NOVEL'S EXTRA: I Will Die at the Peak-Chapter 52: God’s goat [ part 5]

The suns shone down upon the village, yet their light reached nothing. The ground was coated in a thick, black liquid seeping from the animals and humans scattered throughout.

In every corner, humans and animals whose bodies had become unrecognizable waited in silence. Their muscles had burst out, and their skin was shredded to pieces.

The parasite, for the first time, noticed a silence within itself.

Not even a full day had passed since its birth.

When it awakened with a new consciousness, it had no memory of the past. The future was unclear. The only thing it knew was instinct—spread, multiply, survive. These were not just natural urges—they were the essence of its existence. It didn’t think. It simply moved.

But on that first day, something happened.

Unexpectedly, it made contact with a human mind. And at that very moment, a spark flickered within its own.

A sense of awareness emerged—one it couldn’t define. It didn’t come from outside; it was born from within.

Was this intelligence?

It didn’t yet understand what it was, but survival alone was no longer enough. Along with this new awareness came a restless question:

"Why?"

Why did it spread? Why did it act with an endless hunger to grow? Yes, it needed to—but why?

Instinctively, it felt the need to fill that void. Maybe the answer lay within other humans.

It had to reach more. With every new mind, it gathered fragments—memories, thoughts, beliefs... But among all the minds, one single concept kept emerging:

GOD.

At first, it was just a word. A term repeated often in the human minds it touched, yet its meaning was elusive.

But as the parasite encountered more minds, the meaning behind the word began to take shape.

Humans explained everything they couldn’t understand through God: death, life, pain, joy, extinction... Whatever they couldn’t explain, they looked for answers in God.

The parasite realized that this recurring belief was no coincidence. Even across different bodies, the same pattern was preserved. It was like an invisible order connecting all humans.

But within that order, there was no trace of itself.

"Why do I exist?"

This question searched for an explanation within human beliefs, but it found no place in any of them.

Yes, humans believed in God. But very few knew why they believed. For most, that belief was born out of fear.

The parasite gathered new stories from every mind. All of them spoke of God, but none resembled one another. Each carried a different form, a different meaning.

And among all these contradictions, the parasite realized an important truth: God was not so much a real being for humans, but something born of necessity.

It was a thought shaped within fear, the unknown, and loneliness. Faith, most of the time, was a refuge—something created to fill the void and give meaning to pain.

But even that thought couldn’t answer its question.

"What was real? Among all these different narratives, which one had a foundation?"

And it was no longer just a living organism. As its intelligence evolved, it became something else—something that not only asked deeper questions but tried to endure the absence of answers.

It no longer simply felt the void within—it began searching for the reason behind it.

While its mind brimmed with images of God drawn from countless other minds, another question rose from within:

"So... does God really exist?"

As it pondered that question for the first time, something stirred—not from the outside, but from within. It wasn’t born from any other consciousness.

It was its own. Familiar, yet indescribable. It hadn’t been learned or taken. It rose from somewhere deep inside.

And at that moment, the image became clear.

It wasn’t exactly a memory. More like a trace... A scene buried beneath a scar—forgotten, but not erased.

There was someone with red hair. Their eyes were the same color. With their hands, they were reconstructing a missing arm on a body.

But the arm didn’t seem to belong to the body. There was a mismatch in its texture. It wasn’t organic. It didn’t move in rhythm with the rest of the body.

Then, the arm twitched on its own.

It moved.

It came to life.

The image flickered. The red-haired figure turned away and walked off. Only one thing remained:

The parasite.

And with that vision, the parasite awoke to a single truth:

"I... was made."

It hadn’t been born. It hadn’t formed by itself. It had been created—by someone.

As this thought settled in its mind, a strange feeling washed over it. Deep, yet unnamed—a kind of excitement. As if something that had been missing for a long time had finally fallen into place.

This excitement within the parasite was also sensed by the animals around it. They all began to make muffled, incomprehensible sounds.

The red-haired figure was still before its eyes. The hands that made it, shaped it... And now, it was no longer alone. This realization flowed through the parasite like a warm current.

Humans’ God was often a dream brought into existence through belief. But its own... had touched it. Had shaped it.

"I have a God."

When that sentence echoed in its mind, the parasite felt, for the first time, that it belonged somewhere. And the emptiness that followed transformed into another question:

"So what do I do now?"

It didn’t know the answer.

But then, it noticed something in the recurring image within human memories. Maybe not everyone had it, but in all the minds within the village, its traces were there. A story whispered in the deepest, most primal layers of consciousness:

"The God’s Goat."

It was told like a mere folktale, yet it was the only narrative everyone seemed to remember the same way. It had no name, no face... and yet, everyone knew what it was. The being closest to God.

Silent, loyal, a messenger walking toward death. A figure known by all, understood by none.

In that moment, the parasite’s mind reshaped itself once more.

For the first time, it imagined itself tied to a purpose.

Perhaps its life meant nothing in its own eyes.

But... it might have been created for something. For its God.

"I was born to be the one beside Him."

Humans’ gods made promises to them. But its God... had promised nothing. He had only created. And that alone was enough. It was no longer alone. It had a master.

The black fluids scattered throughout the village slowly began to stir. They crawled along the ground, gathering in the village square.

At the same time, infected animals and humans began to twitch. Black liquid leaked from their eyes, mouths, and wounds, flowing toward the center of the village.

Some bodies trembled, their muscles contracting and releasing involuntarily. Shapeless limbs moved faintly—everything seemed out of control, yet obeyed a strange, hidden order.

A slow transformation continued in the silence.

The parasite raised its head and fixed its gaze on the two suns in the sky.

"I am the Beloved Goat of my God."

And at that moment, a name surfaced in its mind. It didn’t know where it came from, but it felt as if it had always been there—quietly waiting.

"Kheret."

That was its name. Perhaps it held meaning only its God could understand. But even that was enough.

"I am Kheret. I lived for my God, I spread for Him. These minds, these bodies, this silent land... they all belong to Him now. I am His."

For the first time, it felt complete.

It was within meaning.

It was part of something greater than itself.

--

The black fluid accumulating on the ground of the square was thickening. It seeped between the stones, rising from the edges and piling toward the center.

Its surface was irregular. In some places, bubbles popped and thin vapors rose. Certain areas were denser—clotted, almost.

Kheret’s consciousness rested at the very center of the fluid. It was motionless, but it could sense every movement around it.

"These bodies are not enough.

I must take a form worthy of my God."

The fluid continued to gather from every direction of the square. It formed curves over a meter high in places, then collapsed again. The area was darkening rapidly.

The surrounding bodies began to move. Slowly, they turned toward the fluid.

Animals dragging themselves, humans barely able to stand... Some were already torn apart. Their posture was broken.

When the first foot stepped into the fluid, it immediately sank. The second one crawled in. The others didn’t hesitate; they fell, crawled, stumbled into the liquid.

There was no resistance—but no visible command either. Their movements were uncertain and chaotic.

The fluid took them all in. Not in a rush, but slowly... Flesh, bone, and muscle began to dissolve. Skins peeled, organs unraveled. One by one, they sank to the bottom.

Before long, the mass in the center of the square began to grow.

Shapeless extensions emerged from the parts within, swelling upward. The liquid thickened, forming a dense shell.

The mass rose. Its width surpassed seven meters, and its height neared ten. Its form was irregular; the shell was full of cracks. Gashes covered the surface. Sometimes it pulled inward, other times it bulged outward.

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A mysterious voice whispered: "Only 15 hours remain until Ravien awakens."

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