CH.13 The Echoes of Blood

Jane was jogging under the morning sun, not merely to unwind, but to organize the tangled thoughts racing through her mind. What would it take to build a villainous organization? A supremely powerful boss to command everything? Or an utterly malevolent objective, paired with fearsome might, or perhaps alluring incentives to win over followers?

But how to put it into practice? Relying on her clones to recruit people one by one would be far too sluggish. If only there were an existing framework she could co-opt outright—otherwise, having newcomers expand their own networks? That would drag on endlessly, and Jane had no time to wait for gradual growth.

Where on earth could she find a ready-made organization?

As Jane slowed her pace in the heart of the park, she unexpectedly bumped into the man who'd sold her the hot dog cart before.

"Good morning, Jane. How's the hot dog business treating you? Running a venture like that isn't easy."

"Good morning, George. I'd say... it's alright. Just haven't felt well lately, so I haven't been out selling." Jane casually fabricated an excuse to deflect. In reality, she'd devoured all the hot dogs herself—she'd prepared a massive stockpile and crammed them into the freezer. For days now, her meals had consisted almost entirely of hot dogs.

"You okay? You seem pretty energetic to me."

"A bit dizzy-headed, so I'm jogging to clear it up."

"Is that right?" George pondered for a moment, then said with genuine concern, "I know someone who might be able to help you."

"No need for a doctor, thanks."

"Not a doctor—someone who can cure you directly."

"What do you mean?"

"Like, by touching your forehead, connecting to your vital energy and soul to heal both body and spirit."

"Uh... that sounds pretty eerie."

"I get why you'd be skeptical, but you could try it out first. There's a meeting tomorrow—you might want to check it out."

"A meeting?"

"Yeah, a master's lecture, where he'll demonstrate his powers. If your headache acts up, you can go up and give it a shot."

George then shared the time and location of the gathering before ambling off on his walk.

"Hmm... sounds like a cult con job," Jane murmured to herself once George was out of earshot.

"But... maybe I can exploit it."

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The following day.

On the top floor of a 28-story high-rise, the gathering was in session.

Attendees filed in steadily, predominantly Asian in appearance.

The principal "master" hadn't arrived yet; instead, Elder Li Ming—of the "Spirit Vein Holy Assembly"—was there early. Of course, he loathed that name, feeling it clashed with everything here. He preferred to be called Jack.

Jack was an immigrant who'd become an elder in the "Spirit Vein Holy Assembly" five years ago. Not due to any piety or possession of arcane abilities—he knew the sect was a total fraud. Yet he'd donated generously to secure the elder position, leveraging it to expand his reach and hawk his real estate and renovation services. Many believers subscribed to his annual renovation plans, and even prioritized him for home purchases. Over those five years, Jack had amassed a fortune through his elder status.

Why isn't he here yet? Li Ming thought glumly. Yes, he was Chinese, and over half the sect's followers hailed from Chinese communities, but the leader was Korean.

He didn't care, as long as the profits rolled in. The issue was the leader's unusual tardiness today, and Jack couldn't afford to be late himself without repercussions.

Might as well use the restroom. Surveying the room, now more than half full of devotees, Jack made his way to the bathroom.

Business has been lousy lately—haven't even hit a hundred grand this month. Jack brooded as he washed his hands. For him, happiness was rare. He had no hobbies or pastimes; his sole joy was tallying his earnings. He dined only at authentic Chinese spots, uninterested in upscale eateries.

When the faucet's water touched his hands, he sensed an unnatural warmth and viscosity.

"What the hell is this?" Jack glanced down and recoiled in horror. The tap wasn't dispensing water—it was spewing crimson blood.

"A ghost!" Jack thought in terror, lunging for the door, but it was jammed shut. In his panic, a voice resonated.

"Turn. Listen."

"You—who are you?!" Jack whirled to see a hazy silhouette in the bathroom mirror, resembling a bizarre winged entity. It appeared human-like, but certainly wasn't—wings protruded from its head as well.

"You cannot behold me, so merely heed."

As it spoke, the mirror fractured.

"Destiny, demise, obscurity, sanguine." Eyes erupted from the shattered surface. "And you."

"Me? What—what is this?!" Jack stammered, frozen in fear, but it pressed on: "You have been selected as the god's servant. You shall shoulder this mandate until the divinity is birthed. For now, your duty is to convert more into the god's servants... fodder..."

Honestly, Jack missed much of the latter part, as interference drowned out the voice.

"I... cannot manifest long... thus, I bestow a boon... Go forth and exhibit your prowess as the god's servant; further gifts shall follow."

With that final, lucid utterance, the entity vanished.

Jack slumped against the bathroom door, prostrate.

He was petrified, his mind reeling.

"Who's in there?" Someone shoved the door, bumping into the sprawled Li Ming. Jack scrambled up as the person entered, astonished: "Elder Li, why were you on the floor?"

Jack swiped at his sweat-drenched forehead and ignored the query, charging out of the restroom and leaving the bewildered follower standing there.

"Huff... huff..." Jack gasped, cradling his face, utterly lost.

What was happening? Was that an illusion?

"It was no illusion."

"Who?!" Jack exclaimed, prompting stares from the seated assembly.

"I reside within the world; no need to respond—simply attend."

Jack realized the voice was audible only to him. Amid the crowd's curious glances, he quieted.

"The fruit of restoration, the essence of vitality. The divinity demands more adherents. Manifest the power, enact further rites, until the god incarnates in this realm."

"I—I don't get it," Jack muttered faintly, but the voice fell silent, deepening his bewilderment.

What do I do now? What is all this? Jack pondered. The voice, the divine references, this "servant" role—had he been chosen? What lay ahead? And a god?

A god?

His respiration quickened uncontrollably, the harrowing, ominous apparition and the god's invocation plunging him into a frenzied state.

"The master has arrived!" Some devotees cried out. At the entrance, a middle-aged man in modest attire entered with a smile, escorted by several white-robed burly men.

The somewhat chaotic venue hushed considerably. The master ascended the stage, unaware of Elder Li's disheveled demeanor below.

"So much... anguished energy," the master intoned, eyes shut as if attuned to unseen forces.

"I perceive it—numerous pleas for redemption, echoes from your souls." He proceeded, addressing the group: "I'm delighted you've all come, especially those from afar."

The audience comprised veteran members and novices. Following the standard preamble, the master launched into the routine: summoning a few shills for a "divine communion ceremony," then having zealous elders recount experiences and chant scriptures. Once the ambiance peaked, the fanatics would rally the crowd, inviting newcomers to "commune"—in truth, seating them on electrified cushions, incrementally shocking them while psychological cues convinced them of entry into a "sacred domain."

The script was rote. Absent mishaps, today would conclude effortlessly.

As the master applied "sanctified water" to his hands, poised to commence the act, Jack heard the voice anew.

"The hour has come, servant of the divine. Commence. Unveil the vitality's might. I confer upon you the potency of life and flesh."

This—is this the god? Guiding me? Jack's unrest intensified. He eyed the purported master onstage, palpating a performer's brow, and rose to his feet.