire frame, an old building with tall walls and narrow windows.

I rephrased my thought: (Even if it is a church... a pretty weird one)

Althea let out soft, light laughter, almost musical, as if my comment had struck her as particularly amusing. Her shoulders trembled faintly, and for a brief moment her eyes gleamed with genuine amusement.

That said, the one who actually answered me was Nyara. Since the beginning of our “family outing” she had remained silent, walking a little apart from the others, almost unnoticed.

“Beliefs” Nyara began. Her voice came out low, like a whisper carried by the wind, closer to a stray thought slipping free than something deliberately spoken aloud.

Even so, every syllable reached me clearly. She lifted her chin slightly, and her once-distant eyes seemed to focus on me: “Beliefs are dangerous”

Her words didn’t make sense. Was she really saying that praying was dangerous? I mean, praying to God was dangerous? The very idea sounded absurd, but there was something in the way she said it she sounded completely serious.

If praying was dangerous, then who exactly were those prayers reaching? That led me to an even more uncomfortable question: Did God exist? Before I became an anomaly, I technically considered myself a believer. Not a devout one, the kind who always sits in the same pew and knows every verse by heart, but a believer nonetheless.

I rarely went to church. Sometimes months would pass without me even thinking about stepping into one. Still, I believed in something higher. It was hard not to when the world seemed so meticulously constructed.

The balance of nature. The cruel precision of physical laws. The absurd complexity of life. It all felt too perfect to be random chance. But now... now that I’m an anomaly, that I exist at the margins of rules I once thought unbreakable, my faith isn’t so solid anymore.

“Little Nyara is right...” Althea scoffed, her voice firm and authoritative, like the sharp crack of a branch snapping under pressure.

She crossed her arms over her flat chest, her fingers lightly gripping her own forearm as the fabric of her clothes shifted with the motion. Her eyes remained fixed on the bluish light flickering across Emily’s monitor.

“Beliefs are dangerous” she continued: “Because they hold power. They shape minds. They move crowds. They sustain gods... and they destroy them too” Her eyes narrowed slightly, as if she disapproved not only of the situation before her, but of the very concept itself: “They should not be directed at a human” Her voice dropped, heavier now: “Only at Mother”

I didn’t fully understand the point my sisters were trying to make. Even so, without completely grasping it, not yet, I could extract at least one thing from their words: Trouble was coming. And it wasn’t distant trouble. It might be much closer than I imagined.