Crushing the Gangster Summoner
"Phew~! Wow! This is so damn refreshing. Why the hell didn't I do this sooner?"
Songi exhaled a thick cloud of cigarette smoke from her mouth as she spoke. She didn't hesitate even when I casually poked a finger into her pussy. She must've gotten swept up in the vibe.
Atmosphere is a scary thing. Once you're used to it, your mindset and actions just naturally shift. Especially in a closed-off space like this. That's why people get sucked into bizarre cult rituals.
I fingered both Songi's and the Madam's pussies at the same time. True to her experience as a seasoned whore, the Madam subtly pressed her crotch into my hand. She knew exactly how to coax bigger tips. Every little move screamed top-tier hooker playbook.
"Nngh~! Scratch right there."
"Is that your weak spot, Madam?"
I explored her pussy with my index finger. Plenty of mileage on this one—kinda loose. No point expecting a tight grip. Guess Songi was today's main course?
Crisp bell rings echo through the room.
Right as I was angling for a proper thrust, a cheerful bell chimed through the VIP room. Total mood-killer. I scowled.
The Madam suddenly shot up from her seat, straightening her clothes. Uninvited guest incoming. To me, yeah—but to her, probably a superior.
"Hold on, I'll be right back. Promise."
"Where you going? Play with me."
"Important guest. I'll be quick—hang with Songi."
"Aw~ It'll be lonely without you, Madam."
"S-stop... let go of my hand."
I deliberately kept my grip on the Madam. Then the VIP room door slid open smoothly. This place needed a secret keycard. Only one other person besides the Madam could open it that casually.
"Huh? What's this?"
A guy with a jarhead buzzcut barged in. Wine-red shirt under a blue jacket, gold chain around his neck, black shades on his face. Straight out of the thug textbook, strutting like he owned the place.
He whipped off his shades the second he entered, shoving them in his front pocket. His razor-sharp eyes shot toward me, then the Madam. She flinched hard just from that glare.
Even a battle-hardened nightlife vet like her trembled. He stared down the naked Madam clinging to my side.
"Rookie. What the fuck you doing there? Forgot your promise to quit the game?"
Thick dialect rolled out.
"Th-this is just a quick play."
Madam's name was Mi-sook. She burrowed deeper into my arm, spooked by the intruder. Songi did the same on the other side.
The guy eyed the checks on the table, then my face. He pulled a cig from his pocket.
Lit it with a Zippo, inhaled deep, exhaled with a puff. He flicked ash off perfectly—no tray needed—then spoke.
"Some big-shot businessman, huh? Be a good boy and fuck off nice. You look loaded—I'll let it slide."
This cocky asshole was Ko Doo-sik, the summoner I was hunting today.
"What? Haven't even fucked her pussy yet."
I smacked Mi-sook's ass as I said it. Her face went sheet-white. Ko Doo-sik's cracked right after.
"Heh, rich kid who don't know the streets. No laws here, mister. You picked the wrong day."
He flicked his lit cig at me. That snapped my patience.
"Crazy fuck thinks he's hot shit 'cause I let him pose?"
"Urk!?"
I closed the gap in a blink.
Thwack!
Straight punch to his face. No need for KHC on trash like this.
"Gah!"
Five or six teeth flew. He crumpled to the VIP floor.
"Kyaaak!"
Mi-sook screamed. I ignored it, snatching his Zippo as he hit the ground.
"Thug bitch crosses lines when I play nice."
Flicked it on and seared his hair.
"Gaaaaah!"
Protein-burn stench as flames caught. I stomped 'em out. He passed out from the pain. Final touch: hocked a loogie on his face.
"Ptoo! Fucking prick pulls all kinda shit."
"Kyaaak! H-he's dead!"
"Nah, just out cold. Tough guys don't die from this."
Songi and Mi-sook stared like I was a beast, not a man. Made sense after that show.
Whatever. They weren't keepers anyway.
"Ugh...!"
Ko Doo-sik, boss of the Hammer Gang that swallowed Loss City, groaned back to consciousness. Memories fuzzy—couldn't piece it together. Flashes here and there.
Definitely stopped by his bar like usual. Routine business check.
Saw his girl Mi-sook fooling around with some guy.
Or did he?
Everything jumbled. Where the hell was he now?
"Ugh...!"
> Awake?
A man's voice—frivolous, light. Typical for nobodies who play gangster but top out at street punk.
But instinct screamed danger. Like this guy held his life in his hands.
Why the terror?
Answer in the lost memories.
"Where... am I...?"
Eyes open: pitch-black warehouse.
Arms bound. Legs too. Tied to a chair.
> Hey. Hear me?
Turned toward the voice: speaker, not a person.
"Kuh! Who the fuck!?"
Rival hitman?
Who'd pull this bold in Loss City?
Even he never considered kidnapping. Thugs swarm in packs—prey folds.
Bigger cities had abductions, sure. Not here.
> Don't need my name.
"Urgh! Think you'll get away with this!? I'll drag my boys here and snap your neck!"
> Obviously. That's why I did it. Worry about your neck, not mine.
"Bullshit! I'll find you and fuck you up!"
> Haha! Good luck!
Voice cut off.
Doo-sik assessed: kidnapped by some bastard, dragged here. Priority: escape.
"Think I'll die tied up here...? Gears Counter! Ishagal! Come to me now!"
Ishagal summoned to location.
(Last use remaining)
Whirr!
Tattoo on his right hand glowed. His final Gears Counter—used twice already. No time to save it.
Ten minutes later, the warehouse door exploded inward.
"Summoner!"
Silver-haired boy entered: Ishagal, his champion.
"What the hell happened?"
"Tch! Untie me first!"
Doo-sik thrashed. Ishagal drew a small dagger, slicing the ropes clean.
"Who kidnapped you? Another summoner?"
"Maybe. Fuck, whoever—I'll kill 'em!"
They exited. Blocking them: gloomy youth with bangs over eyes, and an eyepatch clown. Obvious summoner-champion pair—far from normal.
"Summoner! Those fuckers kidnap you?"
"Dunno! Tch, gotta be summoners!"
The clown slowly raised his gaze to the Doo-sik/Ishagal pair. Voice matched his look: ridiculous.
"Oho~ A real summoner shows at the duel spot. Thought it was a trap."
The youth replied.
"Trap? Smash it."
"True. Which is summoner, which champion?"
"Why ask? Killing both."
"Heehee! Right!"
Clown reached into air—massive scythe appeared. Double-edged blade top and bottom: twin sickle.
"Fuck! Ishagal! Gear up!"
"OK, Summoner!"
White aura burst from Ishagal. Face wolfed out. Grew taller, bulkier—clothes shredded into 2m werewolf.
'Werewolf' Ishagal vs. 'Clown' Joker—fight on.
"Werewolf! Fun!"
"Graaaaaah!"
And a man watched from afar.