CH.21 Blood Key

“Is this… a divine artifact?” Jack asked, his hands trembling as he cradled the crimson, egg-like object, his voice filled with awe.

“This is a key,” the voice replied. “Distribute and reclaim these Blood Keys. Collect more blood for me—until the gate opens.”

“The gate? The Godchild’s birth?” Jack asked, completely baffled, but the voice had vanished.

“Elder Jack, what is it?” a follower asked.

“God has bestowed a new mission upon me!” Jack’s eyes blazed with zeal. “God says His child is about to descend!”

“What?” The followers gasped, the revelation sparking excited chaos. It was all too abrupt for them.

“If the Godchild arrives…” Jack’s voice shook with excitement. “I’ll be rewarded! And you—all who believe in Him—will receive divine grace!”

“Grace? Like health?” a follower asked.

“How could it be something as simple as health? This is God!” Jack snapped, annoyed by the lowly expectation. “A great divinity coming to this world will surely transform it into paradise, and only the devout will enter, basking in eternal wealth and glory!”

The followers cheered along, even if they didn’t fully grasp his words.

“Now, I need thirteen of you,” Jack declared. “Mia, Liam, Li Jie…” Those named froze for a moment, then stepped forward.

“I’m giving you a crucial task: take these sacred relics and spread the Holy Blood Church to major cities. I’ll provide the funds—just spread the word as far and fast as possible. God is growing impatient.”

Mia, one of the thirteen, was the woman who’d battled cancer before. In her fifties, she’d immigrated to the U.S. twenty years ago.

She lived in a shared basement apartment, working as a cleaner. From afternoon to late night, she kept things spotless, tidying the floors and taking out the trash her male housemate ignored. She’d nag occasionally, but he let it slide since she kept the kitchen pristine.

Mia lived a solitary life, infertile and childless, divorced a decade ago, trapped in a monotonous daily grind. Until a stomach pain left her curled up in the bathroom. She was discovered and rushed to the hospital, diagnosed with late-stage stomach cancer.

She couldn’t afford treatment; even the ambulance bill stung. Maybe she’d die…

Then she recalled her landlord Jack’s mentions of the “Spirit Vein Assembly.” Usually slow on repairs, he responded fast this time, driving her to their ritual.

Facing death, Mia joined. Believing in a post-death “new world” at least eased the wait.

Then Jack assaulted the Assembly’s leader, proclaiming himself a true divine messenger. As the burly men’s pain lifted, Mia raised her hand. At first, she didn’t believe—the fake-smiling, rent-hiking Jack as God’s envoy? Absurd. But she raised it anyway.

When Leader Jack pointed at her, the comfort—better than any painkiller—made her cry out, “God!”

Jack ignored her after, but returning to her cluttered room, tears flowed. She’d found true purpose in life.

Today, selected—this must be God’s plan!

Unbeknownst to her, Mia was chosen because she bombarded Jack with messages about house issues, most frequently lately. He remembered her name. The others were chosen similarly—just easy to recall; otherwise, he’d scroll through his contacts.

Now, Jack conjured more crimson eggs from thin air, explaining their effect: hold and pray for blessings. He outlined preaching guidelines, ordering them to prepare tonight and head to other cities tomorrow with loads of these red eggs and funds to evangelize.

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In a Pentagon office, Defense Secretary Pat sipped coffee, scanning a report on his computer. White House Chief of Staff Amara was seated across from him.

“I’ve gone through these files—hardly any confirmed facts, scant data. We’re basically opening blind boxes here, knowing nothing,” Pat shook his head. “How does the President view all this?”

“The President said to brief him only after deeper intel and key details emerge. For now, it’s on you to handle,” Amara replied.

“He’s busy with midterms and his Nobel Peace Prize—that’s way more important than mysterious events,” Pat quipped sarcastically, then turned serious. “The report mentions ashes left after that mysterious man destroyed the monster. Any analysis of the composition?”

“Secretary, the analysis is at the bottom. It shows similarity to wall plaster.”

“So, basically nothing. And they dumped a pile of paranormal reports on me—I see no connections, except they’re all in the same city.” Pat’s fingers clenched into fists. “Plus, this video and report on some mysterious group in that city. You think it ties to the monster?”

“You’re asking the wrong person, Secretary. I’m just the Chief of Staff,” Amara shook her head. “My clearance on secrets isn’t that high. Want me to call the CIA Director?”

“Alright, thanks, Ms. Amara.” Pat took a sip of coffee, then reopened the video: a masked girl felling robbers with flying nails, Taser-like effect. As for connections, Pat had no clue. He’d ordered an investigation into her identity, with all mysterious event probes conducted discreetly—not alarming the public.

When these mysteries first hit his desk, Pat was at a loss. The U.S. lacked a dedicated paranormal department—the Blue Book Project was a facade, annual UFO hearings just tax-wasting pandering to conspiracy nuts. So, the government could only gather evidence first, analyze it, and then act.

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Jane’s Apartment

Jane pondered while making fries. Working from home gave her plenty of cooking time.

The Holy Blood Church expanded rapidly, netting one or two thousand points daily. The 4,000 needed for D-tier filled up fast.

But she had other tasks. First, the hierarchy system. She’d set six tiers but lacked details. The worldview needed rigor to avoid slip-ups, not slapdash. She had to make the tiers’ mechanics more “scientific.”

Second, building a large otherworld. A long-term goal—currently, she could only patch together small spaces, designing meticulously, and it was time-consuming. She needed a project manager.

“Gonna need more talent,” Jane nodded, fishing out the fries and tasting one.

“Not bad—way better than last time’s burnt chicken.” She smiled contentedly.

Now, wait for everything to unfold as planned.