Silver Blood Salvation
The tank flew like a toy, but its weight was enough to crush all the mutant Lavitos beneath it. As it rolled, it flattened five or six of them. Another seven or eight failed to dodge the special envoy's light explosion and were torn apart.
Thanks to Aiman's timely warning, unlike the mutants, most of the group managed to escape the blast. Dol Jumeok and Maro heard it too, so they ran. The problem was that they had scattered in a direction too close to where the light erupted, against Aiman's instruction to spread out in all directions.
The group gathered around Dol Jumeok, who had curled up on the ground. Long gashes ran from his right shoulder down his back. It looked like someone had gathered blades into a carpet and scraped him raw—his skin and muscles shredded to ribbons. Blackened burns oozed blood in pulsing spurts amid the carnage. Dol Jumeok's life was leaking out.
"Hey, Dol Jumeok!"
At Jin-cheol's voice, kneeling on one knee, Dol Jumeok jerked his head up. He blinked at Jin-cheol and the others looking down at him, then startled as he checked the person clutched in his arms. Rabbit ears poked out from his embrace. It was Maro.
"...Uncle Dol Jumeok?"
"You okay?"
Dol Jumeok's gruff question. Maro sprang up, checked his own limbs, and grinned.
"Yeah! I'm fine!"
"Tough like a gar kid."
"Yeah, thanks to you, Uncle..."
Maro's face hardened. Dol Jumeok, who had been speaking flatly, let out a sigh and slumped. He wasn't unconscious, but his face drained of strength as his limbs went limp.
"Uncle!"
"Anyone got bandages?!"
At Jin-cheol's shout, Snow pulled a small pack from her waist. She ripped it open to reveal bandages and hemostatic powder. Jin-cheol dusted it all over Dol Jumeok's back, then grabbed the bandages. His hands moved fast and precise, but the wound was too big. Blood poured out relentlessly. Still, Jin-cheol pressed on with grim determination.
Maro's face went blank as he stared at Dol Jumeok's blood and wounds. He whispered,
"He's okay, right? Uncle's gonna be okay? Right?"
Lamien hurried over and hugged Maro from behind. Her face was somber. Snow, who had pulled out the kit, assisted Jin-cheol. They wrapped the wound quickly, but Dol Jumeok's ruddy face had already paled. Clotted blood mixed with the powder splattered the ground.
As they bandaged—what good it would do—Dol Jumeok whispered,
"...I wanna go home."
"Go home? Where to."
Jin-cheol kept bandaging without pause, firing questions to keep him conscious. He needed Dol Jumeok alert for evacuation to a medic. Awake, he could describe his condition.
While Jin-cheol bandaged and talked, the mutant Lavitos finished shredding the remaining ironclad soldiers and swarmed into the hotel entrance, screeching in blood frenzy—unlike the group's tense silence.
Dol Jumeok stared into the distance, as if hearing a song in their howls.
"To the wasteland, the plains... the horizon far off... clouds rising like from that horizon... on dark nights, the black earth shining with... a sea of stars... Gar... my gar..."
"Wasteland? You wanna go back to your hometown? Where's that?"
"Wasteland... northern wasteland..."
"Tell me more about home. Stay with it, asshole."
"...Gar... my..."
Skilled hands finished the wrapping quickly. But the bandages soaked through red, dripping blood. Jin-cheol had done all he could. He shook Dol Jumeok to keep him conscious, then muttered without thinking,
"When's the medic coming?"
Only then did it hit him. No medics here. This wasn't his old battlefield—it was a distant future, ten thousand years on. Realizing that, Jin-cheol gripped Dol Jumeok's hand. The Olrog's distant gaze shifted to him. Instead of words, he just stared.
Jin-cheol turned to the group.
"Anyone got a medical license?"
They all watched in silent pity. Aiman and Haeta shook their heads. Tears streamed from Maro's eyes; Lamien barely held him upright. Snow, who had helped, lifted her owl mask atop her head and gazed quietly at Jin-cheol and Dol Jumeok. Jin-cheol bowed his head with a deep sigh.
Then Haeta shrieked,
"Wait! I have a way!"
Drawing all eyes, she scanned around. Her gaze landed on the ironclad soldiers' shredded corpses.
"Quick, gather their bodies! Now! As many as you can!"
"Haeta, what're you—"
Aiman started, but Jin-cheol moved first without question. He grabbed the nearest corpse—head and torso only, limbs gone. Some bodies had been dragged inside by mutants, but most lay scattered like trash. Jin-cheol's lead spurred the others to hastily collect the remains. Even tearful Maro and Lamien grabbed pieces in confusion. Snow dashed for large chunks; Aiman and the lone revolutionary Lavito scooped frantically.
"Lay them around Dol Jumeok!"
Haeta stood tall before him, took a deep breath, and formed hand seals. Flames flickered in the gem of her circlet—the chakra stone. Her triangular pupils dilated, emitting not absorbing light—an inner, intense energy.
Hehe, haha. Frankenstein's monster with superpowers now? Amazing! The persecuted rise and dance! The sky-burning giants fallen—their era dawns! Hehehe!
