The Star Union, one of the three great superpowers of the universe.
Compared to the Cult Empire, Megacorp, or other lesser factions, the Star Union has one particularly unusual trait:
Machines hold absolute dominion over intelligent life.
Every sector military, economy, security, healthcare, education—is monopolized by a twelve-member Machine Council of androids. More than that, the council directly governs the lives of all who live under the Union.
From the moment a citizen is converted into a cyborg, their career and residence are assigned. Even hobbies and entertainment belong to the sphere of control.
On the surface, this creates a perfectly ordered society. The Star Union has no beggars, no homeless. Crime rates are drastically lower than in other superpowers.
But is the Star Union truly a paradise? Of course not.
Among the three great powers, it suffers the highest defection rate. Many cyborgs choose suicide, or else flee to become pirates, unable to endure the suffocating surveillance and control.
One cyborg pirate once said:
"That place is a prison on a cosmic scale. Hell disguised as guaranteed survival."
The Machine Council knew this well. They hated population instability, so to appease their citizens' impulses and feed their suppressed desires, they created outlets.
One such outlet: the Beast Gladiator Arenas.
Captured beasts were thrown into the arenas, forced to battle to the death for entertainment.
There, the citizens could indulge in things otherwise forbidden drugs, gambling, even raw violence. The arenas became immensely popular. On occasion, fights with especially famous monsters even drew spectators from Megacorp and the Cult Empire.
The KOL Beast Arena
The KOL arena was one of the most infamous. A colossal colosseum where hundreds of thousands filled the stands. All eyes were fixed on the blood-soaked pit below.
"Kill him! Tear him apart!"
"Left! Dodge left!"
At the center, a wolf-like monstrosity battered a mechanical horror known as a Screamer. Both were already ravaged from combat. The wolf bled from countless wounds, while the Screamer was missing half its mechanical legs.
The wolf lunged again, its blade-like fangs slicing through yet another limb.
"Fuck yeah! Now crush the head!"
"Damn it! I told you, dodge left!"
The Screamer bucked wildly, trying to throw its foe off, but in vain. The wolf relentlessly targeted its life-support core.
As the inevitable end drew near, the stands split into shrieks of joy and wails of despair. And then, in the final strike the wolf's fangs pierced straight through the Screamer's skull.
｢Victory for Sharpnodon, the Bad Razor! As sharp and clean as its name!｣
Cheers and curses roared from the packed arena. Bets won and lost in a heartbeat.
｢But of course, all of this was just an appetizer for the battle to come! Prepare yourselves for our true champion!｣
The word champion made the entire colosseum quake. The roar of the crowd was deafening.
｢Who dares challenge the indomitable king of KOL? None other than the sensational rookie, a blood-soaked fairywing risen from hell itself 'Bloody Brute' comes for the throne!｣
The waves of excitement redoubled. Bets were gathered, drugs passed out one final break before blood would spill again.
A Watcher Among the Crowd
Cyborgs surged out from the stands into the outer plaza.
"Hey, Richlv, are you going for the drug handouts too?"
The one called Richlv laughed awkwardly and shook his head.
"No. Just want to see which side the crowd's betting heavier on."
"Man, you're the dullest miner in the whole galaxy."
The others clicked their tongues and left, leaving him behind.
The smile faded from Richlv's face.
He was no miner.
He was an overseer, assigned to KOL under the pretense of a harmless worker. His real mission was surveillance.
"...."
His sharp gaze swept over the crowd.
For this was one of the few spaces in the Star Union where limited freedom was permitted and it had to be watched more carefully than anywhere else.
Recently, across several planets, unauthorized and unidentified organizations had begun springing up all at once. No one understood how, but somehow these groups managed to increase their numbers while evading the Star Union's watchful surveillance.
For the Union, whose motto was stability through control, the existence of such rogue elements was intolerable.
Richlv, a surveillance agent working under deep cover, felt this truth more keenly than anyone. He swore to uncover these conspirators and root them out.
'The next match is the last one, isn't it.'
Yet, despite his determination, he had uncovered no suspicious activity. Everyone his eyes passed over was merely doing the usual injecting themselves with the drugs provided by the arena, gambling furiously on the upcoming match, or gawking at the displays plastered across massive holoscreens.
'Hm?'
Just as disappointment began to creep in, he noticed them.
A group.
'Coldbloods?'
Since the outbreak of war between Megacorp and the Cult Empire, the number of Coldbloods migrating into the Star Union had risen sharply.
