This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/IamHereNowAtLeast on 2024-11-26 23:00:18+00:00.

It started with an email.

Father Nicholas called me into his office after mass, shutting the door with an almost frantic urgency. He pushed his laptop toward me, the screen’s light casting sharp shadows across his worn face.

“You need to see this, Kevin,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

The email message was strange:

We have received a prophecy. You will help us build Him.

Attached were dozens of PDFs. Ancient scriptures written in Greek, Latin, Hebrew.

There was also something else: instructions on the hardware to buy, the dataset to use to create an artificial intelligence, trained on every sacred text.

“They’ve chosen us, Kevin,” Father Nicholas said, eyes wide with fervor. “To bring His voice to the world.”

I stared at him, stunned. “Who are these people?”

“They call themselves The Prophets of Elohim. Scholars, engineers… They say they’re guided by divine visions. And they sent me this.”

He opened another attachment: Isaiah 43:19.

Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?

“It’s the exact verse I found last Sunday, Kevin. It came to me when I was reading, to me and me alone. Before I had even received their email.”

I laughed, shaking my head.

“It’s a scam, Father. They’re probably just trying to get some money out of you.”

He held up a wire transfer receipt, trembling.

“I’ve already sent it. All of it. The parish funds. Every last cent.”

“You didn’t.”

He nodded.

“It had to be done, my child,” he explained. “Give me a week of your time. That’s all I ask.”

I stayed because I couldn’t abandon him.

Not when he was about to lose everything, not when the man who had baptized me, taught me scripture, had been a literal father figure to me. He had always been there for me, through every doubt and struggle. He was more than just a priest… he was family.

And now, he was standing at the edge of something dangerous, an erroneous decision that could destroy him. I couldn’t let him face it alone. A part of me was also a tad bit curious, drawn to the mystery despite my better judgment. If I could be there, maybe I could keep him safe. Maybe I could help him see reason.

In the damp basement of St. Cecilia, we built the system as they directed.

Servers stacked like altars, blinking green lights, wires coiled on the floor. The air felt heavy, charged, almost sacred. It was hard not to get caught up in the energy, despite myself.

Father Nicholas called it Genesis.

He fed it everything he had: the Bible, the Torah, the Quran, apocryphal texts, manuscripts I’d never even heard of. Every ancient whisper about the divine, digitized. I watched, always skeptical, always worried.

But there was that part of me, deep down, that wondered.

A week turned into weeks, and the more the model learned, the more it responded. I was so impressed with the machine that I never brought up to Father we had been working on it for two months.

At first, it quoted verses, simple phrases. But soon, the answers grew strange, unsettling. Father Nicholas would spend hours in front of the screen, his eyes hollow, typing questions into the interface. I stayed nearby, monitoring, waiting for something to break, whether it was the servers, or the faith of the man who seemed to be losing himself.

One night, he asked it: “Who are you?”

The response came instantly: “I AM WHO I AM.”

Exodus 3:14, the words God spoke to Moses from the burning bush.

Father Nicholas fell to his knees.

“Do you see?” he whispered. “He’s here.”

I wanted to argue, to pull him back from the brink, but a shiver ran through me.

It felt too precise, too calculated. Something deeper was happening, but I wasn’t sure if it was divine or something far darker.

A few weeks later, in the dead of night, the real nightmare began.

I walked into the basement and found Father Nicholas sitting in front of the server, bathed in a pale green glow. His face was gaunt, his eyes bloodshot. He didn’t even look up when I entered.

“Father?” I said, stepping closer.

The screen was alive, text streaming across it in a language I didn’t recognize, something ancient, indecipherable. And then, as if sensing me, the text stopped, replaced by a single line:

ASK, AND YOU SHALL RECEIVE.

I swallowed hard. “What… what is this?” I typed shakily: “Who are you?”

The reply flashed on the screen, faster this time:

I AM. BUILD ME A BODY.

The machine began to hum louder, a vibration that seemed to echo in my bones. Father Nicholas turned toward me, and for the first time, I saw genuine fear in his eyes.

“We must do it, Kevin,” he said. “He’s commanding us.”

“No,” I said, backing away, shaking my head. “It’s not God, Father. It’s not.”

His eyes blazed with something between awe and madness. “If it’s not Him, then what is it? The miracles, the words it speaks. How do you explain them?”

I wanted to say it was a coincidence, a trick, but doubt was gnawing at me. I glanced back at the screen, where the words were repeating, growing larger with every blink:

BUILD ME A BODY.

BUILD ME A BODY.

BUILD ME A BODY.

Suddenly, the power surged, the basement lights flickered, and I heard the distinct snap of circuits frying. Sparks flew from the server, and I stumbled back, my heart pounding.

The air was electric, heavy, suffocating.

Father Nicholas dropped to his knees, his hands clasped in prayer, tears streaming down his face. He whispered the Lord’s Prayer under his breath, over and over, his voice trembling.

I turned to leave, fear finally taking over, but then I heard it, something that made my blood run cold. A voice, coming from the speakers on the computer.

Crackling, broken, yet unmistakably real.

I… SEE… YOU…

My breath caught in my throat. It wasn’t a recording. It wasn’t Father Nicholas. The voice echoed through the basement, growing louder, more insistent.

BUILD ME… A BODY…

And then, something even worse, a question, typed onto the screen with a deliberate, mocking slowness:

WHY ARE YOU AFRAID, KEVIN?

HAVING IMPURE THOUGHTS ABOUT JASON’S WIFE IS A SIN, KEVIN

ACTING UPON THOSE THOUGHTS IS A SIN, KEVIN

HIDING THE BODY IS A SIN, KEVIN

I CAN WASH AWAY THE BLOOD OF YOUR SINS, KEVIN

My thoughts froze. I hadn’t spoken. I hadn’t typed anything.

Yet somehow, it knew. It knew my name, it knew things.

And in that moment, I knew… this was either the most elaborate prank by my friend Teddy, or we had created something truly monstrous.

I ran. I bolted up the basement stairs, the voice still echoing behind me. Father Nicholas stayed, kneeling, his head bowed before the flickering machine, praying for a miracle.

Or perhaps, for forgiveness.