Crossroads: Realm of Souls
The Crossroads is the kingdom of souls, ruled by two Loa: Legba and Kalfu. Legba leads the Loa of the Crossroads into the material world—the mortal realm—to converse with humans. Kalfu drags mortals from the mortal realm into the Crossroads to speak with the Loa. For this reason, Kalfu is sometimes depicted as Legba's half or his double.
Kalfu had drawn me, standing on death's doorstep, into the Crossroads. Or rather, the messenger contract I'd forged with Baron Samedi had opened the gateway, and I'd stepped through it myself.
Baron Samedi lounged in midair, legs crossed, puffing a cigar with his left hand. He soon grimaced in annoyance. "Being left-handed is such a pain."
Tssshhh…
Baron Samedi ground the cigar out on the ground, then irritably stuffed the half-smoked stub into his pocket. His voice didn't echo in my mind as usual; it flowed normally into my ears.
I glanced at his missing right hand. "Where'd you leave your hand?"
"Back in the mortal realm. Didn't I tell you yesterday?"
Baron Samedi cackled. Yesterday, when his hand had come to deliver a prophecy, I'd asked where his body was, and he'd said he'd left it in the Crossroads. I'd thought it was his usual dumb joke, but apparently it was real.
"Let's walk for now. We can talk along the way. Oh, right—can you even walk?"
"I couldn't earlier, but I can now."
"Figured as much. If you want to walk, you can."
Baron Samedi and I walked. The Crossroads looked close enough to touch, yet no matter how far we went, it never drew nearer. When we'd arrived, my immobile legs had started moving, but my left hand remained limp. It was still crushed. The hand I'd offered to Kalfu.
"My hand isn't healing."
"Of course not. It's the finger you offered in contract. Your lung's probably still wrecked too. Breathing's a bit rough, right?"
"……"
Now that he mentioned it, my chest did feel tight. Better not to have known.
Baron Samedi chuckled lowly at my expression. "Missing half a hand and half a lung won't kill you. It'll heal eventually."
"My lung will heal too?"
"Slower than your hand, but yeah, someday. Well…"
He furrowed his brows and forced a exaggerated grin. "It's not my lung, so what do I care? Haha. Kidding."
"……"
"Kidding, kidding. I meant it when I said it'll heal. Kalfu's spells are brutal, but not so cruel as to shatter and steal the caster's body completely."
Baron Samedi looked up at the sky as he spoke. I followed his gaze. The round moon was waning into a crescent—Kalfu's smile.
The Crossroads brimmed with darkness, lit only by the red moonlight from Kalfu. As the moon waned, the place darkened; as it waxed, it brightened.
"…Oh, look, there's an old man over there who's lost his staff."
The Crossroads, once infinitely distant, was suddenly right before us in a blink. At its center stood an old man like a signpost. He was lame, wore a wide-brimmed straw hat, and held a pipe in his right hand. Legba's manifestation.
"Elder, you look unsteady. Missing your staff?"
Baron Samedi doffed his silk hat in mock formality.
Legba scowled at him. "Samedi, be off with you. I have urgent matters to discuss with the prophet."
"Ah, so non-Crossroads lords aren't welcome?"
"You may listen if you wish, but it's nothing you'd benefit from hearing."
"Oh? Is that so."
Baron Samedi stroked his chin thoughtfully, then approached me and clapped my shoulder. His eyes glowed an intense red as he looked down. "I'll wait beyond the path. Fè yon chwa ou pap regrèt!"
With that, Baron Samedi vanished—not dissolving into smoke, but gone in an instant, as if he'd never been there. Not surprising. In the Crossroads, anything could happen without raising an eyebrow. It was a world where everything was natural.
Legba limped toward me on one leg. "Overwhelmed by this form?"
His left foot was in the mortal realm, his right in the soul kingdom of the Crossroads. One foot in each world, so he limped everywhere. I already knew, so no shock.
"It's just… a bit awkward treating you like before."
Realizing afresh that Legba appeared as an old man made casualness feel off.
Legba guffawed in disbelief. "Treat me as always. Voice or flesh, I'm still me."
