Farewell Under the Moonlight
“Ghak!”
Still leaning his body outward, Segeon slid back down the slope and mounted the bulky Korando parked beside the garage entrance. The vampire twisted toward him and lunged, but Segeon heaved the front wheel up and blocked the charge cold.
Thud!
The vampire tumbled, ungraceful as a sack of meat, between two cars. The instant Segeon saw it drop he gunned the throttle and rode straight down. A soft, wet give told him the bike had landed square on the creature.
“Gweeeeeaaaaagh!”
The vampire’s scream and the shrill howl of car alarms tore through the garage. If Segeon hadn’t already put the attendant to sleep and posted No Entry signs around the outer perimeter, people would have been pouring down the ramps by now.
“Lucky break. I poured five million won into your little outfit. Time I got paid back in blood.”
He kept the throttle open. The vampire’s guts spilled out and the rear tire began to spin free in the mess.
“Kraaaaagh!”
Even dying, a vampire was still a vampire. Its hand locked around Segeon’s ankle and raked. The thick combat boot, which should have been nearly impossible to tear, ripped open like soft bread; the muscle beneath parted clean.
Segeon had trained against vampires, but the raw agony of living flesh being shredded was something else entirely.
“Kraaaaagh!”
Blood sheeted across the concrete in seconds. Bone showed through the wound—no surprise—but dying simply wasn’t an option.
“Shit!”
Thud!
Bike and rider were flung backward. The motorcycle snagged on a car and stayed, while Segeon himself went flying. If the bike had come with him he might have broken his spine under it; getting clear was pure luck.
“Kraaaaagh!”
He hit the hard floor and screamed. The leg that showed bone was the problem.
“Kh…!”
He tore open a small belt pouch, pulled out something that looked like a glove, and jammed it onto his left hand. In that same heartbeat the vampire rose.
“You little bastard! You did a real number on me! Shit—my guts are hanging out!”
“Kh… Not much of a view to begin with,” Segeon muttered, clamping a shotshell between his teeth so he could load the glove. The vampire gave him no time.
“You bastard!”
Segeon’s own RX-125 came flying. He twisted aside, but the wheel still crushed his right arm.
Crunch!
The bike spun free and rolled off him, yet the arm was already broken—viciously broken. Bone jutted through the skin.
“Kraaaaaagh!”
He screamed and dropped the shotshell. The vampire grinned at the sound of his pain.
“Ahahahaha! Look at you crawling around after all that cocky shit! I’ll kill you myself!”
It vaulted onto him and opened its jaws wide.
“Kh…!”
Segeon thrust his left arm up, trying to seize the throat and shove the thing away. Vampire strength simply pressed the arm down and closed in.
“Heh heh heh… Your blood smells damn fine. AB type, are you?”
“I don’t have a habit of kissing guys.”
He set his gloved left hand against the vampire’s neck and clenched his fist.
Crack!
A sound closer to a firecracker than a gunshot ripped the air and the vampire’s neck burst. The instant the head began to separate, Segeon drove his knee into the torso and launched the body upward.
Thud-thud-thud.
Organs tore free; blood fell like rain.
“You son of a bitch!”
Still on his back, Segeon swung the iron-heavy left arm in a rising hook. From that angle the punch couldn’t deliver full power, yet it was more than enough to finish a neck already half-severed.
The head tumbled free; the body went slack.
The glove was solid steel, built to seat two shotshells in the knuckle plates. Pull the rear hammers and a clenched punch fired the primers—point-blank scattershot straight into whatever stood in front of you. Even in gun-strict Korea hunting shells were relatively easy to find, which was why he’d made the weapon. Only one round had been loaded, yet the effect had been more than enough.
Strictly speaking the glove had no barrel at all; beyond three meters the load was worthless. It was primitive by modern standards—nothing more than a fist-mounted shotgun—but for close work it did the job.
“Talk about dumb luck.”
He pushed himself upright, grumbling. The vampire had bled freely all over him, so the wounds were already knitting even before he injected any blood.
Still not enough. He stabbed a syringe into the headless trunk, drew the blood, and shot it into his own veins.
“Uuuuugh!”
He’d done it before, but injecting vampire blood was never pleasant. Turning into one of them was rare—yet it still happened. The foreign heat sliding through his arteries brought both the dread of becoming a monster and a deep physical revulsion.
That revulsion, though, was easier to bear than the pain of the wounds. In the end the human mind might rank survival above everything else… Segeon clenched his teeth and stood.
“Fuck! One of the bastards nearly killed me! This is insane!”
He left the blood-draw kit in the corpse, then lifted the motorcycle. The vampire had hurled it; the handlebars were bent, the axle felt loose, and the whole frame looked half-wrecked.
“Maybe I should just switch to a Yamaha while I’m at it?”
He muttered it while checking the bike. At least it could still limp to a shop under its own power—small mercy. A bent frame would have meant terrifying repair bills, but this RX-125 was the keepsake his older brother had left him. Segeon might talk about replacing it; he would never actually do so unless the machine was truly beyond saving.
“Shit.”
He searched the gangsters’ bodies and found two pistols—one Tokarev, one Chinese Type 54, a licensed copy. Both fired 7.62 mm; each held only a single round.
“Christ. What are you, legendary marksmen? Legendary killers? A Tokarev with the safety off and one round in the chamber—how the hell did you plan to stay alive?”
He pocketed the guns anyway, still complaining. By then the vampire had finished draining and crumbled to ash. The blood he’d taken filled two 400 cc packs. A low-class vampire; selling both might not even clear six million won.
Add the five million he’d spent baiting the Sangdong Faction, the gear costs, the coming repair bill—this had never been a profitable hunt.