Cyborg augmentations were originally invented for humans, so converting a Coldblood wholesale wasn't possible. Even so, their hardy biology made partial augmentations and the implantation of control devices feasible. A fair proportion of Coldblood refugees had thus been accepted into the Union.
In fact, tonight's crowd probably included a tenth of them, though not enough to be strange.
Among them, Richlv sighted two Coldblood cyborgs engaged in conversation. Nobody paid them much mind. But something in them tugged at his instincts.
The first, a male, spoke with fervor. His narrow, snake-like eyes gleamed not with intoxicated pleasure like the other addicts around them, but with something else entirely: madness.
The other was an old Coldblood, listening in silence. Yet his expression was one of fear, shrunken and hesitant.
Madness and terror. Neither emotion belonged in the revelry of the arena.
'Let's take a closer look.'
The camera mounted in Richlv's mechanical eye shifted to focus on the speaker's mouth. Lips stretching unnaturally over sharp fangs, word-shapes became clear.
'Voltek… mid… faith… recruits... more joining… wait. Don't tell me—'
Richlv's eyes narrowed.
'Vortex One cultists.'
The Vortex One Cult was infamous far beyond its home in the Cult Empire a fanatical, blood-stained organization so vicious that even the Union's law enforcement tracked their movements.
'Could they really have come here because of the war?'
It wasn't impossible. Even criminals needed a stable environment to lay roots.
He weighed his options.
"Excuse me."
The Coldbloods stiffened instantly, their hoods shifting as their eyes darted toward him with suspicion.
Richlv paused.
He could reveal himself now, expose his identity as an overseer, and arrest them immediately. But that would drive the rest into deeper hiding, making them even harder to catch.
Better, far better, was to trace the infection to its source follow this thread to the cult's hidden root.
"Uh… where's the restroom?"
"…Straight down to the right, past the holoboard."
"Thanks."
As he left, his cybernetic eye clicked softly quietly capturing detailed images of their faces. Through their implants and registrations, their identities, workplaces, and addresses would be found soon enough. A line into the organization had been drawn.
Then, the announcer's triumphant voice thundered across the arena, drowning all else:
｢Ladies and gentlemen! The Bloody Brute versus the Champion! Tonight we witness the rise or fall of a new king!｣
The crowd exploded into rapture.
Richlv turned on his heel, ignoring the roar. His business was done. As the bloodthirsty cheers reverberated behind him, he slipped from the colosseum's gates into the night.
***
｢Work shift ended. All personnel, cease operations and return home.｣
KOL's Bio–Gas Production Plant No. 35.
As the announcement echoed, the workers hastily prepared to leave. One after another, they returned their tools back to the android attendants and streamed out of the factory like a receding tide.
But not everyone left.
"..."
A handful of Coldbloods exchanged a meaningful glance. Quietly, they pulled out thin chips from their pockets and inserted them into the terminals implanted on their wrists.
"Departure confirmed."
"Departure confirmed."
The patrolling androids, moving through the workshop to check attendance and departures, registered them as having gone. None noticed they had stayed.
｢Closing facility.｣
When even the androids left and the lights dimmed, only then did the Coldbloods finally move.
"This way."
The one with snake-like, cunning eyes raised a flashlight and beckoned. Unlike his sharp and confident demeanor, the rest—gaunt, thin, and sickly—huddled toward him hesitantly.
"Come. Follow me."
He guided them deeper into the factory until they reached the section where the bags of organic matter for gas production were stacked.
The older Coldblood among them coughed harshly.
"Cough why… why here?"
Instead of answering, the snake-eyed man began dragging away the stack of sacks pressed against the wall. Behind them, a small hidden door came into view.
Creak.
When opened, it revealed a narrow staircase descending into blackness.
"Down. This is the place. Go first."
The old man and the frail Coldbloods hesitated, glancing at one another, then slowly began to descend.
Below, the air changed completely.
The hidden space was scarcely larger than a storage room, lit dimly by flickering candles. Yet the sight that awaited them was like a demonic sanctuary.
Blasphemous symbols drawn in blood smeared across walls and floor. At the center lay the mutilated body of a Coldblood woman, her corpse cruelly hacked apart.
Surrounding her were young Coldblood fanatics, their feral eyes glinting with hunger and madness, glaring at the new arrivals like predators sizing up prey.
"Wh—what is this?!"
"It is a ritual."
The snake-eyed man calmly stepped down the last stair. He locked the door behind him with a metallic click.
"The One desires that we be truly free—from laws, from morality, from order, from every shackle. Only through release can we enter His embrace."
