Human Butchers (5)
“What the hell are you doing right now? Playing with fire with me?”
“I knew your head was empty, but you can’t even smell it? You think you just got a cold splash of water?”
We’re screwed! So this is what he was counting on.
Wang Yong’s face went pale. His men started murmuring in shock.
It was gasoline. That’s what they’d been doused with….
“Get inside quietly. Even if you’re trash, I don’t wanna kill you all with my own hands.”
His calm voice rang out.
This guy… is he really a cop? What kind of Korean cop… does this shit?
The hand holding the hatchet trembled. But as if he’d made up his mind, he gripped his shaking right hand with his left. The trembling stopped.
“I… I don’t buy it! Where’d you get the balls to bluff like that?”
With a roar, he lunged. He shouldn’t have.
In that instant, Wang Yong saw the smile curling on the cop’s lips.
This bastard’s really gonna do it!
The thug’s hatchet sliced through empty air. At the same time, the cop’s right-hand counter smashed into his jaw.
As he crumpled, flailing wildly, his hand smacked the lighter in the cop’s grip. The lighter hit the ground, and flames raced up the fuse of his body like wildfire.
Maybe because he’d been at the front kicking in the door—he was soaked more than anyone. Hellfire bloomed around him like a living demon, devouring his flesh as it soared.
The life faded from his screaming eyes.
Gurgle!
A beastly sound escaped him.
“You… fuckin’… let’s die… together!”
As if sensing his end, the thug charged at the cop, picking the young officer as his final ticket to hell.
“Me? I hate persistent guys.”
With calm words, he seized the thug’s throat as he barreled in. Then, with one hand, he dragged him straight to the container box.
Gack. Hack.
His esophagus already charred, the thug couldn’t even scream properly as the cop crushed his neck.
Wang Yong knew it. He could kill him in one blow right now… but he was waiting. Until the burns finished him off… savoring the enemy’s agony.
The thug clawed at the cop’s wrist in desperation… but no flames touched his body. Fireproof suit.
“D-devil….”
One of the thugs muttered, entranced.
They’d ruled the top of the gangster food chain as predators. But now, they were just ordinary prey.
Plop.
How much time had passed? The thug’s corpse, unrecognizable, slumped to the ground. Dehydrated from the blaze, it didn’t make much noise.
“Need me to say it again? Line up and get in there.”
No thrill of victory, no guilt over killing a man. It was like a kid pinning a dragonfly’s wings with tweezers for a school project and handing it in to the teacher.
Before Wang Yong could even bark orders, his men’s bodies moved first. They scrambled into the container box, hiding themselves. Just being in that mad cop’s sight was terror itself.
“You fuckin’ bastard!”
Wang Yong bellowed. His whole body shook. He’d nearly followed them in without thinking. His own flesh had betrayed his will. Humiliating.
No one but Ma Chung-hwa had ever commanded him.
“You and me. Let’s throw down. Can’t end it like this!”
The cop ahead smiled faintly, like he’d been waiting for it.
“Whatever… you first.”
His left foot stepped forward, closing the gap. Yielding the first move—come at me. That’s what Wang Yong half-expected. But damn, this guy seemed more villainous than him. A chuckle escaped amid the chaos.
The fear ebbed; his body felt normal again.
I can take him.
The charging cop’s left foot lifted slightly. Wang Yong ducked to grab the flying kick—then his eyes narrowed.
In a flash, he saw the pivot right foot twitch off the ground.
Left’s a feint! Spinning hook kick? Taekwondo!
From Chinese triads to Dallim-dong street brawls, he’d fought countless times. No self-proclaimed martial artist had bested him. Fancy grapples drowned in form—that was his take on martial arts. And now Taekwondo? Pathetic after the fear he’d felt.
Just step back one.
A body in the air eventually lands. Human physics. Then counterattack.
Suddenly, Wang Yong’s brow twitched. The spinning kick reversed direction. The cop’s right foot, which he’d barely dodged by a hair, whipped back around. Not arcing, but stabbing straight—the shortest path.
Hooking back kick!
Defying inertia, Wang Yong reeled. He’d read the move, halted his advance, stepped back to wait. But the cop read that and reversed mid-air… and that hang time!
