Chapter 40: Ainsworth’s Oracle To All Believers

Chapter 40: Ainsworth’s Oracle To All Believers

After Ainsworth made that decision, he immediately gathered his believers inside the Basilica Of Transcendence, the Church of Evolution’s cathedral, while he sat on the throne situated in it with Rian and Dante standing beside him on his right and left.

In front of him, Ainsworth saw all the believers of the Church of Evolution kneeling piously toward him.

All the believers were grateful of the Virus God of Evolution Ainsworth for granting them power and a second chance in life, leading them to the right path.

They were all evolvers who were powerful enough to be a big shot in a military human survival base and they were even qualified to start and build their own human survival base.

However, none of them ever had the thought of defecting as they knew that what they have were given to them by their Lord God. Such thought never crossed their minds as they felt and believed it was natural to serve someone so divine and perfect who gave them power and guidance in such times of peril where they needed it the most.

As long as weapons of mass destruction weren’t used by the military, the Church of Evolution’s believers were more than enough to deal with most of the threats in the world.

Ainsworth was confident that they could deal with any Ordinary Zombies and Elite Zombies while he, Rian, and Dante could deal with Special Zombies and stronger zombies instead.

With that in mind, Ainsworth’s amber-gold eyes shimmered with divine radiance (special effects using Ultimate Freedom) as he rose slightly from his obsidian throne, cloaked in ceremonial robes laced with viral energy that pulsed like living veins.

His presence was overwhelming, like a tidal wave of awe crashing over the gathered believers.

Those believers all knelt in reverence. Their heads lowered as if in fear of daring to meet his gaze.

Activating Freedom of Speech (SSS), the air around Ainsworth bent to his will, his words no longer just sound, but commandments etched into the very minds and souls of those who heard them.



His voice resonated not just in their ears, but in their hearts. His words were glorious, terrifying, and undeniable, filled with hidden charm and charisma that drew temptation and sacredness.

"My children of flesh and virus—arise."

As soon as Ainsworth’s words were heard, all believers heeded ardently.

Like strings pulled by unseen hands, they rose, wide-eyed and trembling in reverent silence.

"You were once prey. Broken. Abandoned. Powerless. But I... I have made you more. You have been reborn in my image—not as mortals, but as heralds of a higher design."

Ainsworth gestured, and behind him, the stained glass windows gleamed with golden light, each pane depicting the moment of Ainsworth’s revelation, the Virus God descending into flesh, and the sacred moment of the first believers’ kneeling.

And now, the previous scene of the second generation of believers’ conversion and the current scene of them being bestowed with an oracle were added.

The altar in front glowed with liquified essence, where Divine Wine brewed from zombie corpses swirled like holy ichor.

"The old world has crumbled. And now, we raise our banners over its grave."

"Go forth, my chosen. Purge the unworthy—slay the zombies that infest this land. Let their corrupted flesh be offered to this sacred ground."

"Drag their carcasses back to this cathedral. From their wretchedness, I shall craft divine wine—and through it, grant new life to more of our kin. Let our faith spread like the virus: unstoppable, absolute, divine."

He raised a single hand, and in unison, the believers’ backs straightened, their eyes now glowing with zealous fervor.

"Seek those who still hide in fear, in shadows, in denial. Show them the truth. Convert them—or discard them. For the world that rejects evolution shall be devoured by it."

"And should they accept our wine, should they kneel before this altar and drink of divinity—they shall be one with us. One with me."

His tone dropped into a dark, intimate whisper that somehow echoed with deafening force:

"I am the Virus God of Evolution."

"You are my limbs, my voice, my will."

"And this world—this world belongs to us."

A second passed.

Then, ecstasy erupted.

The silence shattered like glass under divine weight.

The once-kneeling believers burst into cries, chants, and sobbing laughter, their eyes glowing with fervor.

Some collapsed to the ground in fits of worship, clawing at the tiles, as if the very earth beneath their lord was worthy of their tears.

"ALL HAIL THE GOD OF VIRAL ASCENT!"

"He speaks! He speaks! I heard His voice in my blood!"

