If the ancient deity that granted Yvette power truly controlled the cycle of reincarnation in this world, then all resistance would be meaningless. It could simply wait for Yvette to die, then stuff her soul into another infant's body. When that second iteration grew up, becoming an entirely different individual, it wouldn't be difficult for the deity to gradually lure her into fulfilling its plans.

  Perhaps she should write everything down - record how an ordinary person committed extraordinary mistakes and how guilt consumed her completely. Then, she could hope another unaware version of herself might discover this diary.

  But how could she guarantee she would read it?

  Seeing her gun droop limply and her gaze wander uncertainly as if considering something, Dr. Monis immediately advised: "Ordinary death cannot solve the fundamental problem, but there is another more special method. You could offer your soul to another deity. This way, that cruel and greedy evil spirit would no longer be able to control or possess you."

  "Another ancient deity?"

  "The god buried beneath this island."

  "But it's dead, and I don't believe a weak protector could withstand its pressure." The Sleeping Creator had intense interest in her original world - discovering this place was only a matter of time.

  "That's assuming we remain in this world." Dr. Monis said unhurriedly. "Indeed, the world we inhabit is controlled by a powerful deity whose very existence represents an insatiable hunger. As long as we remain here, we cannot escape being consumed by it. Fortunately, the deity beneath the island is about to awaken. It never belonged to this world to begin with. Soon, it will break free from this prison and return to its home among the stars. If you're willing, it will take you there as well."

  "This seems far too convenient." Yvette shook her head, "I arrived here, and the dead god just happens to be about to awaken..."

  In the organization's history, she'd read about ancient supernaturals who worshipped descended minions as deities. Many abandoned human form to become claws and servants of alien monsters in exchange for power. She always thought those people were mistaken and foolish, but now she had a compelling reason to do the same.

  She didn't doubt that accepting Monis's proposal - offering her soul to the ovular ancient god beneath the island - would mean losing her current form. At best, she'd become the god's minion. But if it could stop the Sleeping Creator's ambitions toward her original world, it would be worth it.

  Her only concern was how suspiciously convenient everything seemed. Before she even reached this island, multiple causal factors had guided her here. If some destiny orchestrated this, who was pulling the strings? The dead god's influence shouldn't be powerful enough.

  "It's not coincidence, Mr. Fisher." Dr. Monis corrected. "Our deliberate choices accelerated its awakening process. If you're willing to become its apostle, then myself and everyone on this island are ready to sacrifice our lives. In fact, we began cleansing the swamp several days ago, burying remains of ancient sacrificial offerings. Long ago, the deity took what it needed from the corpses and let everyone sleep peacefully within its body. Now, we should do likewise."

  This might be acceptable - Yvette couldn't think of any reason to refuse.

  The ritual must be performed correctly - proper method, proper sequence, proper actions. The time was set for two days later, coinciding with Candlemas.

  After Yvette agreed to become the Candlemas offering, the island's hermits treated her with unusual reverence. They stopped conducting Trinity worship in the chapel and instead venerated Yvette as an idol.

  This reminded Yvette of Spanish accounts of Mexico's indigenous religion - how locals would select a healthy, attractive captive or slave for sacrifice. Before the killing, they'd address him with the god's name, treat him as divine representation, dress him in splendid clothes, make offerings and worship him during rituals. If he walked the streets, everyone - children and the sick alike - would present gifts. He could do anything except escape. When the festival arrived, they'd kill him as a solemn sacrifice, dissecting and consuming his remains.

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  Now she played a similar role.

  Never before had she imagined coexisting peacefully with cultists while awaiting ritual execution to feed an ancient god - after which they'd all commit suicide anyway.

  According to Dr. Monis, when the dead god absorbed their life energy, its petrified remains would regain vital pulsations. Then, like a whale swallowing seawater, it would drain all life - plant and animal - from the island's surroundings. This energy would provide strength to launch into space, beginning its long voyage home, just as it came here originally.

