Cradle of Obsession (3)

The problem was the moment I opened the box and looked at the camera.

My face flashed for an instant in that small black lens.

My heart dropped out from under me, and I shut the box.

I sat for a long time with the firmly closed box resting on my knees.

I never opened it again.

To me, Han Daeun looked like a stain.

The kind of stain that, once it settles, can never be wiped clean.

I couldn't bury something like that under Gawol.

Compared to Gawol, Han Daeun was far too pathetic a girl. She couldn't go back to the kendo she'd devoted her life to, she'd learned nothing, her personality was rotten, she spent every day mired in gloomy thoughts, and her heart was crawling with jealousy.

In the game she'd gone wild streaming with Sulpang's help — but in reality she was a cripple who couldn't even turn a camera on once!

What was I supposed to do? I was just too scared.

It felt like everything I'd done out of ugly jealousy was grabbing my ankles and laughing at me.

"Ah."

No. If my thoughts spiral that far, I won't be able to pull them back.

Just then, the fake Gawol stabbed my shoulder.

The shoulder with the dagger buried in it burned as if seared by fire.

If it were me, I wouldn't stop there.

As if it were the most natural thing in the world, the blade spun a full circle inside my body. Flesh and muscle tore, and blood poured down. Hot blood streamed between my white underarms, over my breasts, down my thighs.

The pain that crashed over me choked off my breath.

"It hurts."

It hurt so much I could barely stand it.

Had it always hurt this much? In the Arena I'd managed to endure it somehow.

It hurt so badly the whole world became hateful — and the girl in front of me became hideously hateful too. A flame-like hatred rose in my gut. It felt like my organs were burning up from the inside.

Or was it? Maybe I'd always hated her.

She'd put a knife in my body, and I had no intention of just letting her go.

She had to hurt too. I knocked the blade aside with the back of my hand as it was pulling free. My glove split slightly, exposing skin — but it left no wound.

The dagger had bounced in an unintended direction, creating an opening. I naturally sliced the artery, but… she only wore my face. In the end, my opponent was an inanimate object. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Opening a blood vessel didn't make blood flow.

I could at least wreck her wrist a little.

The breath I drew in smelled of iron. Odds were it was the smell of my own blood.

I don't care much for the scent of blood, but I don't hate the body heat carried in it. It's a kind of warmth, so it's not so bad.

Thanks to the searing pain, my head cleared.

It was almost funny. Trying hard to pull myself together was less effective than simply being in pain. So that's why people with wounded hearts cut themselves. Did they want their bodies to hurt more than their hearts?

Me… I'm still okay for now. I've never hurt my body in reality. I still have enough left in me to log into the capsule and hold ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠on if things get bad. I wouldn't call my mind healthy, but ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the reason I honed as an athlete hasn't been completely destroyed.

Enough of the trivial stuff — focus on the fight. If I wipe away the stray thoughts, maybe this feeling will fade a little too.

We're both in a state where daggers alone won't accomplish much. What can I do in this situation?

Obviously, use my legs.

I pressed down with my hand to block the knee rising toward me. I twisted my head to dodge the dagger, grabbed her thigh, and went for a ground technique.

This was a kind of gamble. If her strength was overwhelmingly greater than mine, it could become a fatal mistake. Going by the book would put me at a disadvantage with my weak body, so I forced it.

But… there was no way it wouldn't work. This game doesn't create unbeatable bosses.

"Hah…"

A good start. This won't be easy to break free from.

Martial arts are the Akashic Records built up over thousands of years by the human weapons of the entire world. Modern martial arts. Among them, ground techniques are the absolute cream of the crop — the purest extract of pure extracts. Given time she might analyze this too, but it's nothing that can be solved by pure instinct or gut feeling.

This time, you made the mistake. I'm the best at one-on-one combat in this entire world. You shouldn't have copied my body!

…I should probably visit a hospital soon. My bipolar's gotten worse.

Behind the knee. When I cut into the popliteal area, a welcome system message rang out. So destroying the actuator counts as a tendon?

While pinning both arms, I stabbed under the armpit three or four more times. A satisfying score, but things weren't entirely smooth. The speed at which she was learning countermeasures was far faster than expected.

She began disentangling our locked legs and shoving me back with raw strength. Trying to pin her forearm and breast, I failed to protect the left side of my waist. This kind of exchange put me at a disadvantage.

