Inevitability - 4
Everything was a first.
The birth of a Poison Human, witnessing a Poison Human’s abilities, facing one as an opponent—for the black-clad men, every last thing was new, so caution was the only option.
As long as they didn’t get caught. She was nothing more than a wandering martial artist who used dangerous poison arts. Herd her carefully, the way one drives a wild beast, and they could take her down without suffering heavy losses.
Just as the black-clad men were growing confident in their method of dealing with Dang Hwarin, wings unfurled from the Poison Human.
“Wings?”
Poison powder erupted from every inch of Dang Hwarin’s body, yet the fiercest surge poured from her back.
Humans were creatures that could never possess wings, yet Hwarin’s form was exactly like a butterfly slowly spreading its wings after breaking free of its chrysalis.
The toxic powder billowed out from her and filled the battlefield.
At first glance it did not look threatening. It resembled early-winter sleet, or dawn mist, or light scattering at daybreak to paint a rainbow across the air.
The black-clad men hastily retreated, and for a single stunned moment they simply stared at the spectacle that was at once wondrous and terrifying.
Until Dang Hwarin announced the name of her martial art.
“Poison Killing Space?”
“Poison Killing Space, you say?”
“Did the Sichuan Dang Clan ever have a technique called Poison Killing Space?”
It was true that martial arts and forms often included characters for “kill” or “death.” But those were names the unorthodox sects and the Demonic Cult preferred. The orthodox favored metaphorical titles—yet here was something called Poison Killing Space.
When Hwarin boldly declared the name, the black-clad men exchanged glances, hoping someone among them might recognize it. They found only mutual bewilderment.
“Uuuugh! Seriously!”
Watching their blank faces, Hwarin flushed for some unfathomable reason and flicked her hand toward empty air.
“Kraaagh!”
“Urgh!”
“Blood from the seven orifices?”
With that single gesture the poison powder swept past the black-clad men’s ankles and seized the entire field.
“The powder’s already at our ankles? Fall back—everyone fall back!”
“Fix your masks and retreat!”
Fortunately the powder she used was not the same instant flesh-melting toxin from her earlier fighting style. Its true nature seemed to be an inhaled poison. The black-clad men possessed special masks that filtered out most toxins, even if they fell short of true anti-poison wine.
They pressed the cloth tight against mouths and noses. Had that been enough, however, Hwarin would never have bothered naming the art.
“You really think that’s going to work?”
She sneered at them and gestured once more.
“B-breath—!”
“Keok!”
One lungful. Those who had trusted their masks too completely inhaled the powder that suddenly rushed over their faces and collapsed where they stood.
Hwarin watched the falling corpses with cool indifference.
“A third of us dead in an instant…”
The remaining black-clad men stared at their comrades who had fallen without even escaping the Poison Human’s domain. The power was immense. No wonder the cult had been willing to risk so much to secure her.
If a single Poison Human could wield this much force, what would happen if they could mass-produce more? The cult’s grand design would advance by leaps and bounds.
“Charge together and subdue her!”
They had to capture the Poison Human and bring her back. Greed and fury glittered in the black-clad men’s eyes.
“Hold your breath! One slash each and get out—that will be enough to restrain her!”
“Yes, sir!”
They had already identified the weakness of her art. If breathing was the problem, then simply do not breathe. Rush in, swing once, and withdraw.
The black-clad men reformed their ranks and charged the Poison Human as one.
With two-thirds of their number still standing, they were certain they could overwhelm her. Even if some died, she could never kill them all.
Every man who rushed forward shared that same thought—until the one in the lead noticed something strange.
She’s smiling?
Something was wrong. She did not dodge. She did not even move. Faced with so many enemies charging at once, the Poison Human simply stood there, utterly at ease.
Like an angler.
Like a seasoned fisherman who does not even react to the first light nibble, waiting patiently for the fish to swallow the hook whole.
“R-run!”
The lead man realized too late that something was terribly wrong and spun around.
The angler spoke.
“Did you really think that would be enough?”
She lifted the rod.
“Kraaaagh! It’s burning!”
“Hot! Cold—!”
Half of those who had charged blackened and crumbled in an instant.
“Blood? Wh-why—?”
The other half collapsed, blood pouring from the seven orifices.
Those still breathing all turned to stare at Dang Hwarin, their eyes asking the same silent question: Why are we dying? What did we do wrong?
Hwarin opened her mouth so that even in the underworld they would not die in ignorance.
“Breathing holes aren’t the only holes, you know.”
The angler smiled at the black-clad men the way one smiles after landing a prize catch.
Holes? What holes? A sudden sting flared across the back of a still-standing man’s hand. A wound from the earlier fight with the Yi-gak?
A wound?
“Wounds! The poison enters through the wounds! It’s a trap—fall back!”
The realization came far too late.
Making them believe that only inhalation caused poisoning inside the Poison Killing Space had been Hwarin’s trap from the beginning.
What they had just done was the equivalent of a man covered in open cuts immersing himself in lethal poison. The moment the black-clad men re-entered her domain, their fate had already been sealed.
“Uwaaaagh!”
Those who understood and those who did not died with perfect equality inside that space.
They had leapt into a sea of poison.
Every fish that had been lured by the gleaming bait into the trap was doomed; none would escape.
“So this is the unique martial art of a Poison Human.”
