The Stars Come Walking

Kang Do-seok listened to the broadcast, the rest of him sinking into thought.

Amhyeolnansi. One of the Twelve Calamity Stars—and yet a mutant that had never once appeared in the game itself.

Like most online games, Chrome Blade Saga's world had only widened as the years went by. New regions opened; new incidents and monsters were layered on. Some creatures had their names and lore released first, and only showed their faces years down the line.

Amhyeolnansi had been one of those. Twenty years after the game launched, only seven of the Twelve Calamity Stars had ever actually shown up. The rest were known purely through documents, NPC dialogue, and records scattered across the cities.

What abilities it possessed, where it would surface—nothing had ever been properly laid bare. As far as he could recall, it had no direct connection to Shabelle's Storm, either.

"Hmm."

So why were things happening that had never happened in the game?

The answer was game knowledge—or rather, the sheer number of players who knew the future.

The instant someone who knew what was coming used that knowledge to carve out an advantage, the present changed. And once the present changed, the future had no choice but to change with it.

And the players who had behaved that way numbered a full two hundred thousand.

Events from the days when the world was a game were never going to replay themselves in exactly the same shape. All anyone could truly count on was the broad flow of things.

Do-seok turned his eyes back to the screen.

On the screen hung a blurry satellite photograph of a dark crimson shape.

Do-seok studied it in silence, then lowered himself onto the sofa. One of the Twelve Calamity Stars slipping satellite pursuit was not something he had expected.

But neither was that reason enough to move. What mattered to Do-seok came after Shabelle's Storm—the buried laboratory of a vanished corporation, and the Skill Star waiting inside it.

Night was deepening. The only thing he had to do right now was wait the storm out.

He buried himself into the sofa and closed his eyes.

Fire, roaring. Flames packed his entire field of vision, spewing black smoke; whatever was burning, he couldn't see. Only the smell of cooking flesh and the groan of collapsing timber reached him from every direction. Then the fire died.

Pitch-black darkness. And out of it, a single ember bloomed anew. The ember swelled until it took the shape of a person—a head, shoulders, thin arms and legs. A small frame. The whole body was ablaze, and still Do-seok knew the figure at a glance.

The child reached out a hand. The moment he moved to take it, the small body crumbled into bone-white ash. A soft hiss—and the ash scattered on the wind.

"You're always too late, big brother."

Amid the drifting gray ash, Do-seok bowed his head. Somewhere along the way, a sword had come to rest in his hand. Dark crimson blood dripped, drop by drop, along the blade—whose, he couldn't say. Whether it belonged to someone he had killed, or to someone he had failed to protect.

"Do-seok."

This time it was a woman's voice, and it wasn't unfamiliar. A faint hand reached out of the darkness and brushed his cheek.

"You have to survive to the very end."

Do-seok raised his head. Her face wouldn't resolve—only long hair and torn lips floated up out of the gloom. He reached toward where her face ought to be, but just before his fingertips could touch her, the woman's form scattered like smoke.

"When it's all over, come back to me."

The scene before his eyes collapsed once more. Do-seok opened his eyes. A dream. And yet the smell of burning and the touch of that hand on his cheek lingered, painfully vivid.

He stared at the ceiling for a while, then slowly pushed himself upright. Rising from the sofa, he grabbed the water bottle and gulped down lukewarm water.

Skreeee—…

His hand stopped.

Skreeee-eee—…

He turned his head. Certain, this time: the cry of an insect. From the direction of the window. Do-seok set the bottle down and went straight into the living room, picked up the sword propped beside the sofa, and approached the window the sound was coming from.

Shhhk.

He drew back the curtain. And—

What greeted his eyes was a massive mutant.

A giant cicada clung to the outside of the glass. Its body alone came close to a full meter in length.

Its dark crimson torso was divided into bulging segments like a human's rib bones, yellowish mucus beading in the joints between them. Inside its transparent wings, a dense web of markings like black veins spread through every corner.

All six of its legs ended in hooks curled like talons, and every time those hooks raked the surface of the glass they let out a thin skreek, skreek. Hundreds of compound eyes studding either side of its head were fixed on Do-seok.

Its abdomen swelled, then puckered inward.

Do-seok stared at the thing for a long moment before spitting out a single word.

"Annoying."

The creature in front of him was a Nightmare Cicada—a cicada-shaped mutant that inflicted nightmares on the living.

For all its size, the Nightmare Cicada was far from a sturdy mutant. A single thrust of his sword through the glass would be enough to kill it.

The problem was the window.

Do-seok looked past it.