One of the younger zealots handed him a ritual dagger, its blade already crusted with old stains.
"Before we return to Him, we must prove we have shed our chains—through blood, through flesh, through pain."
"Through blood. Through flesh. Through pain."
"Through blood. Through flesh. Through pain."
The cultists chanted solemnly, their voices low and chilling.
Clutching the dagger, the snake-eyed man approached the frail Coldbloods who had followed in ignorance.
Their footsteps echoed closer, the knife gleaming faintly in candlelight.
At that moment, the ritual was about to begin.
"Let even our kin have a chance to prove themselves. Offer the blood of the weak to Him."
There was no need to clarify who the weak were meant to be.
"Just one question."
The old Coldblood fixed his gaze grimly on the mutilated corpse of the woman.
"If we do something like this beneath the factory, won't it be discovered quickly? How do you hide it?"
"You're wondering about that now?"
"Yes."
The older man was destined to be torn apart anyway, so the cultist saw no harm in answering casually.
"We hacked the factory's central computer and internal map, covering up this chamber's very existence. As for bodies, toss them into organic fuel sacks for processing—easy disposal."
"Hacking…?"
"Our order exists in many places. We help each other when needed."
He said no more. Instead he raised the dagger high.
"Enough. Brothers, decide now!"
The younger cultists unsheathed their own blades. The threat was obvious: refusal meant being slaughtered as sacrifices.
"If you refuse, you'll join the offerings… wha—?"
But the reaction he saw wasn't the terror he expected.
A moment before, the gaunt Coldbloods had trembled like prey before a predator. Now their eyes were resolute, filled not with fear, but with searing contempt.
"Truly, our kind's darkness runs deep, It is shameful to call you kin."
"…What?! Don't tell me… Star Union sent you?"
"Star Union? We serve a power far greater. Not a petty demon commanding such filth as this, but a force immeasurably vast."
"You dare—?!"
And then it happened.
One of the supposed weaklings standing behind the old man suddenly opened his jaws unnaturally wide. A torrent of black fluid spewed forth, pouring like a waterfall onto the stone floor.
"But even so, our Great One will put this to use."
"What… what is this?!"
"The Apostle of the Great One has spoken: offer forth the rock you have polished."
Others rushed to support the one vomiting the black tide.
On the ground, that liquid writhed like a living thing. Shapes emerged, indescribable horrors birthing themselves from the seething ooze.
"T-That… what is THAT?!"
"Run! Run, all of y—aaaghh!"
"You bastards, what have you...urrraaahhhck!"
The sanctum dissolved into chaos in seconds. Cultists screamed as the eldritch monstrosities tore into them.
At the center, the elder spoke with quiet finality, like a judge announcing a verdict.
"This altar belongs henceforth to the Great One."
Outside, the factory lay silent in the dead of night.
There was no one left alive to hear the last cries.
——————
There are no officially recognized unemployed people in the Star Union.
Every citizen receives cybernetic surgery and is then permanently assigned a profession. Until new orders come from above, that job becomes their lifelong occupation.
Since all cyborgs work and rest at the same hours, residential districts are always quiet.
At the usual working hour, when everyone had gone out, a group of figures was walking through the heart of the residential block. They stopped in front of a vacant apartment.
"Unit 35, Third-Class Residence, Address 23. This is the place."
"Begin the search."
Armed androids and surveillance officers entered the apartment. Among them was Surveillance Officer Richeulbi, the one who had drawn up this operation.
A few days earlier at the Beast Arena, he had noticed some suspicious Coldbloods. This was the apartment where they lived.
The two Coldbloods differed only in the time they had defected to the Star Union. Their workplace and residence happened to be the same. In fact, the Biogas Plant at Unit 35 where both of them worked was known to employ many Coldbloods.
It was the perfect ground for a cult to spread its preaching.
'Their personal files didn't reveal anything unusual….'
That absence of anomalies had only made Richeulbi more suspicious. After all, his own camera footage had caught them mentioning Vortex-One.
The higher command had acknowledged this, authorizing the house-search operation.
'If we search thoroughly, something is bound to turn up.'
The sector assigned to Richeulbi's team was an old Coldblood's residence.
The resident had only immigrated to the Star Union two weeks prior. As such, the narrow single-room space contained nothing but the standard government-issued furnishings.
"No irregularities detected."
"Check the walls and flooring. Anything concealed?"
"Measurements show no abnormalities."
They even stripped away wallpaper and flooring, but it was all in vain.
