It Was the Roar of a Beast

It wasn't the cute, furry critters scampering around in the wild. This was the real deal—beasts crawling up from the primordial depths.

Yonghwa Seonnyeo bit her lip hard, separated from the savage brawl unfolding above by just the thin sheet of the car's roof. Yongsin-nim was protecting her, and she was channeling his power to shield these frail, pitiful humans. But the death rattles and terror-laden roars echoing from inches away were too much to bear with a clear mind.

Mortals who couldn't live forever, infinitely inferior and incomplete compared to a true god—they were bound to feel a thick dread of death. Death slithers into a sleeping man's bedroom like a snake, or it's the panic of a limbless soul tossed into deep water. Before you even notice, with no way to fight back, the moment you realize it's death, you humbly accept it as an unbreakable promise.

When that inevitable moment arrives, everyone either weeps uncontrollably, screams in terror, or quietly resigns. That's what death is.

But how can that thing not fear death?

Even the vicious criminals or lunatics who shout, "I'm not afraid to die!" cower deep in their souls. She'd seen plenty like them, so from the moment she grasped how the world worked, she'd believed no being was truly free of that fear.

Yet the thing battling overhead showed no fear of death at all. It brushed off approaching doom like swatting a fly, as if not even death could halt its will. Was that even human? Hell, was it even alive?

To say it wasn't afraid would be a lie. To claim it felt no sense of duty? Another lie.

Yonghwa Seonnyeo had already realized her path as a shaman was tangled like a knotted thread, riddled with sheer cliffs. Before meeting that thing, it had just been a road with tough mountains and rough terrain. Now, it stretched endlessly into the unknown.

When she finally reached the end, could she truly unravel the curse, grudge, soul, and unbreakable will bound within it using her own power? All she could do was pray to the heavens, beseech the earth, seek the gods' aid, and push forward with human strength.

Jingle jingle.

I'd always loved WWE but hated UFC. WWE had flair even in grappling—whether slamming, tossing, or literally hurling someone, it was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠spectacular.

UFC? Just sweaty, bloodied dudes glued together under the guise of grappling, grinding desperately for mount position. Too damn gay.

"Kill the monster gay! That's all I thought from the start!"

I roared, ignoring the speeding car's momentum as I lunged, grabbed its chopstick-thin waist, and spun it like a top. When its head pointed down, I drove a piledriver straight in.

BOOM!

Its head sank halfway into the dented rental car roof but somehow didn't crack. Piledriver victims only had death waiting!

"The ultimate technique passed down through generations of Supernatural Phenomena Resolution Office presidents: the President Fist Art! You're already a dead man!"

I pummeled its gaunt belly like a speed bag—rat-tat-tat-tat-tat!—then hooked my leg around its waist like a sickle and yanked the opposite way. CRACK! Its spine shattered, but it braced the roof with both hands and popped! its head free.

It heaved massive breaths, then bloated up like a pufferfish, filling its scrawny frame with lavish fat.

"All living things before me are offerings! That means death itself!"

"No way! Vore genre's too niche!!"

As its hippo-wide maw lunged to swallow me whole, I grabbed upper and lower jaws, blocking perfectly. Any red-blooded Korean guy might fantasize about diving into a "cave pussy" once, but that's an extreme fetish best kept in the shadows.

I couldn't broadcast indecency from a speeding car roof, so even as an enemy, I respected the monster's pride. We all harbor our inner weirdo, after all.

WHAM! I slammed its jaws shut, then locked in a headlock—big mouths have weak closing power. Sure enough, it couldn't pry open, just groaned and drooled stinking blood.

I'd guessed why it stayed gaunt normally but swelled with fat when exerting power. To consume offerings, hunger made them tastier. But using that power required burning reserves, like a fat guy dieting through brutal workouts.

Yeah, that's why, despite endless offerings from Chinese folks, it stayed starved and craved more. Using power for them shrank it back; refilling repeated eternally. A factory machine god, expending exactly what it received—never full.

But five years ago, Kim Hakseon's daughter was offered. It granted power accordingly, but she escaped without entering. First loss ever. Felt scammed, right? If it spent power expecting the meal, it had to eat.

That's why it desperately hunted the Kim family. No other offerings could fill that void.

I gripped its head tight, squeezing my arm as I whispered.

"You're no native earth spirit. No ties ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to this land at all. Your only link is that flimsy spiritual tether—and once we hit Seoul, it'll snap. When you realize eternal hunger awaits, can you endure?"

"GRRRRRRR...!"

"Pain, sorrow, starvation—bad memories etched into flesh and soul prick like needles forever. Like a pure-hearted guy obsessing over an ex who dumped him for someone better after decades. You'll carry hunger your whole life. No feast fills that void. You, who might live eons or eternity—can you bear it?"

All life fears death. But sometimes, agony from indelible memories makes even death a mercy—folks who could live on choose it.

"But you can't die even if you want. Your primitive followers demand eternal blessings."

I ASMR-whispered in its ear.

"Hunger, hunger, hunger. Stuff your maw with offerings, but they leak through the hole, leaving you writhing in emptiness. Ah, shoulda swallowed that virgin before the car hit! Lament an unfixable past, tormented by humans forever. You're a god, after all—gods exist for believers. You might hate it, but they'll worship fanatically, offer more. And like last time, offerings slip away now and then."

I spider-walked my fingers over its belly.

"The more time passes, more offerings pile up, more human errors—the bigger your holes grow. Unfillable, unnoticed by your devotees. You'll taste that eternity."

Even Jesus, to wash original sin, took human form and died screaming on the cross. But he won't do it again. Why? Crucifixion was hellish agony even for him.

Gods or godlike beings bear full risk for human duties or screw-ups. Jesus resurrected, showed pierced palms—"Look, air flows through"—then ascended. Smartest guy knew once was enough for bullshit.

"I called you 'arrogant' because you don't grasp your karma's weight. You'll tough it now, but soon sense something's off. Always you lose, no compensation, no comfort. Facing that truth, can you reject offerings and quit godhood? No way! You've devolved into a being that can't survive without human tribute. They've pierced your nose!"

The monster responded.

"If this hunger never ends, what point in living? Why live at all?"

"Jesus."

I positioned it like Titanic's iconic scene atop the speeding car, tilting its gaze skyward.

"Heaven's got endless wine and food. Jesus loves all equally. He's waiting for your noble sacrifice right now. What's noble sacrifice? Willingly giving your life to right all wrongs."

"Fulfill the covenanted noble sacrifice, prove your faith, and heaven's gates open. It's written in the scriptures."

"But I have ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a lingering grudge—never ate that final offering. Who resolves it?"

"Blame the preparers for uneaten offerings. We're heading to the culprit to ease your last regret. No doubts."

And so, we stood on the car roof, bound for Seoul's H University.