Reincarnated as a Mushroom?-Chapter 67 - 66: Son of the Flesh Gospel, or: Are You My Father?

Chapter 67: Chapter 66: Son of the Flesh Gospel, or: Are You My Father?

Chapter 66: Son of the Flesh Gospel, or: Are You My Father?

There it was—descending from the heavens like a modest god’s rental car.

The first proper spaceship I’d seen in this galaxy—no tentacles, no biogrowths, no pulsating nerve-tissue hull. Just cold, hard, artificial steel. The thing looked like a white triangle mated with a torpedo, roughly twenty-five meters long, with two red-glowing thrusters beneath its belly for delicate landings, and five more strapped across the rear like an afterburner bouquet.

The central thruster glowed a sickly violet, like someone had shoved a pocket dimension inside and dared it to misbehave. FTL drive, probably. I’d grill the pilot later if they didn’t vaporize into dust at the sight of Crystal.

As it closed the last twenty meters between sky and soil, the ship’s landing gear emerged—three mechanical legs unfolding with a slick, pneumatic grace. They kissed the ground and released the most erotically satisfying hiss I had ever heard.

I closed my eyes, puckered my lips, and nodded like a sommelier who just sniffed God’s own wine.

"That. That is the sound a ship should make when landing. Not the fleshy thumpf those swimmers make. Fuck."

I was so emotionally satisfied by the hiss I almost missed how whisper-quiet the descent engines had been. Some sort of anti-sonic buffer? Resonance dampeners? Either way, it was elegant.

Ten seconds later, the engines fully shut down. A circular platform beneath the ship’s belly unlocked with a satisfying clunk, and a ladder descended like an offering from a mechanical priest.

I braced myself for whatever came down.

And then... just a guy.

---

Ronnie was sweating bullets inside his cockpit.

Out of everyone in their quaint little psion-cult family, he had been the one chosen to retrieve their "Father." Their Divine Progenitor. The cosmic sperm donor of their collective salvation. No pressure.

Sophia—his "Mother," and the infiltrator who led their particular strain of biomass-worshipping biocult—had warned him that contact with the Outer Family would be life-changing. Reality-rending. Possibly pants-shitting.

He hadn’t expected literal invisibility.

According to the charts, the planet he needed was right here—but no matter how hard he looked, space was empty. Black. Starfield. No planet. He considered radioing Sophia, but risked interception by Spartari High Intel.

Then it happened.

A beam.

A cosmic swath of fuck-you blue lanced through the dark and stabbed the void like a divine finger, outlining the once-invisible world for a solid ten seconds.

Ronnie’s jaw hit the console. His spine buzzed. His psionic parasite chirped in awe inside his mindscape.

"So that’s... the Outer Family..."

The rumors were understatements.

Massive Hive-ships circled the cloaked planet—colossal even by Spartari standards. There were hundreds, maybe thousands. And they were moving. One group broke off, heading straight toward him like hounds scenting a squirrel.

Oh, fuck.

Panicked, Ronnie loaded the ship’s lone defense cannon with a special single-shot payload—an encoded recognition flare Sophia had given him for emergencies.

He fired.

He didn’t see what the flare did.

But the ships veered off. They turned like schooling fish, pulled back into planetary orbit, and left him alone.

He was either accepted.

Or very lucky.

Either way, he sighed with relief and began descent.

---

Atmospheric entry triggered every alarm in Ronnie’s nervous system.

It wasn’t the heat or turbulence—it was the gaze.

A presence met him mid-stratosphere. It didn’t knock. It kicked in the door of his mindspace and stared. He remembered Sophia’s warning: don’t resist. Resistance = death.

So he offered no resistance.

Let the gaze in. Let the probe sift through his thoughts. Let it stroke his neurons like a cat testing prey.

It left eventually.

But it left him shaking.

