novelraw Chapter 73 : The Fallen Cult Leader
Chapter 73 : The Fallen Cult Leader
Chapter 73: The Fallen Cult Leader
Neon Metropolis, Adachi Ward.
This was the shadowed side of the bustling city, the sewer where neon lights could not reach.
Cheap group-rental apartments were stacked like honeycombs, and the air was perpetually filled with the moldy stench of expired boxed meals mixed with the foul odor of sewage backflow.
“Bang! Bang! Bang!”
The rusted security door of one apartment was smashed with deafening force, dust raining down.
“Asahara! I know you’re in there! Open the door!”
“Stop playing dead! If you don’t open up, I’ll tear this piece-of-shit door down and stuff your pig head into the toilet!”
Debt collectors from the yakuza organization “Black Dragon Society” screamed wildly outside the door, accompanied by the shrill clang of metal bats slamming against the security door.
Inside the room, the curtains were drawn tightly shut. In the cramped apartment, no more than six tatami mats in size, a disheveled middle-aged man was curled up on the tatami.
Asahara Shoko, the cult leader of the “Truth Sect,” a man who claimed he could communicate with high-dimensional cosmic consciousness, was now trembling like a frightened rat.
He wore a long robe whose original color could no longer be discerned. It had once been his “ceremonial vestment” for deceiving believers, but now it was covered in oil stains and alcohol blotches.
“Damn it… damn it…”
Asahara Shoko clutched his head, fingers digging tightly into his tangled hair, bloodshot veins filling his cloudy eyes.
“These stupid mortals… daring to demand debts from the ‘Son of God’…”
“Just wait… just wait until I contact the great god… I’ll turn all of you into dust…”
He muttered neurotically, trying to numb his fear with the lies he himself had fabricated.
But reality was cruel.
He was not some Son of God, nor could he communicate with any cosmic consciousness.
He was merely a low-grade con artist who had swindled away the pensions of a few elderly women, then tried to expand his cult by borrowing usurious loans—only to suffer a catastrophic collapse.
Boom—!
With a tremendous crash, the fragile lock finally gave way. The iron door was kicked open violently.
Three burly men in floral shirts, their backs covered in tattoos, charged in.
The scar-faced man in the lead spotted Asahara Shoko huddled into a ball at once, a vicious grin spreading across his face.
“Well, well, Cult Leader. So you were hiding here?”
Scar-face strode forward and grabbed Asahara Shoko by the collar, hoisting him up like a dead dog.
“Ugh… let go… I am the chosen of God…”
Asahara Shoko struggled desperately, but his body, ravaged by long-term malnutrition and alcohol, was no match for a yakuza enforcer.
Smack!
A loud slap landed viciously on his face, sending stars spinning in his vision as two teeth flew out mixed with blood.
“Chosen of God?”
Scar-face spat. “You owe fifty million Neon yen including principal and interest. Even if you were a god, you’re selling a kidney today to pay it back!”
“Take him away! Send him to the docks. I heard they’re short on a batch of ‘fresh parts’ over there.”
The two subordinates sneered as they stepped forward, lifting Asahara Shoko from both sides.
Endless despair flooded Asahara Shoko like icy seawater.
He did not want to die.
He had yet to enjoy the gazes of worship from the masses, had yet to sit upon a throne of gold and look down upon all living beings.
“No… don’t…”
Tears and snot streamed down Asahara Shoko’s face as his legs flailed in midair. “Give me a little more time! I can go scam… no, go fundraise! I have believers! I have—”
“Shut up!”
A heavy punch slammed into his abdomen. The excruciating pain stole his voice instantly, his body curling up like a shrimp as stomach acid and bile surged up his throat.
Just as he was about to be dragged out the door.
The world suddenly froze.
No.
It was Asahara Shoko’s time that froze.
That vast, cold voice, like a divine decree, sounded directly within the depths of his soul.
【Welcome to ‘Game of Gods’】
【Matching player identity and faction】
【Player: Asahara Shoko】
【Identity: Preacher】
【Faction: Radiance】
【All beings are blind; you shall walk as a god among men, guiding the lost lambs】
At that moment.
Asahara Shoko stopped struggling.
An indescribable warm current surged from his heart, instantly flowing through his entire body.
The pain vanished.
The hunger vanished.
This was… real power?
Not the lies he had fabricated, not hallucinations induced by chemical agents.
This was God—true God—placing divine authority directly into his hands!
“Haha… hahahahaha…”
Suspended in midair, Asahara Shoko suddenly let out a low laugh.
The laughter grew louder, more frenzied, echoing through the dim corridor and sending chills down the spine.
“Boss, has this guy gone crazy?”
One of the underlings holding him felt unnerved by the laughter and could not help asking.
Scar-face frowned, a strange chill rising in his heart as well, but he still cursed, “Crazy or not, he’s leaving a kidney behind! Carry him inside!”