KWAAAAAA—!

Shabelle's Storm was tearing across the city. Black wind and rain lashed the building's outer walls, and a sign ripped loose from somewhere went spinning through the air, end over end.

The cicada hung on with its hooked legs, glued tight to the glass. Enduring that wind was something only a mutant could manage.

One thrust, and the thing would die.

And the window he'd just had repaired would shatter along with it.

Then the rain, the wind, and every contaminant riding them would come pouring straight into his home. Furniture whirling through the air, the floor drowned in muddy water, the entire penthouse wrecked.

Not a price worth paying to kill one mutant.

The cicada swelled its abdomen and cried out again.

Do-seok pulled the curtain shut. Even with a pane of glass between them, lingering beside a mutant was never a good idea. Infection was a real possibility, after all.

"Better I go out."

He scooped up the coat he'd tossed over the sofa, belted his sword at his waist, and opened the front door.

No one could leave ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the building while the storm raged.

The blessing was that Do-seok lived in a megabuilding packed with ten thousand households. Restaurants, shops, a hospital—practically every public facility worth the name was inside the structure. If he couldn't sleep in his own bed, he would simply find somewhere else to lie down.

At the front door, his steps paused.

From the living room, the insect's cry came again.

Skreeee-eee—…

Two doors and a long corridor away, and still it sounded as clear as if it were calling right beside his ear. Do-seok shut the front door without so much as a glance back.

Click.

The heavy soundproof door closed, and the cry was cut off.

In the corridor, residents who had fled their homes like him were drifting past one by one—a person dragging a travel case, another hurrying a child along by the hand, another loaded down with blankets and emergency rations.

Do-seok walked among them, toward the elevator.

The megabuilding's elevator was packed with residents. He leaned against the innermost wall, and once the doors slid shut the floor count began to plummet.

On a screen set into one wall of the elevator, the news was playing.

Behind the anchor, the city showed through, shrouded in black wind and rain. Overturned vehicles and shattered signage lay tumbled across the roads.

Do-seok checked the time floating at the top of the screen.

Eight hours until the storm ended. He'd slept longer than he'd meant to, apparently.

Ding.

The elevator stopped at the commercial floors. The doors opened, and the smell of food and the babble of voices washed in all at once.

Do-seok slipped between the residents and walked into the arcade.

The food court at the center of the commercial level was packed. Residents looking to wait out the storm had all descended on it at once.

A man who had replaced everything below his nose with cyberware as transparent as glass passed in front of him, smiling—and every time his lips parted, the machinery at the back of his throat lay bare for all to see.

The woman beside him had let down bundles of fine optical fiber in place of hair. With every step she took, hundreds of strands of light rippled out like waves.

On the ad board hanging from the wall across the way, a half-naked man and woman were running their hands over each other's prosthetics.

On screen, the man pointed below his own waist—and a bulging something popped out.

The man then flashed a smile so wide it showed every tooth he owned, and tossed out his closing line.

Do-seok tore his eyes from the ad board.

Ten years in this city, and its advertising was every bit as vulgar as ever.

Then the screen went black for an instant—the half-second gap before the next ad cycled in.

The glossy surface mirrored the food court back at him.

And in that reflection, Do-seok found a man watching him.

The man was standing in front of a drink shop across the way. He held a paper cup in one hand, but not once had it touched his lips.

Do-seok glanced sideways, turning his head with practiced ease toward the direction the scrutiny was coming from.

A woman standing near the food court entrance was looking his way, pretending to fuss with her terminal.

She wasn't the only one. A man leaning against a pillar was in the middle of a call, and a worker in coveralls pulling a cleaning cart was already making his third pass down the same aisle.

Nobody was doing anything conspicuously suspicious. Their gazes had simply crossed his a few times too many.

They never looked at one another. Their clothes, their ages, the directions they moved in—every last detail was different. Even their distances from Do-seok never stayed constant.

"...Hmm."

But their positioning was exquisite.

Each of them held one of the choke points—the arcade entrance, the elevators, the emergency stairs. Whichever way Do-seok moved, at least two could pick up his trail.

Something about it was artificial. Every job ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠he'd ever survived was telling him the same thing.

Do-seok rose from his seat without hurry and set off toward the underground parking garage.

That instant, the man by the pillar ended his call, and the woman near the entrance slid her terminal into her pocket.

Do-seok kept walking.

They threaded through the crowd at a fixed distance from him. When one drifted close, another fell back, and whoever slipped out of sight reappeared at the next junction.

They actually know how to tail a man properly.

People with reason to come after him were beyond counting.

