An Eye for an Eye

I had lived only twenty short years, but there was one thing I had come to understand with perfect clarity.

The law of the Republic of Korea—no, the law of this entire world—was rotten to the core.

By its nature, the law ought to be the fundamental standard by which anyone who commits a crime is punished, and by which the order of society is kept.

But what had the law become? It existed for the strong, bending always to favor the handful who held money and power.

Everything I had lived through had driven that truth into my bones. Why must the weak be the ones who suffer? Why are a perpetrator's rights and safety placed above the victim's?

An eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth. You return exactly what was done to you. Rational, intuitive, and above all, fair.

And so, in accordance with that conviction—

Step.

I advanced slowly toward the beast wearing a human face.

"Uh... uh...?"

His steps faltered. He had seen it: my left foot, the one that should have been limping, planting itself on the floor as soundly as if it had never been broken.

"You... you...?!"

He stumbled backward.

"...Ah!"

His heel caught the threshold, and he went down.

The sight was pathetic. No—that was the beast's true face.

He had lived his whole life that way. A piece of human garbage who played the strong before the weak, and turned into a groveling coward the instant he faced anyone stronger than himself.

"Seungwoo, you... wh-what are you doing...?"

The word he used for me was no longer brat. It was my name.

As he spoke, he stared down at the broken bat. His face said he couldn't believe it himself. Rat that he was, he had already sensed that something was very wrong.

"You can't—you can't do this. I fed you, I put a roof over your head, I did everything for you..."

The same old script. I didn't bother answering. I closed my fist instead.

Crunch.

Strength I had never known gathered at my fingertips—a terrible power my muscles, my bones, and my nerves had been too ruined by his violence to feel until now.

"Seungwoo..."

I hated the way he spat my name, like filth. So—

Thud!

I drove my fist dead into his jaw. No technique was required. I simply threw it true, in a straight line.

Whoosh!

His head snapped back.

Crack!

I heard the jaw joint shatter. A jawbone isn't especially sturdy, but I had barely put any force behind the blow, and still it broke.

Only then did I truly feel how my body had changed.

"Guhhh—"

The fallen man crawled across the floor, staggering. I followed without hesitation. Slowly. Slowly. Pain is not only something done to the flesh. There is the imagining of the hell still to come, and the long stretch of time in which the violence continues. I deliberately drew it out, so he could savor both.

If anyone understood the pain of violence, and the terror of it, it ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was me—the one who had been beaten for more than ten years.

I glanced around. Not far off, the broken bat lay where it had struck the wall and fallen. I picked it up and approached the beast crawling on the floor.

"Uh, uhh, uhhh—"

With his jaw shattered, he couldn't string a sentence together. Not that I needed to hear it. It would only be the beast's howling—some worthless cry about how he had raised me, and how I could do this to him.

"Perfect timing. I needed somewhere to test this new strength."

What I had just gone through—the change in my flesh, the trait I had gained—had not been a delusion. Power acquired so suddenly demanded an experiment, a way to learn how to control it. And the perfect test subject was right in front of me.

Shhhk.

I took up the broken bat again. That crudely bent lump of metal was about to serve its proper purpose at last.

Expressionless, I looked down at the beast: blood spilling from his mouth, breath rasping, body dragging itself across the floor. It was a sight I had known for a long time. The only difference was that, until now, the one crawling had always been me.

"Uh... uhh..."

I ignored a cry that wasn't worth understanding and slowly raised the bat. And—

Thud!

I brought it down. The end of the bat struck dead center on the beast's back. The first blow landed heavier than I had expected. I wasn't used to the strength I had just gained.

"Guhk!"

A scream tore out of him. To someone else, a human scream might be nothing but hideous noise. To me, this beast's howling was no different from a harmony out of heaven.

So I swung again, hungry to hear it once more.

Crunch!

Contrary to what I had expected, the sound of bone crushing came through clear and distinct.

Did I... put too much into it?

I must have gotten carried away. I had meant to hold back, and still too much force had gone in. I needed finer control. It couldn't be helped. This was not a simple beating. It was an experiment—an experiment to measure my body, my strength, and to repay, exactly, the pain I had suffered all these years.

The third.

Crack!

The fourth.

Thud!

The fifth.

Whack!

With each repeated blow, the beast's screams spilled out. A pleasant sound. But it was growing weaker. His consciousness was slipping away.

That wouldn't do. Pain only means anything if you deliver it properly, all the way to the end. I set the bat down.

Snap!

I broke the beast's wrist.

"Gyaaah!"

Bone cracked, and the light rushed back into his fading eyes.

"Uhh, uhhh—"

Watching him howl for his life, I lifted the bat again.

"What's the matter? We're only just getting started."

To repay even one percent—no, even a tenth of one percent—of what I had endured, I still had a long way to go.

This time, more precisely. More slowly. Minding how I portioned out the pain.

Thud, thud, thud!

I swung the bat dozens of times. Hundreds. Blood sprayed, bones broke, flesh split. Back, arms, legs, ribs, skull—nowhere spared. I returned to him, exactly, the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠pain he had given me.

Drip—

Blood sheeted across the floor. Flesh tore, and his whole body was so swollen with bruises and wounds that its shape was barely recognizable. The bruises especially: flesh puffing up, turning purple, blood pooling until the skin went a dark crimson. A sight so familiar it had once been part of my own body.

