I Was Reborn in Another World, But I Awoke Inside a Corpse

Chapter 149: Belphegor Dreams

Somewhere beneath the layers of the Abyss, deeper than madness, quieter than the void, and older than despair itself… lay a massive, shapeless mound of godlike flesh draped across a throne of stone, vines, and dust.

It did not breathe.

It did not snore.

It simply existed.

And it dreamed.

"The sky is upside down again."

"A tree offered me coffee. I accepted. It screamed."

"The moon just married a toaster."

These were not words.

They were thoughts, bloated and slow, drifting through a cosmos made of pillows and fog. Inside his infinite, timeless slumber, Belphegor, the Great Demon of Sloth, existed in an endless loop of non-thought.

He had not spoken aloud in over seven thousand years.

His last spoken word had been "Hmm."

He had never lifted a hand in battle.

He had never written an order, declared war, or responded to a single one of his worshippers' pleas.

He had not moved from his stone-cushioned resting slab in four eras.

And yet… his followers acted.

🔹 Somewhere in the Material World…

Deep beneath Yggdrasil, a Slothspawn acolyte sat in a patch of unmoving fungal light, staring at a scroll.

"The Great One speaks," he whispered, eyes glazed with awe.

The scroll was blank.

"He says… to slow the flow of time in Root Sector Seven."

Another acolyte blinked once—slowly.

"Did he actually say that?"

"In a dream."

"Your dream?"

"His dream. I think. Or maybe my dream of his dream."

The second acolyte nodded.

Then laid down and fell asleep face-first.

Back in the abyssal dreamscape, Belphegor's massive eyelid twitched. Once.

A cosmic tremor echoed outward, so lazy it barely moved a molecule.

In its wake, two continents worth of Slothspawn suddenly forgot what they were doing.

One demon stopped mid-sentence and sat down for a nap.

Another forgot why it had a spear.

One elite priest paused while casting a massive stillness spell—only to yawn so hard he blacked out and collapsed into his own ritual circle.

"The ceiling is full of stars today."

"Was I supposed to do something?"

"…Nah."

Belphegor's subconscious rolled lazily across the void.

At one point, it accidentally commanded a swarm of his minions to "go find the noisy flame-man," referring, perhaps, to Isaac.

Only 1 out of 4,000 Slothspawn actually moved in response.

Of those, 3 got lost.

One stopped to nap in a field of warm moss.

The last one forgot why it left in the first place and started building a rock garden.

Back on the edge of the Abyss, an ancient demon council debated what Belphegor's latest "divine stillness wave" meant.

"He's preparing for war," said one, terrified.

"He's preparing to think," said another. "Which is worse."

"He hasn't thought since the Calamity Age!"

"Exactly."

And Belphegor?

He dreamed again.

"A mortal is coming."

"Bright. Hot. Loud."

"Why."

For a moment, the infinite mass of his spiritual body shivered in irritation.

A ripple passed through the Abyss.

Hundreds of his slumbering priests twitched in their sleep, muttering one word:

"Anomaly."

And then, just as quickly—

He rolled over in his sleep.

And forgot.