He’d lost in wits and skill. Instinct raised his guard, but the foot crashed through faster.
Choking pain. The deep solar plexus strike churned his guts like a bullet. The weighted kick shoved him over a meter back, slamming him into the wall.
“That all you got? Then die.”
Trapped against the wall, unable even to fall cleanly, Wang Yong heard the taunt.
“F-fuck you!”
He shoved the cop’s leg with his elbow, sidestepping to create space. His body felt heavy. Heaving deep breaths, he drew the karambit from his ankle sheath—a trophy from a Filipino hitman brawl.
Unlike straight swords, it curved like a claw, with a ring on the handle’s end for finger-looping. Kept it secure in scrums.
“I’ll give you that. Treating you like a regular cop was my mistake… but I ain’t dyin’ easy.”
He gripped the karambit reverse. His trusty comrade, reaper of countless foes.
Like this… with this guy….
The blade whipped reverse. He felt the bite.
Cut him?
But the thick fire suit stopped it short of the heart. Next, the throat—bare skin.
Instantly, the cop vanished from view. Then a stranger charged him. Who the hell? Hair burned off, eye sockets black voids.
Where’d this monster come from? The hatchet thug. Momentum from the swing overpowered his halting muscles. His karambit grazed the already-dead man’s neck.
Blood sprayed. Behind it, the cop’s blood-smeared demon face emerged.
Used my own guy as a shield and charged me?! A corpse?! What the fuck—
Giggling echoed in Wang Yong’s ears.
“Show me everything you got. Who knows? Might even live.”
A hook flew at his throat. Breath cut off. Then a left uppercut—liver shot, reverse punch—to the body. No willpower or grit could tank it.
Already choking, this bastard denied him even a gasp of air.
“Gack… kuhh.”
Kang Cheol-gu hauled the collapsing Wang Yong upright. He muttered low.
“This blade’s tasted a lotta blood, huh?”
The cop seized his karambit. Wang Yong tried releasing, but his ring-trapped pinky fought it.
“Won’t let you play with this anymore.”
Crack!
His pinky bent grotesquely. The men in the container watched, petrified. Guys who’d normally dive in for cover… frozen in terror.
Wang Yong, clutching his dangling finger, heard the death sentence.
“Time to end it.”
Unable to breathe, darkness closing in, a shadow loomed. Twin palms clapped his ears—old-school Ssireum eardrum strike.
Then his beloved karambit flashed from the cop’s hand. Both Achilles tendons severed.
Breath stolen, weapons gone, balance and mobility surrendered.
Then.
A roaring engine shattered the warehouse door. The steel safety net blocking escape tore like it’d hit a bomb.
A Galloper barreled at Kang Cheol-gu like a predator on prey.
He dove aside as it smashed the wall—no brakes, brutal impact. But just before, a shadow leaped from the truck.
Collision dust filled the warehouse.
As it cleared… a grating voice like scraping metal boomed.
“What… the fuck… is this, Wang Yong?”
Ma Chung-hwa.
Wang Yong, writhing like a worm, bleeding from his feet, bowed his head. When he looked up, tears welled.
Crying? The great Wang Yong… bawling like a bitch?
Ma Chung-hwa’s brow furrowed.
“…Boss… please.”
“Speak clearly, Wang Yong.”
“Run! That cop… he’s our kryptonite! Bad matchup. We gotta bail!”
“Shut it!”
A familiar voice cut in.
“Family reunion’s over. Too sappy for men.”
Kang Cheol-gu, the cop he wanted to rip apart.
“Thanks for coming yourself. Was wondering how to invite you.”
“I’ll… grind your bones to dust and eat ‘em!”
Ma Chung-hwa’s beastly growl settled. If Wang Yong got wrecked that bad, this young cop was no joke. Couldn’t win hot-headed.
He was different from instinct-fighting Wang Yong. He analyzed foes, found weaknesses, crafted perfect strategies.
His gaze dropped from the cop’s eyes. Front hand low and extended, rear in boxing cross-arm guard. Striker, not pure boxer or kickboxer. Side stance—not wrestler or grappler. High chance first strike’s a kick.
MMA mainstream now, but everyone had a base. This cop: long-range like Taekwondo.
Weapon identified. Now probe with talk.
“How the hell’d you do it? To my boys….”