Reincarnated as a Mushroom?
Chapter 87 - Eighty-Six: Sanctified by Celluloid: Devotion in Frames and Fire

Chapter 87: Chapter Eighty-Six: Sanctified by Celluloid: Devotion in Frames and Fire

Chapter Eighty-Six: Sanctified by Celluloid: Devotion in Frames and Fire

The aircab touched down in front of a looming twenty-story monolith—a structure made of glass, guilt, and politics. Over its wide entrance, stamped in cold chrome like a corporate sigil from some forgotten empire, was the letter H. Just H. Like it didn’t need to explain itself.

The vehicle door unlatched with a whisper, exposing the cringing driver, who stared hard at the floor like it owed him money. His spine curled inward, his posture that of a man awaiting public execution—or worse, a performance review.

I stepped out first, refusing to acknowledge the trembling waste of biomatter behind the controls. I’d already written him off, spiritually and bureaucratically. If I forgot him fast enough, I wouldn’t have to add another trauma entry to the ever-growing tome of Hive Casualties: Civilian Edition.

The real punishment came from behind me. Samantha, in full venomous glare mode, radiated hatred like a radioactive goddess. Beside her, Sophia said nothing—but her indifference was the kind of cold that collapsed stars. The driver whimpered. If he’d had a soul, it had pissed itself.

I moved ahead, letting my boots echo dramatically against the marble like I was trying out for a galactic opera. Sophia lingered just behind, drawing close to whisper into Samantha’s ear with silk-smooth malice.

"I want a full lineage cleanse. Direct family. Extended. All the way out to third cousins. Understood?"

"Yes, Mother."

"Good. Hang back. Make the calls. Keyla leads. Deadline is tonight."

And elsewhere—

"Haaaaahh~! Mmmmh~! Iiiirvine...!"

Keyla climaxed mid-arch, mid-pose, mid-fantasy. Her body writhed atop a shrine of lust and madness—her own bedroom—where every inch of wall, ceiling, floor, and bed had been baptized in high-resolution images of me.

Hundreds. Thousands. Every angle. Every mood. Full clothed. Partially clothed. Mid-yawn. Mid-scratch. Mid-shower. Blurry, sharp, candid, posed—she had captured my existence with the fervor of a cultist chronicling the return of a sex god.

Pictures. Pictures everywhere.

She stared, panting, up at one particular blown-up image of me stepping out of the bathroom that morning—one towel, zero shame.

Round 17 was fully locked and loaded when her comms device chirped beside her.

Groaning with disappointed thirst, she answered, hoping I might be in the background breathing suggestively.

"Hey Sammy, what’s up?"

"It’s Samantha," came the immediate correction, tone clipped and cold. "Stop doing that. Why do you look like you’ve been mauled by a photonic ferret?"

"Oh, I just came all over Irvine’s face. Again. If you don’t need anything important, I’d like to try it at least a few more times before I get bored."

Samantha’s cheek twitched. "Stop fooling around! I’m calling with a directive. From Mother."

Keyla perked up like a bloodhound on cocaine.

"Ooooh, juicy. Who’s dying? Please say it’s someone self-righteous. I haven’t had a live one in ages."

"Target: Kaeso Vibus, ’Discreet’ aircab services. Crime: Attempted aggression toward Irvine. Mother wants the entire bloodline scrubbed—down to third cousins. Keyla, you’re lead on this one."

Samantha muted her speaker just in time to avoid a screech rupture.

"WOOOOOO! Fucking finally! Yes, yes, yes! I’ve been so good lately! Alright, I’ll get it done in a few hours. So exciting!"

She ended the call before Samantha could voice her disgust. Still high on murderlust, Keyla peeled herself off her bed. One of the photos had glued itself to her thigh. She pried it free like it was sacred scripture and stroked the image reverently.

"My beautiful, perfect Irvine... some pathetic meatwad dared to threaten you?" she cooed to the photo. "How low. How dull. Don’t worry. Shhhhh... your favorite little monster will make it all go away."

She rubbed the photo against her cheek like it was a blessing stone.

"They don’t deserve your attention, my darling. I’ll exterminate every last one of them. Not for reward—NEVER for reward. I ask only one thing..."

Her pupils dilated.

"Let me love you."

A switch flipped.

She placed the photo gently on an altar of coital debris and began dressing, humming a cheerful tune that did nothing to hide the fact she was planning genocide.

"With a hum hum here and a hum hum there..."

She descended through the back of her club—elevator concealed behind the bar—and summoned her entourage like a warlord rousing her elite death cult.

