The Upward Urge
The thing that fell from the ceiling dropped straight down. The moment its feet met the floor, its knees buckled. Joints that had not yet found their proper alignment twisted with a half-beat delay, grinding audibly as they locked into place. Instead of absorbing the impact, the creature’s entire body folded inward once, then rose again in an unnatural motion. Its arms were far too long. Fingers pressed against the concrete, trembling faintly. The head lifted like a human’s, yet the line of the shoulders and the angle of the pelvis pointed in different directions, as though the upper and lower halves had begun mutating at separate times and had never reached an agreement.
One of the special response team members instinctively stepped back and raised his gun. A moment later his movement faltered. The fallen mutant had not immediately lunged. Ordinary rampaging mutants never hesitated at that range. The instant they landed, they would charge the nearest human throat or stomach, biting and roaring. Bloodlust and hunger always drove them first. Yet the creature now crouched on the floor paused, as if it needed a moment to confirm the shape of its own body. Its frame was visibly twisted. A rear team member swept a tactical light across it. The white beam traced the mutant from head to toe. The right arm hung from the shoulder like a normal limb, but the left was longer, bent at an extra joint. The knees, which should have faced forward, were half-turned and curled inward. The spine rose once along the back before sinking again, revealing an ominous, uneven bulge that shifted beneath the skin with every movement. The impact it should have suffered had clearly occurred, yet the skeleton had failed to distribute the force normally; something had forcibly realigned it afterward. Bones that should have broken remained intact. Tendons that should have snapped were still connected. Regeneration had crudely stitched the misalignment together.
The creature’s neck jerked around. Half of what could still be called a face resembled a human. The collapsed bridge of the nose, the trace of stubble beneath the left cheek, dust and plaster clinging to the eyelids. The other half was split wide open. The jaw had stretched until the mouth tore toward the ears. Inside, broken teeth mingled with newly grown, razor-sharp fangs. The tongue was thick and dark red; whenever it tried to speak, the sound caught somewhere between human vocalization and a monster’s panting.
“Can’t… run…”
The pronunciation was slurred, yet the words were unmistakably human. That made them far more disturbing than any roar. It sounded less like a threat and more like a broken mouth struggling to mimic a sentence it had once heard.
“No contact. Maintain the encirclement!”
Yu-jin’s voice cut sharply through the narrow stairwell. She had already stepped forward. The four team members spread out at once. The two in front formed a semicircle, flanking the mutant on either side, while the rear pair covered the stairwell entrance and the blind spot down the corridor. Muzzles swung toward the single target. Against powerful mutants, relying solely on cold weapons was not romanticism but inefficiency. Whether Peak Expert or mutated monster, modern firearms remained lethal. That was why the Moorim Agency, the Superhuman Management Bureau, and the police special martial units typically suppressed mutation through external martial arts while combining firearms with cold weapons. They enhanced muscle strength and reaction speed with martial arts, then managed the battlefield with bullets, blades, shields, and tactical movement. That was the standard of the era.
Only Ha Yul stood outside that standard. The Blood Fang Sect. A one-person lineage that made its living hunting monsters. An old-fashioned school that stubbornly clung to cold weapons instead of guns. It taught only where to place a blade so the opponent’s own weight would tear their joints apart, which artery to sever for the fastest blood loss, and which wounds would most exhaust regenerative ability. Her master had always said, “A hunter needs nothing but sharp fangs and claws.” The world called that method barbaric, yet those who knew Ha Yul offered her a quiet respect. No matter how much blood, sweat, and tears one poured into tempering the body and refining martial arts, accepting that one was still inferior to modern weaponry was a blow to pride only fellow martial artists could understand. That was why she continued to insist on cold weapons despite the stares, the pointing fingers, the mockery. That uncompromising path earned the respect and recognition of other martial artists.
Ha Yul moved. The karambit flipped once in her hand. Her gaze did not linger on the mutant’s face but swept across its shoulders, pelvis, ankles, and the side of its neck. The mutant folded its grotesque body once, then suddenly sprang. The hand braced against the floor twisted as though slipping, changing its axis, while the spine curved sideways and the entire torso spun as if hurled forward.
Three gunshots rang out. The rear team member’s pistol fired first. Thanks to martial-arts-enhanced physique and dynamic vision, the reaction was swift. The first round struck the right shoulder, the second the ribs below, the third grazed the thigh. Dark red fluid sprayed, yet the creature did not stop. Ha Yul’s eyes narrowed. It had been hit, yet it did not react normally. Ordinary rampaging mutants grew more frenzied with pain and rage when shot. They either clutched the wounded area or charged even more mindlessly. This mutant, however, folded and unfolded its body around the impact points, responding as though it were mapping its own physiology in real time. Even as the bullet tore through the shoulder muscle, the surrounding tissue writhed and forcibly sealed the wound. The flesh ripped from its thigh lay scattered on the floor, yet the edges of the injury squirmed like worms, drawing together again. It was not merely fast regeneration; the body prioritized maintaining its shape over normal pain response, overwriting the damage.
