Hiding a House in the Apocalypse-Chapter 177.1: Worship (1)
I’ve never had a religion.
So I don’t ➤ NоvеⅠight ➤ (Read more on our source) understand the anxiety religious people feel.
Idolatry and taboos.
Values that seemed completely unrelated to me came knocking one lazy spring afternoon.
*
It had been a while since I’d seen a familiar face.
“It’s been so long, Skelton-nim! Really, it’s been ages!”
It was Filkrum, the once-famous webtoon artist.
He looked thinner than when I’d first met him, but his complexion was far better than it had been back in Jeju.
“I knew you were here, but I had no way to reach you. I searched everywhere online and even asked around, but everyone just kept saying they didn’t know anything.”
It wasn’t until recently that I learned Room 803—where Cheon Young-jae and I waste our days away—was basically a classified security facility.
Cheon grumbled that it was the work of the Jeju faction, but my thoughts were more complicated.
Sure, they probably wanted to keep me hidden from the public—but their secrecy also served as a shield from potential assassins like the fanatics.
“Be careful, Skelton. The fanatics have marked you. The ones around here aren’t worth worrying about, but I heard a northern sect caught wind of you and is on the move.”
That was Defender’s warning.
His talent for “killing,” evident since the forum days, had blossomed fully in New Seoul.
The team named after him—Team Defender—was the only hunter unit to remain independent during the government’s consolidation of all hunter organizations. Jeju officially recognized their autonomy, even providing superior gear and support for their anti-fanatic operations.
“I’d heard there’s a major religious sect around Mt. Geumgang. Never seen it myself, but they say the top religious leader there has mystical powers that kept the area from being eroded.”
Defender’s intel was reinforced by testimony from Ham Chun-ok.
Even in completely eroded North Korea, there was a Shangri-La.
Ham Chun-ok spoke of “holy lands” around Mt. Geumgang and Gapsan that remained untouched.
The irony is sharp—fanatics who desire destruction and wish to become one with monsters occupying the sanctuary that should be paradise—but it became clear that these erosion-resistant zones were only claimable by the most powerful human groups.
In any case, even the massive sect in Shangri-La had its eyes on me. So the Jeju government’s surveillance and containment might actually be protecting me.
“Please, have a seat.”
I was the one who invited Filkrum.
I’d logged into my rarely used Skelton account, and while sifting through a flood of unread messages—like spam from before the war—I spotted a familiar nickname. I was happy to share a secure way to contact me.
Otherwise, Filkrum wouldn’t have even made it to the base of the building, let alone to Room 803. He might’ve gotten a rifle butt to the face and been kicked out.
“Oh, is this the Filkrum?”
True to form, Cheon Young-jae, who learned everything from the internet, had no clue about current forum celebrities. But when it came to stars from the good old days, he knew them all.
And Filkrum88, once a famous webtoon artist, was no exception.
“I’m a huge fan! Re-enrollment Days! I waited every week for new episodes. That scene where the protagonist made those punks do push-up holds while he beat their asses with a bat—just thinking about it gives me chills...”
“Young-jae.”
“Yeah?”
“Save it for later. The artist didn’t come here for a fan chat, did he?”
“Ah, right. Sorry, Mr. Filkrum!”
There was a double purpose to my interjection.
One, to move the conversation along.
Two, I didn’t want to hear Cheon gushing over a story that wasn’t even about me.
While Young-jae went to make tea, I caught up with Filkrum.
“Life in Jeju? It wasn’t great. But it was still better than Seoul or Incheon. At least I didn’t have to hear gunshots at night or fear every stranger on the street.”
Apparently, Filkrum continued working on several webtoons, including the late DragonC’s final project.
He wanted to focus on DragonC’s legacy, but the government had him obligated to publish other stories as well.
“It wasn’t too hard—until I met him.”
Filkrum smiled bitterly, staring off into space.
“There was someone there who claimed to be my fan.”
“Wouldn’t that be a good thing?”
“Not always.”
There was someone named Kim So-uk.
I didn’t know him, but supposedly he was part of the Jeju Committee.
“Oh, that bastard.”
