New Year Doomsday Theory (2)
Doomsday prophecies like "the world ends on a specific cycle" or "a great war suddenly breaks out" were so commonplace they littered the streets like gravel. They were so ubiquitous that even if you searched the internet for fun, you'd skip right over the "Earth will perish in XXXX" predictions. It was like stating the obvious that people die after living a few decades—who the hell cared about world-ending crap? There was even a time when speculation about a nuclear war from the Soviet-American arms race was more famous than any prophecy. Anyway, I frowned at the realization that the newspaper I'd just bought for five minutes' worth was utterly worthless.
They say treat time like gold, just as you would a stone of pure gold. What irked me more than wasting precious five minutes on trash kindling was the old fogey's gall in boldly charging that much for it. If respecting the elderly hadn't been my New Year's resolution, that geezer wouldn't have seen tomorrow's sunrise. It was a far more plausible goal than quitting smoking, drinking, or dieting, but looking back now, it felt a bit regrettable.
I shoved the newspaper into a public trash bin and walked the empty streets again. The roads were decked out for Christmas Eve with dazzling light strings, Santa Claus figures, snowmen in Santa hats, and all that jazz—but not a single human soul laughing or chatting amid it all. This had to be the first time since the Korean War that so many people vanished from Seoul all at once.
I considered hopping the subway back to Hongdae, but then wondered if it was even running with the streets so deserted. Sure, the subway was city-managed, so the civil servants would show up, but by now, the drivers circling the loops must have sensed something off. No people. More precisely, the teeming crowds that breathed life into this cutthroat metropolis were gone.
Doubt turns to suspicion, suspicion to distrust. And when distrust solidifies into certainty, humans feel just two emotions: fear or rage. I spotted a man bursting desperately from a subway exit far off. He whipped his head around in bewilderment, then bolted in some direction like his life depended on it. It wasn't the panic of being utterly alone in a giant city—no, it was the terror of being chased by something.
He rounded a corner and vanished, only to reappear in my line of sight moments later—not alone this time. A mob wielding iron spears like primitive pikes was after him. Men, women, young, old—they all clutched long, pointed iron rods, thumping the blunt ends against the ground as they advanced. It was almost impressive, like some African savanna tribe moving in perfect formation, slamming their spears to encircle the fleeing man.
Mysterious groups started emerging one by one from the subway and other directions, boxing him in. Then, out of nowhere, they stabbed his side relentlessly with those rods. He screamed in agony, rolling on the ground, but the freakish horde didn't care—they kept piercing until his guts and blood spilled out completely.
In that moment, I overheard the first spear-thruster mutter softly.
Holy Blood. In Christianity, it refers to the first blood shed by Jesus Christ—the only begotten Son of Yahweh, part of the Trinity—who descended to earth in human form to atone for the world's sinners. The sacred blood from nails in his hands and feet, pierced in the side by a Roman spear, right before his death. The most precious blood, said to wash away all humanity's sins in that instant.
It was absurd that they were gutting some random guy's side in search of that Jesus Christ's Holy Blood, but I got why they were doing it. With all the Maya prophecy nonsense turning the world into a doomsday countdown overnight, this mob was undoubtedly hunting a sacrifice to absolve their sins. Jesus was Yahweh's firstborn come to save humanity, but also the willing sacrificial lamb offered for them.
Just days from 2026, New Year Doomsday Theory suddenly sweeping the streets, weird groups stabbing innocents with iron rods—I realized someone was deliberately hastening the apocalypse. Doomsdays don't come that easily. Not even the Middle Ages' Black Death, killing tens of millions, or the world wars—the bloodiest in history—ended the world. Instead of salvation through death, humanity advanced and improved; those catastrophes fueled civilization's change. They heralded new beginnings, not the end.
And now, humanity was turning coward over some no-name prophet's doomsday rant? I wet my index finger with spit and raised it to head height. A freezing wind should have iced it solid, but nothing—miraculously still.
"Something's pinning it down."
For a moment, it felt like the world's massive flow had halted. But the aura only blanketed Seoul. Yeah, not the globe—just holding Seoul's flow hostage. So the newspaper's price wasn't cash; it was time. In a stagnant space without flow, time's the only currency that works.
That explained why the spear-wielding mob gutting innocents hadn't frozen yet. They were extracting time from the stabbed man. To avoid falling behind in this stasis, to keep wandering in search of salvation until the moment it came—stealing time from anyone not in their "Ascetic Procession."
The original procession: flagellants who roamed whipping themselves, believing God unleashed the Black Death in fury. They mimicked Jesus, scarring their bodies and spilling their own blood on the earth. These guys, though? Preserving their own time while hunting a saint to shed Holy Blood in their stead. Same procession, totally different vibe—couldn't help but scoff.
They probably thought they alone were Yahweh's faithful, worthy of salvation. Just a selfish cult, really. Having drained every last grain of time from the skewered man, they turned to me.
In that split second, the ground sank with a whoosh, swallowing some in a massive sinkhole.
Rumble rumble rumble!
Solid asphalt crumbled, shredding the mob's flesh in seconds—they looked properly freaked. The jade beetle necklace glowing at my nape swelled, devouring the "unflowing" impure energy in real time.
Good air or bad, the world's law is constant circulation if there's flow. Force it to stop, and both stagnate in place. Precious lifetimes vanishing, streets thrown into chaos by filthy methods to seize that time. In a flow-less zone, impure energy piling up like mountains was inevitable.
"Resurrectio......!"
"Resurrectio......!"
"Resurrectio......!"
⟨ Necromantic Chant ⟩
"Not yet."
I gripped the wildly swelling beetle necklace with my right hand. It reluctantly halted absorption and spewed back the impure energy. The result? Pure apocalypse-level catastrophe.
High-rises collapsed like plane crashes, ground caved in, buried gas lines and wires ruptured into fires and chain explosions. The selfish time-hoarders vanished without trace, denied even stasis in this frozen space—utterly erased.
I snatched a fluttering pamphlet from the blast wave.
New Millennium Salvation Society is waiting for your atonement.