Frail (2)

——Static.

The memory from a year ago that had been needling at my brain all this time came roaring back the moment I saw the Association's mark—a perfect circle, drawn without the slightest crookedness. It was more than enough to make me scowl.

The instant I touched down and brought my body to a halt, the current of air that had been trailing me died away at once. And in that same breath, a thin cut flashed open across the throat of the girl who had just rushed past me.

"Ah—hk."

"……"

An Association hunter, was she. Right.

The Association.

Those sticky little bastards who had hounded me without rest right up until a year ago.

"Hhhk—uhh—"

"You okay?"

Three a day, I'd said.

Kill her too and it would be four. I'd deliberately cut around the carotid—and yet watching the blood spill from the mouth of the girl crumpled on the floor, her ash-gray hair a mess, the first thing I felt was waste.

The crimson waterfalls pouring from the countless blade wounds all over her body looked delicious beyond reason, too.

I clenched the hand holding the knife.

—Thump. Thump. Thump.

Get a grip.

I'd already killed three. I'd already fed the craving.

I had to hold on.

I could do this. Right?

I spun on my heel and hurried over to the man slumped against the wall. I pulled the knife free from where it had punched clean through his heart, then flicked the blood off with a couple of sharp taps.

Looking at them—no more scent of life rising from any of them—I twisted a lock of hair at my temple.

I'd barely put any strength into it, wanting to spare the blood. I hadn't expected them to die so easily.

Once the little bit of busywork was done, I gathered every drop of blood spattered across the floor and walls and compressed it into a small cube. I took out the glass vial I'd tucked against my chest, unscrewed the lid, and dropped it in.

A clear little clink rang out, and the craving eased. My mood lifted.

"Pretty."

Two beads and one cube.

A good haul.

Leaving the hitching whimpers behind me, I started walking. Past the man still slumped against the wall, I spotted a faint gleam on the ground—something that had fallen and was glowing softly.

An artifact.

So this one had been an Awakened too.

Ah. That was why there had been three.

Even someone this weak—weak enough to need an artifact—counted as an Awakened, apparently.

"……"

Me too.

I was weak too.

My body was so terribly frail.

If only it were the kind of body that could die from having its limbs torn off, from having its heart burst—how wonderful that would have been.

You're always the same, aren't you.

I know.

I shouldn't indulge thoughts like these.

Negative thoughts chain into one another, one after the next.

They erode me without end—become needles that slowly eat away at my mind, until my body, my heart, and even my actions are all dyed a vivid red.

So how about we talk about something a little more constructive.

Something useful to the world.

Something like that.

For example?

Beyond the entrance, a few lights flickered in the dark.

"Shall we get out of here?"

Before I opened the shop door and stepped out, some habit cut into my bones made me tip my head up and sweep my gaze along the wall where it met the ceiling.

My eyes met those of a black security camera clinging precariously to a cracked stretch of wall.

"……"

Before long, I expect I'll be fighting you people again.

Six months. One month. This week.

I know.

A few days at most, if that.

That's how you've always been.

Every time I make a move, you tighten the net and thrash around trying to kill me.

Association.

I'll be looking forward to it this time, too.

Without meaning to, I licked my lips as I looked down at the fallen hunter—then hurriedly turned on my heel and left the shop.

The outskirts of the city had a particular kind of emptiness that made the streets unnervingly quiet. Which meant, of course, that my own groans and ragged breathing stood out all the more nakedly.

"Haa····. Haa····."

It had been a little while since I'd last drunk blood.

A little while?

How long was a little while?

A day? Three days? A week?

I didn't know.

What I did know was that my entire field of vision had gone red, and I couldn't see properly ahead of me. That my heart was hammering as if it would shatter. That my mouth had gone bone-dry.

If I didn't pull myself together—

If I didn't cling to reason by my fingernails—

I might slip into something that was nothing but instinct, a beast that slaughtered without a second thought.

No. I wasn't human to begin with.

