Anomaly

Chapter 385 – Worship of the true gods [31]

(POV – Protagonist)

With the priest still clinging to my legs, his fingers digging in so hard that, if I were still human, the pain would’ve already left deep marks, I tried to gather my thoughts and find an answer that wouldn’t push him into a complete breakdown. Though, if I’m being honest, that already felt like a lost cause.

His wide eyes, uneven breathing, and the constant tremor running through his body made it clear he was already on the verge of losing what little control he had left. Still, there was no reason to push him any further.

Or maybe there was, because the truth is, I didn’t even know if keeping him calm was still a real possibility, given the situation we were in. After all, I was standing there, having to protect him from my little sisters, whose intentions were anything but subtle.

They didn’t want to scare him, or question him... they wanted to tear him apart. And, to be fair, his fate wasn’t exactly something I cared about. What really mattered was something else. I’d rather, no, I needed, my little sisters to remain the way they were: pure... at least to a certain extent.

In the end, I let out a silent sigh, the kind that never quite reaches your lips, as questions kept piling up in my mind like persistent echoes. There were too many, maybe far too many, but for now I forced myself to organize the chaos and focus only on the most important one: “Why do you know so much about me... and about my sisters?”

My voice projected outward, even though it remained confined within the minds of everyone around me. Emily and Laura noticed. Their eyes briefly met before returning to me, carrying a hint of quiet curiosity. The priest, on the other hand, remained unchanged, as if nothing had happened. I tilted my head slightly, keeping my gaze fixed on him.

“You talk like you know us... like you’ve seen us before” I paused briefly: “Which doesn’t make any sense, considering this is the first time we’ve met in person” My eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.

The priest didn’t seem particularly affected by my words. Honestly, I’m not even sure what kind of reaction I was expecting, maybe... disappointment? Something at least remotely human. At least, that’s how I imagined things would work: when the “God” you’ve believed in your entire life appears before you and, with absolute casualness, says they didn’t even know you existed until a few moments ago, after years of devotion, silent faith, and “service” carried out with such conviction.

Even so, the priest remained unmoved. Or rather... it wasn’t just indifference. It was almost as if he had expected it, as though this revelation was nothing more than an inevitable confirmation. His eyes didn’t waver, his expression didn’t crack, as if, deep down, he had never allowed himself to believe in any other possibility. And then, a few seconds later, my thoughts stopped being mere speculation. His words made them real.

“I would not dare even conceive that a great divinity could be aware of my insignificant existence” he declared, as though stating an unquestionable truth.

His body was still trembling, not lightly, but deeply, almost convulsively. His hand remained dug into my leg, fingers rigid like claws, betraying his tension. In contrast, his posture was one of absolute submission: head bowed, forehead pressed against the cold floor.

The force with which he bent forward was so intense that, moments later, a dry, unpleasant sound echoed through the space, a muffled crack, followed by the appearance of a reddish liquid slowly spreading from the point of impact. Even so, he didn’t pull back.

“I would never dare believe I am important enough to draw the attention of the great divinities that govern reality itself” the priest continued. His voice, velvety and reverent, carried a strange duality, there was devotion, but also a feverish, unsettling fervor: “I would never dare...”

He swallowed hard. The sound was subtle, but heavy with tension. I noticed. Despite his persistent denial, there was a latent hope, deeply rooted. He didn’t dare admit it, not even to himself, but it was obvious: part of him desperately longed for my presence here, before him, not to be mere coincidence.

That there was a purpose. A calling. And more than that... that this purpose was tied to the dark desire he tried to keep hidden even from his own thoughts: to become something beyond, something distorted... an anomaly.

Unaware of what was running through my mind, the priest continued, his voice now lower, yet still trembling: “I would never dare assume...”

I kept my eyes on him for a few more seconds, observing every subtle detail of his expression, or rather, his failed attempt to conceal it. Still, I decided not to press him... at least for now: “Whatever... let’s drop it for now” My voice came out firm, laced with exhaustion, as a quiet sigh slipped past my lips.

The priest didn’t respond. No words, no attempt at defense. He simply lowered his head even further, as if the weight of his own conscience was forcing him down. I tilted my face slightly, narrowing my eyes: “Why do you want to become an anomaly, anyway?”

