Chapter 151
Chapter 151
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 151
Chapter Title: The Ending (3)
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The pieces fell into place.
I understood the man's life, why he wandered this place, hurtling toward spiritual suicide, and why he could never forgive himself.
Now, all that remained was to see the end.
*Gurgle…*
The sound of phlegm thick with blood bubbled up.
The heart of the domain was like a womb, filled with shallow water. Veins pulsed along the walls, and a single umbilical cord descended from the ceiling, enveloping something.
Wrapped in the cord, a bloody membrane throbbed.
As the man entered the space, a hand reached out from the membrane.
*Squelch!*
It had two right hands.
And not just right hands.
It had two left hands, two feet, even two heads.
Only the torso was singular.
Even then, with two spines grotesquely supporting the body, it was hard to call it one.
I recognized the two figures fused together like Siamese twins.
'Olson. Anne.'
This manifestation of Olson Rick's death, a bizarre form with two people fused in one space, seemed to recall the moment they were pierced by a single bullet.
The man loaded his revolver.
Standing on four legs, Olson Rick stared at the man with unfocused eyes.
Anne's eyes were closed.
Tears of blood streamed down her face.
*Gurgle…*
The gurgle of bloody phlegm, the skin glistening with amniotic fluid, the umbilical cord wrapped tightly around its body.
To put it poetically, it was so.
Looking at that fusion of hatred and regret, the term 'love-hate' came to mind.
* * *
What happens when a murderer in the Hell of Slaughter dies over and over until they lose their self?
Having walked this hell for so long, I already knew the answer: 'They become a monster.'
The monster's form manifests the ugliness of their life.
In other words, Olson Rick's ugliness was his attempt to continue his murderous spree even at the moment of his death.
But this raised a question.
Olson Rick had lost his self; he was no longer Olson Rick.
The only one who would suffer from seeing that form was the man.
If that was the case, who was this form meant to torment?
In a way, it could be Olson Rick's revenge, having been killed by the man repeatedly until he lost his self.
Perhaps he wanted the man to be traumatized by the act of killing him again and again.
If that was the intent, it had certainly succeeded.
The man had suffered unforgivable despair from Olson in life, and in death, he had relived that despair countless times until Olson Rick lost his self.
*Bang—!*
The man's shooting was superb.
Especially in how he targeted only Olson Rick's body parts.
But in my eyes, that pathological excellence looked different.
How many times must his bullets have pierced both of them to achieve such perfect aim?
*Bang—!*
“Screeeeeech!”
Olson Rick's scream resembled the piercing cry of a baby.
He slowly began to be pushed back.
Then, something changed.
The man stared at Olson Rick impassively, his cold hatred burning.
Olson Rick's arm grabbed Anne's head.
With a tearing sound, Anne began to separate from Olson Rick's body.
The flesh where they had been fused together ripped apart.
Soon, Olson Rick stood upright, half of his body gone.
The spilled blood solidified, filling the empty space in his body, and scalpels sprouted from the swollen umbilical cord.
It was a spiked whip.
Olson Rick lunged at the man.
But the man had seen this far too many times for it to be a threat.
*Bang—!*
A gunshot rang out, and Olson Rick slowly collapsed.
It was the inevitable result.
*Gurgle…*
Olson Rick fell.
The man glanced at the corpse for a moment, then looked away.
He walked past Olson Rick, approaching the discarded form of Anne.
Anne lay abandoned, half of her body torn away.
And then, I realized what kind of death the man wanted.
*Click—*
The revolver was loaded.
As if filled with guilt, the man bowed his head and placed the revolver in Anne's hand.
He placed his own hand over hers and put the muzzle in his mouth.
'Ah.'
He wants to die by her hand.
He intends to repeat this act dozens, hundreds of times, until his self fades away, as a form of unfinished atonement.
It was a strange thing.
Though I had never spoken with him, though he had said nothing, I had come to understand him just by watching.
I could feel the myriad emotions flickering in his eyes.
I could understand the anguish he had endured to reach this conclusion.
I could feel the sliver of despair he felt in this moment.
And so I realized he would never forgive himself, not even in the final moment when his self vanished.
Because he knew better than anyone that even this atonement was now a meaningless act.
And because he knew this was the conclusion he had chosen as an escape, having failed to endure to the very end.
*Click.*
The revolver clicked.
On the trigger, the man's thumb, layered over Anne's index finger, trembled slightly.
He looked at Anne for a long time, his gaze filled with sorrow and guilt, then closed his eyes.
Just as he was about to commit his first suicide.
