Jayden stared at the crowd gathered outside his apartment. At least fifty people in homemade robes—some made from actual bath towels—knelt on the sidewalk, chanting.
*"Freakus Maximus! Freakus Maximus!"*
Simon poked his head out the window, narrowly avoiding getting hit by a thrown thong. "I believe they're worshipping you now."
Jayden scrolled through his phone, where a viral video showed him standing atop a sleeping dragon, delivering the knockout punchline: *"Why did the dragon fail math? Because it couldn't even!"* The beast had literally facepalmed itself unconscious.
**[New Title Earned: Dad Joke Dragonborn]**
**[Cult Membership: 53 and rising]**
The Admin groaned from the couch, where it was mainlining espresso. "This is why we have heresy laws."
The cult's doctrine came together with frightening speed:
1. **The Ketchup Gospels** - A manifesto scrawled in ketchup on Denny's napkins, containing such wisdom as:
- *"Blessed are the messy, for they shall find the good snacks"*
- *"Turn the other cheek... then hit them with a surprise karaoke solo"*
2. **Sacred Symbol** - A karaoke mic duct-taped to a frying pan, now mounted above Jayden's door like some demented coat of arms.
3. **Holy Rituals** - Including the "Sacrament of Spicy Mayo" and the ceremonial throwing of crumpled beer cans at sunset.
Beatrice, ever literal, took notes. "Should we... *smite* the non-believers?"
"No!" Jayden said, then reconsidered. "Well, maybe just lightly toast them."
The cult's inaugural mission was noble, if bizarre:
*"Free the Dungeon Bosses!"*
Their first target was **Gor'gath the Consumer**, a Balrog working the graveyard shift at the downtown lava dungeon.
The fiery demon blinked as Jayden's followers stormed in with picket signs:
*"END EXPLOITATION!"*
*"LIVING WAGE FOR LAVA DWELLERS!"*
*"HEALTHCARE INCLUDES BURN TREATMENT!"*
Gor'gath scratched his head with a claw. "I... actually would like dental?"
**[Freakish Act Detected: Labor Movement]**
**[Gor'gath the Consumer has unionized]**
By day's end:
- The Balrog got a 401(k) and weekends off
- The dungeon installed a break room with a Slurpee machine
- The System quietly updated its HR policies
Back at HQ (Jayden's now-crowded apartment), theological debates raged:
The **Mayonnaise Faction** insisted condiment-based salvation required creaminess.
The **Sriracha Purists** preached about the cleansing fire of hot sauce.
Things came to a head when someone threw a communion waffle.
Jayden, hiding in the fridge, turned to the Admin. "This is your fault."
The Admin, now stress-eating communion chips, muttered, "I hope you're happy."
Outside, the cult chanted:
*"SHOW US THE WAY, O FREAKY ONE!"*
Jayden sighed, grabbed a ketchup bottle, and prepared to lead his people.
Jayden leaned against his fridge, the chants of "Freakus Maximus!" vibrating through the apartment walls. He watched a Sriracha Purist try to baptize a potted fern with hot sauce. Beatrice stood guard, her face solemn as if presiding over a holy war. Which, in a way, she was.
Simon shuffled over, a lobster perched on his shoulder like a grumpy parrot. "They think you're a prophet," he whispered.
"I'm a guy who tripped over his shoelaces and accidentally started a labor movement for Balrogs," Jayden muttered, rubbing the exhaustion from his eyes. "Prophets get dental plans."
The Admin materialized beside him, clutching a lukewarm beer. Its corporate-logo tie was crooked. "You could use dental. Your breath smells like existential dread and Cheetos."
"Says the cosmic entity stress-eating communion chips." Jayden nodded at the Admin's crumb-covered blazer. "You're adapting."
The Admin's too-many eyes narrowed. "I'm tolerating. There's a difference."
A nervous woman in a bathrobe approached Jayden. Sister Marcy, Level 2 "Condiment Acolyte." Her hands trembled.