The only discovery was a wire frame twisted into the shape of a pentagonal ring.
"This doesn't make sense…."
Richeulbi stared down at the crude object in his hand.
Within the Star Union, it was illegal for an individual to own any unauthorized item. Yet what Richeulbi had been hoping to uncover was tangible proof of cultic activity not something this primitive.
'Do I use this as leverage anyway?'
"Surveillance Officer Richeulbi," reported one of the androids beside him. "Incoming report from another search unit."
"What is it?"
"They uncovered large amounts of bloodstains, fragments of flesh, and several bladed weapons."
"What!? Then it wasn't this guy, but the other one? Good. Notify the factory at once and move to arrest."
"Understood."
When his suspicions matched the report, Richeulbi's face brightened. But the satisfaction didn't last long.
"He's disappeared?"
"Yes. After leaving work two days ago, there has been no record of his return."
"Surveillance footage?"
"Checked by Officer Zenai. No footage exists of him after the disappearance."
"…Not even the cameras caught him?"
Richeulbi's expression crumpled.
'Could someone have leaked the operation? No… he vanished too quickly for that.'
Two days prior was only a day into the preliminary investigation. At that stage, even his own colleagues hadn't known he was pursuing cult followers.
'If the leak isn't the cause, then there's another reason….'
"And what of this room's current owner? Has he also vanished?"
"Confirmed. He is still at work. Shall we proceed with arrest?"
"Not yet."
Richeulbi thought back to the events at the Beast Arena.
Come to think of it, a sly-faced Coldblood like a serpent had seemed to be drawing this room's owner into the cult.
Whether or not the man had truly joined was irrelevant. The fact remained he now had contact with them.
If the missing cultist really had fled, then this room's owner was the only lead left to pursue him.
'If we arrest him now, the cult will surely learn of it….'
And once alerted, they would erase all remaining traces beyond recovery.
He needed a different, more discreet approach.
"Analyze his human connections. See if he has links to either Coldblood. I'll assign that task to the Surveillance Officer Zenai."
"Reply from Zenai confirmed. Accepted."
"In the meantime, I will take up another infiltration mission. Requesting a cover profession."
"Orders transmitted. Permission granted."
Fortunately, there was one easy way to draw close to this apartment's owner.
"If the owner applies to visit the Beast Arena, report to me immediately."
"Confirmed."
In that place, where everyone was too consumed by violence and madness, he could make contact without arousing suspicion.
All that remained was for Richeulbi to wait for the day he'd been hoping for.
And that day arrived sooner than expected.
The very day the secret search operation was concluded, the old Coldblood submitted a request to visit the Beast Arena.
As soon as the news reached him, Richeulbi headed straight for the Arena.
｢Next match is….｣
Today, there was no famous bout scheduled, leaving the mood rather subdued. Nearly half the seats were empty.
'There he is.'
During the intermission, Richeulbi spotted the old Coldblood.
He was surrounded by a group called Coldbloods in varied clothing. Some looked like fellow workers from the Biogas Plant, while others seemed to be employees from entirely different jobs.
'Wait… what's that?'
On the uniforms of the Biogas Plant workers, including the old Coldblood, there was a small scrawled marking.
A pentagon, formed by five dots connected together.
It was the exact same shape as the object discovered during the raid.
I knew it. There's something here.
Perhaps it was a profane symbol shared within the cult.
Cautiously, Richeulbi drew closer.
"…Does this paradise you speak of really exist?"
"To be honest, it's not the paradise you might imagine. The climate is bitterly cold, and it's filled with dangerous wild beasts."
"But then, isn't it dangerous? Why would we…?"
"Because there is freedom. Thanks to the care of the Great Ones, survival and freedom are assured there."
"The Great Ones? What is that supposed to be some kind of divine providence cultists babble about?"
Unlike before, the old Coldblood was speaking in earnest, passionately describing something.
The others were listening intently, so absorbed in his words they didn't even notice when Richeulbi approached.
"No, they are not empty idols like that… Oh? May I help you?"
The old man looked up, recognizing him or so it seemed.
Richeulbi covered himself with a polite, feigned smile.
"Hello. I've just been assigned to the gas plant. I noticed many here seem to work there as well."
"Is that so? Then welcome."
It appeared the old Coldblood didn't recognize his face at all.
'Perfect.'
Seeing how the man greeted him warmly, oblivious, Richeulbi thought: This was the perfect moment to extract information.
"May I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"That symbol the one on your clothes. Is it some factory mark?"
"Oh, this? No. It's the emblem of our faith."
