The Underground Crocodiles
“This looks like a Flame Buster.”
“Flame Buster?”
“It’s a flame bomb that Neo Seoul’s been developing specifically for great monsters. I’ve heard it’s aimed at dealing damage to anything B-rank or higher...”
Jo Sang-hyeok trailed off.
Rumors were just that—rumors.
B-rank or higher monsters, especially the special ones, had powerful force fields.
Because of those force fields, ordinary weapons couldn’t even scratch them.
Only an Awakener’s attacks could pierce a monster’s force field and cause real damage.
The desert was crawling with such beasts.
That was what kept people chained to Neo Seoul.
Safe land was limited, but the population kept growing.
Venturing out from Neo Seoul had become essential.
The Flame Buster was being developed for exactly that reason.
To inflict massive damage on B-rank bosses and above.
“But as far as I know, the Flame Buster hasn’t been completed yet.”
“You sure?”
“See the serial number left here? FB stands for Flame Buster, and 130 means it’s the 130th prototype they made.”
“How do you know that?”
“T-Truth is... I’ve got connections with some arms smugglers.”
Jo Sang-hyeok confessed honestly.
Neo Seoul and the slums had a symbiotic relationship of sorts.
Weapons developed in Neo Seoul sometimes leaked into the slums.
Some were smuggled out by organizations, but others were deliberately released by Neo Seoul itself.
They couldn’t test openly inside the city, so they used slum gangs as guinea pigs.
That’s why arms smuggling rings knew quite a bit about Neo Seoul’s weapon development.
“So it’s a prototype, right?”
“Yes! And the power seems way weaker than the rumors say. Maybe it’s a smaller variant they developed separately. A real Flame Buster would’ve obliterated the whole street.”
It was made to shatter monster force fields, so its destructive power was insane.
It could level a massive building in seconds, which meant it couldn’t be used lightly.
No matter how lawless the slums were, too much collateral damage would bring every gang down on them. And that would escalate things fast.
Zeon asked, “Any groups that’ve gotten their hands on a Flame Buster recently?”
“Not that I know of. It’s just a prototype, after all...”
“You sure?”
Zeon’s voice sank heavily.
Jo Sang-hyeok suddenly felt chills crawl over his skin.
Zeon was still smiling, but his eyes weren’t.
Jo Sang-hyeok stammered without thinking. “W-Well...”
“Give me one lead. If I find out later you held back info, the Flame Buster’ll look like a fucking sparkler compared to what I’ll do.”
“Kuh!”
In an instant, Jo Sang-hyeok felt the warehouse temperature skyrocket.
Zeon had unleashed a sliver of his power.
Fuck!
Jo Sang-hyeok’s face twisted in agony.
The heat felt like it was melting his body from the inside.
Any longer, and the scorching air would burn out his lungs first.
He blurted out, “A-Actually, there’ve been some headaches lately.”
“Yeah?”
Zeon showed interest, and the sweltering air cooled in a flash.
Before his mood could shift again, Jo Sang-hyeok rushed on. “The Crocodiles.”
“Crocodiles?”
“They live underground. They got the name ’cause they devour anything like crocodiles. Whatever makes money, they do it.”
“And?”
“Word is, the Crocodiles have been acting up lately. No idea why, but they’re stirring shit everywhere. Real pain in the ass.”
“Other gangs just letting them?”
“The sewers are their turf. And as you know...”
“Too filthy for anyone to bother?”
“Exactly!”
“Got it. That’s all I need.”
Zeon turned away without another word.
No point pressing Jo Sang-hyeok further.
Now it was time to move.
The slums weren’t just above ground.
With no more land to build on, some folks had gone underground.
Zeon had heard rumors of people settling there, desperate for a home anywhere. But he’d never seen them himself.
Underground, huh?
Zeon returned to the intersection.
The explosion site was already cleared—looted clean by the crowds, not swept by some crew.
Even the charred vehicle frames had value.
Melt ’em down, recycle, repurpose—the slums wasted nothing.
Didn’t matter to Zeon. He wasn’t after scrap metal.
He scoured the area near the intersection.
He was hunting for an entrance to the underground.
