I Hate Returns Like This
“Ah. It fell.”
The precariously stacked stone tumbled down with a tok, tok. The platinum blonde girl clicked her tongue and bent over to pick up the fallen rock.
“Weird. It seemed fine...”
Contrary to her words, the dropped stone was nothing like the flat, disc-shaped ones she'd stacked so far. It was the worst shape imaginable for building a tower—bright and poppy, just like the girl herself, who seemed utterly out of place in this death-scented hellhole. It even resembled the rose tattoo etched on her thumb.
She's pushing it... No way that rock stays up.
Round or jagged, it would roll right off the moment it touched the flat surface. Yet like Sisyphus cursed by the gods, the girl repeated the same motions. Stack the stone, watch it fall, pick it up again. There was a resolute determination in her efforts, as if she'd somehow make it stick up top.
But screw such pointless drudgery. The man had come here for a pivotal battle that hung his family's fate in the balance. Her innocent face belied the vicious witch he had to slay. Every survivor who'd barely dragged their crippled bodies home had said the same: the witch mocked humans with grotesque dances and songs, dressed in lewd outfits that bared her thighs.
Countless heroes had climbed the tower, hearts burning with national pride and martial honor. Ten years passed, claiming 99 heroes and uncountable comrades. That witch beyond the stone tower had felled them all with her bizarre, unknowable martial arts.
Focus...
In a clash of masters, one strike decided everything. With the enemy distracted by her tower-building, this was his golden chance. Cowardly? No. True victors seized every means necessary. Warriors never dropped their guard, not against frail elders or snot-nosed kids. On blood-soaked battlefields, no ordinary old man or child survived without special powers.
The man visualized it in his mind. The moment the witch placed her rose-shaped stone. He'd shatter the tower and thrust his fingertips through the gap. As she doubled over from the solar plexus strike, he'd smash her face with his gripped fist. Then an ankle kick to launch her airborne, spin around, and finish with a back roundhouse—the killing chain. She'd holed up for ten years, but witches bled too. A fall from this height meant death. A simple path to a happy ending. The world's tumor uprooted, and he'd bask in honor, riches, and longevity.
“Haa... Picked something special for the last one, huh...”
Oblivious, the girl lifted the stone.
“No, I can do this...”
The rose pebble wobbled but seemed to settle—then, like her own fate, it twisted and rolled free.
And then.
Kwa-jik! Kwa-ruk! The midsection of the towering stack pierced through as someone's fingertips burst out. The opening salvo of the man's killing dance, meant to seal the girl's doom.
“—What?”
But no one was there. No girl lamenting her failed stack. No girl gasping from a pierced solar plexus.
“Tch.”
The voice came from behind. Chills raced up the man's spine as he whipped clockwise—but again, no girl.
“Was gonna stack it before fighting, but you smashed it.”
The voice scattered from behind once more. He spun in an arc. This time slicing with his hand blade at the sound's origin.
Still no girl. Before him, crumbled stones tumbled into yawning darkness. Behind, the thud of her shoe heel kicking off the ground amid faint footsteps.
Another instant passed. His body already flipped, swallowed by darkness amid the pouring rocks.
Moments later, amid crashing impacts, her faint song echoed.
“Spread your wings and fly away... ♬”
Mourning the man who'd plummeted without a scream. She turned to the empty air.
“That do it?”
The goddess—no, that dogshit demon's condition was souls worth a hundred heroes. Her eons-long war finally ended. No friends to hang with. Only enemies knocking. No more tear-soaked bread; she ate loaves damp with challengers' sweat, drank mossy rainwater pooled in stone bowls, wondering when the torment would cease.
The empty air twisted, revealing a woman in a black dress. She swept back her wavy side hair, red eyes gleaming. The culprit who'd hurled her into hell on a whim of petty mischief. Trash demon Belial.
“Truly... I never thought you'd succeed. Splendid work.”
She just wanted back to her original world. Chicken, pizza, meat she'd craved for ten years. Endless foods, mundane modern Korea. Even convenience store meals were fine—fast internet, smooth games, familiar faces. She'd realized it on day one here, writhing on stone.
“Wish.”