What the fuck is this lunatic babbling about. As the deranged hotel chip muttered, a heavy air hung between Dol Jumeok and Haeta. Her hands flew through seals. At the final one, her hair bristled like a beast's fur. No wind, yet her clothes fluttered. Then, silvery liquid seeped from the sprawled ironclad corpses.
Aiman muttered,
"Impossible... Haeta... when did your yo-sul reach this level..."
The silver blood slithered like living things toward Dol Jumeok, pooling around him. Meanwhile, his breathing grew shallower. Haeta's face paled; her hands trembled faintly. The circling liquid surged into him—mostly into the bandaged wounds, some through mouth and nose. She switched seals. Blood trickled from her nose.
The silver vanished. Dol Jumeok's bandaged wounds writhed. Shockingly, the soaking blood dried rapidly—sucked back in.
"Haa..."
Haeta exhaled deeply, lowering her hands. Her hair settled; she swayed. Jin-cheol caught her. Dazed, she wiped her nosebleed and looked up.
"...It worked. Wasn't sure with an Ologg."
"He lived. Good job."
"Hehe..."
The tension lifted. Quiet Maro rushed to Dol Jumeok.
"Uncle!"
Dol Jumeok was out, but his ashen skin flushed again. His face relaxed, breathing steady. His mouth slackened into soft snores.
Tears flowed anew from Maro—this time joyful. Jin-cheol chuckled at the ambiguous expression.
"What. So now this brute's a sorcerer?"
"No. Most silver blood went to healing. Some lingers, but Ologgs rarely awaken yo-sul even with it."
Jin-cheol recalled the emergency treatment he'd used on Udim—Parm's gift. Silver blood too.
"Oh, so sorcerers can heal with their own—"
"..."
He shut up. Haeta, in his arms, had dozed off.
"Silver blood is life to sorcerers. Like drinking seawater to quench thirst at sea. Most would die before wasting it that way."
Aiman approached. Jin-cheol glanced; Aiman grinned.
"Haeta's yo-sul is incredible, eh? Manipulating external blood like that—and not her own! Barely an adult, surpassing her mother. Heh."
Aiman seemed happier for Haeta than Dol Jumeok's survival. From his view, Dol Jumeok was Jin-cheol's ally, a man-eater even. Haeta? No different. So she'd done this for Jin-cheol.
He laid her on clean ground, whispering,
"Thanks."
Her ears flushed pink. He smirked, standing. The group moved Haeta and Dol Jumeok aside. Surveying: mutant and ironclad remains, wrecked tank and truck—silent everywhere. Mutants had all rushed inside.
Odd. They attacked at night, struck without parley before. Now fixated solely on the envoy and his soldiers.
Then a roar shook the underground from the hotel depths. The group stared blankly. Same screech from their approach.
Who was wailing like that?
Hehe, haha. The queen ant calls her soldiers~ But no servants heed her now, so the butcher tears the shell for the heart~ Hehehe!
"...What've you been yapping about?"
Fuck, should've ditched this psycho. Jin-cheol agreed they needed to move fast. The others did too, straightening up.
Maro grabbed a small rifle—Lavito-sized—and stood guard by Dol Jumeok and Haeta. Proud and steady, far from the grubby kid from Siapo's countryside.
"You staying to watch them?" Jin-cheol asked.
"Yeah. You all gotta find the captives. I'll wait here."
"Smart kid."
The last revolutionary grabbed a weapon, joining him. Exhausted but unyielding despite dead comrades—Jin-cheol's kind of survivor. He nodded silently for the group to go.
Thus, Jin-cheol, Aiman, Lamien, and Snow climbed the half-collapsed hotel lobby debris inward.
Inside differed from the dusty, untouched Great Palace Hotel—filth, blood, torn tents, scattered bones. Mutant usage evident. Vibrations hummed through pillars, faint screeches echoing. The envoy and pursuing mutants were fighting deeper in.
The group headed toward the noise.
"Hold."
Jin-cheol stopped them, listening. His post-awakening hearing—now near precognition—caught faint voices. Not screams, but words.
He turned from the main passage to a small one in the lobby corner. Downward stairs.
"There. People's voices."
"Captives?" Lamien grabbed him urgently. He nodded. Human voices, anxious but clear. Lamien itched to run.
Aiman said,
"Split the group. Stop the envoy, but rescue citizens too—no more delay."
Simple divide: Jin-cheol and Aiman inward; Lamien and Snow—whose goal was rescue—to basement.
At the fork, Lamien told Jin-cheol,
"Be careful."
"Heh. Saw what he did earlier. Next time, he's dead."
"...Death sentence from the Hijacker. Better run fast."
Lamien cracked a dry joke at his smile, then dashed downstairs with Snow. Jin-cheol watched a beat, then strode inward. Aiman caught up, glancing.
"Really kill him? He knows key Muksaang House intel. And... he seemed your species."
"Yeah. Lots of questions for him. Answer or not..."
"He dies by my hand."
"...For trying to kill that Dol Jumeok Olrog?"
"For trying to kill my friend."
Flat declaration. Jin-cheol marched on. Aiman paused, smirking, then followed.