A single vampire could yield far more blood, but he’d made the mistake of going into a drawn-out brawl. Wound a vampire and keep fighting long enough and the body itself burns through its reserves; nothing much is left.
“Nothing I can do about it now.”
He hauled the bike along. Leaving it at a shop would cost a fortune, but the engine still ran; he could ride it for a while yet.
Even so, he doubted he could hide a mess this big from Deokyeon. Clothes shredded, arm broken—unless Deokyeon had suddenly gone blind…
“Finally crawling out?”
Deokyeon’s voice stopped him as he dragged the motorcycle up the ramp of the Hanshin Securities garage. Segeon jerked his head around. Deokyeon’s white Pride sat at the curb like a squat frog.
“Shit!”
He pulled off the helmet and raked sweat-soaked hair back. Water poured from the helmet as if he’d just climbed out of a river. Deokyeon watched him with a thoroughly unimpressed expression.
“Feel better after all that, you little idiot?”
“How did you track me?”
“The world invented something called GPS. I know you treat that bike like a family heirloom, but you’ve been neglecting it lately.”
Deokyeon shrugged, making the presence of a tracker perfectly clear. Segeon sighed, gripped the bent bars, and rolled the bike forward.
Vampires left no corpses, but the gangsters were badly hurt and one car was totaled—none of that would simply vanish. If anyone made noise, Segeon and Deokyeon would be the ones in trouble. Deokyeon clearly understood; he started the Pride without another word and followed.
They stopped in front of a roadside convenience store. Segeon propped the warped bike at the curb and sat on a low red-brick planter.
“You already knew the Sangdong Faction was mixed up with vampires. Why leave them alone? Because they’re organized crime? Because fighting them doesn’t pay?”
“That’s right.”
Deokyeon walked to the vending machine, fed in coins, and tossed a cold can before Segeon could answer. Segeon caught it one-handed and cracked it open.
“Those things deserve to die. Profit or no profit—vampires are a plague. The longer you leave them breathing, the farther they spread. Cutting them down while they’re still saplings is easier than felling full-grown trees.”
“So you’re going to decide who deserves to die? Don’t make me laugh. I don’t kill vampires—or mosquitoes—for ideology. I kill for money and advantage, period.”
Deokyeon snorted and blew his nose. Of course Segeon wasn’t going to listen. Adults had always given advice to the young, and the young had always ignored it; humanity had been repeating the cycle for as long as it had history.
“Shit. I never should’ve taken the Jinma hunter’s deal. I never should’ve taken you on.”
Deokyeon looked him over. Clothes torn, blood still seeping from wounds—yet Segeon had killed a vampire without touching Psychedelic Moon. That alone meant he already pulled his own weight.
“Pack your things and get out. I don’t want a war with the Sangdong Faction on your account.”
“……”
Segeon sighed. He’d always known this day would come; he just hadn’t expected it so soon.
“I’ll do that.”
He finished the can, tossed it into the trash, and started walking the bike away.
“Thanks for everything.”
“Yeah……”
Segeon dragged the motorcycle into the dark and vanished. Deokyeon laughed once—ha, ha, ha—then spun and hurled his own can at the vending machine.
Clang!
“That stupid little bastard!”
Segeon returned to his dark room. Calling it a room was generous; he barely remembered anything about it. It was simply the place he slept. He opened the closet. The clothes inside barely filled a corner.
“Hmm.”
He stuffed them into a large backpack along with a few tools and his bankbook. No stylish clothes, no decent accessories, no music CDs—he had given up every ordinary pleasure a Korean kid his age should have enjoyed, and lived a year in this dark room. Looking at it now, he felt pathetic.
He picked up the family photo sitting alone on top of the closet. Not that many years had passed, yet the picture already seemed faded. Maybe because he’d left it by the only window that caught sunlight. He sighed.
“Stop making that dumb face, hyung. I’m not doing this for some pre-modern idea of family revenge.”
He tapped the frame with a fingernail and slipped the photo into the bag. Then he grinned and stood.
“I just got unlucky and got bitten, that’s all!”
He opened the door and stepped out. Looking at the empty house without Deokyeon, he sighed again. He was grateful—truly—but the two of them had always been walking different roads.
“In that case I can take a few of these knives, right?”
He selected several of the blades hanging on the wall. The front door suddenly slammed open.
“You’re doing a great job of it, you really are.”
“……”
Segeon turned. Deokyeon stood there holding an ammo can. Segeon shrugged.
“They’re wasted just decorating the wall. A few of them ought to get a taste of vampire blood.”
“Fine. Take them if you want, you little shit. And take this too.”
He opened the can. Inside were 7.62 mm pistol rounds.
“Only about five hundred, but you’ll be dead long before you shoot them all.”
“Ah… Uncle…”
“Just take it, you bastard. Oh—and it’s Hungarian surplus past its storage date, so be careful. Bad luck and the gun blows up in your hand.”
Deokyeon forced the can into Segeon’s arms. Segeon took it and walked past him toward the door without a word. They had already said goodbye; there was no need to say it again. Still, without turning around, Deokyeon spoke one last time.
“Don’t become a vampire. The day you do, I’ll hunt you without mercy.”
“……”
For a single heartbeat Segeon’s steps stopped. Then he moved again. He knew better than anyone that Deokyeon meant every word.
He climbed the stairs. The road ahead felt like a road with no future—only blood, death, and hatred.
Ah!
Yet when he stepped out of the old building’s entrance he suddenly gasped. Clear, transparent moonlight filled the street. This place had once been called a moon village, and the true owner of that name hung bright in the sky.
Moonlight so blue it hurt the eyes…
Tonight the moon was beautiful enough to make a man cry.