Damphir.

Half-human, half-vampire.

"Ugh—phwaaah—"

It hurts.

It hurts.

It hurts.

I need blood.

I don't feel like myself.

What's pooling in my mouth right now?

Spit? Blood? Or something else entirely?

—Spurt. Crack! Pat-pat-pat.

I don't know.

Just keep walking. Don't think about anything. Walk.

Fight down the urge to kill someone and drink their blood, and get home safe.

And prove it to myself. That I'm still human.

That my heart, at least, is still human.

The knife.

The bloodied knife caught my eye.

The thick scent of skin rose off it.

"No····."

My chest thudded. My whole body shook.

"No, no, no."

I couldn't have killed anyone. No. I couldn't have.

Three a day.

Three a day. Three a day. Three a day.

If I kill someone, it becomes four a day.

No. I can't.

Then I stop being human.

So does that mean up to three still counts as human?

That it's fine to murder as many as three people without batting an eye?

You—are you really human?

"Aaah—ah—aaaah!!"

I didn't have a choice.

If I don't kill someone, my body can't hold on.

What am I supposed to do with this body that hungers for blood every single night?

I can't even die on my own terms. If I lose control of myself, I slip right back into who I used to be—

Laughing like a madwoman in front of everyone who wants me dead.

A residential building.

Limping, drool dripping from my mouth, I still mashed the elevator button hard enough to break it.

—Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

Come on. Come on. Come on.

It's okay.

I'm here now.

I made it.

I kept it.

Three.

I must have kept it.

Thank you.

Even as the doors opened and we descended underground—enduring the pain in my chest, cataloguing every sensation in my body—I leaned against the wall, slumped, and squeezed my eyes shut.

The doors opened. I sank into the narrow, impossibly narrow living room. I stretched out on the sofa shoved against the wall.

I didn't spare a thought for dinner.

I didn't even manage a good-night to Bloody.

I plugged the device filled with red liquid into the area around my chest.

Utterly spent, I waited helplessly for the nightmare hours that were about to crash over me.

With the sound of the clock's hands, my mind cut out.

"I thought you needed to know, so I came to see you even though I know how busy you are."

"What on earth is so urgent?"

"It's about a murder case that occurred in the Gyeonggi region."

Following his secretary down the long corridor that led to the conference room, Association President Lindergel frowned in puzzlement.

"Gyeonggi?"

"Yes. Yangpyeong, Gyeonggi Province."

After the Incident, public order in the cities had deteriorated so severely that tightening security around the densely populated capital region had been the obvious call. That crime rates in the outer districts were climbing as a result was already a matter under discussion.

Lindergel, whose head already throbbed from the capital's caseload alone, had long since handed decision-making authority for most of Busan and Gyeonggi's outer regions over to his executives.

Yangpyeong, Gyeonggi—an outer district of the capital region, wasn't it?

Bypassing the directors and executives entirely to report straight to him.

Was this the secretary's own call?

The conference room door opened. Lindergel looked toward the table—and saw a girl seated there.

A lovely face framed by short golden hair. A dark uniform that somehow still felt crisp and cool. And, just beneath the surface, a formidable presence.

"It's been a while, Mr. President."

"Erika. It has been a while. How is the department treating you?"

"Well enough."

Her face as she answered calmly was no different from her usual blank expression. Still the same emotionally muted girl.

Lindergel settled into the seat beside her and replied,

"You say that, but I know you've been crushing every case the moment it lands on your desk."

"You're too kind."

"Hah."

A ranker from the game days. Duty and justice. The Association's rising star.

That was Erika in a nutshell.

That she had thrown herself into the field the moment she joined the Association, eyes only for the work—every senior officer knew it. Outstanding casework and judgment that rivaled a ranker's skill, plus the ability to command those around her.

Ever since she had been assigned, true to her nature, to a "special" department that handled the dangerous jobs no ordinary person could touch, she had cleared every case put in front of her and only grown more renowned for it.

