SSS Class Awakening: Start With A God-Level Choice System-Chapter 34: Church Of Evolution’s Attire

Hearing Ainsworth’s words, Dante and Rian agreed.

Just as Dante and Rian were about to jump down and join the group outside, Ainsworth raised a hand, stopping them.

"Wait."

The two froze mid-motion and turned to look at him, confused.

"What’s wrong?" Rian asked.

Ainsworth’s smirk deepened, his golden eyes gleaming with eerie conviction. "We can’t just barge in like common survivors. That might work for others, but not for us—not for me."

He stepped away from the window, clasping his hands behind his back as he spoke with the weight of a prophet delivering a revelation.

"I’m not approaching them as another struggler in the apocalypse," Ainsworth said. "I’m descending upon them as a savior. A divine being. The one who holds the answers they’ve never asked and the salvation they never knew they needed."

Dante raised an eyebrow. "So... what’s the plan then?"

Ainsworth turned toward them, eyes gleaming with ambition. "We enter not as equals. We descend as divinity."

He snapped his fingers. A semi-transparent system interface appeared in his mind as he navigated through his inventory.

"I’ve hoarded enough clothes, fabrics, and materials from the mall raids. Might as well put them to use."

He took a slow breath, and with a single mental command, he activated his class exclusive skill, Ultimate Freedom (SSS).

A light vibration filled the air, subtle at first, but soon resonating with the strange vibration of reality itself.

From seemingly nowhere, threads of gold, black silk, and blood-colored cloth burst into the room, swirling around the trio like a whirlwind of divine intent. Buttons, chains, clasps, enchanted runes, and thin plates of obsidian-colored alloy danced in the air, orbiting Ainsworth as though he were the axis of a new world.

The room dimmed for a breath—then flared with light.

It wasn’t mana surging recklessly, but something far more controlled. Every thread, every shimmer, every glint of metal responded to his will like an orchestra under its maestro. This was no tailoring—this was divine crafting, and his skill obeyed his vision to the letter.

Cloth folded itself. Runes stitched themselves in precise spiral patterns. Embroidery wove in and out with living light, forming emblems that pulsed like a heartbeat. It was evolution manifested into attire—both grotesque and beautiful in a single breath.

The swirling storm slowed. One by one, the garments floated gently toward them.

Ainsworth was the first to reach out.

His coat shimmered like black oil over obsidian, its silk reflecting faint hues that shifted like bacteria under a microscope. The gold lining that traced his collar and sleeves glowed faintly, forming spirals and evolutionary motifs—subtle, but unmistakable in their symbolism.

A deep crimson mantle draped over his shoulders, the fabric thick and rich like the robes of an ancient king, though it curled at the edges with chaotic, organic patterns that spoke of life born through struggle.

A bone-white mask, half-formed like a bleached skull fused with circuitry, slid across the left side of his face. It did not hide his beauty—it refined it, amplifying the unnatural allure granted by his God-Level Charm.

His silver-blue hair spilled slightly over the crown—a twisted circlet of black metal and golden spires, jagged like viral tendrils—and the entire ensemble made him look less like a man and more like a deity sculpted from biology and divinity.

The Church’s sigil had been stitched over his heart: a three-eyed ouroboros wrapped around a silhouette of a human figure, and though it was made of thread, it moved—shifted—with viral energy embroidery, its serpentine eyes watching with eternal awareness.

Ainsworth said nothing at first, simply adjusting his mantle as if it had always belonged there. The transformation felt natural, inevitable. Like evolution answering a call.

Next came Dante. His broad shoulders and thick muscles filled the doorway as the uniform materialized around him. A white trench coat slipped over his massive frame, the interior black as coal.

While not towering over everyone, Dante’s physique was clearly more imposing than Rian’s, his strength radiating with every movement. The coat fit him perfectly, hugging his shoulders and biceps, giving off the aura of a powerhouse.

The contrast made him seem both angelic and imposing, like a soldier reborn for divine purpose. A crimson scarf coiled loosely around his neck, curling down his chest like a serpent shedding its old skin.

His belt carried silver chains engraved with unfamiliar runes, and his right sleeve bore the cult’s sigil—subtler than Ainsworth’s, but no less potent. A silent declaration: High Apostle.

Then Rian stepped forward to receive his.

His new attire was sleek and sharp, built for movement and charisma. A sleeveless black coat hung over a mesh inner shirt that shimmered with faint light, like stars buried beneath obsidian.

Across his bare shoulders and back, tattoos inked in radiant purple emerged from the threads themselves—animated by mana, glowing softly like molten veins.

A long sash trailed from his waist, deep blue and embroidered with the Church’s scripture in a language that no one had taught him, yet he instinctively understood.

They were the clothing effect brought by Ainsworth’s Ultimate Freedom (SSS) skill. Not only was their clothing effects flashy and divine, they were also gave attributes such as added defense even if not much. At least, it was far more durable than regular clothing.

Rian turned, the tattoos flaring as he moved.

A grin played on his lips. "Now this," he said, "is how you dress for world domination."

Dante chuckled. "You’re not doing things halfway, huh?"

Ainsworth clasped the edge of his mantle, flicking it with a quiet flourish. "Halfway? Please."

He turned toward the window, his voice now a reverent whisper laced with steel. "A god must look the part before he acts the part."

Outside, the world was as mundane as always. The survivors below remained unaware of what was about to descend upon them as they kept on fighting the zombie horde.

"Let’s go," Ainsworth said, the mask catching the light as he looked down. "It’s time to show them the future."