"Casually, huh… Should I drop the honorifics while we're at it?"
"Don't talk nonsense."
He laughed off my joke. Though my first time in the Crossroads, it felt familiar, comfortable—like where I belonged. The air I breathed was cozy, warm. It had been ages since I'd felt such genuine ease.
"…You've shed far more blood than necessary."
Legba said, putting his pipe to his lips. The rising smoke ring overlapped the round moon. Baron Samedi and Legba—why were they both so desperate to smoke?
I coughed and forced my mouth open. "Smoking like that in front of a student…"
"Endure it. A knife in the gut doesn't faze you, but smoke in the lung does?"
"Maybe because I've only got one lung left now. It hurts."
"Right, forgot. Then I'll smoke half."
Legba chuckled, exhaling smoke in a semicircle. He limped to the center, then suddenly turned serious and stared at me.
"No need to clash so recklessly."
"What?"
His cryptic words caught me off guard.
"Too abrupt. Back up a bit—you vaguely knew Gu Jun-hyeok was a Satanist. Right?"
"Vaguely… yes."
I knew, but only vaguely—no certainty. Evidence was thin for conviction. Suspicion was hazy; proof nearly absent.
"You had reason for certainty."
Legba puffed his pipe. The smoke formed a semicircle; the moon thinned to match.
"In the chase with the Satanist, you saw his build and neck tattoo. The Satanist fled fast; so did Gu Jun-hyeok. Enough?"
"Not quite…"
"Right before the Charity Holy Mark reelection exam, he mentioned 'exorcism rites.' No true Romanican utters that—ignorant or forbidden. Still not enough?"
"Isn't that hindsight? How can you suspect someone on so little?"
Legba inhaled deeply, listening quietly. His words probed like an interrogation, but his face and tone were kindly serene. Watching smoke shatter against red moonlight, he spoke.
"Then today—the taxidermy doll mimicking Jeong In-ah embraced you. Taxidermy leaves hair from death."
"Yes."
"Guess the source?"
Gu Jun-hyeok often playfully yanked Jeong In-ah's hair. Kim Jin-seo's from Eden Hill's new beast or gym sparring. Seong Ha-yeon's from group work. No dolls for distant Ma Yu-hyeon or Kang Dae-man. But hindsight again. Knowing now enabled this reasoning.
"Hair's easy to get with effort. Not enough for certainty…"
"Events near you. His slips. Odd behavior. Gym hideout. Knows your friends. Not all."
My remaining lung tightened.
"Each clue flimsy, crude. Together? They point to one. Still lacking?"
"Yes. Suspicion needs proof."
"That suspicion led you to guess he was Satanist. Yet you didn't press. You doubted yourself, hoped he wasn't."
"That's because you said my reasoning was a leap, Legba!"
"Your first inference was a leap, invalid. To validate, press him, corner psychologically, secure proof—before the incident erupted."
Legba's voice sank calmly. I steadied my breath. No need for excitement—he was just showing the path. Calming my agitation.
"…Interrogate. Hypothetically, if he wasn't? Ruined a good friendship."
"If not Satanist, a devout Florence Romanican. Either way, no friend for you."
"……"
"You blended with the enemy, became passive. Undeniable."
Much to say, but my mouth was bitter. As outsider, no friends among chosen or others. Fake me seemed similar superficially, fundamentally different. I'd forgotten briefly. Suspecting Gu Jun-hyeok a Satanist, yet hoping not—from seeing him, Jeong In-ah as friends—I'd doubted myself. In retrospect, yes. I sighed softly.
"Feels like you knew he was Satanist from the start."
"Not from the start."
Legba said casually. I mulled it. 'Not from the start' meant he knew later. Fury surged.
"If you knew midway, why not tell me then? I… how much…!"
Hard-won calm roiled. Words choked.
If Legba had told me later, even, this wouldn't have happened.
"…Shouldn't trust cripples anyway. They're usually the culprit."
"Insult?"
"Yes. Dying to punch you, holding back."
"Grateful."
Not meant as joke, but Legba laughed. He continued.