“Lost lambs…”
Asahara Shoko suddenly lifted his head.
His voice had changed.
No longer the sleazy, shrill duck-like rasp from before, it became deep and magnetic, carrying a strange resonance that struck directly at the soul.
“Why are you angry? Why are you violent?”
“Is it because of the emptiness within your hearts? Is it because of your fear of death?”
The yakuza thugs in the midst of their violence froze, their movements stiffening involuntarily.
A faint golden glow began to pour out from Asahara Shoko’s body. Bathed in that light, he took on an air of a suffering saint, filled with compassion and holiness.
This was Asahara Shoko instinctively activating his ability at the instant he gained his identity, fueled by the tiny bit of “self-hypnosis”-generated faith value he possessed.
He firmly believed himself to be a god—so miracles manifested.
He extended a hand and gently placed it on the yakuza leader’s forehead.
“You are in pain, aren’t you?”
Asahara Shoko’s voice was filled with magnetism. “Violence is merely the shell you use to conceal the fear within your heart. You long for salvation.”
The yakuza leader, a man who killed without blinking, suddenly felt dazed.
He seemed to see himself running through the countryside as a child.
Clang.
The machete fell to the ground.
“Ma… Master?”
The yakuza leader’s knees went weak, and with a thud he knelt down, sobbing uncontrollably. “I… I am guilty…”
The other two underlings were left staring in shock.
Asahara Shoko looked at the villain kneeling before him in tears, feeling strands of faint yet pure energy flowing from the top of the man’s head into his own body.
That was the power of “faith.”
Though weak, it was enough to fill his body with strength.
Then, having gained a trace of faith power, Asahara Shoko slowly began to levitate.
The thugs watched wide-eyed as the middle-aged man who had been like a lump of mud now floated three inches above the ground.
The grime, oil stains, and blood on his body melted and peeled away under the holy light like snow meeting the blazing sun.
Even the tattered robe transformed within the radiance, becoming immaculate white, as though woven from the finest silk.
Asahara Shoko spread his arms, eyes closed, gazing down with compassion at the three dumbstruck yakuza members.
Inside, his heart was laughing wildly, roaring.
This was it!
This was the feeling!
This was the power!
“I am guilty too…”
The underling on the left suddenly dropped to his knees with a thud, the dagger in his hand clattering to the floor.
Under the illumination of the holy light, he felt as though the filthiest secrets deep within his heart had been laid bare. Intense shame and regret overwhelmed him, tears streaming down his face.
“God… forgive me…”
The underling on the right also knelt down, kowtowing frantically.
This was the core ability of the 【Preacher】—mental interference and suggestion.
As long as the target’s mental defenses collapsed, as long as they felt even a shred of awe, the seed would instantly take root and sprout, growing into a towering tree.
And as long as someone believed his lies and placed their faith in him, he could consume that faith to distort reality.
“Lo… Lord…”
The three thugs, cowed by Asahara Shoko’s “divine power,” lay prostrate on the ground, kissing the dust at his feet.
Asahara Shoko slowly descended.
He looked at the three men who had once been shouting about killing him, now docile like dogs, and the greed in his eyes could no longer be concealed.
This was not enough.
Far from enough.
How could the faith of three yakuza thugs satisfy the appetite of a god?
He needed more.
He needed this city, this country, even this entire world to prostrate itself at his feet!
Asahara Shoko walked to the window and yanked open the heavy curtain that had blocked the sunlight for years.
Crash!
Outside, the nightscape of Neon Metropolis came into view.
In the distance, Shinjuku Kabukicho blazed with lights, torrents of desire surging through the streets.
On massive holographic billboards, virtual idols sang meaningless pop songs;
The glass curtain walls of skyscrapers reflected cold, indifferent light;
Countless weary, empty, anxious souls wandered through this forest of steel.
Some sold their bodies for money, some betrayed friends for power, some sought comfort in despair.
For a 【Preacher】, was there a more perfect hunting ground than this?
“Hehe… hehehe…”
Asahara Shoko caressed the cold glass, gazing at the faintly glowing reflection of himself in the window.
He recalled the news he had once seen, the cults, ghost stories, and urban legends that thrived in this country.
The hearts of these people were so fragile, so desperate for miracles, desperate for salvation.
Give them just a little light—even if it was a will-o’-the-wisp leading to hell—and they would rush toward it like moths to a flame.
“Here…”
Asahara Shoko extended his tongue, licking his cracked lips as he revealed an extremely twisted smile.
“This place is simply fertile soil for faith.”
He turned around and looked at the three believers still kneeling on the ground.
“Rise, my children.”
Asahara Shoko’s voice returned to that sacred, compassionate tone.
“Go, spread my gospel.”
“Tell the world that the old gods are dead, and the world is about to meet its end.”
“Only those who believe in me shall gain eternal life.”
The three thugs raised their heads, eyes filled with fanaticism. “We obey, Cult Leader!”