A Student of the Ring Body Faction
A certain Student of the Ring Body Faction. Corridor. The principle behind it was unknown. But if you created an exit anywhere, an entrance would appear in the Ring's corridors. If you knew the starting point and destination, it was an absurd singularity technology that let you go literally anywhere you wanted.
Typically, Ring organization members could specify destinations through imaginary ciphers relayed from Docents or Maestros above them. It was a common mode of transportation for the Ring. The drawback, though, was that in buildings with tight security or malfunctioning corridors, the technology couldn't always be fully utilized. It wasn't omnipotent.
If an outsider wanted to use the Ring's corridors, they had to be accompanied by a Ring guide. Only from the Docent level could someone traverse them alone without permission.
The Ring had three ranks in total. Students handled setting exam questions, supervision, and evaluation. Docents managed and oversaw Students on-site, effectively serving as action captains—similar to Thumb's Capos. Docents introduced and explained works to Gallery visitors to help them grasp the pieces easily, and assisted Maestros during VIP auctions. If you wanted to understand Docents, just think of the guides at a museum or art gallery who explain artworks in detail to the public.
And then there were the Maestros, the true rulers of the Ring. They were like Thumb's Underbosses, Index's oracles, Middle's big brothers and sisters—the highest real powers in their group, the top echelon among the Fingers. Maestros possessed three rings each, proof of their recognition as Maestros. The value of a single Maestro's work was priced at tens of billions at minimum, far beyond what even city residents could afford—no one dared dream of it.
This naturally sparked a question: Among the Fingers, which organization had the most money? Thumb, with its bullet mass-production tech and obsession with monetary value? Ha, no way. Thumb was so cash-strapped they treated high-grade bullets like precious treasures, rationing them one by one. If they were truly loaded, they'd arm Soldatos with ammo in bulk. Teaching flashy bayonet arts full of wasteful moves just proved Thumb wasn't rich either.
Middle collected protection money, sure, but with big brothers and little brothers splurging wildly on feasts for new recruits, they weren't exactly swimming in cash. As for Pinky... with brains like that joining Thumb out of poverty, they weren't wealthy either.
The answer was the Ring. They used a Gallery as their headquarters, selling various works there to raise funds. They valued art over money, often pouring fortunes into creating a single masterpiece.
Ring weapons weren't standardized, unlike Thumb's bullets or Middle's reinforcement tattoos. From Student level onward, they had free rein—prioritizing personal ideology meant weapons that were wildly individualistic, bizarre, and ingenious.
....
"What... you don't like pizza..?"
As Valentina faltered in confusion, Kali pulled something from her bag.
"How about meat? This is some hanwoo I picked up from the butcher."
"Are you two seriously planning to torture me..?"
"Hmm... torture. There are plenty of ways to pry open a mouth, but I don't feel like getting rough."
Valentina leaned in and whispered into Kali's ear, her face lighting up like she'd struck gold. Kali's eyes went wide at the flash of inspiration.
"That's a good idea?"
Kali and Valentina left the woman there and shut the warehouse door behind them as they walked out. Come back in a couple days, and she'd probably snap out of it and spill everything she knew. They'd locked the door, the windows were high up—no easy escape. Plus, they'd confiscated whatever relic she used to fly, so no funny business for the time being.
....
A back alley in some district. A man crawled along the ground, begging for help.
"Please... save me... please... please.."
No one in this alley would heed his desperate writhing and cries. This was Ring territory.
The man had failed to complete his assignment on time. To receive the Ring's protection, it wasn't money you paid—it was assignments, artworks. Art was the Ring's highest value, their sole criterion.
Some called them a heinous criminal syndicate. Others, creators or artists.
He'd fled for not submitting his assignment on time. One arm was already torn off. I won't become art, no matter what. I still want to live...
At the dead end, he turned to face his pursuer.
Over three meters tall. Long, slender body, with elongated arms and legs. Less human, more like a Slenderman or a nine-foot demon.
"How does it look to you? What do you see?"
The man asked the armless fugitive.
"Please... spare my life.."
"Everyone says that at first. They fear their own demise or transformation, so they fear art. But once you've crossed that threshold, you'll love it too."
"Eek... someone, help me.."
His plea cut short. The tall man extended a long arm and seized the fugitive's face.
"What about this curve? Rib bones, properly shaped, make sharper blades than anything."
With those words, he sliced open the man's abdomen and delicately touched the ribs.
"And this femur makes a harder bludgeon than any tool. The ribcage, shielding heart and lungs, so sturdy and beautifully formed."
"Gaaahhh!!!"
The bone didn't snap cleanly but tore free with measured force, drawing an agonized scream.
"A shame. Your art would have been deeper, more profoundly beautiful than most. I didn't expect you'd submit your assignment this late."
No response, of course. A man with his entire ribcage ripped out wouldn't reply.
"Hm... this form of material gathering isn't what I wanted. I'd rather converse with more fitting subjects. But that's not happening now."
The man carried the corpse in one hand back to his district. He inspected others' works, awarding points when satisfied, failing them otherwise.
What a pity, he thought. Everyone could be art material or spectators. But creators, viewers, subjects—all fell short.
The day he came to report to the Docent as usual, the Gallery had been raided. Attackers with bloodshot red eyes, craving blood, trashed the exhibits.
"Blood Bags—they might make decent materials after all."
Docents popped Blood Bag heads like balloons. But the real issue wasn't them.
The problem was Blood Bags damaging the artworks. Docents shielded them with their bodies. Not Maestros' pieces, but art had value—sometimes worth more than life. They let themselves be bitten, bodies mangled.
"This is getting annoying.."
Her name was Lia, a Ring Body Faction Docent guarding the art. She hadn't expected such a massive Blood Bag influx. Even with all the Docents, they were barely holding.
Not that numbers favored the enemy—they weren't zombies or rabble you could AoE down. No sweeping wide attacks here.
"No choice... keep at it without damaging their heads."
As Lia fought sincerely to protect the works—
"What is the beauty of the Body Faction..?"
The Blood Bags lunging at her flailed in midair, spilling blood across the floor.
"It's preserving our primordial form, untainted by impurities."
There stood the towering three-meter man, fiddling with his long straight hair, suspending the Blood Bags and draining them.
"These muscles and tendons... like unbreakable ropes. They bind anything tight, letting our bodies exist as perfect, upright machines."
"That voice.."
The man had massive height, long hair swept back, a single strand of red thread in hand.
He tugged it. Blood Bags everywhere wailed, vomiting blood onto the floor.
"Docent. I turned that assignment delinquent into material for a work."
His smile held pure passion, eyes burning with an unknowable hunger for beauty.
"Ring Body Faction Student..."
He flashed an enchanting smile and bowed to the surrounding Docents.
"Callisto has just returned here."