I lunged into the labyrinth of alleys, desperate to claw my way out of the suffocating grip of Typhon and Junho. The sky hadn't just opened; it had collapsed. The rain was a torrential deluge, a relentless curtain of water trying to wash away the sins of Gangnam. But it couldn't wash away the searing agony of the bullet wound in my side—a grim souvenir from the moment of my abduction.
Every step was a battle against a rhythmic throb that pulsed in time with my frantic heartbeat. My vision blurred, stained by the crimson seeping through my fingers, but I forced my focus into a single, jagged point: Survival.
The backstreets felt like a fluorescent cage. My boots shattered the neon-lit puddles, sending ripples of distorted light across the asphalt. Each breath was like swallowing shards of ice, while my lungs felt as if someone had tossed a lit match into my chest.
As I rounded a sharp corner, the silence was shattered. Shadowy silhouettes emerged from the darkness at the end of the alley. The rhythmic metallic clatter of heavy combat boots echoed against the brick walls.
They weren't just men. They were Typhon's hounds—beings with cold, mechanical gazes and hearts of stone. In a heartbeat, their eyes locked onto me. They moved with a lethal synchronicity, encircling me like a pack of wolves that had finally cornered a wounded gazelle.
I realized then: there was no more running.
"Surrender to the inevitable," one of them rasped.
I didn't answer. Instead, I lowered my center of gravity, bracing for the collision. With a slow, deliberate motion, I slid the hidden blade from my sleeve.
"Come on, you damn puppets," I spat, my voice a raspy edge of defiance. "Let's end this."
The first one lunged. I was a blur of motion, a ghost in the rain. With a fluid grace, I spun, deflecting his momentum and delivering a swift, crushing kick to his sternum. He went down, a lifeless heap gasping for air in the mud beneath my feet.
"Who's next?" I mocked, forcing a pathetic, pouty face. "I really want to go home. As you can see, my clothes are ruined, and I'm in a quite miserable state."
But inside, the adrenaline was coursing through my veins like liquid fire. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird desperate for the sky. I watched every shadow, every flicker of a blade, my instincts as sharp as a wounded predator.
I deflected another blow from behind, moving with a calculated precision. One by one, I dropped them.
"Is it not satisfying to be strong?" I asked with a cold, arrogant smirk, directed at the last man standing. He was a mountain of a man, a giant who looked like he could crush my skull with one hand. I'm going to die, a voice whispered in my head. But I won't go out quietly.
I was gasping for air now, my strength fading. I tightened my grip on the dagger and cracked my neck. "I hate working overtime," I muttered. "So let's wrap this up."
He moved faster than his size suggested. We exchanged a flurry of blows, steel clashing against steel. Then, with a fluid movement like water, he bypassed my guard and drove a blade into my side.
"Argh... shit!" I hissed, the world turning white for a second. I clutched the wound, trying to stem the shist of blood that began to flow like a dark waterfall.
He stepped closer, confident in his victory. That was his last mistake.
With a final burst of cinematic defiance, I sprinted toward the wall. I didn't stop. I ran vertically along the damp bricks, defying gravity as I looped around him. Before he could react, I drove my blade into the soft tissue of his throat. It went in as smooth as cutting through a cake.
As he fell, I leaned in to retrieve my steel. That's when I saw it. A small, dark mark on his neck. D#97.
"Ah..." I breathed out a cold, hollow laugh. "You were just a shadow without value, too."
"I stood there for a fleeting second, swaying like a broken reed in the storm. The metallic tang of my own blood filled my mouth, thicker than the rain. I looked down at my trembling hands; they were stained a deep, visceral crimson that the sky refused to wash away. The world began to tilt, the neon signs of Gangnam blurring into long, jagged streaks of electric blue and poisonous pink.
My hearing started to fade, replaced by a high-pitched ringing that drowned out the thunder. Is this it? I wondered. Is a nameless alley my final stage?
The cold of the pavement began to seep through my boots, but I couldn't feel my legs anymore. It was as if my soul was slowly detaching itself from this battered frame. Just as the darkness started to claw at the edges of my vision, a flicker of warmth ignited in the back of my mind. It wasn't the fire of the fight, but the golden sun of a memory I had buried deep."
The smell of ancient dust and sun-baked stone suddenly replaced the scent of rain. I was small again, lost in the suffocating, absolute silence of the Great Pyramid. Fear had been a physical weight then, pressing against my tiny chest just as it was now. But then, a hand—large, calloused, and strangely comforting—had reached out through the shadows.
"Don't be afraid," a voice had rumbled, steady as the earth itself. "In this world of ghosts, you found me. Just call me Papa."
That memory was my only anchor in this drowning world. I tried to reach for it, to hold onto that phantom warmth as the freezing rain of the present tried to put out my light. My lips moved, not to scream for help, but to find the rhythm of the only thing I had left—my song.
A single tear escaped, mingling with the rain. I began to hum, then sing, a haunting melody that rose above the sound of the storm:
"In the night of rain, where shadows play, I am the voice that will not fade, the power they fear. I am the fire that burns, the storm that destroys, I am the power, I am the truth, I am the Warrior.
I do not retreat, I do not surrender, I stand tall, I fight until the bitter end, I am the power, I am the truth, I am the Warrior."
My legs gave out. The song died on my lips as I collapsed into the cold embrace of the wet pavement, the darkness finally taking me.