Gang bosses whose necks he'd opened over ten years came close to triple digits. One outfit running illegal human experiments had lost its headquarters and its labs both, entirely, because of him—and the smaller corporations and organizations he'd torn apart collecting what they'd skimmed were past numbering.

Comrades of dead bounty hunters, remnants of ruined companies, gang soldiers mourning family.

Remembering every last soul with a grudge against him was impossible.

Which meant the sensible move was simple: catch them, put them down, and ask who sent them.

Do-seok followed the signs toward the underground parking level.

The noise of the arcade faded behind him, little by little. The crowd thinned.

He pushed through the fire door, and cold air and the smell of machine oil rolled over him.

Behind him, three sets of footsteps followed.

Farther off, a fourth set was descending the stairs.

Do-seok walked on into the garage, muffling his own steps, and quietly moved his hand toward the hilt at his waist.

Skill: Camouflage.

The instant his fingertips touched the grip, his body began to melt into the scenery around it.

The outlines of his sword and coat blurred. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Then his face, his limbs, took on the colors of the floor and the parked cars.

A moment later, there was nothing left of him to see anywhere in the garage.

The fire door swung shut.

Click.

The man in coveralls stopped in his tracks. Behind him, two men and a woman filed down into the garage after him.

Along one side of their vision, a message blinked to life.

The standard visual interface issued by Cheongmyeong Guild—ocular cyberware that displayed messages directly in the user's field of view for soundless communication.

The man scanned the depths of the garage.

The man was the leader of the Fourth Squad of Cheongmyeong Guild's Special Combat Unit.

Every member of his team was a player—people who had adapted to this world, survived it, and built power for themselves. People who had made killing their livelihood.

This mission was simple.

Track Kang Do-seok. Observe him.

Manufacture a situation where he could be killed, and kill him.

Then Shabelle's Storm had conveniently come howling through. Do-seok couldn't leave the megabuilding. Keep close on him inside, and the support team would link up in time.

A chance too good to waste—clearing out the biggest potential rival to their future, before he ever became one.

Pull this off, and the squad leader's standing within the guild would climb a long way.

Kang Do-seok. The unaffiliated blade.

The name had made its rounds among the players, but the squad leader didn't put much stock in reputation.

So the man's handy with a sword. Alone.

Was that supposed to impress anyone?

He was a blade-for-hire himself, and he knew better than most that a swordsman's trade was never just swordsmanship.

His side had four. All of them with dozens of live engagements behind them—gang purges, raids on corporate facilities, mutant hunts.

People who understood, better than anyone alive, how to kill a man and walk away from it.

That was what the words Cheongmyeong Guild combat team meant.

The squad leader flicked his fingers. Two of them split off left and right. The woman took station in front of the fire door and raised her hand, and at her fingertips shadow writhed.

Having confirmed it, the squad leader activated his plasma blade and advanced slowly into the dark.

Several hundred vehicles stood in ranks across the garage. Overhead, the ceiling lights flickered at even intervals.

Nothing carried from far off except the hum of ventilation fans.

The next moment, the woman's right eye flickered red. A few seconds later, she shook her head.

The four of them advanced with intervals held between them.

Do-seok had definitely entered this level. There was no other exit.

And yet there was no sign of him.

No footsteps. No breathing.

The squad leader's brow drew tight.

That was the moment.

SHUNK!

A sound like parting meat rang out from behind him.

The tip of a blade slid in beneath the jaw of the man posted behind the squad leader's right shoulder and punched out through his chest.

"Gkkh—…"

Blood sheeted down to the concrete.

The squad leader wheeled around.

FWOOSH!

The blue plasma blade met Do-seok's sword head-on.

KAANG—!

Sparks burst.

The squad leader twisted his wrist to shove the blade aside—but Do-seok's sword took none of the force. It ran off the plasma edge like a snake, its tip riding up along the length of the burning blade and drawing a line across the squad leader's throat.

A thin mist of blood leapt up.

Psshk!

The squad leader's face twisted, and he gave ground by a single step—and Do-seok's leg blurred. It came in like a lightning flash and hammered into the man's chest.

"Khh—!"

KWAANG!

Sent flying clean across the garage, the leader of the Fourth Squad slammed into the far wall. Do-seok shook the blood from his sword and walked forward.

"Let's see, now."

His gaze passed over the survivors one by one.

"One, two, three, four."

Four players.

If he killed every one of them—four Skill Stars, at most, to absorb.

"The stars just walked in here on their own feet."

The corner of Do-seok's mouth curved up, just a little.