"You doubted yourself then. Prophet and leader doubting? I waited for you to shed it. But you didn't."
"No need to beat around—say you tested me."
"Yes. Tested your fitness as leader, prophet."
"Done grading? Probably unfit."
Hurt pride, betrayal—spit out rashly.
Legba stood center, puffing pipe endlessly. Smoke still semicircles. Long silence, gazing crumbling smoke. Red moon half-closed, weary.
"Today, confirming Gu Jun-hyeok Satanist and fleeing sufficed."
"Yeah."
"No need self-mutilate to fight. Flee, seek Vatican or knights' aid—safer merit."
"Words from a Loa?"
"…Yet you fought, ended here. Why no flight?"
Legba pressed doggedly despite irritation. I sought answer. Could've fled easily, but fought. Now on death's door. Reasons: betrayal fury, his preemptive strike forcing defense.
"Just… felt I'd win."
If one? Confidence in self. Sure I'd beat Gu Jun-hyeok. Win by result? No. Loss? Never.
Legba scoffed, tucking pipe in lapel. "At least no doubt at the end."
"At least?"
"Sassy too—strong ego. Leader material, maybe."
Unexpected; flustered.
"Unfit as prophet?"
"Haven't graded that. Retrieve staff, reconsider. Hard to grade lame."
Joke or serious? Moon blinked in dark. Legba gazed skyward, conversing with Kalfu seemingly. Soon pointed distant Crossroads beyond.
"Time to go. Two paths—choose, walk."
"So sudden… Any path?"
"Follow heart. That's right."
Legba limped away into dark. Alone now, red moon watched. Chose path heart pulled—no memory left or right. Broadened, narrowed; flat, rough. Long endless, short near. Crossroads: meanings void. Flowed naturally.
Clack, clack…
Far end: Baron Samedi waited, fiddling two stones with slender fingers. Close: dice, spun deftly.
"Ah! Here. Face says Legba reamed you."
Baron Samedi grinned, eyes on dice.
"…What're you doing?"
"Practicing. Ignore."
He sprang up, handed me dice. No pips. Snap! Pips appeared—blood-red ominous.
"Dice first!"
His cheerful shout filled empty Crossroads.
*
Thud. Yeo Min-seo dumped Gabriel before So Do-jin, collapsing. Leaned on tree, panting.
"Ah…"
So Do-jin sighed at Gabriel burning from corrosion. Two corroded; one potion; one save. Double responsibility.
Unthinkingly, he pulled vial from Do Seon-woo's lips. Clack. Watching Kim Jin-seo grabbed his wrist. Her eyes trembled pitifully; lips quivered.
"Wh-what're you doing."
"……"
"What. Fire's growing, hey?"
"…Wait. Thinking."
"H-he'll die. Give it. I'll do it…!"
Smack! So Do-jin slapped her hand. Eyes on Gabriel. Lower body rotted from corrosion; else unscathed. Do Seon-woo: half-rotted, severe non-corrosion trauma. Potion might kill him. Gabriel: sure survival. Safer on Gabriel.
Panting Yeo Min-seo overheard, eyes flashing.
"H-huh… Th-that. Potion. Stops black magic, this time. Do… fuck…"
Pointing vial shakily.
"So Do-jin, teacher. You, I… hate you? H-honestly… called you cripple behind back…"
"……"
"B-but… even cripple discerns priorities…?"
Coughed blood clots.
"Emergency priorities… by rank… know? I die fine, but Gabriel… elder! Save elder…"
"…I know."
So Do-jin squeezed eyes shut. Priorities: civilians first, clergy by rank. Do Seon-woo: deacon. Gabriel: ex-archbishop, current monsignor. Higher rank. Protocol: Gabriel.
Covering vial from rain, So Do-jin limped to Gabriel. Slow from leg injury. Or reluctance. Didn't want abandon Do Seon-woo. Self-loathing gripped vial tight.
"Teacher…?"
Kim Jin-seo muttered disbelievingly. Eyes flicked vial, dying Do Seon-woo.
"Y-you said give to Do Seon-woo. Teacher…?"