*Shhhhhh—*
A change occurred.
'...!'
My eyes widened as far as they could go.
Should I call it a miracle, or was it a foregone conclusion?
Either way, one thing was certain.
*Shhhhhh—*
The sound of sand grains colliding in a sandstorm.
In this unsettling, womb-like space, a cluster of light appeared.
The golden light, soft like a lantern and uniquely warm, began to form a shape.
Using Anne's corpse as its material.
I knew with absolute certainty what it was.
'...A golden door.'
Salvation.
Though I didn't know its true nature, I felt it instinctively. It was what the prisoners I had observed reached only at the very end.
The man, feeling Anne's finger disappear from under his, opened his eyes.
Before him, the golden door was already more than half-formed. He, too, held his breath.
It was a silent astonishment.
But what was peculiar was that, in this moment, I couldn't read the man's thoughts.
It made sense, as he was surprised as if he knew what it was, despite surely never having seen such a golden door before.
But let's think about it differently.
The radiance of the door, the material it was made from, and its sudden, perfect appearance at this exact moment must have evoked some feeling in the man.
Just as I had called it salvation without knowing what it was, he must have instinctively sensed that this was his deliverance.
There was one thing I knew about what lay beyond the door.
—A better place than this.
So, how would he become better by passing through this door?
No, would he even go through it?
I looked at the man.
A single tear streamed from his eye.
His face contorted.
It was as if the poison suppressed in his heart was being purged as a festering fluid.
He wept like that for a long time.
He even buried his face where Anne's body had vanished and let out a sob.
I know.
The existence of that door is built upon someone's sacrifice.
It is the result of someone annihilating themselves for another.
Therefore,
'Anne.'
She must have been the one to create that door.
How she did it, what she knew that made her decide to sacrifice herself, whether she had been in another hell, how a mere fragment of Olson Rick in her shape could lead the man to salvation.
There were many questions, but I had no way of knowing the answers.
What I did know was that, at the end of his tears, the man smiled.
It was a smile of immense relief, and a sad smile.
"...You're a funny woman to the very end. You are."
Those were the first and last words he spoke in this hell.
The man raised his head.
Kneeling, he looked up at the golden door.
But he showed no intention of passing through it.
He just gazed and gazed, until at one point, he moved.
*Click—*
He aimed the gun at himself again.
He closed his eyes.
He seemed to be preparing for rest in a state of comfort.
Why choose suicide again instead of going through the door?
Vaguely, I saw the answer.
'...Forgiveness.'
He was a man who could not forgive himself.
That was the only thing he needed, yet it was unattainable in this hell.
But at this dramatic moment, forgiveness was bestowed upon him.
From the very beginning, his salvation was not that brilliant golden door, but the hand she had extended to him.
That alone was the answer that could truly save the man.
Immediately after, the man's death was a quiet one.
*Bang—!*
With the short gunshot, what burst forth was not blood, but golden dust.
His body dispersed into a cloud of light.
The light that had been the man covered the golden door.
As if in an embrace.
*Shhhhh—*
Soon, the golden door turned transparent and vanished.
* * *
And so, the man's story ends.
A classic tale woven with melodrama and tragedy.
It wasn't a particularly special story.
It could be considered a bit cliché, perhaps even childish.
Nevertheless, there was a reason I chose this story.
[The Olson Rick Umbilical Cord Collector Case]
A clipping of an old article appeared on the monitor screen.
The year printed on the article was the late 20th century.
It wasn't hard to find.
There weren't many bizarre serial killers like him in American history.
Beyond its potential as a game, I had another reason. I wanted to tell someone.
That in the end, the two from that day found their rest.
At times like this, I realize that the hell I visited was no fantasy world.
Of course, I had no intention of dwelling on sentimentality.
"President, it's time for the meeting."
"Yes."
This was enough mourning for those who had died and vanished.
I am a game director.
My job is not to mourn, but to process it into the most game-like form possible.
Standing before the conference room, I said.
"Let's start the final chapter meeting."
* * *
Yeon-ho opened his mouth.
"The key to the final boss's phase one is 'precision strikes.' Hitting the Olson Rick parts of the boss's body will deplete its health, but hitting the Anne parts will damage the player character."
The developers were stunned.
A final boss worthy of Cheon Yeon-ho.
In other words, a nauseatingly difficult one.
Precision strikes targeting specific parts naturally require delicate control.
It seemed he'd increased the boss's height to four meters to enlarge the hitboxes and mitigate this, but still, the pressure of taking damage while attacking the enemy wouldn't be lessened.