  As he explained this, Yvette stared absently at a hermit carrying bundled candles.

  "Is something wrong with him?" asked Dr. Monis.

  "Nothing, I was just spacing out."

  Monis sensed her lie through psychic ability but said nothing.

  Yvette had experienced a hallucination - in her vision, the hermit transformed into a translucent, ovular creature filled with grotesque vein-like structures resembling microscopic plant tissue. Its surface was bound by rusted metal hoops and strips that constrained the bubble into a warped humanoid shape. Yet it moved naturally, as if accustomed to its metallic cage.

  Since that day, her hallucinations recurred intermittently. She could no longer distinguish reality from her overactive imagination.

  On Candlemas, everyone would eat a final meal before proceeding to the swamp. But the food was unusual - plates contained nothing except crystalline berries the size of beans.

  "On festival day, offerings must consume mistletoe berries." Dr. Monis explained, his own plate holding a small handful. Everyone in the dining hall did likewise, many smiling joyfully as if celebrating a happy occasion.

  Yvette lowered her head, focusing on the berries.

  Perhaps this was still her imagination - she kept seeing iron-bound humanoid monsters instead of people. How many here were actually human?

  "To approach the divine, you must be submerged in the swamp. There, you'll hear its voice more clearly and feel their power. Before that, the sacred murmurs may unsettle you. Unnecessary reason fills you with fear, but this sole method frees you from the cage. Don't be overly nervous or afraid." Sensing her anxiety, Monis spoke soothingly.

  Reason? Yvette smiled bitterly. Now she wished she could fear through reason, rather than suppress these murderous urges rising within her.

  She chewed her lunch as red berries slid down her parched throat. But it wasn't enough - her stomach demanded more. Not this earth-grown substance - only life could nourish life. This land's ancestors worshipped language's power, considering speech the essence of consciousness and existence.

  Silent things couldn't be called alive, just as animals unversed in language. Her throat craved true sustenance - the kind that could comprehend language.

  Yvette chewed forcefully as crimson juice ran down her chin, staining her hands red.

  After the ceremonial meal, everyone received a candle. Hooded and robed, they proceeded single-file to the swamp at twilight.

  Today's sky looked especially gloomy - even the intermittent island lights had vanished. At sunset, dim yellow rays pierced the trees, weakly illuminating upper bodies while robe hems blended indistinctly with surrounding vegetation.

  Peering from beneath her hood, Yvette felt an absurd thought arise:

  Did shadows merely blur physical outlines? Or would the human boundary itself break down as they approached the darkness?

  "Here, it's perfect. First, arrange all candles around the altar."

  As the abbot directed preparations, Yvette scanned the surroundings - exactly where Jeffrey had brought her. But now, numerous footprints marked the swamp's edge, and water-adjacent moss had been trampled away, presumably from removing ancient mummies recently.

  Wherever Yvette looked, people averted their gaze. When avoidance proved impossible, they flashed sly, ominous smiles that gradually morphed into grotesque bubbling humanoid features.

  Why were they smiling?

  "Mr. Fisher?" Dr. Monis called when she stood frozen.

  "Did something amusing happen? You laughed quite heartily while discussing with others earlier. Mind sharing why?"

  "Me? I wasn't laughing..." Monis replied perplexed, having discussed serious ritual details with the abbot. Sensing Yvette's growing distrust, he quickly amended: "Perhaps he made some humorous weather metaphors earlier. In hindsight, nothing particularly funny."

  Monis lied to temporarily pacify her - today's ritual couldn't afford disruptions. Seeming convinced, Yvette nodded and said nothing more.

  Detecting dissipating hostility from her psychic aura, Monis relaxed and resumed his tasks.

  But after he left, Yvette lowered her hood further, concealing suspicious eyes in shadow.

  She partitioned her mind as in past lives - surface-level acceptance of his words, but beneath, corroding distrust spread steadily.

  He was deceiving her.

  What was he hiding?