Ha Yul sidestepped. The mutant’s fingertips brushed the hem of her coat as it passed. When its claws touched the concrete wall, the surface tore in a shallow gash. Its momentum was too far forward. The instant it lost balance and began to slip, Ha Yul’s hand moved. The small, curved blade of the karambit traced along the inside of the mutant’s arm. The cut was shallow on purpose. She left the major vessel intact, opening only the skin above it. Dark red blood and a thicker fluid sprayed together. As the mutant twisted and withdrew its arm, the edges of the wound began to writhe. Severed tissue contracted; beneath the parted skin, fine thread-like vessels tangled and started to close.
“Absurdly fast regeneration,” Yu-jin muttered, drawing her sword from its sheath. The sound of reinforced metal slicing the air was cold. She holstered her pistol and gripped the blade. A crimson current began to coil along the edge. Blood Qi. A power that only First-Class Martial Artists could barely manifest, twisting the body’s blood flow, breathing, and will into momentary reinforcement. Overuse heightened the risk of mutation, yet when wielded by a master knocking on the door of Peak Expert, its precision shone. Yu-jin exhaled shortly. The sword tip trembled faintly, and her gaze grew even colder.
“Bind its legs. Slow the regeneration.”
“Yes!”
At Yu-jin’s command the special response team moved. One of the front pair fired a suppression round. With a dull thud, compressed dust burst at the mutant’s feet. Unlike ordinary smoke, this modern countermeasure mixed particulate matter designed to track biological reactions, obscuring vision while dulling movement. As the mutant burst through the cloud, another team member put two rounds into its flank. Ankle, knee, shoulder. The shots were aimed at functional degradation rather than immediate kill. Meanwhile Ha Yul had already slipped to the creature’s left side.
The mutant swung its arm. The elongated left limb swept across the concrete wall, scattering cement fragments. Ha Yul ducked beneath it. Instead of striking immediately, she first secured her position. The moment the mutant folded its arm again, she pressed the karambit into the crook of the elbow and drew it in a short, tearing motion. Not a clean slice, but a deliberate stab and rip. Flesh and tendon along the inner upper arm split open, along with the thick vessel beneath. Blood gushed. The mutant screamed. The sound contained more human groan than monstrous roar. It tried to turn and bite her, but its change of direction was a beat too slow. Ha Yul had already retreated. As the severed tissue boiled with frantic regeneration, the connection between shoulder and spine wavered for an instant. Ha Yul did not miss the tiny gap. Her fighting style was never about quick finishes. The more the opponent tried to regenerate, the more blood and strength she forced it to expend. She severed arteries, compelled regeneration, misaligned joints, then forced repair again. The stronger the foe, the more effective the tactic. Regeneration was not a blessing but a cost.
“That makes it easier,” Ha Yul murmured.
Whether Yu-jin heard her or not, she drove forward. Her sword, wreathed in Blood Qi, grazed the back of the mutant’s right calf. The blade did not merely cut flesh; it disrupted the alignment of tendon and fascia beneath. The mutant’s knee buckled for a moment. Two more rounds from the rear struck home, this time precisely into the pelvis and flank. The creature lowered its body and began scaling the corridor wall. Even as it climbed using all four limbs, regeneration had already begun at the wounds. Yet the strangest thing was not the speed. The manner of regeneration itself was malformed. Normal recovery would knit tissue back into its proper place. This creature simply filled the gaps however it could and forced movement. The more its legs healed, the more awkward they became. Its arms seemed to grow longer.
“You figured it out?” Yu-jin asked briefly.
Ha Yul answered without taking her eyes off the mutant. “Parts of the human are still left.”
“In the mind?”
“In the body.”
The mutant dropped from the wall and charged again. It feinted toward Yu-jin, then abruptly changed direction and rushed Ha Yul, as though instinctively judging which of them was more dangerous. Ha Yul took one step back, then kicked off a nearby pillar and twisted. The creature’s hand only brushed her coat. In that instant she looked at the base of its neck. The neck had stretched far beyond normal human cervical length. A pulse swelled and sank along it. Regeneration and blood flow had both converged there, pushing the area into overload. Cutting the neck would not be a simple end. Creatures like this could keep moving for a while even with their heads gone. Yet the neck was also the path that demanded the greatest cost for regeneration.
“Yu-jin.”
Ha Yul called her name. “Launch it upward to the left.”
