Last Dogma: Nyaistlinger (1)
The heteromorphic ability user with twitching cat ears, Nyaistlinger of the Last Dogma, crouched low in the shadows, holding her breath.
'Haa... fuck, nothing but shitty days, and finally...!'
The predator in the darkness. The final witness to the Dogma Declaration. The C-grade heteromorphic villain known by the crude moniker Nyaistlinger lay in wait for her chance. A nervous hiss escaped between her sharp fangs.
Recently, Nyaistlinger's mood had plummeted through the floor, drilling down to underground aquifers. For one simple reason.
Her money pipeline had dried up.
Nyaistlinger was a renowned info broker in the back alleys. At the same time, she was an illegal producer and distributor of snuff films—risking her life to film and sell stimulating videos on the black market.
She didn't deal in fakes with shoddy CG or staging. Only real footage: villains hunting civilians. Brutal murders between back-alley ability users. 100% raw crime videos where blood sprayed and flesh tore. No staging—that was the true art based on the Dogma Declaration.
Her snuff films sold for top dollar in the underworld.
But lately, views and sales of her life-risking new releases had cratered disastrously.
The cause? Absurdly, a single unidentified classic video sweeping the underworld communities and Pellagrem.
'Where the hell did that cheap fake-ass video roll in from... nyang.'
Nyaistlinger gnawed at her claws, cursing inwardly.
A bootleg recording from about 18 years ago, with degraded quality, outselling true masterpieces? Unthinkable.
The content was horrific. A woman strongly presumed to be the once-retired beauty hero Shooting Star surrounded in a dingy basement by shadowy debt-collector thugs, subjected to a brutal gang rape.
What irked Nyaistlinger was the contrived feel. Amid the merciless violation and beating by burly men, the woman didn't show pain—instead, she grinned like someone deeply hypnotized. And from her mouth poured lines straight out of cheap Japanese hypnosis porn.
"Aang...! Yours are too small, I can't feel a thing...! My Deok-gu's cock is way bigger and feels so much better...!"
"Harder, harder! My husband hits way better... aaht!"
'What bullshit. What crazy bitch praises her husband's dick while getting gang-raped? Unless her brain's rotted, it's obviously a deepfake scripted fake!'
Every time she saw the trending video, Nyaistlinger sneered in contempt. A fake production compared to her snuff artistry capturing real crime scenes and death's terror—it was just crude porn devoid of realism.
But the underworld consumers disagreed. They went wild for the stimulating spice of a hero's pathetic fall and impossible extreme scenarios.
Stressed by fake snuff outselling the real deal, Nyaistlinger had even messed up her cycle lately. And with this cheap fake trend likely lasting months, her reality-chasing wares would fly off empty shelves for a while.
Rent, food, her lavish shopping habits—all bankrupt this month.
Desperate for quick cash, Nyaistlinger prowled J District like a hyena hunting prey. She'd drifted to this funeral hall parking lot, staking out for days.
And now, the chief mourner Ha Ohu was alone.
'Heh heh heh... jackpot, nyang.'
In the shadows, Nyaistlinger's tongue slickly licked her lips.
She'd witnessed from afar the parade of luxury sedans from Korea's hero heavyweights visiting this out-of-the-way funeral hall. S-grade like Rapid Star, A-grades, big names—she nearly pissed herself but saw it clear.
They wouldn't visit a comrade's funeral after 20 years just to stuff a few 50,000-won bills in white envelopes. Millions, tens of millions in checks must've changed hands.
And now.
The fat, dull-eyed pathetic mourner hugged a heavy leather bag bulging with that fortune, yawning defenselessly. No hero guards.
'That stack of checks inside... I could skip filming and live easy for months, nyang.'
Blue static crackled from Nyaistlinger's fingertips—tzzt, tzzt.
With cat-like agility and high-voltage currents from her fingers rivaling a taser, she could stop a man's heart dead or paralyze the central nervous system with a neck strike.
Nyaistlinger moved silently from the dark, cat steps muffling even asphalt crunches.
Soon behind Ha Ohu, who peered only toward the road clutching his bag. Within an arm's reach.
His bloated nape exposed defenselessly.
'This big sis'll put that money to good use, nyang!'
Snap!
Nyaistlinger lunged, hands charged with current clamping his thick neck.
Zzzzt—! Kwaaaak—!