"…Protocol says elder."
"D-don't say nonsense…"
Kim Jin-seo staggered forward weakly. Legs, body powerless. Breath short, head ached. Dry mouth, no swallow.
Slosh. Vial liquid shook violently. Kim Jin-seo gripped So Do-jin's wrist unrelentingly.
"…Don't."
His seized hand trembled. Couldn't shake; her grip too strong. His weakened by injury.
"Do Seon-woo caught Satanist."
"……"
"Save, rank rises. Ultimately… right. Or half-half. Both saved…"
"Bullshit. Think you're Solomon…? Heh…"
Yeo Min-seo sneered. Kim Jin-seo stared blankly.
"Shut… up."
"Mo-ther… fuck…"
"Enough."
So Do-jin intervened. Shook head slowly.
"…Half-half no. Both die likely. Dosage fixed."
"But…!"
"Kim Jin-seo, release. Or force you."
"Yes, save. Gabriel… must save. Don't block, fucker…!"
Yeo Min-seo shrieked. Kim Jin-seo glared murderously. Yeo Min-seo met mad eyes. Gazes clashed. Air chilled. Fine rain dotted heads.
"Huh? A-all here. Good. Hey!"
Interrupting unwittingly: Ma Yu-hyeon, late chasing Yeo Min-seo. Seong Ha-yeon hurried behind. Both frantic. Seong Ha-yeon handed near-dead friend Kim Ra-hee to knights, met Ma Yu-hyeon en route here. No calm.
Ma Yu-hyeon blood-soaked, unfazed Yeo Min-seo cursing shocked him.
"Hey, no priests near. Only knights… so brought Seong Ha-yeon. Uh…"
"…What situation?"
Late graspers Ma Yu-hyeon, Seong Ha-yeon asked awkwardly. So Do-jin held potion; Kim Jin-seo gripped teacher's wrist crushingly. Yeo Min-seo dying; Gabriel, Do Seon-woo rotting in black flame. Obvious, unpalatable.
Seong Ha-yeon pointed trembling at flaming Do Seon-woo.
"Th-that… taxidermy? Right?"
"…What?"
"Was fine earlier? Not suddenly like that…?"
First thought taxidermy. She'd seen Do Seon-woo recreate miracle. Real wouldn't die easy. Blood not sawdust, but taxidermy. Had to be.
Ma Yu-hyeon drew divine circle eyes. Peered dying Do Seon-woo, 'flow' keenly. Bowed grimly.
"Not taxidermy—"
"Taxidermy… yes…"
Despairing mutter cut by Kim Jin-seo. Stared Do Seon-woo blankly, laughed. Dying: taxidermy mimicking Do Seon-woo. Odd. Where real? Park met: real? Yes…
"Uh…?"
Thought froze. That Do Seon-woo dead. No, I killed. Taxidermy no blood. This bleeding profusely. Park one taxidermy. This…? Park real, then who I killed…
"Ma Yu-hyeon… block that bitch—!"
Confusion sapped Kim Jin-seo's strength. Yeo Min-seo seized chance, yelled.
Guessing, Ma Yu-hyeon tackled Kim Jin-seo.
"Hey, wh-why so strong…!"
Too weak. Kim Jin-seo glared lowly.
"Release. Before I kill…"
"O-oh…"
Terrified, Ma Yu-hyeon backed. Yeo Min-seo scorned.
"Idiot… block properly…!"
"Wh-what? Need grasp first!"
"Fuck, just block. Please…!"
Yeo Min-seo's plea desperate; Kim Jin-seo's eyes terrifying. Ma Yu-hyeon stuck.
Few days school, embroiled already. Regret… Crunch. Watching, Seong Ha-yeon bit finger bloody post-grasp. Fired divine. Regeneration blessings, all heals. Last: Purification Blessing, blood-infused.
"No need serious. Black magic? Erase—"
Whoosh!
"Kyaa…!"
Black flame surged. Seong Ha-yeon recoiled. Her Purification perfect—even she thought. Yet flame unquenched, fiercer devouring Do Seon-woo.
