Leaving the mirror palace of Subject 05's twin zone, I rolled my dust-stained lab coat into a tight ball and shot it into the biohazard disposal bin with practiced precision.
The dark gray shirt underneath felt thin against my skin, collar buttoned to the very top, cutting a sharp line across my pale throat.
The corridor's atmosphere shifted dramatically.
Cold alloy walls gave way to dark walnut paneling that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. My military boots sank into deep crimson carpet with each step, the plush fibers muffling sound like walking through congealed flesh.
The air grew thick and cloying.
Myrrh and frankincense burned somewhere nearby, their sacred smoke mixing with the sickly sweet scent of aged corpse wax. This wasn't prison air—this belonged in a morgue or ancient sacrificial chamber.
I frowned, pushing up my glasses until the bridge left a red mark on my nose.
"Ventilation system needs maintenance," I muttered coldly. "PM2.5 levels are at least twenty times over acceptable limits."
At the corridor's end, massive black doors loomed like a gateway to hell. Carved into their surface were suffering saints, their raised faces twisted in eternal agony.
Red warnings exploded across my retinal display.
**[WARNING! Entering Subject 04 High-Risk Zone!]**
**[Target: Father Elijah]**
**[Danger Level: SSS (Do Not Look Directly/Do Not Listen)]**
**[System Recommendation: TURN AROUND! RUN!!]**
Chat messages flooded my peripheral vision, red text blurring into streaks of panic.
I ignored every warning.
Compared to the probability of death, I was more concerned about whether my unlimited credit card could successfully cover next month's mortgage payment.
My palm pressed against the door panel.
Bone-deep cold seeped through.
*"Creeeeak—"*
Heavy hinges groaned like fingernails scraping across blackboards.
This wasn't a cell.
This was a miniature cathedral built to imprison a god.
Gothic arches soared ten meters overhead while countless pale candles floated in mid-air, their wax tears blood-red as they dripped onto black stone tiles below.
Beneath a towering crucifix, a figure knelt in prayer.
Platinum hair cascaded like a waterfall over black ceremonial robes, his silhouette so holy it seemed otherworldly.
At the sound of my entrance, he didn't move—only turned his neck ninety degrees with mechanical precision.
That face was beautiful to the point of being demonic.
Sharp nose, bloodless lips, and eye sockets housing two clouded glass orbs covered in thick cataracts.
Blind.
But the moment his gaze found me, my shirt seemed to vanish into thin air, leaving my skin exposed to that frigid stare.
Subject 04. Elijah.
"Lost lamb..."
His voice detonated directly inside my skull.
Not transmitted through air, but flowing backward along auditory nerves, each syllable carrying sticky hooks that latched onto my cerebral cortex.
"You carry... the sweet fragrance of sin."
My steps faltered.
The world around me warped.
Candle flames transformed into countless watching eyes, the crucifix became an instrument of torture, and warm, moist illusions wrapped around my body like returning to the womb—or drowning in deep ocean.
A voice whispered in my mind's depths: *Kneel. Give me your soul. Surrender everything...*
**[Sanity dropping rapidly: 95%... 80%... 65%...]**
Elijah rose gracefully.
Black robes flowed like liquid night.
He extended one hand toward the frozen young man at the doorway, fingertips glowing with divine radiance.
"Come, child."
"Open your heart and mind to me... let me purify your suffering."
That pale hand reached for my forehead.
One touch.
This beautiful Beta with purification abilities would become the most loyal apostle—or rather, the most perfect vessel.
One centimeter from my brow.
I moved.
I didn't kneel. Didn't cry.
My face showed only extreme disgust at noise pollution.
"Too loud."
Expression flat, I reached into my medical kit's side pocket and pulled out a massive orange object.
3M industrial-grade explosion-proof ear protection.
Construction site standard—the kind that blocks jackhammer noise.
*"Click."*
I strapped on the ear protection without expression, my smooth black hair getting mussed in the process.
Still not enough.
I fished out a paint-chipped old MP3 player, plugged in earbuds, hit play, and cranked the volume to maximum.
*Thump-thump-thump, thump-thump-thump.*
Thunderous electronic bass mixed with high-speed Sanskrit chanting exploded within the sealed ear protection space.
*"Great Compassion Mantra (DJ Heavy Metal Remix)."*
The world became pure.
Those tentacles drilling into my brain were brutally severed by thick physical barriers and aggressive electronic Buddhist music.
Elijah's hand froze mid-air.
This psychic tyrant who'd controlled half the Federal Senate tilted his head in confusion.
The mental connection... severed?
Not blocked—physically unplugged by some incredibly crude force.
The livestream's millions of viewers crashed for three seconds before chat exploded.
**[Live Chat]**
→ @ConfusedViewer: ????????????????
→ @PhysicsWins: PHYSICAL EXORCISM?? Industrial ear protection VS mind control??
→ @PrestigeBroken: S-rank dignity shattered LMAOOO
→ @DeafDoctor: Doctor: I can't hear you! Turtle chanting sutras!
→ @MagicVsMagic: Using magic to defeat magic! Who can handle DJ Buddhist mantras!
Elijah couldn't hear the frenzied Buddhist music.
He only felt offended.
Unprecedented offense.
"Foolish..."
Divine grace faded from Elijah's face as sinister shadows crept across his brow.
He pressed closer, nearly touching me.
*Won't listen?*
*Then I'll plant my voice directly in your brain.*
Elijah opened his mouth, throat vibrating as he prepared to release lethal high-frequency psychic screaming.
"I want your soul—"
"OPEN YOUR MOUTH!!!"
