Halitus Pursuit
Jin-cheol was momentarily at a loss for words.
He was well aware of the Lavitos' talk of the evil god Marx and such. So, in this world ten thousand years later, who the hell was Marx? What had become of that hairy bastard who once dyed the old world red and unleashed the specter of communism, enough to be called an evil god?
"The guy you were looking for was a Marx worshipper?"
Lamien's question made Jin-cheol shake his head.
"Nah."
"...Then?"
"I just got a message from her mother. My job is to find her, pass on what her mom said, and then go hunt down the Muksaang House."
Lamien stared at him with confused eyes, but Jin-cheol's gaze didn't waver in the slightest. Evil gods or whatever—it meant jack shit to him. He'd seen pointy-eared freaks worshipping a nuclear fusion plant as a god; demonizing some ancient philosopher was small potatoes by comparison.
"...Got it. I'll head out then."
Lamien finally nodded and followed after the rest of the group.
Jin-cheol watched her retreating back for a moment before turning to scan the inside of the tavern again. The Lavito soldiers, stripped of their weapons, were huddled together in the corner. When they noticed his gaze on them, they sheepishly ducked their heads to avoid his eyes.
Jin-cheol snorted a laugh and said, "Take good care of the wounded ones."
"..."
With that, Jin-cheol kicked open the tavern door and strode out.
Outside, the repair shop was already rumbling—grrrrng—as the freshly serviced truck rolled out into the yard. Dol Jumeok gripped the wheel, his face lit with a strange excitement. Seeing that expression, Jin-cheol was glad he hadn't hopped on board.
Next to the truck, a mechanic was towing out a wheeled contraption on a hand truck. The engine—cobbled together from the brass pipes and gears he'd seen earlier—looked mismatched with the massive wheels front and back, like relics from different eras. But that very clash gave it a weird charm, a sense of raw vitality.
As Jin-cheol approached the two-wheeler, the mechanic spoke up.
"You trashed the village and now you're bailing. Figured it'd end like this. Got the repairs done by the skin of our teeth."
"Silver?"
"Here."
Jin-cheol caught the pouch the man tossed him, tucked it away, and swung onto the saddle. It felt similar to the hogr but heavier, more solid—better than he'd imagined.
Following the mechanic's instructions, he fired it up. A deep drdrdrdr vibration thrummed through his chest.
"This thing's killer."
"Killer? What're you killing?"
The mechanic nearby overheard his mutter and asked with a puzzled look.
Jin-cheol shrugged and replied, "Fucking awesome, is what."
"Oh..."
The mechanic's eyes widened at the unfamiliar phrasing.
Jin-cheol flashed him a grin, twisted the throttle, and shot forward. The engine roared beneath the saddle, kicking up a cloud of dust in his wake.
As Jin-cheol peeled out, Dol Jumeok—waiting at the front of the repair shop—revved the truck's engine with a thunderous growl and followed suit. That truck sounded monstrous too.
They sped out of the village, and ahead, Miguel and the revolutionaries waited. They were mounted on trucks and vehicles of all sizes, their mismatched makes and paint jobs reminding Jin-cheol of the rebels' free-spirited attire from before.
Miguel, standing outside, raised a hand toward them and shouted, "Keep up!"
He climbed into his truck and signaled the others to roll out.
A cacophony of engines erupted—each a slightly different pitch—as the revolutionaries took off first, with Jin-cheol's group tailing them.
Glancing back from his saddle, Jin-cheol watched the quaint village—whose name he didn't even know—fade into the distance. He faced forward again and cranked the throttle. His bike sliced across the plain like it was skating on ice.
The revolutionaries ahead veered south, but as they pressed on, the grass and trees thinned, giving way to red earth. The gentle rolling plains grew rugged, then jagged cliffs dropped away and sharp rock spires jutted up—a canyon region unfolding before them.
The group and rebels stuck to the flatter outer edges of the canyons, racing along.
They'd been going for a bit when a hand suddenly stuck out from the lead truck's cab, waving frantically. The signal to stop.
Jin-cheol pulled up and rode over to his group's truck, rummaging for a headscarf to cover his head and face. Romance was fine, but eating a faceful of dust kicked up by the vehicles ahead was brutal. Luckily, there was a scarf for his face. Goggles for his eyes would've been ideal, but easier breathing made it bearable.
As he wrapped the scarf around his head, he noticed the revolutionaries up ahead acting uneasy. Their faces, gathered around Miguel's truck, looked grim.
Edging closer, he saw them all focused on something inside Miguel's truck cab: a Lavito fiddling with dials on a bulky machine. To Jin-cheol, it looked like some kind of radio setup.
And he wasn't wrong—a burst of static crackled from it.
Miguel's face darkened as he listened to the transmission. He spoke up gravely.
"How long has this been looping?"
"At least ten minutes ago, Kapitan."
"So Halitus sortied at least ten minutes back."
"Kapitan! No time! We need to move now!"
The rebel Lavitos looked deadly serious, buzzing with agitation and urging Miguel to flee. It was a far cry from their usual composure.
Watching from a short distance, Jin-cheol spoke up. "What's a Halitus?"
Miguel, lost in grim thought, looked up at him and cracked a wry smile.