Cheon recognized the name.
He’d once been among the top figures in the now-defunct “Seoul Government.” His current whereabouts were unknown.
“I saw him a few times back when I lived on Hunter Street. He came to visit Director Woo—er, I mean, Woo Min-hee sunbae.”
I’ll have to ask her about him later.
She always shows up uninvited, so might as well make use of it.
Anyway, that Kim So-uk forced Filkrum to draw a comic.
It was titled The Last Day of Seoul.
Presumably borrowing the title from The Last Days of Pompeii, it depicted the stories of the people who remained to govern Seoul after the war began.
I didn’t quite get it. It glorified the very people who ruined Seoul and sent countless innocents to their deaths.
Ridiculous—but then again, whitewashing criminals wasn’t a new trend. Even pre-war Japan cranked out endless films praising WWII war criminals.
If the powerful in Jeju wanted it made, who could stop them?
I had only one question.
“So... wasn’t that comic ever a problem?”
It was only a year or two ago—glorifying a disaster that fresh should’ve been difficult, even in closed-off Jeju.
“Oh, it was never published on the intranet.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. It was just circulated among themselves. No manuscripts remain either. They made me work in a designated secure office.”
So they had some degree of conscience.
They knew what they were doing stank.
“Anyway, that’s all in the past. I did what I had to do to survive. What really matters is why I came to you today—about a comic I truly want to make.”
Filkrum’s eyes were more alive than ever.
“What kind of comic?”
Borrowing a phrase from my role model John Nae-non, my “asshole twitched with anticipation.”
And of course—
“Your biography, of course, Skelton-nim!”
“......”
How should I put this?
It felt inevitable.
I was already a living legend on the internet.
Internet fame no longer translates into real-world influence, but still—legend is legend.
I’d expected that some form of praise or glorification about me would surface eventually.
The first person to suggest it was none other than Filkrum—a name even Cheon Young-jae, who learned history online, recognized.
“...You mean me?”
I asked calmly.
“Of course! Is there anyone greater than Skelton in all of Korea—no, the whole world? Even with the low resolution, when you led the troops in Seoul and took down both monsters and fanatics... then fought that giant monster one-on-one—it felt like the climax of human history!”
“......”
So this is what it feels like.
I could almost glimpse the path my role model walked.
Yes, this is the road of a legend.
The Legend Road.
“Skelton-nim?”
“Sunbae?”
I took a deep breath and apologized.
“Ah. I was just lost in thought.”
Then I got serious.
“I don’t mind. If you, Filkrum, are the one drawing my life story—I’d be honored.”
Filkrum was a proven artist.
He didn’t have DragonC’s insight or philosophy, but he had excellent fundamentals and the sponge-like talent to absorb and refine.
Just looking at the version of The Remnants he brought on a USB proved that.
“Wow. That’s incredible.”
Cheon Young-jae was full of praise.
But true to his internet roots, he added something unnecessary.
“Still, there’s no paddle scene.”
“What the hell is a paddle scene?”
“Oh, you know. When the protagonist makes the bad guys bend over and smacks them with an aluminum bat...”
“You think that’s funny?”
Cheon’s expression soured.
He was clearly upset, but I had to put this straight.
“That comic was meant for kids, right? Isn’t that right, Mr. Filkrum?”
“Haha... yeah, those scenes were definitely aimed at middle and high schoolers. And I was in my early twenties back then.”
“Hey, if I enjoy it, who cares how old I am?”
We must’ve gotten loud, because the door opened—and in came Woo Min-hee.
The moment Filkrum saw her, his face turned pale.
He must’ve known—at least vaguely—about the infamous Director Woo.
“Who is she?”
Even if someone doesn’t know her, the aura around an over-level-10 Awakened like her is enough to unsettle any ordinary person.
Some sensitive types even feel irrational dread or panic.
I gave a brief explanation to both Filkrum and Min-hee.
“Oh, so this is Mr. Filkrum. And he’s here to ask for permission to draw your biography, right?”
Min-hee nodded and gave him a polite nod.
She didn’t say her name, so she clearly didn’t intend to get chummy.