This time, my words weren’t gentle. The effect was immediate. The priest’s body trembled more violently, an uneven shudder that revealed more than fear, there was inner conflict, maybe even desperation. His fingers twitched slightly, as if struggling to hold on. He didn’t lift his face. He remained there, subdued beneath his own shadow, as his voice finally echoed, low and dragging.

“I’ve realized... oh, great deities... just how disposable, useless, and utterly insignificant I am in the face of everything. In the face of the evils plaguing our world, what everyone dares to call “anomalies” and even more so, in the face of you... entities that walk beneath the very earth itself, as though reality were nothing more than your servant” His words carried a crushing weight. There was a deep, rooted melancholy in them, as if simply existing as a human were an unforgivable flaw, an error that should have never come to be.

His fingers trembled faintly, curling against his own body as though his skin felt foreign... or intolerable.  Then, his voice changed. It grew feverish. More intense. Laden with a sick devotion that teetered on the edge of madness: “Please... oh, great deities! Free me from this cursed shell of flesh! I have served you from the moment I understood your greatness... from the instant my eyes were truly opened!”

His breath hitched, uneven, almost suffocated by his own emotion: “I can’t take it anymore... not even one more second trapped in this filthy flesh, this miserable vessel they dare call a mortal human body!”

Now, his voice was no longer just a plea. It was hatred. Raw, visceral hatred, directed at his own existence, as though at any moment he might tear his own skin apart just to escape himself.

The first to react to his explicit hatred toward “humans” so to speak, was Laura. Her expression faltered for a brief moment, caught somewhere between disbelief and offense, as though she were still processing whether that had actually been said out loud.

Her brows furrowed slightly, and she placed a hand against her chest in a gesture that felt almost automatic, more theatrical than genuinely heartfelt: “Should I be offended by that?” she asked, her voice edged with sharp surprise. Then she tilted her head, as if reconsidering her own reaction, before adding with a slight narrowing of her eyes: “I feel like I should be offended by that”

The priest’s reaction was immediate, instinctive. His gaze snapped upward and locked onto Laura with a cutting intensity. It was a visceral look, almost inhuman. The weight of it alone was enough to make both Emily and Laura take an abrupt step back. For a brief moment, silence shattered under the tension.

Then the priest’s voice broke through, harsh, jagged, laced with a hatred that seemed to corrode every syllable before it even left his mouth. It wasn’t just contempt, it was absolute revulsion. His lips twisted as he spoke, as though uttering those words was, in itself, an offense.

“You... mere disposable humans!” he spat, his tone dripping with disgust: “Puddles of irrelevant flesh... and you still dare...”

But I didn’t let him finish. I cut him off immediately: “They have my permission” My voice came out firm, not just firm, but carrying a quiet authority that left no room for argument. And truthfully, I didn’t want to be questioned. Not by him. Not by anyone.

For a moment, I waited for a reaction. The priest seemed overtaken by an uncontrollable irritation, especially as he looked at Laura, his eyes still burning with a tense, feverish glint. I expected him to protest, perhaps argue, or at the very least hesitate. But none of that happened.

Without a single word, he bowed again. His forehead met the reddish ground with a soft, dry sound, kicking up a thin veil of dust around him: “As you wish, oh Great Deity!” There was reverence in his voice, deep, absolute... and yet, something about it felt off.

I exhaled slowly, letting the air slip past my lips as I absorbed the situation. I couldn’t help but think how insufferable this priest was, persistent, meticulous, always circling the same point as though expecting the outcome to somehow change.

In the end, I decided to cut this short. We were dragging this out longer than necessary, stuck in a conversation that would lead nowhere. There was no point in softening my words or trying to make them more palatable. The answer had been set from the beginning: “As for your... request...”

Before I could even finish, the priest shuddered. I noticed it immediately. But this time, it wasn’t fear, it was anticipation. His fingers, still wrapped around my feet, tightened, brushing faintly, almost trembling, as if he were clinging to the last shred of hope he had left, like someone holding onto something far too precious to let slip away.

That only made everything more uncomfortable. I took a deep breath once more and, gathering what little patience I had left, answered in the least monotone way I could manage, though it didn’t come out exactly as I intended: “That is... simply impossible”