The incantation he recited was truly solemn.
The low-pitched sound seemed to spread across the floor as if it were resonating, transmitting its meaning not through the ears but by shaking the body. Yet the sound, obstructed by divine power, did not manage to escape beyond the gold threads that lay before him, instead making the talismans that were attached here and there vibrate. The talismans, in response, exuded black tears.
Black tears.
Drip. Drip.
Tiny droplets of dark moisture gathered like condensation on a winter wall, like the beads of water that form when a beverage of the wrong season’s temperature meets the glass. They clearly expanded, growing in size.
And one drop.
And two drops.
The droplets, resembling black pearls, silently fell, staining the floor black as if wailing their anguish, which, unable to come out in cries due to their lack of a mouth, instead tickled the nose with a smell.
An aggressive, pervasive scent.
The smell of mold tickling the nose.
The blackened, corrupted tears fell, one after another, coloring the ground black beneath them. And just as mold spreads across walls, this spread, darkening and staining the ground until it expanded.
Blackly.
And ever blacker.
Jinseong, watching as tears filled with fungus darkened the ground, spoke again.
“Grant healing from the Dutch elm disease.”
As Jinseong’s incantation spread, a vibration echoed through the space once more. This vibration slid along the ground, ascended the trees, and touched the gold threads entwining the gaps between the trees, defining territories.
The delicate gold threads shivered, behaving as if an unseen hand had pulled them. They trembled helplessly like a newborn baby unable to properly clench its tiny fists, struggling to assert their mere existence with great desperation.
And that desperation soon turned into tears.
The blackened moisture gathered along the stretched threads, forming streams, then droplets, and finally turned into black dye that discolored the ground.
The dye fell, staining the earth. From points to lines, from lines to surfaces.
This blackened the earth and marked the space between the trees with dark lines, starting to ‘pollute’ the temporary shrine.
“Grant healing from the chestnut blight.”
When the gold threads shed tears, the trees stood no better. Fine lines began to appear all over them. A network of small threads quickly engulfed the trees, inserting their bodies into the wood. Once they deemed their infiltration sufficient, they erased all traces of their networks from the outside, creating their exclusive world entirely inside the trees.
Slowly.
Yet rapidly.
The movement, which should have been slower than the pace of a snail, received momentum through magic. Before the fungus could form hyphae, the insides of trees became a perfect, even ideal residence for them.
“Let the light of Panellus stipticus illuminate the darkness.”
The darkened ground began a peculiar transformation.
Like how a rainstorm in a dry desert fills the earth with green.
As when life-giving water revives withered grass and causes flowers to bloom.
Similarly, mushrooms began to sprout discreetly from the ground.
They weren’t overwhelmingly beautiful.
They didn’t sparkle in the sun.
There was no sweet fragrance wafting about.
But these mushrooms had humility, hiding between decaying leaves. They had tenacity, growing even in the shade of a meager amount of sunlight. Though not as strikingly beautiful as flowers, they had their own unique charm.
“Let Psilocybe cubensis be bestowed upon us, to bring humanity closer to god, as it reveals a state of ecstasy.”
Jinseong intoned his incantations amidst the fungi sprouting up.
“Through Ophiocordyceps, judge and control the insects, instilling fear and reverence, let mankind offer tribute, let the lowly encompass humanity and sustain the hidden wildflowers and budding blooms under Apollo’s unseen gaze.”
As the incantation continued, the ground darkened further, and Jinseong’s voice vibrations spread through the damp fallen leaves stacked upon the soil.
And then,
“Lord of nature itself, you who influence everything from the humblest of creatures to humanity, eternally present within the densest forests. Where life exists, your dynasty shall never be vanquished. From shadows to the sun’s rays, from the winds of the heavens to the earth’s damp crevices, from Apollo to Ploutos’ dominion—you, existing in all places and projecting your power, receive our offering.”
Finally, the recitation concluded, a benediction and an announcement of the ritual’s commencement.
Jinseong took a bundle of silk from his pack, placed it on the ground, and poured gasoline over it. Then, invoking Samādhi True Fire, he flicked his finger, igniting the silk.
Hiss.
The tiny flames, fed by the silk, began to vigorously burn, accompanied by foul and acrid smoke that twisted like snakes ascending toward the sky. Though its ascent was cut short thanks to divine power, the sacrificial offering was nonetheless consumed unseen by any eye.
The offering.
That which is presented to gods.
Rare, precious, the best humanity can offer.
But when the silk shell was completely burned through, its true form was revealed—a stark contrast.
Small, deformed potatoes riddled with mold and disgusting sprouts.
Pork, dried and wrinkled, covered with molds no one would dare to touch, let alone eat.
Black bread (Rhizopus stolonifer) fungus covered loaves.
Fruit spoiled and infested with mold.
Each of these items, merely looking at them, emitted revolting odors that would make one want to rush to the hospital for stomach cleaning.
Far from being rare or desirable, they were repulsive meals that even a homeless person fasting for three days would avoid.
An offering so horrifying that it would incur divine punishment instead of blessing.
‘Bring it on.’
But Jinseong wasn’t afraid of divine punishment.
He seemed to invite it, his eyes gleaming, expecting magic that would produce effects opposite to the original intention.
And finally,
Rustle.
Divine punishment descended.
The punishment was humid and immediate.
Robigus’s originally benevolent blessings, meant to protect crops from disease, had transformed into a curse. The curse began at the sacrificial offering, darkening the ground, attaching itself to nearby trees, seeping into their roots. Even the trees, which had persevered in an environment lacking sunlight thanks to their tenacity, quickly began to wither, infected by the disease born from the curse.
Green leaves, straining to capture even the slightest bit of sunlight, began to develop brown spots, eventually turning yellow and brown, losing the semblance of health as they wrinkled and lost their vitality like the skin of an elderly man.
No other visible changes occurred except for the wilting leaves; from the outside, the trunks appeared intact.
But inside, the fungal invasion had already established its network, much like tenants moving into an apartment, meticulously arranging their space.
And as Robigus’s divine punishment concluded, the earth began to return to its natural color.
The ground, once soaked in black tears and emitting an intense black hue, gradually transformed into a saturated yellow. The ash that remained from the burnt sacrificial offering seemed to melt and was absorbed into the ground. The mushrooms that sprouted absorbed the darkness and returned the soil’s color. The black tears from the talismans and gold threads had finally ceased dripping.
And when the mold’s pungent odor eventually disappeared,
Jinseong had completed all his preparations.
Now, whether success came depended on the will of the sky, the human spirit, and the fungus spreading beneath the ground.
‘Heaven, earth, humanity—these three as well. Truly, it is auspicious.’
*
The mountain’s night approached swiftly.
