On the Way Home 3
The excited man trembled with dilated pupils as the beauty approached. He fiddled with his pistol, spinning it around. His ragged breathing was the only sound in the subway car—no one said a word. Complete silence.
Then it happened. The woman in stockings struck the armed man's head with a blank expression. Thwack. Or so it seemed—but in her hand was a jade hairpin. The sharp point pierced his throat, then his cheek. The third strike pierced his temple. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.
Blood gushed from the man's shattered skull as his eyes widened in disbelief. Bang!! Bang! Bang bang!!! He staggered, firing wildly. It was pure reflex, his final death throes.
A red flower bloomed on the pink blouse's chest. The bullet that pierced her breast struck the man behind her in the head. Demons around them began collapsing one by one.
For a moment, I thought it lucky the gun wasn't aimed our way. But as the demons fell, something astonishing happened. Nearby people twisted their faces in rage and lunged at him.
The demons encircling the man grabbed pens, high heels—anything in reach—and beat him down. Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud. Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang. Thud. Crunch.
With his temple already pierced, the man collapsed, only to suffer a horrific lynching from the demons. Blood sprayed like a fountain, yet no one screamed. Thud. Thud. Thud. People—no, demons—pummeled the lifeless corpse with blunt objects and weapons. Enraged demons lynched the man like a pack of hyenas swarming a fallen lion. Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud-thud. Crunch. Squeak-squeak.
Demons had an instinctive mechanism to react to threats. When endangered, they didn't just defend—they turned violent. Demons are demons, I thought.
No need for police. The demons still swarmed the fallen man. Nauseated by the spreading stench of blood, I moved to the next car. They showed no interest in the gunshots or the survivor being slaughtered.
The acrid, iron-tanged blood smell filled every car, churning my stomach. I had to get off at the next stop.
First time witnessing a survivor butchered like that. An attack meant to kill a demon triggered their violent transformation. A question arose: I'd attacked Kim Myeon-hyeong to kill him, so why didn't he and Secretary Jin Sun-mi fight back? Too many edge cases. This world was still a mystery.
The next train arrived immediately. I boarded with a light sigh, pulling out my phone. My hands trembled slightly—I'd been tense too.
Monsters in the fog were one thing, but watching a survivor murdered by people was far more horrifying.
I've gotta be more careful.
Lots of new replies on the post. More survivors? Heart pounding, I clicked.
Vampires? Gargoyles? Quick gargoyle search—nothing I'd seen. Fog teemed with mixed monsters. No milky-pussy freaks or rolling heads mentioned.
Grateful replies lifted my spirits a bit.
Different sky colors? OwnerHouse and RockHard aside, others might be elsewhere. Quick reply:
Ten seconds later, a PM from OwnerHouse:
Another message:
Replied:
Swallowed hard, hit accept.
He rambled what he wanted. Pragmatist like me.
Huge info.
Chills.
Info differs. He was shocked too.
Something off. Different conditions.
Silence. Every nerve tensed.
Confirmed: Killing demons extends life. That's why two numbers.
Train arrived. Passed gate, headed out.
"Different extension methods per person?"
No one like me surviving via sex? Odd sensation woke me. OwnerHouse a demon hunter? Hunters extend by killing.
Mild summer evening. Walking familiar streets, lost in thought.
"Am I irregular? Fucking instead of killing."
Shells maintaining stability—no reason to kill. Coexist? They keep infrastructure… Kill just 'cause demons?
Long summer days. Sun setting at 8 PM. Aside from sweet revenge on Kim Myeon-hyeong, all day sex.
"I'm nuts too. Heh."
After budae jjigae dinner nearby, picking teeth outside—ding. OwnerHouse chat.
Questions flooded. Not a hunter.
Lucky guess trolled him unintentionally.
"Ah… oops…"
Mouth dry. Fiddled lower jaw.
"Tch."
Recalled subway survivor's words, searched.
[Belphegor, Beelzebub]
Solomon's 72 demons, seven princes of hell. I'd studied wiki for Beelzebub, Belphegor—demon kings down pat. Many qualified as demon kings.
Baal, king of demons, worshipped as god with Astaroth, Phenex, Amon.
Belphegor: toilet-shitting demon, sloth sin, filth and waste.
Beelzebub: lord of flies, shit god.
Common: filthy, destructively lewd. Fit to command milky-pussy monsters.
"What was that man cursing Belphegor and Beelzebub?"
Recalling subway victim, sensed unraveling this world's secrets.
Planned gate scout at midnight. Rooftop light combat training first.
Fist-sized fireball in palm, hurled baseball-style—solid attack.
"Good enough."
Could enlarge. Power thrilled—no fear fighting demons.
Fog no longer scared me.