"Your faith?"
The old man revealed it without hesitation, as if it were no secret at all.
"Yes. It's our token of gratitude to those who saved us."
"Saved you, huh."
Hah. Must be their way of referring to the cult.
Suppressing a mocking smile, Richeulbi pressed further.
"In that case, could I perhaps have one too?"
"Of course."
"Ha, I knew it would be wait, what? Really!?"
"Certainly. If you wish, you may even attend one of our gatherings."
The unexpected answer caught Richeulbi off guard.
And he wasn't the only one. Other Coldbloods without the symbol also exchanged startled looks at the old man's words.
"Elder… isn't paradise meant only for us?"
"Not at all. The Great Ones do not divide people by race or usefulness. The opportunity is open to all."
Among the cult, the ones who always took part were Coldbloods or outright cultists. He had never heard of any of them trying to recruit a cyborg before.
'Did their policy change after crossing into the Star Union?'
If so, perhaps it was for the better. This might be the perfect chance to infiltrate the cult from within and expose its true nature.
"I truly appreciate the offer. I'd be honored to attend."
"Excellent. There's a gathering tomorrow. I'll invite you then."
The old Coldblood smiled and offered his hand.
'Tomorrow, your cult comes to an end.'
Feigning the same false smile, Richeulbi clasped it.
The next day, Richeulbi went to the Biogas Plant under his assumed identity.
Outside, an android strike force stood by, ready to intervene the moment trouble arose. Confident in his preparations, he waited.
He crossed paths a few times with those he had met the day before, but they showed no unusual reaction. He didn't mind. After all, this was supposed to be a secret gathering such behavior was only to be expected.
｢Work shift completed. All employees…｣
As the day's tasks ended, the old Coldblood approached him.
"Please, come with me."
"Eh? But there are surveillance androids monitoring us."
"They won't be an issue."
Strangely, the androids seemed not to register them at all.
The same was true of the other Coldblood workers nearby. They chatted freely, sharing food that seemed brought from home, completely unconcerned.
"All of us here may belong to the same race, but we come from many different homeworlds. Being in such a foreign place can be difficult. These moments together are necessary."
The old Coldblood spoke with a calm, almost gentle tone.
But to Richeulbi, the scene was alarming.
'They already hacked the entire plant? Already?'
It was impossible for just a handful of cultists to seize control of an entire facility let alone right under his nose. This meant their influence reached far beyond the plant itself.
'When in the world did this happen…?'
"This way."
While he wrestled with his unease, they arrived at the organic-materials storage room. The old Coldblood shifted some of the stacked sacks aside, revealing a hidden door.
"Let's head down."
"…Down?"
"The gathering you've been waiting for lies below."
The door opened onto a stairwell that sank into pitch‑black darkness.
Richeulbi hesitated. Should he issue the attack order to the androids now? Or wait a little longer and press in deeper?
Before he could decide, the old Coldblood had already started descending.
'Tch!'
Grinding his teeth, Richeulbi hurried after, chasing the figure who seemed to vanish into the blackness.
'I can't let him slip away.'
It was already clear this old cultist was no ordinary follower. Securing him and wringing out every detail was imperative.
But as Richeulbi descended, step after step, something felt wrong.
The man should have been just ahead of him, but the stairwell was empty. He saw no silhouette, no movement. Only the echo of his own footsteps resounded in the darkness.
It was as if he were walking the stairs alone.
'Wait… this stairwell. How far does it even go?'
He had already descended so deep that the faint light from the storage room above had vanished completely. For such a long staircase to exist beneath a mere Biogas Plant was absurd.
Or maybe he wasn't really going down at all. The darkness was so absolute it bent his sense of direction.
Something was wrong. Very wrong. Cold sweat beaded his forehead as unease tightened his chest.
"This is Richeulbi. Android strike team, move in at once."
｢chhhkrkkk｣
"Repeating: Android units, move in now damn it!"
For reasons unknown, his comms were dead.
He kept trying to send a signal, but just then, he noticed a faint glow flickering below.
"..."
From the black void that had filled the stairwell until now, light suddenly appeared, flaunting its presence.
Richeulbi swallowed hard and drew the laser pistol he had brought with him.
With each echoing step, the glow grew closer. The light leaked out from a chamber at the base of the staircase.
At last, he reached the doorway and peered carefully inside.
"Huh?"
The old Coldblood was nowhere to be seen.
Instead, a cult woman sat there with her eyes closed. Dressed in black, her body was shapeless, the only discernible features being her face and her horns.