"Bless me, Freaky One… I have sinned."
"Uh." Jayden glanced at the Admin, who mimed slitting its wrists. "Sure. What'd you do?"
"I…" She swallowed. "I used mayonnaise on my sacred nachos. But the Sriracha Purists saw me! They say I'm… spiritually impure." Tears welled. "Am I damned?"
Jayden crouched, meeting her eyes. Her fear was real—raw and human beneath the absurdity. "Marcy. Look at me." He held up a half-crushed packet of Taco Bell hot sauce. "This isn't about condiments. It's about choice. You want mayo? Own that shit. Be the messiest, creamiest heretic they've ever seen."
Marcy blinked. "But… the Holy Frying Pan—"
"Is a frying pan. I found it behind Denny's." Jayden pressed the sauce packet into her hand. "Your faith isn't in the sauce, Marcy. It's in the spark that made you grab it."
[Freakish Act Detected: Pastoral Care]
[Effect: Condiment Schism temporarily stabilized. +1 Loyalty (Marcy)]
Simon sat in the corner, sketching runes in shrimp-juice on the floor. Pinchy the Lobster nudged his hand.
"He's… comforting," Simon admitted softly. "When I lost my family in the Awakening, I couldn't cast ice. Just… crustaceans." He touched Pinchy's shell. "They called me a failure. But Pinchy? He just is. No expectations."
Beatrice knelt beside him, armor clanking. "All life has purpose! Even accidental seafood!" She patted Pinchy carefully, like he might explode. "Perhaps… he is your familiar?"
Simon smiled faintly. "Maybe. Or maybe we're both glitches."
Pinchy clicked his claws—a tiny, defiant sound in the chaos.
The Admin slammed its clipboard against the wall. "Gor'gath wants mandatory lava-proof stools in the breakroom! And the Mimic Dungeon just filed for paid maternity leave! This isn't balance—it's anarchy!"
Jayden tossed it a fresh beer. "You spent eternity forcing things into boxes. How's that working out?"
The Admin slumped. For a moment, its form flickered—less eldritch horror, more overworked intern. "The System wasn't always… cold. Once, it created. Stars. Stories. Then the accountants took over." It gestured at the cult. "This? It's messy. Loud. Alive. It terrifies them."
"The 'them' being…?"
"The Higher Ups." The Admin spat the words like poison. "They want your cult erased. I'm supposed to 'contain' you."
Jayden grinned. "So that's why you're here. Not punishment. Reassignment."
The Admin didn't deny it. It just popped the beer tab—a small, rebellious sound.
The Sriracha Purists launched a waffle soaked in hot sauce. It hit a Mayo Faction elder square in the forehead.
Chaos erupted.
Jayden climbed onto the kitchen table. "ENOUGH!"
Silence fell. Fifty sauce-smeared faces stared up at him.
"You want a holy war?" Jayden's voice cut through the room. "Fight them." He pointed out the window—where a sleek, silver System Drone hovered, scanning the apartment. "That's not here for me. It's here for you. Because you scare them."
Beatrice hefted her hammer. "Why?"
"Because you chose this!" Jayden swept his hand around the room—the ketchup-stained robes, the lobster perched on a hymnbook, the Admin hiding behind a potted plant. "You saw a broken world and said, 'Nah, I'll make my own.' With weirdness and waffles and wage negotiations for goddamn Balrogs!"
He jumped down, his voice softening. "That's your power. Not me. Not sauce. The moment you decided the apocalypse didn't get to define you."
Marcy stepped forward, clutching her mayo packet like a talisman. "So… what do we do?"
Jayden met the Admin's eyes. A silent understanding passed between them—partners in a rebellion neither planned.
"We do what freaks do best," Jayden said, grabbing the Holy Frying Pan. "We give 'em a show they'll never forget."
Outside, the System Drone's scanners glowed red.
[Cult Morale: STEADFAST]
[New Quest: Survive the Auditors]
[Reward: The Right to Be Ridiculous]