The planet’s gravity was weaker than expected—surprisingly manageable. Landing protocols were straightforward. His ship deployed hull shielding, then lowered its ladder. Internal systems dimmed as it entered standby, cutting his view of the outside with dull gray plates.

Ronnie double-checked atmosphere readings. Surprisingly breathable.

Where was the biosphere?

Where were the synthetic lungs? The greenhouses?

Nowhere. The air itself felt alive—tinged with pheromonal pressure and invisible psionic embroidery. Like the whole planet was exhaling on him.

He freshened up. Straightened his collar. Ran a comb through his genetically-altered hair. Took a deep breath.

Then he descended the ladder. fгeewebnovёl.com

And saw her.

---

Five meters away stood them.

Two humanoids. Manageable. Mostly unthreatening.

But the third?

Ronnie dropped to his knees.

His parasite, dormant for years, shrieked in instinctual terror and reverence. Words formed unbidden in his throat:

"T-The Great Mother..."

He couldn’t believe it. No one had told him she would be here. The Great Mother. The outermost node. The origin. The evolutionary apex of psionic infestation. Crystal herself.

Her presence didn’t feel like energy. It felt like being devoured from behind your eyeballs. Her gaze bypassed nerves and touched raw consciousness.

He tried to stand.

Failed.

Until she reined herself in.

---

"Crystal, what the fuck did you do to him?" I asked casually, watching Ronnie turn into a wet noodle. "He looks like he’s about to void his skeleton."

Crystal tilted her head. "Ah. Oops."

With a thought, she pulled her aura inward—compressing her presence to something manageable. A level not seen since I was a baby.

She’d been gradually upping the dosage over the years to train my mental tolerance. But Ronnie? Poor guy was probably a base-level psion with a meditation app and a prayer.

He groaned in relief as the mental pressure lifted.

Got back to his feet. Bowed deeply to Crystal. Didn’t look at her again. Smart.

He approached. Trembling slightly.

Then looked at me.

Eyes wide.

And asked the dumbest, most adorable question I’d ever heard:

"Are... are you my father?"

---

"...Huh?" I blinked.

Crystal chimed in across the link, her voice dripping with psychoanalytic smugness. "From what I gleaned from his mind, the cult he belongs to has developed a family mimicry structure. His ’Mother’ is an infiltrator we seeded long ago. They’ve adapted the human prey’s familial roles for cohesion. A fascinating development, though..."

She bristled suddenly.

"...To think something not of our mating would call you ’Father’ vexes me deeply."

Uh-oh.

"Hey hey hey," I sent back. "My love, relax. He’s clearly using ’Father’ as a symbolic title. Not literal. I did not fuck his weird psion-mom behind a bio-priestess chapel, okay?"

Crystal didn’t answer.

But she didn’t eat him either.

I counted that as progress.

Ronnie looked increasingly nervous. I sighed and addressed him.

"Sorry for the weird silence, kid. Yes—I’m the one you’re looking for. But do me a favor and just call me Irvine, alright?"

He glanced around, visibly distressed. "I... I don’t think Mother would want me to call Father by his name..."

His voice shook like a choirboy who dropped the Eucharist.

I could feel Kimchi tensing beside me—her hand reaching for her blades.

Fucksake.

"Oi," I snapped through the link. "The kid’s not being insubordinate. He’s stuck in a hierarchy loop. Loosen your grip before I slap a one-year mating ban on you."

Kimchi hissed through her teeth but relented. Her fingers unclenched.

I turned back to Ronnie.

"Look, don’t stress. If your mom flips out, I’ll deal with it. Your pops has your back. Just work with me here."

He inhaled, chest puffing with courage.

"Hi, Irvine! My name is Ronnie, and I’m nineteen years old by the Spartari standard calendar!"

Then, face redder than a neutron star’s asshole, he keeled over and fainted.

Right in front of us.

Crystal blinked.

Kimchi snorted.

I stared at the passed-out cultboy and muttered, "Weird fucking guy."

And waited for him to wake up.

---

To Be Continued

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