Chapter Text
O’ Chosen one, deliver unto us the blessings of Jisan of the Countless Peaks
Kim Soleum opened his eyes and took a forcefully steady breath. His heart beat with the rhythm of the drums. Each step forward made the palanquin sway. He was scared, not of the swaying, but of what lay ahead. Soleum knew the solution, he already planned what to say and how to say it, not that the knowledge settled the everpresent fear. He just needed to pull it off with some good acting and everything would be fine.
[Excellent decision, your Good Friend is wholly onboard with putting on a good show.]
He wanted Braun to be quiet for this. The talk show host’s commentary only made him more nervous. It felt weirdly like Braun’s expectations were too high. Maybe he could sneakily toss the plushie and find it again later just for silence, though the thought of being alone was perhaps more terrifying.
[Haha my dear friend there's no need for that!!! Don’t toss this Good Friend aside, but I understand your qualms. The stage is yours today! I look forward to your undoubtedly captivating performance. I’ll be here if you need me.]
The doll inhabited by the talk show host ghost went silent, stuffed in his pocket under the white robes the villagers dressed him in. Good, Soleum didn't want to mess this up, it was important. At least he had the sense to try and give Soleum words of encouragement. If only he could stick Braun in his wrist, but after what happened with the book and the scripture… Well, Soleum wasn’t about to take that risk again. He needed to finish this without going crazy. Or letting anyone else go crazy. Saheon’s fear at the effects of the “truth” had touched him. Well, a little. He understood Saheon’s fear; the fear of not being in control of your own body and mind. Why else would he spend one of those jade tokens on a tattoo letting him control his contaminated aspects? It was still strange to empathize with that psychopath. The guy didn’t even recognize him right now!
Soleum’s heart beat faster, fingers tightening around the seat edges as the ride neared its destination. He didn’t fight it, wouldn’t fight it no matter how much he wanted to inside. It felt like his heart would beat out of his chest. He had his plan. He would stick to the plan. It didn’t stop the absolute terror from rushing through him as he was carried through the crowd of anxious villagers. They kept a reverent distance, watching with eyes fixed anxiously on the palanquin. Soleum somewhat understood. They all thought this was the only way they wouldn’t fall to madness and fear. Unfortunately few things allowed one to truly escape fear, Soleum knew that well. It was usually more of a cover up than a liberation. The barest hint of a crazed night running through tomato-headed monsters with no fear or pain resulting in a vaguely planned near-death experience flashed through his mind.
Soleum was… a little insane already wasn’t he?
The palanquin stopped, jolting Soleum from his thoughts. The villagers carrying it carefully lowered the palanquin they’d been bearing on their shoulders to the ground. It landed with a soft thump.
Two of the villagers approached the doors of the shrine. It looked similar to regular shrines with its dark tiled roof and painted wooden walls. All the doors were tightly shut. Honestly it looked rather normal, maybe a little run down.
‘If you weren’t already aware you were in a ghost story you’d probably never even realize it’s a shrine to a darkness’ Soleum thought.
The only real difference was the golden rope tied around the building. A golden rope that matched the one around his bare feet. The two villagers at the doors cut the rope. It fell to the ground. Though it made only a small ‘tuk’ sound it felt heavy, like it was weighed down with more than its physical weight. The villagers standing by the palanquin untied the rope around Soleum’s ankles. It was taken and strung up around the shrine, replacing the old rope which lay limp on the ground.
Then the doors were opened. The heavy wooden doors creaked as they were pushed, slowly revealing the interior of the shrine. Soleum involuntarily shivered.
Inside sat a golden rooster statue atop a rounded wooden pedestal right where the altar would usually be. The ‘special prize’ from the raffle, enshrined in this village swallowed by darkness. It was enormous, quite literally, the size of a human being. Soleum was getting a little tired of raffles, honestly. They seemed to only bring troubles.
“Wow! Look at that! Gold!”
“Wouldn’t it just be gold-plated?”
“That’s so crazy.”
Soleum heard the tourists talking among themselves. He almost envied them and their ignorance. At least then he wouldn’t feel like his veins were filled with ice at the mere idea of the next step. The tourists were too mesmerized by greed and the golden statue to even notice that the shrine's original pole was stuck upside down.
‘Just like the sticks in the lottery box…’ Soleum thought absently.