Myeong-gyu was the one to point out the problem.
"Isn't that too hardcore? It's a boss in a game aimed at a casual audience. We'll lose too many players at the final boss."
"It's fine."
"Huh?"
"It won't be difficult."
Myeong-gyu tilted his head.
But Yeon-ho's next words made him gasp in admiration.
"We'll give them an option in the boss fight. An execution."
Myeong-gyu finally understood.
'Executions are guaranteed damage.'
Once the skill is activated, it follows a set motion to strike a specific area, dealing maximum damage.
This meant players could chip away at the boss's health without the pressure of precise hit detection, drastically lowering the difficulty.
The word 'option' meant just that.
'Of course phase two will be harder than phase one. Just from the concept, it's clear the boss will be spamming mid-range attacks like crazy.'
Imagine if a player got through phase one without using the execution, enduring the hit detection challenge to deplete the health bar.
They could then reduce the pressure in phase two, where the raw difficulty increases.
Players could choose between the pressure of hitting the right spots in phase one and the inherent pressure of phase two, allowing them to definitively overcome one of them.
A brilliant idea.
As Myeong-gyu nodded, Yeon-ho continued.
"Next..."
It went on for quite a while.
It was a clear demonstration of just how much thought Yeon-ho had put into this final boss fight.
However, there was a limit to how much they could sympathize with his passion.
"Also..."
The meeting was in full swing, and Yeon-ho's words were endless.
The developers' expressions began to die, moment by moment.
In short, the signature move of 'AKA that bastard Cheon Yeon-ho' had been unleashed: 'Just make the awesome thing I thought of.'
"Phase one's attack gimmicks will be physical. The special gimmick pattern will be a grab."
"Uh..."
"Seo-rim, you focus on the joints to make this monster's movements look natural."
"...Mm."
"A-yun, no specific instructions for sound, so just create what you think fits, as always."
"..."
"Modeling team, pay close attention to the texture rendering. The visual effect of the ankle-deep amniotic fluid splashing with every movement is crucial. Myeong-gyu, please focus on optimizing that rendering."
"?"
Kim Bae-seok, in charge of motion and action, thought to himself.
'Four arms, four legs, two heads... but sharing one body like Siamese twins? And the limb skeletons are twisted?'
How was he supposed to create physical attack patterns for a creature like this?
Bae-seok, a modern man living by common sense, felt his vision go dark.
Should he make it charge like a beast?
Or should he push the grotesqueness to the extreme?
A form that crawls using all eight limbs?
'No, if it moves that violently, it'll be too hard to hit just Olson.'
The first crisis.
Next, AD Han Seo-rim, upon hearing she had to create smooth joint movements, thought absentmindedly.
'If I knew how to design that, I wouldn't be in art.'
This was the realm of human anatomy.
No matter how skilled an artist was with the human body, to physically implement it without it feeling awkward, she would have to design the entire skeletal and physical structure of that... love-hate thing from the ground up.
And was that all?
It couldn't just be natural; the movements had to have an aesthetic quality.
It was the final boss!
Everything from its first appearance to its death had to be impressive and overwhelming!
Of course, the implementation wasn't Seo-rim's domain.
However, implementation could only follow the original intent if the director gave proper instructions.
Just trying to organize the design to ensure the right result was already giving her a headache.
Next, Myeong-gyu, Yu-mi, and Hye-ji thought.
'Ah, we're fucked.'
The plight of the implementers.
In games, rendering water was the worst, consuming excessive resources from modeling and implementation to the frame drop issues that arose in programming afterward.
And he wanted them to make it the central focus.
The modelers, Yu-mi and Hye-ji, felt their heads spin.
The programmer, Myeong-gyu, wanted to stop thinking.
But they had to do it.
They couldn't even complain.
Because Cheon Yeon-ho, that inhuman monster who handled both planning and programming before bringing Myeong-gyu on board, had given them a task that was 'hard enough to kill you, but not impossible.'
Finally, Jo A-yun had no thoughts at all!
With no specific instructions, A-yun's mind was filled only with anticipation for the upcoming level cap increase!
Anyway, that concluded the briefing.
Just as everyone was sighing heavily but trying to steel their resolve.
"Alright, since the instructions for phase one are done, let's move on to phase two."
Yeon-ho reminded them of something they had forgotten.
'Ah, right.'
We've only heard the explanation for phase one.
The developers closed their eyes.
Their expressions resembled the man in the Hell of Slaughter preparing for suicide.
They were spiritually dead.