"Purge the unworthy! May their corpses feed His will!"

"Let evolution take me! Let me serve, let me BECOME!"

A woman in ragged academy robes tore open her sleeve, not to reveal a wound, but a radiant sigil of the Church, glowing beneath her skin. It pulsed with sacred rhythm, shaped by neither surgery nor ritual but by evolution itself, awakened by the purity of her faith.

She fell prostrate before the altar, pressing the glowing brand to the cold floor.

"My flesh heard Your voice before my ears did. My soul sang before my mouth moved. Make me Your temple, O Lord of Change! Let me shine as proof of Your truth!"

A group of five students who were new converts, linked their hands together and began chanting in unison, their voices synchronized like an organic chorus:

"From infection comes ascension.

From decay, new birth.

Through the Virus God, we are made pure.

Through His will, we transcend the curse of flesh."

Nearby, a boy with broken glasses screamed toward the Basilica with arms raised. "I was nothing! A coward! I hid! But You saw me! You pulled me from filth—let me be Your sword, my God! Your plague upon the old world!"

Two students, their forms sculpted by combat-based powers, slammed their fists to their chests in unison, each impact like a war drum.

"He is the root! We are His limbs! Through Him, we ascend!"

"Spread His dominion! Spread His law! Spread His Word!"

Dozens joined the chant, their voices a rising tide of religious harmony:

"Spread His dominion! Spread His law! Spread His Word!"

The Hive Mind took effect—not in disorder, but in sacred coordination. Each believer knew their role.



Former student council elites moved to reorganize battle squads.

Martial arts instructors and PE teachers, now Apostles of Strength, led drill lines in praise.

On the floor, a towering boy clad in shimmering viral plate armor, his evolved superpower, dropped to one knee before the throne. Serrated gauntlets folded over his heart, the living plating shifting like a second skin of controlled will.

"My Lord Ainsworth, God of Evolution and Eternal Bloom... my flesh is Yours to mold. My will is Yours to command. Let me be Your edge in this unclean world."

His voice triggered a cascade.

One by one, every believer dropped to a knee, fists across hearts, and thundered as one:

"If our blood may fuel the wine, take it!

If our hands may purge the impure, guide them!

If our lives may be spent in Your name, spend them!"

Above them, the throne of obsidian loomed like a monolith of divine judgment.

Their god did not speak.

He did not need to.

His silence was holy.

His presence—righteous.

But then—the obsidian throne pulsed.

No.

He pulsed.

Ainsworth rose, and the Basilica of Transcendence breathed with him.

The viral mist thickened, forming a halo behind his head. The black stone dais trembled underfoot as his figure eclipsed the violet flame.

He raised a single hand, palm open, fingers splayed.

"My beloved limbs. My apostles of ascent.

The world beyond these walls writhes in filth. Undeath. Chaos.

It screams for correction. It begs for purpose.

We shall grant it."

He began to walk.

Each footfall struck like a sermon etched in bedrock.

"Slay the dead who walk without mind.

Rend from their corpses the fuel for sacred wine.

Burn away the rot.

Seek the twin lights that pierce the veil—crystals of sun and moon, born from the sky’s blood.

Bring them to me."

He stopped before the altar, letting the silence hang like a blade on a thread.

"And if you find relics marked with forgotten essence—unnatural artifacts that pulse with power...

Know this:

They were always meant for us.

Claim them. In. My. Name."

Gasps rippled like static through the congregation.

Sun crystals... moon crystals... divine relics...!

Then came his final command—etched into their DNA like a genetic imperative:

"Go now, my evolutionaries.

The world is your altar.

Convert it into blood and brilliance."



He spread his arms.

The divine mist exploded behind him, forming a virus-shaped corona as the Cathedral flared in violet glory.

The room shook—not with tremors of stone, but of resolve.

And so the crusade began.

Not in battle cries or banners—

But in doctrine.

In blood.

In divine purpose.

Let the world be rewritten.

A heartbeat passed—

Then the faithful moved.

Dozens surged to their feet, not in panic, but in formation.