CRACK-ZZTT.
He dove from a high ledge—five stories up—plummeting down like a missile. At the last second, purple electric currents spiraled around his boots and thighs, stabilizing his descent. With a muted thud, he landed in a crouch, his footstep cushioned by a burst of faint static that rippled into the ground.
He rose and sprinted again, eyes flicking to the faint trail of dust Ethan had unknowingly left behind. As he entered the tunnel, his pace slowed. The curved walls pressed in tightly, pipes dripping overhead. The flickering emergency lights cast long shadows.
He paused.
Turned his head left.
Right.
A breath. Then he kept moving.
Just as he made the next turn—he froze.
Standing at the far end of the tunnel, where pale light from a broken lamp hung above like a halo, was Ethan.
His hood was down. His hair had grown longer, messy but oddly graceful—like a lion in a storm. His eyes were sharp, unreadable. Blood from earlier still streaked his collar. He looked taller somehow—like someone who'd stopped pretending.
His voice was cold. Quiet. Unshaken.
"Why are you and your boys following me?"
The mercenary didn't answer immediately. His eyes darted left and right—calculating. But Ethan's stare had already dissected him.
Ethan stepped forward slowly.
"The tattoo on your neck gave you away. You're not just some merc.""You're Saint's dog. One of the Violet Saints."
The man flinched slightly, instinctively pulling up his collar to hide the ink: a snarling wolf's skull beneath a violet crown—the mark of the Violet Saints, a feared underground syndicate with ties across Asia and beyond. Where Saint's influence reached, they followed—executioners in plain sight.
Ethan continued, voice calm but charged like a blade dragged through gravel.
"What's a Violet Saint goon doing all the way out here? Shouldn't you be mugging college kids back in Seoul?"
He tilted his head slightly.
"People in Verusa already lost too much. And now you're here—picking off survivors?"
The mercenary narrowed his eyes. Ethan's deduction wasn't just correct—it was surgical. Every second they stood there, Ethan's calm unnerved him more.
And then Ethan smiled faintly. Not warmly. Not playfully.
Dangerously.
The tunnel hummed with silence. Dust hung in the air like a breath caught in a throat. The mercenary stared at Ethan, weighing his odds, but Ethan—he just stood there.
Still.
Dead calm.
Then, without warning, Ethan took a step forward, and the temperature in the tunnel seemed to drop.
"You know what I hate more than being followed?""Cowards who won't even speak."
His voice wasn't raised. But it carried—like iron dragging across stone.
The mercenary's breath caught in his chest. He gripped the handle of the short blade at his thigh, but Ethan had already moved—not lunged, not attacked—just moved a few inches closer.
Enough to loom.
"I asked you a question."
The man's legs twitched, instinct flaring, but his mouth stayed shut. He was stalling. Hoping the boss or the others would arrive. But Ethan's eyes—those deep, focused eyes—told him everything was already accounted for.
Ethan scanned the tunnel, almost absentmindedly.
"This route?" he gestured lazily to the corridor behind them, "It's not a coincidence."
He pointed to the reinforced iron grate at the end of the tunnel—bolted, chained, and guarded.
"Every exit's locked. Not just to keep things out.""But to keep people like you in."
The mercenary flinched.
"Your boss isn't coming," Ethan continued, stepping even closer."Your friends are out there, chasing shadows. That's time I intend to use."
The mercenary's fingers twitched again on the hilt, but Ethan's hands were relaxed at his sides, his stance unreadable—like a beast in human skin, choosing whether or not to bite.
"Last chance," Ethan said, eyes narrowing."Tell me what Saint wants from me…"
The mercenary stayed silent—but his breathing gave him away. Fast. Uneven. Fear, plain as day.
Ethan tilted his head, studying him like a surgeon would a patient about to be dissected.
"You know the worst part about being hunted?" he whispered."Eventually, the prey learns how to hunt back."
And at that moment, the mercenary realized—
He wasn't the predator anymore.
He was the one being cornered.
And Ethan had planned it all.
1:13 AM
The moonlight trickled through the cracked glass roof of the abandoned mall, casting a pale glow over the blood-slick tiles. A sickening sound echoed through the dust—the wet slurp of something feeding.
A ghoul hunched over a mangled corpse, its claws buried deep in torn flesh. Strings of entrails hung from its fangs like rotten noodles.
CRACK!
The ghoul's head jerked sideways with a grotesque crunch before it collapsed, twitching once and then still.
Behind it stood Agung, breathing slow, steady—expression blank. He raised the crowbar again and turned in a smooth arc, bringing the steel down hard on another creature that had tried creeping up from the side.
"Stay dead," he muttered, yanking the crowbar free with a sickening squelch.
Then—he paused.
Something shifted behind him. A breeze that didn't belong. A presence too deliberate.
He spun.
The crowbar sliced through the air with lethal momentum—only to meet nothing but wind.
A blur danced back, coat fluttering like a shadow.
Sean landed casually atop a broken bench, eyes glowing with amusement.
"Tsk, tsk. You've got a nasty habit of killing things that might've been useful."
Agung's expression didn't change, but his grip on the crowbar tightened.
"You followed me."
Sean grinned, hopping down from the bench like a child ready to play.
"Of course I did. You think you're the only one sniffing around at night?" He circled, hands in his pockets, voice laced with mischief. "But here's the thing, Agung—if the others knew what you're doing out here, what you're hiding..." He leaned in. "They'd gut you before sunrise."
Agung didn't flinch.Didn't blink.
"Let them try."
Sean tilted his head, laughter bubbling in his throat. He liked this part—the brink before the storm.
"That's what I like about you, old man. No fear. No filter. Just rage and a pipe."
He glanced at the corpse.
"But you better be careful. Even a dog gets put down if it bites the wrong master."
Agung rested the crowbar on his shoulder.
"Good thing I stopped being anyone's dog a long time ago."
The two stared each other down—ghouls forgotten, the silence thick with threats unsaid.
And somewhere, deeper in the shadows… something else watched.