Plans formed fast. Grease was spread. Bribes were offered. By the time an hour passed, 99% of Kaeso’s extended family had been located: all of them conveniently huddled in the Southern Hemisphere. Cleanup would be efficient.

Only Kaeso’s fiancée and their two-month-old whelp were in the Northern Hemisphere. Keyla decided to personally retrieve them.

Because she liked veal.

—

Meanwhile, in a world slightly less insane, Sophia and I waited in a gilded office, lounging like royalty slumming it in bureaucratic hell.

"Hey Soph, you doing okay?" I asked, reclining. "You seemed a little homicidal about the driver earlier."

She smiled sweetly—too sweetly.

"Oh, that’s ancient history now, my love. Let’s focus on getting your identity stitched back together."

Her hand crept high up my thigh, reminding me exactly what kind of help she was offering.

Before anything could escalate into HR territory, the door opened and in walked a woman who looked like she ate opera houses for breakfast. Kathrine Hyllus—red-haired, pampered to the point of wrinkle denial, and drowning in money. Easily late 40s, surgically parked at 25.

"Sophia! My sweet little mystery!" she trilled, her voice all high-pitched affection and covert threat.

Sophia stood with the grace of a Bond villainess. "Kathrine. Lovely as ever."

She turned to me. "Irvine, this is Kathrine Hyllus of Ecumenopolis One. Kathrine, meet Arcon Irvine—formerly of the outer rim world Apollo-Minor."

I bowed, lips brushing the back of her hand. "A pleasure to meet a woman of such beauty, Lady Hyllus."

Oh, that hit the jackpot. Her cheeks blushed through six layers of makeup like a glitch in a filter.

"My, my," she said, fanning herself. "Sophia, you didn’t tell me your plus-one was carved out of starlight and mischief! I may have to keep him. Please, sit."

We did. Kathrine settled onto her oversized throne-chair like she was about to audition for a role as Empress of Petty Secrets.

"So," she said, clapping her hands. "What can I do for the two of you today?"

She’d assumed this was the usual shakedown—Sophia coming to quietly reassert blackmail dominance.

But Sophia had plans.

"Irvine is the most important person in my life, Kathrine," she began smoothly. "We were arranged to be wed when he was still a baby and I was barely older. Our families were close—old nobility, aligned with the king."

Kathrine froze. Her eyes went wide. That was new. Sophia was a ghost in the social web—no one had history on her. And now she was giving it away like coupons?

"After the arrangement," Sophia continued with fake solemnity, "my family had to leave Apollo-Minor to handle other... affairs. Not long after, the Swarm arrived. That unholy tide from space. The invasion was brutal."

She paused. Let a tear glisten.

"His father died defending the palace. His sister and he barely escaped. I didn’t know they’d survived until three years ago."

Kathrine’s expression had gone full-weepy-patriot. Hook. Line. Sinkhole.

"Now that I’ve found him again," Sophia said, squeezing my hand, "I want to bring them back into society. Where they belong."

She leaned in. "But... their documentation was lost. I need you to forge his records. Reinstate his Arcon status."

Kathrine’s face hardened.

"Sophia... that’s illegal. If he has no papers, he’s classified as a traitor. Helping you puts my entire family at risk."

Sophia smiled and handed her a binder.

Kathrine opened it.

Her soul left her body.

Embezzlement. Eighty billion credits. All siphoned from the Spartari military during her tenure. Names, numbers, timelines. The good shit.

"This is the only copy," Sophia said, calm as an executioner. "Only three people know of it. Us."

Kathrine looked like she’d been slapped with the universe’s largest invoice. Then she recomposed, smiled tightly, and stood.

"Well then. I believe we have an understanding."

She reached for her comms. "Send me a headshot of this ’Kimchi’ and—oh!" Click. She took a picture of me like she’d been waiting to pounce all day.

"That’s for the ID," she said, licking her lips. "You’re very photogenic."

"The pleasure was mutual," I said, rising.

Kathrine leaned in close, breath hot.

"And you, my delicious Arcon... if you ever grow bored of the icicle to your left, come find me. I’ll ride you until you see constellations you’ve never heard of."

I chuckled. "A woman like you? I’d be lucky to survive it."

We were ushered out with full ceremonial deference.

Sophia looked up at me. "Shall we go home, my sweet?"

I spotted Samantha across the plaza, chewing dispassionately through a dessert with the grace of a trained assassin.

"Nah," I said. "Let’s grab Sam and take a stroll."

Because what better way to celebrate a forged identity and a minor assassination order than a city walk with the girls?

---

Author’s Note: A Heartfelt Message from Me to You

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