"I heard something about a special case. Caught wind of it and came to see for myself."

At Erika's words, the secretary—as if he'd been waiting—fired up the projector. Several photo files stored on a laptop bloomed across the beam.

A shop reduced to wreckage, merchandise smashed to pieces. Two corpses so mangled their shapes were barely recognizable, and one more slumped against the wall with a hole through the heart, dead where he sat.

And off to one side of that crime scene, something that did not belong: a silver-haired girl. Long, wavy hair. Blue eyes.

A face that felt somehow familiar. Lindergel started to think so—then shook his head.

"The shop's CCTV took a heavy hit. Most of the memory was lost. This is all we have—one clip."

So saying, the secretary pulled up a video and hit play.

That same shop. A grainy feed. A few men. And that girl again.

Through the warped screen, a man lunged at her. There was no time to focus. The girl raised a blade, and in an instant the man's arm was severed as cleanly as if measured with a protractor.

Static—crackle—

The screen fractured. Chaos erupted. A red offensive build flaunting its presence, and flashes of light ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠swallowing the frame.

By the time anyone could do more than stare, countless frames had already whipped past in a matter of seconds. Something tore across the screen at ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠high speed—and then the image stabilized enough to make out a shape.

A vast, beast-like maw, extruded from the girl's arm, was chewing a person apart.

In a space drowning in screams and red blood, only the girl's laughter cut through with terrible clarity.

"……"

The room went quiet.

Lindergel clutched his throbbing head.

He had seen a boy who used a build like that before, hadn't he.

The hideous memories of a year ago began to surface again.

"Four victims total. Two Awakened criminals and one ordinary Awakened, deceased. And one hunter from the Gyeonggi branch, injured."

The secretary adjusted the display and brought the photos back up.

"This is the girl currently under suspicion. As you can see, she employs a beast-type build—extremely rare, nearly impossible for most to wield—along with a tangled, wide-area stat structure that stands out. We have almost no recoverable ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠evidence, so nothing is certain, but she appears to be a high-tier Awakened at minimum. Possibly stronger."

Lindergel stared at the screen again.

A shop soaked red in every direction.

A girl—pure white silver hair, blue eyes. A red mana build.

And exactly like that scene burned into his bitter memories: a twisted smile, lost entirely to madness, drunk on the thrill of it.

Only then did he understand why the secretary had called him.

There was only one difference between her and that boy.

Surely not.

Stop thinking about it.

Impossible.

No matter how much the game had become reality and the world had gone insane, a change of sex was unprecedented—absurd. And it had been a full year since that boy vanished without a trace.

For him to surface now with a case like this?

The scale was far too small compared to anything he had ever done.

It wasn't him. No. It couldn't be him.

Absolutely not.

"The most striking detail: when forensics arrived after the incident, almost no blood residue could be detected in the shop—unnaturally little."

Lindergel's hand twitched.

"After that, she never appeared on CCTV in any other district. No doubt she's highly skilled at evasion as well."

"Interesting."

Erika spoke while watching the screen.

For a moment, Lindergel flinched at the look on her face.

"Don't worry, Mr. President."

The Erika staring at the girl on the screen—who seemed to treat the entire massacre as nothing more than entertainment—was a world apart from the cold demeanor he had always known.

A vivid red emotion was overflowing from her. Her trembling fist was clenched tight.

"I'll head down to the Gyeonggi branch myself."

A flood of thoughts drove through Lindergel's mind.

In all the time he had trusted her skill, there had never been a case Erika failed to resolve. And true to that ability, her temperament was just as absolute: once she set her sights on something, she never let it go. A proud, unyielding girl.

That was why. Why faith and unease rose in him together.

"I'll catch that psychopathic monster—"

It'll be fine, he told himself—and yet all Lindergel could do was watch.

"—and I will cut her throat right there ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠on the spot."

Watch Erika, her voice hard, the light in her eyes transformed.