Blue high-voltage surged from her fingers into his nape, rampaging through his body. Sparks flew under streetlights, the stench of burning flesh thick.
'Done. Nyang!'
A smile curled on Miyang's lips.
Current pierced bare skin straight to the nerves.
'Now this bloated piglet won't scream right, just foam at the mouth and flop like a retard!'
Imagining muscles seizing, sphincters loosening, shitting and pissing himself grotesquely unconscious—her pussy clenched in anticipation.
But.
"Wha—nya?!"
1 second. 2 seconds. Something was off.
Nyaistlinger's eyes shook.
Despite pouring massive voltage, Ha Ohu didn't collapse. Not even buckling at the knees—he stood rigid.
Zzzzt, zzt!
His body stiffened, currents jerking every muscle. Fat sizzled.
But.
"Ah, fuck..."
He should be screaming, thrashing in agony.
Instead, Ohu slowly—agonizingly slowly—turned his head, body trembling.
His gaze met Nyaistlinger's eyes on his neck.
"You... what... are you...?"
"Hik...!"
His voice quivered from the current, lips blue.
But his eyes were ice-cold.
"You, you what nyang! Why aren't you dying nyang!"
No rage, no panic. Serene. Like brushing off a bug on his shoulder—utterly numb, rational.
"Nya, nyaaat... why, why isn't it working...!"
Her sure-kill hunting tool failing, the predator's mind blanked in panic.
It was thanks to his vermin body.
'Fucking hurts...!'
Sudden shock tore muscles like fire—but his abnormally thick neck and back fat insulated, delaying nerve penetration.
Plus, his mother's Shooting Star enhancement genes—usually just bearing his bulk—activated against mortal threat.
Her inherited muscle fibers endured lethal voltage, preventing full paralysis.
But pain alone crushes reason.
'Hypnosis saved me...!'
Endure it, fuck. Today is Mother's funeral. Don't waver to those fuckers' words. Erase the anger, you fucker.
Amid searing flesh pain, mortal threat—hypnosis crushed his amygdala.
Pain registered. But no screaming allowed. No emotional turmoil—pure cold analysis.
"Mo, monster fucker nyang...!"
Nyaistlinger tried pulling back.
But in a flash.
Ability user. Electricity. No weapon, no fighting skills. Can't run—legs numb.
Ohu calculated.
Use this vermin body's mass as a weapon!
Before panicked Nyaistlinger could retreat.
Ha Ohu flung his massive, stiff body backward.
"Kuh...!"
"Wha, whaa... nya, nyaaaaak—!"
The fleshy mountain crushed her vision. No dodge—his back slammed her face and torso, both crashing to asphalt.
Kwaaaang—!
"Kkgrnyaaaaang!"
Bones crunching, screams echoed in the lot.
Her electricity immunity stopped at elbows. Torso and guts were civilian-fragile.
Zzzzzzzt—!
Her own tens-of-thousands-volt hands' current, carried in his flesh, crushed atop her—reversing into her bare chest and gut.
"Hinyat...! Haauk...! Agagak!"
Chest crushed breathless, voltage ravaged innards. Cat ears quivered erect, eyes rolled white.
Muscles spasmed wildly. Fear broke her—sphincter released.
Drip drip...
Hot, piss-stinking liquid soaked from short hotpants to cold asphalt.
The predator who'd mocked him shitting himself now flopped wordless in her own piss, bug-squashed.
"Huu... huu..."
Only after the villain's twitching stopped did Ohu bite his lip, rolling sideways.
Muscles screamed, heart hammered ribs.
He stared at the sprawled, incontinent cat-eared villain.
'Fuck... close call. Nearly died for real. How'd I survive that, insane...'
Cold sweat poured.
She's out, but might wake. Run? Cops? If she wakes first...
Trembling hands fumbled phone from pocket.
"First... hypnosis her."
He staggered to her, dragged by nape to dim recycling bin behind the hall.
"Uuh... nyang..."
Faint groan from unconscious Nyaistlinger.
Ohu yanked her up by collar, aimed app at face.
Eyes closed—no recognition.
"Open your eyes, you crazy bitch."
Rudely pried lids. Swirling purple spiral locked on exposed pupil.
Ding—!
> Registration Complete: 2. Na Miyang
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Last Dogma: Nyaistlinger (Real Name: Na Miyang)