Around her, lamps had been embedded into the floor in a ring, encircling her form. The arrangement resembled a ritual altar.
Immediately, Richeulbi raised his gun and aimed at her head.
"You! Don't move!"
Slowly, she opened her eyes at his shout.
"If you try anything—"
But his warning tapered off. His voice faltered and then stopped altogether.
Her eyes weren't like those of any other cultist. They weren't eyes at all.
It was as if her eyeballs had been carved out, leaving only deep, ink-black voids.
The head of those empty black eyes rose higher as she lifted herself upright. But something was wrong.
Her face now loomed three meters high. No ordinary cultist could ever stand at such a height.
And then, the so-called 'lamps' began to shift. The glowing objects lifted up from the ground, hovering into the air to orbit her head.
Only then did Richeulbi realize.
What sat inside that chamber was not a mere cultist.
"Your service is appreciated, elder."
It was something wearing the cultist's face. Some inhuman presence.
"An officer of the police. Perfect timing...I had a need for one."
"U… uuaaaghhh!"
The instant the thing spoke, Richeulbi broke. Terror overwhelmed him, and he pulled the trigger.
The shriek of a cyborg, the flash of laser fire the chamber was lit for but a second, spilling light into the corridor.
Moments later.
Richeulbi stepped out of the room.
He climbed back toward the storage area, switching on his communicator.
"This is Richeulbi. Abort the mission. The Biogas Plant at Unit 35 holds no cult presence. No questions will be taken."
He stared blankly into nothing, repeating the same words over and over.
"There is no cult here. I repeat. There is no problem here."
No one in the factory paid him any mind.
Because by then, many of the cyborgs had already left, wearing the exact same blank expression as Richeulbi.
They all knew what mission had been imprinted upon him.
And they all knew he would not be the last.
-x-X-x-
'Smooth enough.'
It had been a few weeks since I entered the territory of the Star Union.
Preparations to infiltrate the capital city, Zaks-01, were steadily progressing.
'And as a bonus, my faction is growing well too.'
Right now, the two main tasks before me are clear.
First, to find Beomho, who knows the secrets of this world. Second, to rescue Isabel, who left in search of a way to revive her dead sister and in doing so, also bring PS-111 back.
Both are matters I must resolve as soon as possible, but my body is only one.
So, I tried a method I had not yet used.
'Making use of my own faction.'
The Coldblood pack once led by the Screamer Sisters, and the young Wolfs saved by the Mother of the Sky, are now spreading across the galaxy, building up strength under the name of a new order.
The Cult.
'Hmph. Cult, of all things.'
The name had been decided unanimously in a council of Coldbloods, Wolfs, and Gallagons.
The beings they worship are five: myself, Adhai, the Mother of the Sky, and the Screamer Sisters. Their symbol is a five-pointed shape, the pentagon.
As you can see, except for me, the rest all have ties to the people of White Stone.
I had asked to be left out, but everyone objected fiercely. They insisted that I was the true center, the axis for all, and that excluding me was unthinkable.
'Never thought I'd live to see a religion that worships an Amorph.'
It's been well over a month now, yet it still feels strange.
Though it's not really my place to say, I can't help but think they've simply been influenced after staying close to me.
Regardless, this cult devoted to us is growing at a terrifying pace, despite being so new.
What began with only fifty members now numbers in the thousands, spreading followers not only through the Star Union, but also into the Cult Empire and even Megacorp.
Most recruits are Coldbloods or Wolfs the same races as the founding fifty.
'Both races are familiar with gods and salvation, after all.'
Perhaps for that reason, they easily grasped the teachings of the cult.
Of course, that doesn't mean every believer is full of unshakable faith. Among the thousands, only a handful match the loyalty of the original fifty.
But that's fine. A follower is also the eye of the cult. Simply seeing what unfolds throughout the galaxy and reporting it back to me is more than enough.
'And that's exactly what happened this time.'
One follower reported that the Vortex-One cult had appeared on the planet KOL. They were recruiting in a leniently patrolled zone, a beast-fighting arena.
I struck immediately and swallowed them whole.
This very biogas plant where I now stand was once their secret den.
'To think the cult came even this far…'
Only two races can make pacts with Vortex-One: the Cult and the Coldbloods. Even then, the Cult cannot do so without Coldblood mediation.
For a cyborg to gain Vortex-One's blessings is impossible.
'Yet they had been here for quite some time.'
And not only that they'd even devised their own independent hacking methods. Proof that they'd been operating for quite a while.