If the opponent were just a human, I would have kept pushing — but she was unmistakably a dungeon boss. A slight advantage wasn't enough to guarantee victory. At minimum, I couldn't let this devolve into mutual butchery.

I grabbed both arms, and our thighs pressed together.

"Ghh…!"

Strength alone won't cut it. I'll get swallowed immediately. Without the positional advantage, I'd already be the one pinned underneath. And this thing had already learned how to use her elbows. Angular bone pressed into my body, summoning pain.

I had to find an answer before my ribs shattered.

Ordinarily I could press her throat and cut off her breathing, but would that even mean anything? Even wearing a face identical to mine, this thing was ultimately a machine. Choking a machine's neck? That's just stupid. Even old Hollywood movies don't do that kind of thing.

But I can change my approach.

I shoved my overlapping legs in a little deeper. The force of my thigh pushing in and my calf pulling out worked in opposite directions — targeting the weak point of the knee joint to snap the leg sideways.

Even in grappling arts like jiu-jitsu, this was a banned technique. The risk of injury was too high to be allowed in sport. Which conversely meant it was outstanding at destroying a body.

I twisted my whole body with force, and eventually came the sound of a leg breaking — crack-crack-crack.

While the fake recovered her stance, I released the hold and stepped back slightly.

One leg isn't enough. This girl, packed solid with obsession, won't give up until she's dead. Those eyes, constantly moving, are still searching for my answer even now.

"Don't be so pathetic. Just die already — it'd be easier for both of us."

Since she was a boss, she might recover quickly. I closed in immediately, aiming for her right eye. Of course she wouldn't go down easy. My missed dagger sliced empty air.

The enemy's gaze flicked briefly to the floor. Then I needed to watch for shadows. I stopped mid-step and dodged, and something like a sharp spike shot up.

In that opening, the fake Gawol attacked as if to overwhelm me. I'd meant to slip sideways. Could she read me just as well as I could read her? A shadow blade that came a beat late made me miss the perfect timing.

And the amplified damage was far too great. Even though I'd perfectly parried, my wrist bent and the dagger went flying far away. A blade sank into my side, and in exchange I grabbed one of the fake's arms.

I wasn't dead yet either. We both carried the same venom, so I had no intention of ending it here.

Using the back of my arm as a fulcrum, I broke the fake's arm. Her body was far harder than a human's, but if I put my full strength and body weight into it, I could just barely break it. From straining too hard, blood burst from the wound I'd just taken.

"Khuh…!"

Maybe because no one was around? A scream I couldn't hold back tore free.

Even so, a sense of exaltation began to rise in my head. I'd won. The bleeding was severe, but she had one arm and one leg wrecked. There was no way further combat could be established. I could freely control the distance; the fake no longer could.

I gradually added more wounds, then drove two hidden weapons into her ankle. From the Achilles tendon where the throwing knives were embedded came a screeeech — the kind of sound you'd hear from rusted metal.

The ash-gray body collapsed. I didn't miss that opening.

Pinning both arms with my knees, I straddled the fake's stomach. I needed to stab with a dagger… but I couldn't see one. My left hand had somehow been slashed across the wrist and was unusable. There should still be a hidden weapon somewhere on my body, but I couldn't quite remember.

That face looking up at me. That face that damnably resembled mine — seeing it, my thoughts wouldn't turn properly.

"No weapon? Then fists it is."

I silently drove my fist into that expressionless face. Fortunately, it seemed the face wasn't protected by the same hard outer shell. Still tougher than my body, but if both face and fist got wrecked, I was obviously the one who came out ahead.

Thud. Crunch. Thwack.

My hand crushed. At the same time, the fake's face was destroyed. The fake didn't bleed, but I bled in her place. Blood from my fists. Blood flowing from my body and mouth. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Crimson stains soaked both our bodies. So we both looked like we were bleeding.

I didn't stop moving my fists. Again and again. Again and again I hit her. With every punch, my heart seemed to ease a little. Some knot of bitterness began to melt away, until I couldn't even feel the pain.

Then at some point, I saw a hidden weapon on the inside of my thigh. So that's where it was. My head really wasn't working. Once I get things sorted, I should get some sleep.

I drove the throwing dagger into her temple. The fake Gawol's body went limp.