O’ Chosen one, deliver unto us the blessings of Jisan of the Countless Peaks
Soleum stood up and stepped off the palanquin. He walked toward the shrine with what he hoped came across as steady, confident strides before stopping at the doors. The villagers followed, stepping forward one by one to stick pieces of paper to his white robe. The papers were covered in Hanja and Hangul - the villagers' names. After they were all done, the villagers gave three deep bows and poured a bottle of liquor over the papers and robe. The ink on the papers began to run like black blood, seeming to seep into the robe itself as the sacred liquor washed over it.
“May we be freed from the Truth of the World O’ fortune of Jisan O’ Chosen One.”
“May we be freed from the Truth of the World O’ fortune of Jisan O’ Chosen One.”
“May we be freed from the Truth of the World O’ fortune of Jisan O’ Chosen One.”
The villagers fervently prayed, bowing and weeping with hands raised towards the sky. Their cries were filled with an old, bone deep terror. Eyes rolled, spit dribbled down chins, hands slapping the ground so hard they bled. Not even the sound of the drums could drown out the desperation. It was so intense the tourists began to back off.
“Hey. This kinda feels off,” Soleum heard one of them say. Off indeed. This was so far from normal. At least some of them had the sense to feel the wrongness creeping in. Not everyone was so perceptive, however.
“We should get a closer look at this statue!” One of the tourists holding a smartphone up for pictures stepped up into the shrine, “Oh, this smell in here, is that alcohol?”
O’ Chosen one, deliver unto us the blessings of Jisan of the Countless Peaks
The final repetition. The first one to enter. The statue on the altar began to melt. Molten gold slid down the statue from the head with a sickening gurgling sound. Within moments the rooster was nothing but a puddle of bubbling golden liquid, spreading quickly through the grooves in the shrine floor. Before the tourist had the sense to run, the melted gold touched their feet. They dropped their phone. It hit the floor with a dense thud, bouncing once, twice, before coming to a rest covered in gold.
The prayers stopped.
The drums stopped.
For a moment it was completely silent.
The air itself seemed frozen.
Then the tourist started laughing, doubling over. Slow at first then harder and harder and harder and harder until their face turned red and they gasped for breath, choking on their own laughter. Then they stood straight, turning to smile at the crowd. Blood dripped down from their lips.
“I, haha, I see it! Ahahahaha The world is ■■! Hehehehe We are nothing, haha, nothing but one ■■ inscribed within it! Hahahahahahhahahahahahahahhahaha. Please! Hahaha Please don’t look at me dont look at me dont look at me dont look at me dont look at me don’t lo■k at me haha do■’t ■■ at■ m e■ e ■■■”
People at the edge of the crowd recoiled in shock at the sudden outburst and change in tone. Those in the back craned their necks to see better.
“I have value. I’m interesting, right? Right? I’m not real. I am real! I'm here? Or am I not? What is here? What is this? Please? Named Lord?”
As soon as that phrase was uttered it was too late. The drums began to beat again. Madness began to spread. Hysterical laughter filled the air. People were screaming. People were muttering senselessly with their hands over their ears and tearing at their hair. People were dropping to their knees staring at the sky with blank, empty eyes. They didn’t react even when others screaming in terror began to rip and tear at themselves, blood spreading across the ground. It was a scene where hysterical madness and eerie calmness lay juxtaposed.
The villagers, unsurprisingly considering they did this regularly, seemed unaffected. They paid the outsiders falling to the truth revealed by the sacred liquor no mind. That terrifying revelation burdened all but those who would escape that maddening fate. Those of Jisan village. This outcome, the end where the madness was held back from their minds for a while longer.
Soleum watched on with a blank expression as the gongs drowned out the frenzy. Inwardly he was repulsed by the madness, terrified by the haunting scream and cries, the sounds of flesh tearing and people choking on their own fear and blood. He shouldn’t be here. He was going to be sick. He wanted to go home. Anywhere but this insane place. Why was he even doing this when he was so incredibly scared? When his heart felt like it was going to give out and the terror froze his joints? Why why why whywhywhywhywhywhywhy-
Soleum, the chosen one, the raffle winner, the one everyone knew as the disaster rookie capable of clearing ghost stories with methods no one else had ever thought of to even consider trying began walking.
‘Just don’t mess up. Easy. Don’t let them know you’re scared,’ Soleum thought.
His steps were slow and deliberate. His demeanor remained entirely calm. A stark contrast to the other outsiders. Even the villagers were slightly in awe at his composure. They all held their breath, waiting for him to plant the stick in the molten gold. Once he did that the chosen one would dissolve, becoming the fortune of Jisan.