"Huh? Why not gone. Blood short? No?"
Corrosion: black magic via demon contract, most infamous. Even Purification Clan dies direct hit—rumor. Impossible fully purify. Why clerics dread.
"…Kim Jin-seo."
So Do-jin eyed resignedly. No strength shake. Honestly, didn't want. Didn't wish Do Seon-woo's death. Damn elder rules. Rank, protocol—as adult, teacher, watch student die calculating? Principle wrong, he thought.
"Gabriel certain save."
"……"
"No guarantee Do Seon-woo survives potion. Likely dies. Release. Please…"
Even sans rank/protocol, rational: Gabriel. Do Seon-woo dies other causes too. Gabriel: sure one save.
"Why say dead."
"……"
"Still alive. Why treat as corpse…"
While speaking, So Do-jin stared Do Seon-woo despairingly. Kim Jin-seo stopped, checked. During tussle, breath thread-thin. Purification no dim flame; heals no seal wounds.
"……"
Slowly released wrist. Dead as dead. Wished alive, deluded self.
If sooner? Or principal's office together…? Before rotting Do Seon-woo, knelt collapsed. Tough all, this pain unaccustomed. Unwanted familiarity. Gulped sobs, nails tore arm. Head hurt no tears; arm painless blood flowed.
"Crazy…"
Ma Yu-hyeon scratched head muttering.
So Do-jin tilted vial to Gabriel. No more delay. Kim Jin-seo stared blankly despair-eyed.
One side: Purification light wrapped Do Seon-woo, Seong Ha-yeon's blood dripped rotting flesh. Yeo Min-seo panted mad-laughing. Ma Yu-hyeon skyward. Moon big red. Pouring moonlight ominous.
Fizzle. Flame on Do Seon-woo extinguished.
*
"Dice game?"
Absurd, repeated. Crossroads anything normal, but sudden dice?
Baron Samedi's idea plausible, still dumbfounded.
Pointed two dice on my palm, grinning. "Yes. Roll them."
"Usually stakes? Rules?"
"Stakes set. No rules. Just roll."
Clap. Iron table, chairs appeared. Always there. Baron Samedi sat casually, leg crossed.
"Sit. Legs hurt? Long walk."
Sat opposite sans refusal. Clack. Dice on table, rolled checked. Unlike normal: 0-5 pips. Other: letters, unfamiliar script.
"…What dice?"
"Special for death contracts. Crossroads-exclusive, pricey."
"How much?"
"Priceless."
"Oh…"
True or not, feigned awe. He cackled.
"Good actor. Not first time here."
"Is first?"
"Ah, not you? Anyway, irrelevant."
Cryptic. Grinned sheepishly.
"Roll time. Me or you?"
Fingered table. Red moonlight gleamed.
Took dice. "Me. Might cheat."
"Haha! With this hand?"
Raised stump. But one-handed cheat possible. Not distrust him—'dice-holding' him suspect. Ogoun example.
"Still."
"Fine. Roller irrelevant."
"…This decides death contract price?"
"Similar."
No smile. Gazed red moon, beyond. Followed gaze: unknowable. Moon blinked.
"Time! Roll!"
"Ah, yes."
Rolled clueless. Rollroll. Spun wildly top-like, stopped. Pips: two. '2'. Letter unread.
Baron Samedi odd expression: surprise? Joy? Sorrow? Eerie.
"This it?"
"…Yes. Done. Follow."
Stood. I rose; table/chairs vanished. Followed. No scenery—pure dark. His path: road. Moonlit: road.
Silent till halt. No forward moonlight. Road's end.
Nodded beyond. "Ahead: mortal realm return."
"This simple? Death contract."
"Death simpler than thought. Resurrection too."
Grinned. "Resurrection—wounds linger. Weeks hospitalized."
"……"
"Sudden full heal suspicious? My courtesy."
True. Abrupt perfect odd. Half-rotted, gut-holed—surviving suspicious already, but can't die.
"Thus, per death contract, prophet Do Seon-woo pays, cheats death. Twice now evaded fate."
Twice?
"…Wait. Why twice?"
