Roy sprinted through the narrow streets, his breath ragged and his heart pounding with fear and confusion. The familiar surroundings of his community now felt alien, as though everything he once believed in had been twisted into something grotesque.
Finally, he arrived at the central hub—a sprawling underground chamber where the Four-Armed Emperor's loyalists gathered.
As he approached, two monstrous figures descended from the shadows.
These were the Emperor's angels, towering beings with gleaming black carapaces, clawed limbs, and alien grace. Their four arms extended outward, a blasphemous mimicry of divinity.
The angels tilted their heads, as if studying him, their sharp claws twitching with latent aggression.
Roy froze, his body trembling as conflicting emotions raged within him.
These creatures… were they truly angels?
No, they weren't. He could see it now.
They were abominations.
Yet, a fragment of his old beliefs whispered otherwise, urging him to bow in reverence.
"Angels…" Roy murmured, his voice trembling. "Have you always looked like this?"
The creatures did not respond.
Instead, another voice cut through the tension—a calm, gentle tone.
"What troubles you, my child?"
Roy turned to see the community's bishop, a robed figure holding an ornate staff. The bishop's face was serene, but his prominent forehead wrinkles gave him an unsettling, alien appearance.
"Bishop," Roy said, struggling to keep his composure. "I have questions. Something is wrong—terribly wrong."
"Come," the bishop said warmly, gesturing for Roy to sit beside him on a nearby pipe. "Tell me what weighs on your heart."
Roy hesitated, but the bishop's calm demeanor was disarming. Slowly, he sat down.
"We were attacked by heretics," Roy began. "A psychic struck us, and my comrades and I… I think our memories were altered."
The bishop nodded solemnly, his expression one of quiet understanding.
"My child," he said softly, "how can I help you?"
Roy's hands trembled as he asked, "Am I even worthy of your time, Bishop?"
"Listen to me, my child," the bishop replied, his tone gentle yet firm. "We are not like the heretical nobles of the Top Hive who divide people into ranks. Beneath the Emperor's light, we are all equal."
The bishop smiled, placing a reassuring hand on Roy's shoulder. "One day, you may even stand beside me—or take my place."
Roy lowered his gaze, the bishop's words both comforting and unnerving.
"Bishop," he said after a long pause, "can you tell me about our history? Our faith?"
"Of course," the bishop replied.
Straightening his robes, the bishop began to speak.
"Our leader comes from another world," he said. "Through diligent labor, they earned the privilege of spreading the Four-Armed Emperor's gospel to new worlds, becoming one of His holy angels. Inspired by their example, our people labor tirelessly in factories, proving their devotion to the Emperor."
Roy listened in silence, his mind racing. The bishop's version of their history matched his own memories. Yet, something about it felt… wrong.
"Bishop," Roy asked hesitantly, "why does the Emperor have four arms?"
The bishop tilted his head, confusion flickering across his face.
"Doesn't the Emperor always have four arms?" he asked, as though the answer were obvious.
"But…" Roy hesitated, his voice dropping to a whisper. "The Emperor is human, isn't He? How can a human have four arms?"
The bishop's confusion deepened. He glanced at one of the nearby angels, then back at Roy. His expression seemed to say, Isn't it obvious? Four arms are perfectly normal.
"No," Roy muttered, shaking his head. "This isn't right. And what about the mutations in our people? The extra limbs, the discolored skin—how is that normal?"
"Those are blessings from the Emperor," the bishop replied calmly. "Marks of His divine favor."
Roy's hands clenched into fists. "If that's true, then why do we pretend to worship the two-armed Emperor when dealing with outsiders? If the Four-Armed Emperor is the one true god, why isn't everyone else worshiping Him?"
The bishop sighed. "They will, in time. It's only a matter of faith spreading to them."
Roy stood abruptly, his mind in turmoil.
"I see," he said quietly.
He turned and ran, leaving the bishop behind.
---
Roy's footsteps echoed through the streets as he returned to his comrades—those who had awakened with him.
"I think it's clear now," he told them, his voice steady despite the chaos in his mind. "Our entire faith… it's wrong. Everything we've been taught, everything we've believed—it's been twisted."
The others exchanged uneasy glances, their own doubts reflected in their eyes.
"So… are we aliens?" one of them asked hesitantly.
"No," Roy said firmly. "We're still human. We have pure skulls and unshaken faith. That's proof enough of our humanity."
He chose to ignore the fact that their skulls were no longer as pure as he claimed.
"But the angels…" another began.
"They're not angels!" Roy interrupted, his voice rising. "They're the true heretics. They've corrupted our people from within. And we can't let anyone know—not the Top Hive, not the Administratum. If they find out, they'll destroy us all."
Roy took a deep breath, steeling himself.
"We have only one choice: rebellion. We must purge the angels and reclaim our faith."
The group fell silent, their fear and uncertainty palpable.
"How?" someone finally asked. "How can we possibly stand against them?"
"We can't," Roy admitted. "Not yet. We need weapons, allies, and time. And above all, we need help."
Roy's mind turned to the blue figure that had saved him.
"The iron man," he said. "It has the tools we need to awaken more people and cleanse the faithful. With its help, we can build a resistance—and when the time comes, we'll take back our faith."
---
In the shadows, Doraemon crouched quietly, his Stone Hat concealing his presence.
Listening to their conversation, he pieced together the situation.
"So, some kind of monsters are controlling these people," Doraemon thought. "If they're hurting innocent lives, I'll have to step in and help."
Removing the Stone Hat, Doraemon stepped into the light.
"Ta-da! I'm here!"
The group froze, their eyes wide with shock as the blue robot revealed himself.
"I'll help you fight those monsters," Doraemon declared, striking a confident pose.