No doubt they'd already bought off not only the plant manager but also high-ranking cyborg officials.
'Even so, there's no need to worry.'
The Vortex-One cult on KOL has been erased, and the security forces are under control. The officials who colluded with them will soon be captured.
There are no obstacles left in the way of my goals.
'Once this planet is in my hands, I'll be free to move with ease later.'
Naturally, entering Zaks-01 will also become far simpler.
No matter how watchful the Machine Committee may be, it would never cross their minds that one of their own planets had been snatched away without a trace.
I lifted my body up from where I had been lying low.
Stretching lightly, I noticed my eye level was far lower than before. My height was roughly three meters. My movements are far lighter.
'Of course. With this smaller form, it only makes sense.'
My body length reached four meters, and when standing on six legs, my shoulder height came to three. I possessed no tail, and the upper torso was sharply developed. Overall, I resembled a bear but with six legs.
The differences were obvious: instead of fur, my entire frame was covered in a hard carapace, and where a head should have been, something entirely different protruded. At the end of the torso, attached where the head ought to be, were the face of a female Cultist and four luminous growths.
The fact that I bore the face of an intelligent being was proof enough this was not my true body.
This was the creation of a newly acquired ability.
I summoned forth the textbox I had seen before.
｢Faceless Apostle: Your immense will cannot be contained within a single vessel. Generates an apostle bearing the head of a sentient being. You may synchronize with the apostle to control it. While synchronized, the main body cannot move.
-Possession: Become black liquid and inhabit another intelligent being.
-Devouring Gaze: Implants hostile psychic power into sentient targets, brainwashing them.
-Destructive Howl: Unleashes sonic waves that shatter matter.
-Essence Repository: The apostle can store up to five genetic essences.
-House of Consciousness: Creates a temporary nest to supply energy to the apostle and extend its duration.
-Five Faces: Gains additional effects depending on the species of face held.
-Cultist Face: Strengthens the effect of Devouring Gaze.
-Human Face: Increases the speed of creating the House of Consciousness.
-Cyborg Face: Enhances physical abilities.
-Coldblood Face: Reduces side effects of Possession.
*P.S: A great hunter always has the finest hound at his side.｣
The Faceless Apostle is a unique trait, born from combining summoning-related traits such as 'Parasite Swarm' and Humanoid Parasite.
It allowed me to create an underlying fully obedient to my will.
It might resemble 'Hydra Division', the ability to spawn clones, but the differences were significant.
'This one is far more versatile.'
The being moving on this planet was not me, but an Apostle carrying my consciousness. My true body remained far away from here.
Thanks to 'Possession' through a Coldblood of the Cult, I had entered Star Union territory with ease. Then, by constructing a temporary nest the House of Consciousness I established the link with my main body and began operating.
Without the Apostle, reaching this point would have taken me far longer.
'This innate ability meshes perfectly with the Cult's activities.'
I focused my awareness on the faces. The head of Alshas, an antlered Cultist, shriveled like a deflating tube, secreting glistening mucus. The mucus formed a film, completely smothering the head.
Then, one of the luminous pods split apart, and from within burst the head of a Coldblood.
It was the head of the cult leader I had devoured recently.
"Not a voice I particularly care for."
Just as the sly appearance suggested, the voice carried no charisma, thin and reedy. With mild irritation, I switched back to the face of Alshas.
As shown, the Faceless Apostle inherited some of the traits of the Humanoid Parasite. Instead of five merging into one, I could now summon forth whichever face I desired at will.
It also retained another ability the power to shatter the minds of sentient beings and bend them to control. Unlike the parasite, it could not command them with total precision, but it had no upper limit on how many it could brainwash. The effect endured until the Apostle was destroyed.
The Apostle's own battle strength, roughly equal to that of an upper-mid tier player, was another useful bonus.
'If only it could extract memories, it would be perfect.'
Unfortunately, unlike the parasite, the Apostle could not summon forth the minds of the faces it carried to converse with them. If not synchronized with me, it simply lay dormant.
'The storage mechanism for essences is still fundamentally the same as before…'
The memories must surely be inside those heads, but I had no way to draw them out.
'Regrettable, but unavoidable.'
I had anticipated this possibility when creating the trait. Perhaps one day, a way to restore memories would present itself.
'Still, what I gained in exchange for sealed memories far outweighs the loss.'
By obtaining the Faceless Apostle, I had finally advanced into Stage 3 of the Cosmic Monster type. With that came new rewards. Each stage had always granted overwhelming benefits, and this time was no exception.