"Never wondered rapid heals? Thought body tough?"
"What mean—!"
Push. Gentle nudge launched me Crossroads-end. Distant: his red eyes. Legba limped beside.
Two Loa watched.
"Visit again, tell then."
Grinned. Voice faded. Him, Legba, Crossroads receding—heart empty, lonely. Heavy steps, tight chest—like departing stranger-land.
Eyes opened. Blurry vision cleared. Eden Hill. Knights bustled where Gu Jun-hyeok, I fought. Kim Jin-seo, Seong Ha-yeon, Yeo Min-seo, Ma Yu-hyeon, So Do-jin… many chosen stared.
"…Ah."
Voice faint, scattered. Kim Jin-seo's hazy eyes lit. Teary, touched face disbelievingly awake. Cheek numb to touch.
"……"
Silent, head on chest. Wept soundlessly. Seong Ha-yeon stiff; Ma Yu-hyeon, So Do-jin shocked. Knights busy. Sensations faint. Mouth bloody, tasteless. Fishy scent only.
"Ah…"
Too much lost for joy. Kids yelled. Voices/footsteps tangled noisy. Sleepy, tired, loud—eyes closed. Dark: big red moon watched. Moonlight alone warm, cozy.
*
Awake: first visitors clerics. Three Romanicans. One fierce-faced; two snaky-eyed liars. Strange garb. Hard believe clerics—cultish vibe. Not my place judge.
"Student, sorry sudden while dazed. Quick question…"
"……"
Fierce one spoke; others scribbled.
Guessed who. Continued.
"Knew Gu Jun-hyeok?"
'Student Gu Jun-hyeok'? Off vibe. Coughed throat clear.
"Classmates."
"Close?"
Gauged faces. Pretending casual, eyes tense. Laughable snicker.
Odd looks. Nodded at swaying branches outside.
"Obviously. Classmates."
"…Grieving much."
Probing tone masked concern.
"Grieving?"
Tested intent casually.
"School incident… anyone grieves. Just saying, ignore."
"Aha, yes."
"One more…"
More questions—Satanist, Gu Jun-hyeok habits. Vague, answered vaguely.
"Thanks cooperating despite pain. Rest well…"
Glanced arm. Demon flame half-rotted right.
"…Arm healing?"
"Yes, gradually. Miraculous."
"Miracle indeed. Whole thing… no. Thanks Adonai."
Shook head abruptly, ended Adonai thanks. Grinned nod.
"Yes, very grateful."
"Very…"
Downcast eyes scanned suspicious.
"Sorry abrupt. Next time call—number?"
"…Sure."
Recited phone casually. Snakes noted.
"Adonai bless. Then…"
Rushed out.
Next day: news. Corner TV looped. Two weeks post-incident, still covered. Watched 'how' framed.
Knock knock. Focus broke. Kang Ji-a entered. No uncle. Stared coldly, sighed sat stiffly.
"Tea— uh. What doing? How injured? Condition?"
"One question."
"…Condition?"
"So-so."
Grinned, eyed news. Demons' deaths varied witness: red hand tore skies; holy light crushed. Survivors mad—no credible. 'Miracle' likely, but vessel prophet? Confusion. Kalfu's spell—Romanican mess. Fingered left finger for Kalfu. Body mending slow; finger no sign. Lung too.
"News nonstop?"
"Yes."
"Rest better."
"Lying anyway."
Silent, watched news together. Florence long suspension: one month extended two. Likely three-four. Till injured healed mentally.
"True miracle?"
Near-death survivors across Florence/demons sites. Me one. Horrors/miracles bred doomsayers protesting.
"Dunno."
My survival: death contract. Others too: self-purged black magic, crippled walked. True miracle or Romanican spin? Undiscernible.
Watching pensively, Kang Ji-a handed tumbler. Lid off: acrid stench. Decoction like before.
"Real poison now?"
"Yes. Recovery poison. Drink."
"Oh… tasty."
Sipped savoring bitter. She watched.
"Not much effect? Stronger herbs…"
"Very. Gave for this?"
"…Good medicine bitters."