The last black-clad man—the one who had killed the greatest number of Yi-gak members—stood outside Hwarin’s domain and glared at her.
“It isn’t a Poison Human’s unique art. It’s my unique art.”
Hwarin jabbed a proud finger at her own chest, her face radiant with confidence.
“Poison Killing Space, was it? I can’t think of a more fitting name.”
At the black-clad man’s acknowledgment, Hwarin’s expression shifted into something strange. Her brows knitted, yet the corners of her lips trembled faintly.
Was she pleased? Displeased?
Had Kang Yunho been watching, he would have recognized it at once as the complicated face one makes upon seeing glowing comments under one’s own old black-history masterpiece. The black-clad man, however, only found the look puzzling.
Does she have some hidden weakness?
Even after receiving such high praise for a tremendous martial art, her reaction was odd. That could mean a flaw existed—perhaps her stamina was flagging, or the technique drained enormous internal energy, or she had expended too much of the poison qi within her body.
I still can’t see any weakness.
It was pure speculation. Watching the Poison Human’s art, the black-clad man felt a stifling frustration at something he simply could not overcome.
Breathe, and you die.
Bleed, and you die.
Get caught while attacking, and you die.
If this had been a formation of the Zhuge Clan there would at least be a life gate, but the instant you set foot inside her domain every path became a death gate.
Should he flee and report this to the cult? He hesitated for a moment.
If I let that bitch live, she could ruin the cult’s grand design.
She was far too dangerous. Letting her go now might mean never again finding a chance to kill her. Worse, she might grow even stronger and become a roadblock in the cult’s path.
I stake my life.
They might have just created the cult’s greatest future enemy. If so, how would history remember them? They could not go down as the fools who sabotaged the cult’s destiny with their own hands.
“I admit it. You’re stronger than any martial artist I’ve ever faced.”
The black-clad man pressed his own blood points as he spoke to Hwarin.
“What the hell is he babbling about?”
“But! You are not the only strong enemy who has ever stood before me!”
Demonic qi exploded from his body. He burned his internal energy, burned his life force, burned everything he had—a flame that flared only to die.
“Wh-what is that?”
“If I cannot take you alive, then I’ll at least take your head!”
He could not last long inside the Poison Human’s space. Yet if he had always passively accepted defeat simply because an opponent controlled the field, he would never have survived this long.
Carving a single path through another’s domain—this was something the black-clad man had always done.
Shortest distance.
A life-for-life strike that abandoned all defense: mutual destruction. From a great distance he launched a single, all-out thrust aimed straight at Dang Hwarin’s heart.
“Tch!”
Too late to dodge. He saw her choose the best counter: a single flying dagger shot from her hand.
Even a graze means instant death.
True to the Dang Clan’s assassination arts, the dagger carried ferocious energy. A wound from it would kill him on the spot.
His demonic qi burned both the invading poison and his own life force, thrashing wildly.
If he dodged the dagger the attack would fail. Once demonic qi was ignited there was no time left; he would die before he could strike again.
Deflect it!
He poured demonic qi into the block and struck the dagger aside. Even that brief contact made his wrist scream; the force packed into the blade was monstrous.
Now only the Poison Human’s neck remained. He wrenched his attention from the flying dagger and looked back at Hwarin.
Or rather, he tried to.
“What—?”
What filled his vision was the palm of the Poison Human.
“It’s over.”
Hwarin slammed the black-clad man’s head into the ground and declared it calmly.
The poison mist began to clear.
Every strand of toxic qi that had blanketed the area was sucked back into a single woman in the blink of an eye.
“Cough…!”
The black-clad man was not yet dead; he watched the scene with fading eyes. Demonic qi still held the invading poison at bay. Whether the poison eventually overcame the demonic qi or the reverse, his death was already certain.
“At least it was useful…”
Hwarin, already knowing his fate, paid him no further attention. She picked up the fallen flying dagger and muttered in a voice both bitter and dissatisfied.
“Th-that technique just now… what was its name?”
He asked for the name of the art that had sent him to the underworld. The Poison Killing Space was one thing, but the final move she had used on him was clearly something else.
“Extr… No. It’s just a miscellaneous technique.”
“Keh-heh. A ‘miscellaneous’ technique? Do I look like someone who would fall to a mere parlor trick?”
“I-it doesn’t even have a name, okay?”
Strictly speaking it was different from what he claimed—another martial art entirely. Hwarin tried hard to rationalize it to herself, but she could not hide the guilty look on her face.
“Then I shall name the technique that killed me. Pitch-black darkness… death arrives… call it Seven Nights Extr—”
“Kyaaah! Just die alreadyyyy!”
Hwarin could not endure the shame.
Silence settled over the battlefield.
“Why do men always love names like that… seriously…”
Standing amid the countless corpses of the black-clad men, the woman who had created all this carnage wore a faintly embarrassed, flushed expression.
One man carefully watched her from a distance, clutching a blackened, charred arm, and tried to slip away unnoticed.
But this was not a woman who would simply let that happen.
“Keuuugh!”
The flying dagger she flung buried itself in the charred arm.
The final act of everything.
“Dang Geoho. You and I… need to settle this once and for all, don’t we?”
Carrying grief and rage in every step, Dang Hwarin walked slowly toward the man who had ruined her entire life, ready to deliver his end.