That wasn't all my true form had also changed drastically. Even I wondered if I could still rightfully be called an Amorph.
'I wonder how Adhai will judge this change.'
There were aspects Gallagons would like... and others they would despise. I honestly could not tell which way she would lean.
As I was musing idly, I sensed a familiar movement from above. A visitor. I dismissed the textbox and manipulated the House of Consciousness.
Descending the stairs connected to the factory was an elderly Coldblood.
His name was Thuleja, the eldest among the Coldbloods rescued by the Screamer Sisters.
"Lord Amorph. I have news to deliver."
Thuleja gave a proper, courteous bow.
At the same time, the pink balloon he carried in his arms bounced free. Small tendrils sprouted from its body tendrils ending in little imitation mouths.
｢Fakebaby hello? Heeellloo!｣
"Hello."
Number 26 greeted me using its mimic-tendrils. It had accompanied the Coldbloods here.
"Did everything go well?"
"Yes. Number 26 handled the remnants of the cult admirably."
｢Handled! Haaandled!｣
"Well done."
Number 26 could emit psychic power that produced an EMP-like effect. Since it could also shrink its body, it had found a natural role here, providing aid to fellow believers.
'I was worried, but it seems to be adapting well.'
The Apostle itself lacked monstrous tentacles, and while Number 26 could mimic human speech, it did not truly understand every word. I had feared communication difficulties, but thankfully my worries were unfounded.
'How commendable.'
I gently patted Number 26 with a forepaw. It glowed cheerfully and clambered up my leg, settling onto my back.
｢Good! Fakebaby good!｣
"You two are still as close as ever."
"Of course."
｢Close! Clooose!｣
Thuleja, long accustomed to this sight, smiled softly.
"Now that I think of it was it Rebezha? The one who carried me earlier. How is she doing?"
"She is recovering well. After eating properly and resting, the aftereffects of possession have already faded. You need not worry."
"If it does become difficult for her, tell me. I'll help."
"Thank you. Rebezha will be overjoyed to know that Lord Amorph cares for her."
"…Ah. Good to hear. Anyway, did you have other business?"
Thuleja produced a small terminal from his pocket.
"Yes. In the process of dismantling the cult, we obtained useful information."
"Oh?"
"It is said that a grand tournament will be held in Zaks-01 to commemorate the Ascension Anniversary of the Great Warden. Each planetary arena has been ordered to send beasts to compete in the capital."
"A large-scale tournament in the capital…"
This was welcome news.
Its official name: the Beast War Grand Tournament. An event occasionally held in Zaks-01.
A spectacle where all manner of monsters fought each other, wildly popular both inside and outside the game. Some even made their living by broadcasting the matches.
But during such times, the capital was focused entirely on the tournament. Infiltration became difficult, as security grew far tighter than usual.
Indeed, when I recalled my previous incursions into Zaks-01, they had all taken place between tournaments.
'But this time, the situation is different.'
By posing as a gladiator sent from KOL's beast arena, slipping in would be simple.
"What's the date?"
"One month from now."
"A fighter selected for the Grand Tournament would need to be strong. Should I disguise myself as the champion?"
"That may prove troublesome. The champion, a beast known as Bloody Brute, has already departed for Zaks-01."
"Already?"
There was still a month until the tournament began, yet the champion had left early. Whoever owned that beast must be impatient.
"So, I prepared a list of well-known fighters from the arena."
Thuleja handed me the terminal.
"Perhaps one of these would suit your disguise."
"That may work."
With a forepaw, I swiped through the small screen. Then I noticed something peculiar.
'This fighter's master… works for the Surveillance Bureau.'
The rank was Senior Overseer quite high, even within the Bureau responsible for city security. Such a position allowed for a measure of personal freedom: keeping fighters for games, other indulgences, and so forth.
'It could just be a hobby…'
But considering that the cult had been recruiting at this very arena, a senior overseer who also owned a beast in competition it stank of suspicion.
"Sharkbear 'Craezoth'? Does this fighter catch your interest, Lord Amorph?"
"Not the fighter. Its master."
Could this official be the bureaucrat who aided the cult? As part of the Bureau, supplying hacking tools to them would be trivial.
'Should I capture him for questioning? A senior overseer could prove quite useful… ah.'
A different, far more amusing idea struck me. Risky, yes, but if it succeeded, the payoff would be extraordinary.
"This one. Let's go with him."
"As you command, Lord Amorph. Shall I bring him here?"
"No."
Unnecessary.
This time, I intended to go out and meet him myself.
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