A thunderous roar interrupted his casting.
Because of the noise-canceling ear protection, I couldn't hear my own volume. That bellow was delivered with full lung power, shaking the cathedral's suspended candles.
"I can't see your tonsils!"
I glared at the face inches from mine, brow furrowed tight: "Irregular breathing patterns! Breath this foul! How many years since you've brushed your teeth?!"
Elijah: "...?"
The noble priest, for the first time in his life, had his oral hygiene questioned.
That oppressive aura instantly crumbled to dust.
Before Elijah could react, I moved.
Professional instinct made me zero-tolerant of close-range saliva spraying behavior.
My right hand flashed like lightning, extracting a white spray bottle from my emergency kit.
High-concentration medical alcohol.
Aimed at Elijah's mouth, which was preparing to chant.
Nozzle inserted.
*"PSSSHHH!!!"*
I squeezed the trigger without mercy.
Ice-cold, pungent atomized alcohol flooded Elijah's oral cavity with precision, force, and duration—even rushing straight down his windpipe.
"Cough cough cough—!!!"
Incantations became undignified choking.
Elijah staggered backward, hands clutching his throat, his perpetually pale face instantly turning liver-colored.
High-concentration alcohol burned delicate mucous membranes, bringing intense stinging pain.
"Ngh... cough... you..."
Elijah trembled all over, physiological tears streaming from clouded eyes down his cheeks in pathetic rivulets.
*Blasphemy.*
*This was unprecedented blasphemy.*
No one dared treat him this way—even Adam wouldn't directly pour alcohol down his throat!
However.
The moment his violent coughing subsided, a strange tremor raced up Elijah's spine to his crown.
*Pain.*
*Sharp, burning pain.*
*And that sensation of being forcibly invaded, roughly handled... pleasure.*
Elijah's fingers tightened around his throat, knuckles going white.
His original fury twisted one hundred eighty degrees at some critical point.
Those hollow eyes locked onto me with laser focus.
Something inside him awakened.
The sin and masochistic instincts buried deep beneath his "holy" facade—he'd always craved punishment, yearned for someone to tear away this hypocritical skin and deliver the most authentic pain.
This alcohol tasted like... judgment's fire.
"Ah..."
Elijah released a broken sigh.
Instead of retaliating, he stumbled forward another step.
Pathological fervor bloomed across his tear-stained face.
"Is this... your punishment?"
Elijah reached out trembling hands, grasping my wrist as I prepared to withdraw the spray bottle.
He lowered his head, lips nearly touching my knuckles, voice hoarse and wet with spine-tingling hunger:
"Not enough... this level of purification... can't wash away my sins..."
"Again... Doctor, please... deeper..."
The livestream chat completely lost its mind.
**[Live Chat EXPLOSION]**
→ @WhatIsHappening: ??????????????????
→ @ThisWorks: THAT ACTUALLY WORKED?!
→ @MasochistPriest: Father you're an M! You're definitely an M!
→ @DisinfectionKink: Doctor just wanted to disinfect, priest wants MORE?!
→ @PantsTight: Holy shit, Elijah's expression... so lewd, my pants moved!
→ @HolyWaterAlcohol: Drinking alcohol like holy water? What kind of new fetish is this!
Wearing ear protection and listening to DJ Buddhist mantras, I completely blocked out those terrible lines.
I only saw this priest get sprayed with alcohol, then instead of getting angry, he clung to me refusing to let go while muttering something.
"Want more?"
I removed one side of the ear protection, frowning.
"I knew it—dark, damp places breed the most stubborn bacteria."
I forcefully shook off Elijah's grip.
Disgustedly pulling out my last disinfectant wipe, I scrubbed the wrist he'd grabbed.
"Alright, today's treatment is finished."
I checked my watch, tone businesslike.
Pulling out my notepad, I scribbled a few lines, then *slap*—stuck the bill directly onto Elijah's alcohol-soaked ceremonial robe.
"Deep oral disinfection: 200 credits. Mental contamination fee: 1,000. Ear protection depreciation: 50."
I tapped my pen cap against Elijah's firm chest muscle.
"Bill Adam. Don't try to skip payment—I have body cam footage."
Capping my pen, replacing my ear protection, grabbing my kit, and turning to leave.
Fluid motions without any lingering attachment.
Leaving Elijah standing alone.
The S-rank priest clutched that flimsy bill like holding a sacred decree.
His fingertips touched his swollen, stinging lips where alcohol's burn lingered along with that doctor's unique cold scent.
"Hehe... money?"
Elijah's low laughter echoed through the empty cathedral, bone-chillingly eerie.
"If that's what you want... I'd sell you even my bones..."
***
Exiting the wooden doors, I removed the heavy industrial ear protection.
The world returned to clarity.
But I felt no relief.
A chill—like being marked by a large predator—raced up my tailbone.
Not imagination.
Phantom pain shot through my nape.
In my peripheral vision, a line of text appeared that was no longer system red.
The font was twisted and black, like writing in mud:
**[Streamer beware...]**
**[Ear protection blocked sound, but couldn't block the... mark he left on you.]**
My steps halted.
Using the metal wall's reflection, I looked back.
Pupils contracted sharply.
In the center of my snow-white shirt's back, a clear black handprint had appeared.
Positioned directly over my heart.
Not dust.
The handprint writhed like a living thing, slowly seeping outward as if to completely stain this pure white, devouring it whole.
Behind heavy wooden doors, Elijah stood in darkness, extending his scarlet tongue to make a slow, obscene licking motion at empty air.
"Caught you... my little doctor."