She doesn’t give her name often, but lately I’ve noticed that she’s surprisingly competent.
“But how exactly do you plan to draw it? Isn’t it just a matter of drawing?”
To be precise, she’s developed a sharp eye for reading people after spending so long in a position where others constantly made requests.
“Ah, well.”
Filkrum gave a strained smile.
“The truth is... I know it’s sudden, but I came to ask for some support.”
Cheon blinked in surprise.
This time, I had to admit it—Min-hee saw right through him, even when I didn’t.
“Because a comic about Skelton would be a national-level commemorative work. It’d be better to have some support than to toil away on my own.”
So he hadn’t come to me out of pure admiration or worship.
Figures.
A webtoon artist from Jeju, now back in Seoul.
The new government is trying to unify the country through politics and elections, but people from Jeju likely feel this new system is worse.
Frustrations bubble up over the bare minimums of life—and Filkrum remembered me. That’s when he sent the message.
“What kind of support do you need?”
It felt like the roles were reversed, but I let Min-hee handle it.
The rumors were true.
Na Hye-in, despite her appearance, can’t bring herself to be harsh with subordinates—so Min-hee says what Na Hye-in wants to say.
The so-called “bad bitch”—but we need bad bitches sometimes.
“Ah, well... a properly equipped workspace and two assistants. I’ll settle for two.”
“That’s everything?”
“Well, I’m really sorry, but the place I’m living with my family is a nightmare for sleeping. Sleep deprivation and stress...”
“A better new place, too. And?”
She cut through it all like a knife.
Once they’d hashed it all out, Min-hee summarized Filkrum’s requests for me.
“...That’s what he needs.”
Filkrum looked a little flustered.
Can’t blame him.
He probably wanted to present it as pure passion—but Min-hee’s sharp fingers ripped off the giftwrap.
But wrapping always gets torn off eventually.
It’s just a matter of when.
Some people call that order “decorum,” but to someone like me—who only cares about the final result—it means nothing.
“Is there anything else?”
Unlike Min-hee, I asked gently.
Maybe encouraged, Filkrum recovered a bit and said,
“Oh, and one more thing. As you know, I only briefly used Viva! Apocalypse!—just for a short while when I was in Jeju before they confiscated my access. So I don’t really know your online persona. I was hoping to study it through Necropolis after I got to Seoul, but everything’s gone. All your posts are gone. I thought maybe I could rely on Captain Mgu’s posts, but...”
“I see.”
This part, I believed.
Yes. The persona matters.
Right now, all traces of me on the forum are hidden under private settings.
A regular user like Filkrum wouldn’t know anything about me.
At best, he’d find Mgu’s forged smear posts. Just imagining Skelton being reconstructed from that is horrifying.
“Oh, and there’s this thing called A.I Skelton. Made by some user named FoxGames.”
“FoxGames?”
I asked him to show it to me.
Sure enough, it existed.
[ Chat with A.I SKELTON by FoxGames ]
The cover showed a cool-looking, shadowed character holding an axe—clearly AI-generated, and nothing like me.
“This it?”
Filkrum gave a wry smile and nodded.
“Yeah. But even that felt a little off to me.”
I tried accessing it.
A pop-up appeared.
The A.I SKELTON™ in this chat is generated using 4th-gen CPT algorithms trained on big data from SKELTON’s activity on the Viva! Apocalypse! forum.
“Hm.”
Sounds fancy.
“Um, Skelton-nim? I think it’s better not to try that. It seems... off.”
Filkrum tried to stop me, but Min-hee just grinned.
“What? Why not? Nothing to lose. FoxGames might be a hack, but he did work for a big company.”
I logged in.
Please enter a nickname.
“......”
Tadak, tadak.
[ Mini (20 y/o) ]
“What’s that supposed to be?”
Min-hee grumbled beside me, but I ignored her and confirmed.
And soon, a conversation with a Skelton I didn’t know began.
SKELTON (A.I): (Skelton)
“What the hell.”
Cheon Young-jae stared at the screen, dumbfounded.
.
!
Chapter 177.1: Worship (1)
Comments