Despite having one less person, as the ghoul-doctor oozed out the door in his transformed shape, the people inside the house immediately felt their pressure alleviated.

  “Mr. Lepton, what’s the situation outside?”

  The ghoul-doctor’s overflowing flesh congealed in the water. His ecstatic face surfaced from the amorphous mass of bone and flesh as he beheld countless wandering souls—some taking the shape of men, others women, their features blurred or clear, incessantly murmuring bewildering whispers.

  "Today, I made pork stew with onions. Come, have a taste..."

  "The Holy Spirit be praised, it's a 7! Ah, my apologies, friends, I now have 21..."

  They didn’t even realize they were dead, still repeating actions from their past lives and the last words they had ever spoken.

  These were the voices of ghosts, and any rational mind would shudder upon hearing them.

  Amid this nightmarous babble, a vicious echo reverberated deep within the soul of the ghoul-doctor. Long-suppressed cravings and instincts, confined within the house, burst through his human-like facade, shattering the fragile disguise.

  What a delightful melody! He couldn’t help but yearn to listen to it again and again.

  This was the hunting ground the Messiah had promised them!

  "I see... the serene ones singing by the spring-streams, waters flowing toward those who seek the Psalms of the Lord!"

  His voice distorted with excitement, resembling a beast’s roar, and this aberrant hunger infected the other specters. One by one, they shed skin, flesh, and bone, collapsing into clay-like masses before being remolded by unseen hands.

  Bat wings, tiny eyes lining scallop-like skirts, trembling insect limbs—pieces of flesh jumbled together in a grotesque nightmare.

  Standing amid these abominations, Ledbetter retained his human form, though he glanced around in clear discomfort.

  "Why hesitate? Still clinging to your long-rotted shell? The Master has broken your chains, yet you still bind yourself!" Miss Moore's entire face was now covered in soft, anemone-like tendrils, among which a squid-like beak emitted her shrill shriek.

  "But I... don’t know how to assume a more convenient form... Is there... any trick to it?"

  "Have you forgotten, Ledbetter?" Moore coaxed gently. "Endless history bears witness to our wisdom, carved deep into the spirals within us. We emerged from the same abyss, imitating each other as we climbed upward. Like monkeys, we once had dexterous hands; further back, we shared fur with beasts, born from wombs... Trace it back further, and we share ancestors with plants, even mold. These memories lie buried in your dreams—have you truly forgotten?"

  Memories etched in spirals... beginningless, endless dreams...

  Ledbetter’s expression cleared.

  Yes—those wondrous dreams. Whether born of moisture, wombs, or eggs; whether self-replicating or sexual... everything in this world stemmed from the same origin...

  At that moment, he felt himself collapsing and rebuilding. Alongside the terror of the unknown, an overwhelming sense of liberation and joy, like wildfire across a barren plain, consumed him entirely.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  "My Master has swallowed death, transforming Herself into an immortal Aeon! The unseen has devoured the seen! She has died and risen again, granting us the path to immortality! I shall proclaim Her radiance across worlds, display Her bounty with my lips, and bring spiritual resurrection to the faithless!"

  Like the rest, Ledbetter, now driven by a ravenous hunger, reveled in unspeakable euphoria as he shed his human guise and plunged into the water.

  The spirits ensnared by the Bee-god stood no chance against them. The house’s denizens feasted upon the Bee-god’s insect-limbed servants in the most primal way, yet none matched the ferocity of those who had abandoned humanity entirely. Though the insect-spirits were terrifying, their forms still followed logic—heads, torsos, abdomens. But the specters Yvette had unleashed were horrors torn from the deepest nightmares: they might have countless mouths, or split open entirely, unfurling stomachs vast enough to envelop prey.

  Soon, the insect-spirits were routed, fleeing before the onslaught.

  By the lakeside, Yvette—startled to find her blood refusing to dissolve—increased the flow. The sudden bloodloss left her dizzy. Soon, the suspended crimson pearls ruptured, dispersing like normal blood and dyeing the stream red. Then, the water at the stream’s outlet ceased flowing.

  Had it worked?

  Inside the house, the denizens cheered their minor victory while tallying spoils.

  Disgorging lumps of flesh slick with digestive fluid, they revealed clusters of bare, slumbering human girls amidst empty chitin shells—as if gigantic insects had molted human-sized husks.

  "Burp... These belong to the Master..." murmured the reverted hydra.

  Having devoured the insect-spirits, they'd digested the insect parts, but the lingering human soul-fragments weren’t theirs to claim—those belonged to the Creator and His favored Messiah.

  "Move them to the Master’s sanctuary. The rest won’t dare return. This time, we’ll assume human forms—gentler, kinder—to earn their trust," proposed the ghoul-doctor, his successful strategy earning unanimous nods. "Duran, Roger, you two stay behind—"

  Then, Yvette’s face flickered across a windowpane, her glass-reflected gaze sweeping the room.

  "What is this? I forbade adding them to our ranks."

  "O gracious Master!" The ghoul-doctor rubbed his hands, laughing nervously. ("We wished to obey, but these defiled creatures attacked! We merely counterstruck. Yet the lake holds Your blood—blood embodying Truth, Truth that leads to Your glory! Defeated, they now willingly seek Your grace!")

  He had suffered the brunt of the attack—gaping wounds exposing bone, nearly a third of his flesh gnawed away. Half his face was mangled, yet the remaining half contorted into an ingratiating smile.

  "...If their presence taints Your sanctuary, consume them. All mortals are Your chattel; we dare not dispose of them without—"

  "Enough. Leave them." As Yvette spoke, their sated smiles—human-faced yet utterly bestial—unnerved her. ("Have I unleashed something dire?")

  "Moore, their care falls to you," Yvette ordered. "Most waterborne horrors are gone, yet the entranced spirits press onward. Can you halt them?"

  "Certainly. We’ll adopt human guises and dissuade them."

  "One rule: they don’t join us." With that, Yvette severed the connection.

  Staring at the phantasmagoric lake, she felt strangely... fleeing.

  Even aware, she couldn’t linger—lest she too succumb to madness.

  "The Master is merciful," mused the ghoul-doctor, new flesh already sprouting. Feasting on insect-flesh had more than compensated his losses.

  The others echoed his joy.

  "She didn’t chastise us!" blurted Ledbetter.

  Exchanging knowing grins, the others resembled gorged demons.

  "Na?ve, Ledbetter," drawled Duran, Lord of the Boiling Blood Lake. "The Master knows our nature better than we. Yet She chose us—proof that Her hidden desires align with ours. Or rather, through Her guidance, we fulfill Her true wishes."

  "But why forbid—?"

  "Must I explain everything, like you're a brainless paramecium?" sneered the doctor. "Paramecia only react. Dogs learn reflexes. But we? We anguish—yearn, idealize! The higher the being, the greater their contradictions! Imagine an adulteress—she revels in sin and loathes it. If mere humans harbor such duality, how much more our Master? She pities mortals... yet craves their liberation. Hence Her seeming contradictions."

  "Without profound pain, no profound art. She will choose this path—her destiny," added Duran.

  Moore nodded. "Hesitation and subconscious yearning both reflect Her mercy."

  Ledbetter scratched his head—only half-understanding, yet sensing a glimmer.