No way they’d hauled something bulky like a magic power generator around in plain sight. They’d used the nearest sewer access.
After a thorough search, Zeon found it.
A narrow alley, behind a pile of junk: a small passage.
Should’ve been barred with iron grates, but they were bent open.
A putrid stench wafted out.
Even slum dwellers avoided it.
Zeon slipped through without hesitation.
Like sand pouring down, he descended into the depths.
It was a sewer.
Sewage lapped at his ankles, sloshing.
The stench was mind-numbing.
Zeon steadied himself.
He’d survived worse than this hellhole.
He adapted quick.
And he did.
Soon, the stink faded to background noise as he moved.
Even in flowing sewage, humans left traces.
And they had: handprints on walls, scrape marks from cargo.
Zeon didn’t miss a one.
Splash! Splish!
His steps echoed through the water.
Normal shoes would be soaked, but not his—crafted from monster hide.
Not a drop seeped in.
Zeon strode freely into the filth.
Then his eyes sharpened.
A fork in the path.
Now the real work began.
He checked the floor.
Both tunnels had sewage flow, but one was bone-dry.
No one lived in the shit, no matter how adapted.
People stuck to dry ground.
Zeon took the dry path.
High enough for a man to stand straight.
Easy going.
The rotten air thinned out.
Not just adaptation—something was purifying it artificially.
An item?
Air purifiers were pricey, rare outside Neo Seoul.
Using one here? These underground folk had scale and resources.
A few more steps, and—
“Who the fuck are you?”
“Tracker?”
Rough voices from the dark, followed by attacks.
Two blades sliced through shadows, aiming for Zeon’s throat and skull.
Vital spots only.
Zeon sidestepped casually and countered with a single strike.
“Gah!”
“Urk!”
Their screams echoed.
Zeon’s fists had nailed their guts perfectly.
A normal person would be down for good, but these ambushers stayed up.
Ragged protective gear absorbed the impact.
“Surface rat fucker!”
“Die!”
They charged, rabid, yellow teeth bared like mad dogs.
“Tch.”
Zeon clicked his tongue.
Slum dogs were tough, but these were feral.
Half-measures wouldn’t cut it.
Crack! Crunch!
Fist to head, knee to gut.
The headshot lost focus in his eyes, dropping limp.
The gut punch shattered armor; raw shock ruptured innards. He passed out in agony.
Zeon stepped over them without a glance.
Guards down— they’d know intruders were here.
Pat-pat-pat!
As Zeon picked up speed—
“Die!”
Rat-tat-tat!
Gunfire erupted in the sewer.
Not pistols— a full-auto machine gun.
Thick-skinned monsters shrugged off bullets, pushing guns to the backline.
But for humans? Nothing beat a gun.
Shadows beyond madly hosed rounds.
Pointless. Zeon’s robe shielded him perfectly.
Whoosh!
Zeon kicked off the floor, closing distance in a blink.
The gunners went down in seconds.
“Argh!”
“Guh!”
Screams, then silence.
Zeon stood amid the fallen, surveying them.
All reeking of unwashed filth, rags for clothes—like any desperate slum dweller.
“Who the hell are you? Who?!”
“Grr! I’ll kill you, you... fucker!”
Down but defiant, they glared with pure venom.
Most would break here. These spat curses, foaming at the mouth.
No ordinary scum.
But Zeon wasn’t ordinary either.
This didn’t faze him.
He ignored their hate and scanned the chamber.
A large underground space, piled with goods.
Including his magic power generator.
“There you are.”
As Zeon approached—
“Who the fuck are you?”
A deep, gravelly voice.
Zeon paused, looking toward it.
A man sat on a massive wooden crate, filing his nails with a dagger thick as a man’s forearm.
His face was tattooed heavily; yellow eyes gleamed eerily in the dark.
Oddly, the space around him warped, distorted.
He spoke again. “I asked who the fuck you are.”
“Owner of that thing.”
Zeon nodded at the generator.
The man smirked. “You crawled all the way down here for a magic power generator? Ballsy. Too bad. I ain’t giving it back.”
“What now? I need it back.”
Zeon smiled back at him.