“Of course. You've won the bet; I'll gladly grant it.”
Bet. This psycho called it a bet. Why not just say divine punishment for mocking her fighting game skills?
MIXER has donated 5,700 won!
Even fighting in my own body, I'd do better lol. Fuck off.
Never tangle with this ghost again.
“Never show your face before me again.”
“In the name of Belial, so shall that wish be granted.”
“Send me back to my original world, in my original form.”
“In the name of Belial, so shall that wish be granted.”
With those words, Belial summoned a near-square leather wallet into her hand. The one she'd used before this world. Then a warp gate yawned beside her. A normal Seoul street. Honking cars. Steaming tteokbokki stalls, bustling crowds. Harsh sunlight piercing leaves.
“No need to doubt. Though with your skills, you'd amass fortunes anywhere...”
Belial's words fell on deaf ears. Pure bliss. I'm going home. Finally.
“State your final wish, contractor.”
Chuckling with head bowed, she snapped it up and beckoned Belial.
“Come here.”
“...You want this body?”
“Yeah. I do.”
“Oh? Planning some vile revenge? Ravish me with a woman's body?”
Her laughter cut short. She sprang at the approaching demon. Just like dropping that man from the tower, her right leg rocketed skyward. Toe met Belial's chin; neck snapped back. The body spun airborne in one motion.
“Who said... anything... about your body!!”
Like a hamster wheel, her legs whipped Belial's torso again. Hand blade to the slumping flesh. Backfist. Aerial flip into a clean axe kick. Belial tumbled across the ground, groaning to a halt.
“Ah... aaah. It hurts... hurts!! I... I got hit...?”
How's it feel getting owned by a human after ten years of torment? Her twisted face said it all.
“H-how! I'm a god in this world! No reason a human like you could—!”
The collab character Tuhon character I'd possessed, Ren. She had hidden lore... which Belial apparently didn't know.
One blink, and Belial recoiled in terror, scrambling backward.
Astarte's...!”
Clues littered Tuhon: Ren was demon spawn. Collect them all: “Claim souls of a thousand to descend Great Demon Astarte into your body.” Gamers raged for buffs if real. Devs stonewalled; it became an Easter egg for the initiated. She'd downplayed it too.
But canon. Lucky break.
Her reflection in a stone bowl: lemon vertical pupils, blue glow faded. Ren fused with Great Demon Astarte.
“Been waiting to kill you.”
She advanced, fangs bared. Black aura from her feet blackened everything.
“W-wait... Killing me causes problems. Your return glitches!!”
“Losing ground makes you chatty.”
“No! With Astarte's power awakened... your body...!”
Dying demon bullshit. Typical—fling a mortal to hell over a joke.
Left hand snagged Belial's throat effortlessly. Right, infused with demon power, pierced her chest.
“Aaah, aaaaahk!!”
The lesser demon's soul thrashed for mercy. She clenched, crushing it.
Pa-sit. Black soul pulp scattered like rotten tangerine.
Belial's fabricated world crumbled. Her body screamed under Astarte's strain. Time to release the power from a thousand souls. No need back in modern Korea anyway.
She scattered the demon essence without regret. Snatched the fallen wallet. Dove into the gate.
Sapphire eyes soft with light. Platinum long straight hair whipping. Legs extending gracefully in rhythmic gymnastics she'd honed since childhood. The Slavic K-idol fighter she adored, Ren. Ten years in her skin drawing to a close.
Who said it was over when you thought it was? Or was there no such line?
She gripped her resident card from the wallet like she'd snap it. Slapped her cheek to check if dreaming—pain and a sharp smack echoed.
“Ah, you okay?”
“What? A celeb?”
“She's nuts...”
Gazing at her reflection in the clothing store window at midday. Back to the plastic card in hand.
Not her ID. Same shape, different color and text.
“No, that's not it. With Astarte's power awakened... your body...!”
Trash demon Belial, always lying—truth only at the end.
Registration Number/Gender: 060606-80XXXXX / F
Name:Elena Igorevna Serebryakova
Residency Status: Permanent (F-5)
Me as Ren. Me as an idol fighter!
“Suka blyat!”