Teased; grumbled offended. Laughed, sipped black brew. Aromatic harsh, tasteless; steaming, lukewarm.
Death contract price: taste, touch. Partial, not full. Dice '2' merciful. '5'? All senses? Unknown.
TV news: Satanist identity.
Satanist: nameless bum. Suddenly demon-possessed, attacked Florence. Gu Jun-hyeok: missing student. Romanican framing. Denied infiltrator prestige academy.
Yesterday clerics probed closeness, whereabouts, identity. Tested knowledge. Left sans push: assumed ignorance. Number: doubt.
Unneeded suspicion.
Not good news. Satanist executed same day, private.
"……"
Expected, still bitter. Ancient spell gamble, mutual destruction—failed fully sever. Prophet/leader lacking. Can't save mother, rebuild Voodoo thus. Or killed by Romanica/Satanists first. Must grow stronger. Leader/prophet.
Laughter somewhere. Room: us two. She news-focused, straight-faced.
Late realized source.
'Don't trust head'… Didn't I say?
Under TV: Baron Samedi leg-crossed, grinning me.
*
Vatican underground prison: windowless, no sky. No time. Dark, disorienting. Decades' inmates mad. Stimulus: central torture screams.
Wake terrified—known agony.
"Aaaah, ah, aaaaaah—!"
Gu Jun-hyeok fainted screaming. Inquisitor splashed holy water face. Glowed dark. Holy.
Sizzle…
"Aaaah! Fuck, sleep! No rights?"
Skin-melting pain: eyes open.
Inquisitor tsked blankly. "Humans get rights."
"I'm human."
"Head-only alive? Demon. No pretending."
"Demon? High praise our biz."
Pourrr…
"Aaaaah! Sorry, sorry! Bastard!"
Relaxed laugh: holy pour. Inquisitor tossed empty, stabbed wired needle tongue. Ears, tongue, eyelids. Switched hand.
"Again. Voodoo leader who?"
"……"
"No silence. Hideout Voodoo traces. You know."
Silent. Inquisitor irritated, flicked.
Click—zzzt!
Head convulsed. Hair singed. Smoke filled.
Torture ignored life. Live live, die die. Inmates 'dead' officially.
Click. Stopped. Head charred. Eyestalks repaired damage. Immortal head awoke.
"Again. Two questions. One: 'Envy', 'Wrath' others where doing. Two: Voodoo leader who."
"…Others dunno. Not family."
"Then know Voodoo leader."
"Don't. Ask your omnipotent god. Adonai silent my fault—"
Zzzt!
"Aaaah, ah…!"
"No die, no intensity adjust. Nice."
Inquisitor laughed. End: eyestalks repaired. Mind not—fear injected.
Threatening switch finger.
"Ask. No answer: switch down, meal."
Grinned eerie. Gu Jun-hyeok lips quivered.
"T-talk. Voo—Voodoo. Tell. Will."
"Who?"
"Voo—Voodoo third leader…"
Trailed, panted. Waited.
"Your mom! Haha, you fourth. Bright future?"
"De-demon fuck!"
Zzzt!
"Aaaaah…!"
Brain-boiled agony: weak scream. Prolonged.
"Ah…"
Trembling satisfied inquisitor. Adonai watching, sublime.
Full-rolled eyes convulsing: head tumbled electric chair.
Thud. Rolled floor. Foot touched—scarred ankle. Tongue-forced turn: wall-hung face. Dark, barely. Shoulders heaved breaths faintly.
Clack clack. Dazed Gu Jun-hyeok: inquisitor ominous steps.
"Head-only hard fix. Few spots…"
Grabbed hair, reseated. Rewired needles.
Tongue-pointed wall-woman.
"Her? Wife?"
Zzzt!
"Aaaaah!"
No answer, immediate switch. Scream-smoke. Raised; waited recovery.
Grinning black eyes alternated.
"Prior Voodoo prophet. Seven years senior—respect."
Laughed. White teeth gleamed dark.
Slither…
Distracted laugh: eyestalk snatched fallen hair, swallowed.
(To be continued)