Day One of the Official Cult of Me Pilgrimage™
6:00 AM: Woke up to chanting.
6:03 AM: Slime tried to stuff a sleeping bag into his mouth, said it's "the fastest packing method."
6:05 AM: Whisper slapped a cup of bitter tea into my hand and muttered, "Try not to get possessed today."
High Guide Koo'Mah handed me a walking staff and a travel itinerary.
"We leave for the Pillow Fields of Eternal Chill. A land of sacred naps, floating sheep, and possibly dream beasts that can eat your name."
"...This is a school club, right?"
"No. It's a divine destiny."
Right. My bad.
The group included:
Me (accidental cult messiah)
Whisper (my voice of reason and violence)
Slime (still engaged to the statue)
Barry the Golem (for security, snacks, and vibes)
14 overly enthusiastic cultists with custom mugs
We left through the southern gate chanting:
"Balance and Blankets! Peace and Pillows!"
Slime beatboxed. Badly.
Mid-Journey Pit Stop
First obstacle: a floating bridge made of napkins and wind magic.
Half the group crossed it with divine grace.
I took one step and immediately fell into a nap trap — a magical snare that shows you your deepest sleep fantasy.
I was trapped in a dream where I owned a café run entirely by talking pillows.
I cried when I woke up.
Evening Camp, Dream Ridge
We camped under a constellation shaped like a yawning llama.
The stars whispered lullabies that almost knocked me out mid-noodle-slurp.
Whisper sat beside me sharpening a spoon.
"You okay?"
"I miss regular disasters."
She passed me a candy.
"Tomorrow we reach the Fields. Expect hallucinations. Possibly talking clouds. Don't touch the glittering sheep."
"…They look fluffy."
"They also explode."
"Got it."
Day Two: Enter the Pillow Fields
It was… beautiful.
A wide landscape of soft clouds, silky grass, and endless pillows floating midair.
Some big enough to nap on. Some shaped like people's exes.
One cultist tried to hug a rainbow pillow and got sneezed into a bush.
Then the wind howled. The dream beasts were waking.
Suddenly the sky twisted, and from it descended…
The Napmare.
A giant beast stitched from bad dreams, wielding a staff made of sleep paralysis and unresolved father issues.
It bellowed:
"WHO DARES DISTURB THE FIELDS OF CHILL?!"
I stepped forward, tripped on a rock, and accidentally unleashed the toothpick.
It glowed, pulsed… and played lo-fi beats?
The Napmare blinked.
"…Are you the Fang Bearer?"
"I—I guess?"
"…Can I collab with you?"
Pause.
"What?"
"I produce beats," said the thousand-eyed sleep monster. "Real ambient soulcore stuff. You vibe peace. I vibe sleep. Let's mix."
And that's how I accidentally started a side career in dreamcore soundscapes with a mythological terror.
Cultist Karaoke Night
Later that evening, we gathered under the Moon of Dozing Regrets.
Each cultist performed a "tribute performance" to honor the pilgrimage.
Slime rapped. Barry breakdanced. Whisper refused and instead levitated angrily.
I was forced to freestyle.
I said:
"Yo, peace through naps, no cap.
Stay soft, stay strong, wear a bedtime hat."
They cried.
3AM Whispers
That night, as I lay between two aggressively scented pillows, Whisper whispered from the shadows:
"It's time. Tomorrow we fake your death."
"…You're weirdly excited about this."
"I already bought the coffin."
Slime popped up. "Can it have cup holders?"
We returned from the Pillow Fields as accidental heroes.
The cult called it a "divine nap conquest." I called it "two days without internet and one too many emotional support clouds."
Whisper, however, had plans.
She pinned a corkboard to my dorm wall with pushpins shaped like skulls and wrote at the top in glitter gel pen:
OPERATION: FAKE DEATH
Slime nodded solemnly. "I brought snacks and two frogs for moral support."
I had questions. But also juice. So I let it slide.
Phase One: The Prophecy of Sudden Tragedy
Whisper handed me a scroll.
"Charisma shall fall beneath the Moon of Regret, pierced by betrayal, eaten by cosmic worms, and reborn elsewhere. Probably."
"'Probably'?!"
"I like to leave room for jazz."
She also hired a drama student named Craig.
Craig showed up in full wizard cosplay and refused to break character.
"I am El'Zonzo the Doom Prophet. Witness the fall of the Star-Blessed Fool!"
"…This is going to suck," I muttered.
Craig or EI'Zonzo nodded. "Oh, deeply."
Phase Two: The Disastrous Public Death
Location: the Cult Assembly Arena
Attendance: like, 500 weirdos with handmade banners
Banner example: "Charisma 4 Ever Zzz"
I stood at the center stage, holding the sacred toothpick (which was now humming dramatically), while Whisper hid in the shadows ready to trigger the "Betrayal FX™."
The plan was simple:
1. Craig the Doom Prophet would declare my doom.
2. A fake dagger (made of foam) would "stab" me.
3. I'd fall dramatically.
4. Slime would scream.
5. Everyone would cry.
6. We escape while they plan a memorial bake sale.
Perfect. Foolproof.
What actually happened:
1. Craig tripped on his cloak.
2. Slime screamed early.
3. The foam dagger exploded into glitter.
4. I inhaled glitter.
5. I choked.
6. Barry the golem thought I was actually dying and tried to perform CPR.
7. The toothpick panicked and fired a holy beam of nap energy into the sky.
8. The cult fainted. Every single one of them.
9. A literal portal to the Dream Realm opened.
10. I fell in.
Phase Three: Unexpected Afterlife
I woke up surrounded by floating clocks, tea kettles with legs, and a talking cat named Karen.
"Congrats," Karen said, sipping ethereal espresso. "You slipped into the Dream Layer. Normally people do that by meditating for 30 years."
"I tripped on glitter."
"Wow. Charisma."
She handed me a map written in riddles and old High School Musical lyrics.
"To escape, you must nap at the Forbidden Hammock under the Snore Tree."
I blinked.
"Or," she added, "just scream really loud until your friends pull you out."
I chose option B.
Back in Reality
Slime stood by the portal, holding a fishing net.
"I see his soul!" he yelled.
Whisper rolled her eyes. "You're looking at your own reflection."
"No, my soul just looks like me but hotter."
Then I screamed from the other side:
"WHY IS THE HAMMOCK ALIVE?!"
Slime hurled the net.
It hit Barry.
Barry fainted.
Eventually, they threw the toothpick in — it stuck to my forehead — and I shot back into reality, covered in magical static and confusion.
Phase Four: Debriefing
Back in our dorm, we all sat silently around the Toothpick Shrine (it now had LED lights).
"I died," I said.
"Briefly," Whisper corrected.
"I saw a cat named Karen."
"Relatable," Slime said.
There was a knock at the door.
It was Craig, still in full wizard drag.
He whispered:
"The cult believes you've ascended… and have declared a Week of Rest in your honor."
"…So I don't have to go to meetings?"
"Not for 7 days."
"I'M A GENIUS."