"Where Are the Rescuers?"
"Rescuers?"
"All rescues complete, sir. Suppression's still..."
"When the hell are those backup assholes showing up?"
"They say they're coming, but no sign of—"
Bam.
Han Dae-ho kicked a random wall. Cracks spiderwebbed across it. Pure muscle, no blessing involved—he'd shattered the damn thing with raw strength alone. His subordinate paladin shuddered at the sight.
"What? Scared?"
Han Dae-ho fixed the man with a cold glare. The paladin flinched and shook his head vigorously.
Han Dae-ho was mild-mannered as they came off-duty, but everyone knew his temper turned foul at fire scenes.
Another paladin sprinted up from a distance, radio in hand. "Captain! Backup team's here in five—"
"Five minutes? Five, five... Yeah, five minutes from now?"
"N-no, sir, within five—"
"We just sit here watching that building burn for five minutes? Like it's a fucking campfire?"
Han Dae-ho bellowed. His voice echoed down the alley like thunder. The paladin with the radio froze stiff.
Han Dae-ho's roars hit like a tiger's—overwhelming, pinning you down. A garbled voice leaked from the phone's speaker.
"Backup? Put 'em on."
"Sir? Uh, that's—"
"'Sir'?"
"N-no, right away."
The paladin shoved the phone over. Han Dae-ho snatched it, face twisted in fury. The instant a polite "You've worked hard" came through, he barked:
"Yeah, working our asses off. How long till you get here?"
—Traffic's bad. Seven minutes late, maybe...
"Three. Fly if you have to, run if you can't. Three minutes, no excuses."
He hung up. Nearly hurled the phone to the ground in rage, but the paladin stopped him.
"C-Captain. That's my phone."
"Shit, right. Sorry."
Han Dae-ho handed it back and slumped to the ground with a heavy sigh, scrubbing his dry face. Soot from rescues smeared across his cheeks like war paint.
"Fuck, what was I thinking."
Back during the Bae Seong-hyeon incident, Bae Jeong-hwan—not to mention faceless higher-ups—had ordered it buried. But Han Dae-ho defied them, followed procedure to the letter. Bae Seong-hyeon got his due punishment.
After that, Seoul East Knight Command was fucked. Straight-up ruined. No more artifact support or manpower from dBP or Central Knights. Existing staff "transferred for mysterious reasons." Now they scraped by short on gear, people, budget.
Consequences of standing on principle against pressure.
"Never thought I'd be back to rookie fire suppression..."
Before captaincy, in investigations, he'd hit fire scenes due to shortages. A captain on non-jurisdictional suppression? Absurd. That's how desperate Seoul East was for bodies.
Mid-lament, Han Dae-ho looked up. Someone bolted into the burning villa. Blazing fast.
"What the— We got a sprinter that quick in the unit?"
"Beats me. Wait, though..."
Han Dae-ho squinted. The outfit didn't match. Everyone else in fire gear—this guy...
"Looks like a school uniform."
"Uniform? Shit, not a paladin! Hey! Stop that kid!!"
Han Dae-ho surged up. Paladins scrambled to block, but the kid shoved them aside like ragdolls. No time for blessings in the panic, sure—but paladins losing to a student?
Han Dae-ho cursed their incompetence, donned his smoke mask, wrapped himself in blessings.
"Back quick. Prep suppression when backup hits."
"Captain going yourself? Sir!"
He ignored them, charging after the kid into the building.
*
Thud-thud-thud... My rampaging heart started making weird noises.
Paladins yelled and tried blocking me, but they flew off like paper. Thanks to Bosu's power.
[Busy day. Getting hungry.]
Bosu grumbled. I'd used his power three times already today. Time to snag an offering soon—but priorities.
My house was burning. My place.
I dashed up the villa stairs, half-collapsed and flames licking everywhere. My breaths echoed in my skull. Body hot—Bosu's power? Flames? No time to parse.
Boom—!
Door handle scorching, I smashed the whole thing and burst in. Uncle's hard-won studio was trashed. Ceiling crumbling in fire, drawers, desk, all wood ablaze.
Looked minor from outside. Up close? Dire.