I wasn't entirely satisfied, but things were at least somewhat even now. I set the bat down for the last time and listened to the breath of the beast sprawled on the floor.

"Hhh... hhhh—"

The screams had vanished long ago. There was no more resistance. No more groaning.

"The human body is fragile."

"And yet you beat me with this bat for ten years."

There had not been a single day I wasn't hit. And here he was, already going slack, unable to endure even an hour—not even a few dozen minutes.

I seized the beast by the nape. If I could have had my way, I would have let him feel the pain to the very end and watched him die very slowly, but there was one more thing I still had to confirm.

And so—

Crack.

I slowly bent that nape the wrong way. Bone broke, and the beast's body, sheathed in blood-bruises, went limp.

Looking down at him, I let out a long breath.

"Hoo—"

My hands were soaked in blood, and the room around me was hell. But I smiled.

Yes. This was the natural result. The perpetrator punished—this was what a world set right looked like.

At last, I could breathe. At last, the world had grown a little fairer. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say it had tilted, just a little, toward me.

Just as the Question-Mark Man had said a moment ago. Negative Karma—I had killed the beast who committed evil, and absorbed his Karma.

I looked down at the window in silence.

520. This was no mere number. It was ten years of pain, grievance, and rage, converted into a figure. And now it was my turn to use it to complete myself.

It closely resembled the stats from the RPGs I had played as a child. What was more, even before a single point had been allocated, the abilities of my remade body had already risen considerably.

Considerably? No. If I was honest, it was a level you could only call monstrous strength.

Lifting a person easily in one hand was nothing. A flick of a single finger had snapped a neck. Strength, toughness, and reflexes all sat at the same value, so I would clearly display abilities beyond those of a human being.

But I could not be satisfied.

This is only the first step.

My first revenge? Its target had been nothing more than human garbage who shut himself up in the house, drank, and gambled.

The ones I would have to face from here on sat far higher than that—powers I, as I was now, did not even dare to look up at. To face them, I could not be content with this.

To grow stronger. To stop being the weak, and become the strong.

My body ached. That ache was proof of growth. I could feel muscle hardening, the body growing lighter.

Each stat had risen by only one, but it was not trivial. I understood that a single point was a realm a human would need decades of training to reach.

But it was not over yet. Two hundred and twenty remained. Without hesitation, I poured all of it into the Eye of Judgment.

Unlike stats, a trait required 200 Karma just to rise a single level. But the convenience that followed was considerable. The Eye of Judgment, whose range had been a mere ten meters, had increased tenfold, to a hundred.

The window vanished.

After the beast's breath had stopped, the room was silent. A narrow space thick with the stench of blood, and in the middle of it only a broken human being, and me, soaked in blood.

I drew a slow breath. Something still seemed to remain—a sense that it was not over—tickling a corner of my chest.

"...The safe."

I turned my gaze toward the wall. Behind the old wardrobe, a section of wooden paneling hung loose. I had known about that place for a long time. The beast always took something out from there, and always filled his wallet from there.

Thump.

I pushed the wall with one hand, and a steel safe revealed itself behind the old boards.

A password? I didn't need one.

Crunch!

With monstrous strength the safe opened—no, it tore open. Inside were bundles of bills, and gold: oxen, toads, and the like.

"These should have been mine from the start."

The beast had owned nothing. A jobless leech who spent every day on drink, gambling, and games could not possibly have had money. This ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was my parents' life-insurance payout, and the court deposit that damned third-generation conglomerate heir had paid in.

So no matter what anyone said, this was my share. My dead parents, the life I should have lived—it was all bound up here. I put every bit of it into a bag.

Once it was all stuffed into the crossbody bag, I headed for the kitchen and slowly opened the valve on the gas range.

Hiss, hiss—

Gas poured out. Slowly, indifferently, it filled the room. The smell of methane crept through the stench of blood and pus and rotting wallpaper—the air of this house that had pressed down on me for so long. At last, the moment I could put it in order.

I opened the front door. From the zippered pouch I took out one small metal box. Old and worn: a Zippo lighter.

Tick!

A flame caught. At my fingertips, a thin tongue of orange fire danced. I had never smoked a cigarette in my life, but this lighter I had always kept. It was my father's keepsake.

For a while I simply looked at it. The dancing orange flame spoke to me like my father's whisper.

Throw it. Throw it away, and be free!

At that whisper, I hurled it behind me without hesitation.

"Goodbye."

With that short word—

Boom!

KABOOM!

The compressed gas exploded, and the whole house shook. Window glass burst. Dust and debris flew. Red flame wrapped the ceiling together with the smoke, and the oil-soaked wallpaper went up in a blaze.

Like a great vortex, as if the house itself were screaming, the fire raged. I stepped outside the building and slowly looked back. Within the black smoke, that hell of a house burned fiercely—the prison that had confined me for so long, the cruelest ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠hell in the world.

It was burning now, by my hand. I watched the sight with a calm heart.

The burning windows. The bursting wires. The gas pipes popping like firecrackers. And the beast of this house, who would bark no more. All of it.

But—

It's still a long way off.

There were far too many beasts in this world that needed killing, and now the power to hunt them had been placed in my hands. From here on, the real revenge would begin.