What they saw happen was not that, however.
Instead of planting the stick Soleum stopped at the door’s threshold and turned.
“This is all wrong,” his voice was flat, measured. He looked at the stick in his hand and sighed disparagingly before tossing it aside like trash. The villagers gasped, some stood to apprehend him but were stopped by his next words.
“At this rate, you’re all doomed. You may as well say ‘misfortune will befall you’,” silence grew, thick and heavy.
“He- he’s lying! The fortune of Jisan is trying to deceive us and run away!”
Soleum smiled and shook his head. Meaningless opposition, Soleum already planned for it.
“No, no. Don’t you see?” Soleum raised his hands to the sky, pausing to take a slow breath before stepping back into the golden liquid. It was warm. It felt like mud with the grimy texture and way it oozed against his skin. Warm sticky mud. It was gross and disgusting and everything but that sensation seemed to get distant and fuzzy and Soleum hated it. He hated it but he continued talking though it didn’t sound much like his own voice.
“I was cleansed by your sacred liquor. I awakened to the truth of this world. I, who drew your golden stick and will be enshrined here as the fortune of Jisan, already know.”
Speak the truth. They will listen to their language.
“You have twisted these sacred teachings. Maybe you read a few pages of unknown scripture or stole pieces of doctrine and misunderstood.”
Confuse them. They aren’t wrong for believing, they just don’t know the whole truth. They misunderstood, miscalculated, misinterpreted.
The villagers were muttering, hesitant to act. Unsure. Time for the final blow.
“What did you think liberation from the truth of this world meant? Did you really think it was escaping from the cruel, painful, and unreasonable reality of this world? Did you really think evading disaster under the protection of the fortune of Jisan and living freely as the chosen exceptions was the answer?”
Break them. Divide them. Make them pick an interpretation that doesn’t align with the others. The villagers looked up, feelings betrayed by their actions. Kim Soleum gave a soft chuckle.
“I thought so. In that case, let me tell you the truth” And as Soleum spoke he knew it was the truth. The sure knowledge he possessed gave him confidence he hadn’t felt in ages. His memory of the Wiki clearer than it had been even with the Memorial popsocket. Strange, he was sure his memories had been getting fuzzier. They were so clear it was like reading the wiki again. Maybe even better than that. He remembered stories he didn’t even remember remembering. It worked in his favor. After all he was about to quote the most important doctrine of the Church of the Luminous Unknown. Its first teaching.
Kim Soleum smiled and tilted his head, eyes shadowed beneath his bangs, a soft golden and red gleam shining from within.
He opened his mouth, tense anticipation filling the air.
“There is no freedom in this world.”
Everyone in front of him froze. Even those in an utterly maddened state were captivated. They were hanging on his every word. Perfect.
“This world belongs to the Named Lord. It holds meaning only when one is chosen by the Named Lord, and one must recognize this truth, cultivate, and sow the seeds of origin in the world, striving to be worthy of that choice.”
“Your free will is meaningless. Only the Will and selection of the Named Lord hold significance.” The selection of the wiki that is. All the ■■■■■■■ that ■■■■■.
“Those too weak to accept this truth may escape through death, but that is no true salvation.” Soleum shook his head sadly, trying to convey disappointment in that path.
“There is no escape from the Named Lord.” he said solemnly, factually, with the utmost confidence in the truth of his words.
“These words are your liberation.”
Kim Soleum’s eyes glittered like molten gold. His smile widened, gentle and welcoming. Like a good Named Lord’s smile should be. Like it should be when you know the truth because you helped create it. These people, these villagers, they were part of a ghost story Kim Soleum read. He had been through Sekwang high school, a ghost story he wrote himself. He knew this world was created. He knew it was ■■■■■■■, that there were ■■■■■■■, that this world was made from the fears in the minds of others. This truth could not hurt him because he already knew. The gold on his feet felt like it was getting colder, like it was becoming tacky, like it was his own drying blood.
In the back of the crowd Agent Choi and Agent Bronze stood frozen, staring at their youngest team member standing with his arms raised like he was welcoming the crowd home. Like he could bring them salvation. His eyes looked dead, smile completely empty.
“Choi… Were we… too late?” Jaekwan’s voice shook slightly.
Choi didn’t ever want to hear that despairing and tearful tone from Jaekwan ever again.