Yu-jin did not ask why. The sound of her stepping forward was unusually clear. Blood Qi gathered on the blade once more. She dropped low, slid beneath the mutant’s diagonal line, and drove the sword upward. Bone grated. The left side of the mutant’s ribcage tore open and its body was lifted. The instant it reflexively tried to right itself, Ha Yul was already beneath it. The karambit flipped again in her hand. She advanced her right foot half a beat, used her left shoulder to nudge the creature’s center slightly off-balance, and hooked the blade in that state. The tip entered first, followed by a pulling motion. A thick line tore open deep beside the neck, at a point that still remembered human anatomy. The karambit’s curve dug beneath skin and fascia, raking along the vessel. A sudden hot pressure burst. The mutant’s body locked rigid. Blood sprayed across Ha Yul’s hand, jaw, and shirt. At the same time the creature’s mouth opened wide.
It was not over. An ordinary rampaging mutant would have collapsed by now. Major blood flow in the neck had ruptured, and repeated forced regeneration should have exhausted its stamina. Yet this mutant was strangely tenacious. Even while gushing blood, it swung its arm with the last of its strength. Twisted claws sliced the air just in front of Ha Yul’s cheek. She tilted her head aside, evading, yet did not release the blade. Instead she pulled deeper and longer. Blood poured across the corridor floor. The creature tried to regenerate again, but too many areas had been damaged at once. Shoulder, leg, flank, neck. No matter where it began, the cost was extreme.
“Ha Yul, behind you!”
Ha Yul moved before answering. The mutant had thrown itself backward in a final convulsion, slamming its back against the floor as though trying to bounce upright again. Ha Yul sidestepped and twisted her wrist to yank the karambit free. Yu-jin’s sword was already there to support her. A long downward slash carved deeper between the mutant’s shoulder and neck. Where the crimson Blood Qi touched, regenerating tissue spasmed and shriveled. The mutant collapsed. This time it truly struck the floor. Its limbs folded at impossible angles. From the gaping wound beside its neck, blood mixed with foam continued to flow. Yet its mouth opened and closed several more times. The tongue trembled. The remaining eye rolled, unfocused, staring at some point in the empty air as though it were looking at an entirely different place.
Ha Yul did not catch her breath. She never relaxed until she confirmed the hunt was finished. With the karambit tip pointed downward, she stood at a distance from which she could still tear the throat open at any moment and looked down at the creature. Yu-jin stood beside her, sword still raised. The team members’ muzzles remained fixed on the body.
Then a sound leaked from the mutant’s mouth. Bloody foam rose in its throat.
“Ah…”
Lips moved as though splitting. “No… more…”
Blood trickled from the corner of its mouth. The torn jaw trembled. “I have to… go up…”
It sounded like the final, futile muttering of something driven by an obsession to ascend yet doomed never to reach its destination. The atmosphere in the corridor grew colder. The special response team members glanced at one another unconsciously. Yu-jin’s gaze turned even icier. A heavy silence followed. Dust, gunpowder, blood, and the smell of wet concrete slowly mingled in the narrow space. Only then did Ha Yul draw a shallow breath. A single drop of blood fell from the karambit. She looked down at the dead mutant for a moment. The awkward skeleton, the abnormal regeneration, the lingering echo of human speech, and the final word “up.” This had not been an ordinary rampaging mutant. Someone or something had tried to push this creature upward, and the process had failed.
Yu-jin spoke from beside her. “You still fight too dangerously.”
It sounded like a rebuke, yet worry was mixed in. She was thinking of how deeply Ha Yul had gone in, how a single misstep would have cost her throat or face. Ha Yul wiped her chin with the back of her bloodied hand.
“I’m not dead, am I?”
“You won’t always be that lucky.”
The special response team moved. One scanned the area around the corpse while another rechecked the far end of the corridor and the stairwell. Dust still hung faintly in the air. Through it, the outline of the dead mutant remained faintly visible. Traces of the human it had once been and the parts that could never return overlapped horribly within the same body.
Ha Yul lowered the karambit and swept her gaze across the end of the corridor, the ceiling, and the walls in turn. The fight was over, but the scene was not. Drag marks on the floor, mixed footprints, passages torn through the walls. Things that could not be explained by a single dead mutant still remained. And the final word that had slipped from its mouth suggested that answers still waited somewhere above.
Yu-jin approached. “You heard it. It said it had to go up.”
“Yes.”
“That means there’s something upstairs, doesn’t it?”
The atmosphere inside the corridor felt heavier than before the fight. The smell of blood had grown thicker, and it was now clear that this place was no mere abandoned building but had been used for mutation, experimentation, and concealment. Everyone knew redevelopment zones were sometimes used that way, yet actually standing inside made the truth feel far dirtier. Ha Yul drew a slow breath. The clarity she felt now was sharper than when she had left the warmth of another’s body that morning. Staying human did not require only body heat. Sometimes, hunting monsters served that purpose as well.
Ha Yul looked up into the darkness above the ceiling. The hunt was not finished. It had merely moved higher.