[Fire origin here. Worst flames.]
[Fire origin? What's that?]
[Shut it, Bosu.]
Legba cut off Bosu's innocent chatter. No time for their banter.
I stepped slowly through the blaze. Everything else could burn. But the heirlooms... Father's things. Had to grab them.
Palm-sized mystery box. Unknown bone ring. That's all he left.
[No further. Dangerous.]
Legba halted me mid-stride to the drawer. I ignored, plodding on.
Flames danced, swallowing at me. Skin prickling like it might cook.
"Legba. Call Dan Wedo."
[You'll die. You're wrecked. Dehydration incoming.]
"Just call."
[Suicide.]
Legba nagged. Flames grew fiercer. Delay, and heirlooms gone.
"Please. I beg you."
I squeezed my eyes shut, pleading. No photos of Dad or Mom. But their faces? Crystal clear, seven years on. Branded in my brain.
When they blurred, I'd pull the heirlooms, refresh. Lose them to fire? Faces fade. Voices too.
Heirlooms meant that—shards of memory I refused to lose.
[Your choice. No blaming me.]
Legba's worried tone faded; Dan Wedo's neared. Mumbled something—too soft, slurred to catch.
Soon my head filled with his mutterings.
"Dan Wedo. Water."
[Dan We... command... water...]
Snatches of words. No sense. Fine—didn't need chat. Just his power.
Water Loa. Sort of. Whatever. If it quenched these flames awhile, good enough.
Dehydration, blackout, death? Later problem.
"Quick, water!"
[Ugh...]
Purple mist rose, blanketing skyward.
Whoosh—!
Water poured through. Thick for rain, thin for falls—but enough to dampen the blaze. Not out, but heat eased.
I pressed on. Reached the sodden, charred dresser, arm outstretched.
Father's two heirlooms. Box and ring in hand. Tucked them safe, then rummaged drawers for Baal's Maw and Fourth Angel's Trumpet too.
Legba snorted in disbelief.
[Said let the rest burn?]
"Yeah, but still a waste—"
Thud.
Words cut short—I collapsed. Dehydration. Mouth and throat parched raw, headache and dizziness crashing.
Forced myself up. Flames weren't pouncing yet, but lingering meant death.
[Told you. Dehydration.]
"F-fine. L-later. Talk l-later."
Tongue leaden. Dizzy haze. Words fuzzy. Altar offerings kept it this mild. No altar yet? Unthinkable horror.
[Out now. More smoke, faint or die—]
Shrieeeek!
Legba silenced. Eerie wail—not human, not beast. Alien screech.
Turned. Cat.
Hiss, yowl...
Precisely—a magic beast cat. Twice normal size. Civet or fox-ish, fur patchy black from demonic corrosion. Green eyes confirmed.
[Ignore. Go.]
The stray I'd fed before market run. Green eyes, blotchy yellow fur.
Forehead branded like earthquake scar: goat sigil. Same as Satanist neck tats.
Belly split, black sludge oozing. Guts.
Stomach churned.
[Smart, no name.]
"..."
I turned away, eyes shut. Tried leaving, legs leaden. Not sentiment for nameless stray. Just nausea, vertigo weighing me.
Dan Wedo's waters quelled flames briefly—now roaring back. Smoke choking.
Fire closed step by step, hemming me.
No old trauma spins. New layer over fire scars.
[Walk. Get out. Die otherwise.]
I trudged silent. Splats—burnt debris softened, crumbling.
Ceiling caved, floor sagged. Scorched air wavered, acrid smoke invaded nostrils.
Throat burned—no cough strength. Limbs limp. Over-Loa? Or else?
Crash!
Something shattered window, strode through inferno. Smoke mask hid face. Massive build.
"Hah, huff... You crazy fuck. Building's collapsing—why run in? Sprint like a goddamn cheetah. Shit."
Paladin, probably. Fire gear hid insignia, but paladin all the same.
"Ah."
I slumped, eyes closing. Survived, thought fading to black.
"What school, kid? Hey! This little shit's got some nerve—"
Paladin's yell echoed into dark, then gone.
(To be continued)