"Siapho's recon ship. Not as nimble as Zasoyeonbang or Uratta battle wings—it's a lumbering beast. But in our situation, that's what makes it deadlier. Carries a shitload of firepower for its size. Even if it's slow, how do we fight back against shells zeroed in from the sky?"
"That so? Then quit standing around and let's bounce."
"No. One wrong move, and we lead them straight to the hideout. Better to split the group—"
Jin-cheol suddenly snapped his head up, cutting Miguel off. The others— Miguel and the Lavitos—pricked up their ears and scanned the sky.
While the Lavitos whipped their heads around frantically, Jin-cheol locked eyes on one direction. A low woooong hum emanated from there.
"Guess it's here already."
As if on cue, a ship slipped out from between the clouds. An enormous oval hull flanked by long wings, each tipped with massive engines and spinning propellers.
Jin-cheol narrowed his eyes, glaring at it. Dark gun barrels protruded from the hull's underside.
The next instant, those barrels flashed.
A delayed thung echoed, followed by a thunderous kwang explosion offset from where the rebels stood. The shockwave knocked Lavitos flat or tumbling backward.
Miguel, one of the few still compos mentis, bellowed urgently, "Mount up! Everyone to vehicles! Head into the front canyons—hard to aim there!"
The revolutionaries scattered in a frenzy. Jin-cheol spun back toward his group's truck, where the others stared in shock at the shelling.
"Go!"
As he blew past the driver's side, Dol Jumeok hit the ignition without hesitation and peeled out. Jin-cheol kickstarted his bike and chased the fleeing vehicles.
Vehicles large and small churned up dust as they plunged into the canyon depths. Far above, the massive airship descended, pursuing relentlessly. Shells poured nonstop from its underbelly guns.
A bang rocked the canyon ahead of the rebels. Undeterred, their vehicles barreled through dust and flames. Shattered rock sprayed like sleet.
Jin-cheol weaved his bike frantically, dodging flying debris and grit. The four-wheelers bucked wildly; his two-wheeler wobbled in sympathy.
Kwang explosions hammered the canyon, flames and smoke erupting at each impact. With every flash, fleeting illusions ghosted across Jin-cheol's vision. He gritted his teeth.
"Fuck...!"
The rebels plunged deeper into the gorge. The airship dropped altitude to skim the canyon rims, then unleashed a chattering ta-tata-tata machine-gun barrage.
Bullets rained like hail on the dry canyon floor. Rebel vehicles swerved desperately, but a lagging truck shredded apart with metallic pings, turning into a sieve.
Jin-cheol glimpsed mangled insides and motionless Lavitos as he flashed past. A shell slammed down right after, engulfing it in fire and debris. Black smoke billowed skyward.
The rebels weren't going down without a fight. They leaned out truck roofs and windows, perched precariously, rifles trained on the ship. At this range—nearly canyon-level—it was feasible.
But their popguns barely scratched the steel behemoth. Bullets pinged harmlessly as it pressed on, shelling relentlessly. Another vehicle erupted in flames.
Miguel, perched on his truck's roof firing his rifle, howled in rage and squeezed the trigger nonstop at the ship. It answered with a sweeping machine-gun burst.
The hail grazed his truck's rear, honeycombing it. Rebels inside yanked him back down.
"Kapitan! Get inside—it's dangerous!"
"Shut it! If we don't shake this tail, we're all dead!"
"Kapitan!"
Glancing back as he rode, Jin-cheol saw Dol Jumeok white-knuckling the wheel and Lamien leaning out the window, popping pistol shots at the ship. Maro clung to her, keeping her from falling.
Jin-cheol scanned his surroundings: sheer canyon walls like knife cuts, rocks, speeding vehicles, pursuing airship. In that split second, he decided.
He wrenched the throttle. His bike surged forward, engine gulping fuel in frantic explosions, gears whirring madly.
He rocketed past the rebel vanguard. But he didn't stop there—midstride, he yanked the handlebars, veering onto a side path climbing the cliffside.
Miguel spotted it amid his scuffle with his men. His gaze trailed Jin-cheol upward, dumbfounded. A nearby shell forced him to duck, losing sight.
When he looked again, Jin-cheol was gone.
"What? D-did he... bail?"
No.
Miguel soon spotted him atop the cliff—way back, right over the enemy's flight path.
Then Jin-cheol kicked off his bike and leaped. His body soared through the canyon sky like a swimmer gliding through water.
He landed smoothly—right on the airship's hull.
Low enough over the canyon to make boarding possible.
Inside, Siapho Lavitos jerked their heads at a thunk on the ceiling. A shing white blade pierced through. When Jin-cheol dropped from the gash, terror overtook their shock.
The captain—barely holding it together—shouted, "Wh-who are you?!"
"Hijacker."
"...?"
Jin-cheol gave the curt reply and charged.
Below in the canyon, Miguel marveled as shelling halted right after Jin-cheol boarded. Amazement turned to horror as the airship's nose dipped, slamming into the canyon floor.
Propellers shattered on impact; the oval hull crumpled like foil under its own weight. Engines detonated with a peng, and the whole ship went up in a massive kwakwang inferno.
"..."
The rebels screeched to a halt, staring blankly at the blast.
Flames roared, black smoke climbing the canyon walls to the sky.
"...!"
Then they saw him: Jin-cheol, striding out nonchalantly, backlit by crimson fire.