The Rat
The trunk sewer line where every drain in Hanseong-gu converged.
In a damp, cavernous pocket of that lightless underground, a shape that did not belong there crouched in the dark.
"Nngh..."
"M-Mom..."
People.
They huddled together, staring into empty air with unfocused, vacant eyes, soaked in filth and blood as the life drained slowly out of them. Anyone who looked upon this scene would have known them at once — the victims who had vanished from Hanseong-gu in recent weeks. Every last one was an elderly person, a woman, a child, or a man too slight to put up a fight.
Shit.
Standing in the midst of his "prey," he swallowed the curse before it could leave his mouth. He had always considered such crude language the province of lesser things. Under ordinary circumstances he would never have stooped to it. But there was no containing his rage now. Things had gone spectacularly sideways for him and his brothers of late.
Where the hell did that thing even come from?
Crunch. Slurp.
A pale, severed limb crumbled between the grotesque snout jutting from his face. He forced down the dying gurgle of his meal and sank back into thought.
Darkness existed everywhere in the world. And the "things" that fed on what rose from those shadows had nested in every patch of shade. He and his brothers had ruled the back alleys of this district. Then, about three weeks ago, the ecosystem of their territory had twisted itself inside out — because a strange predator had barged into the very heart of their domain.
The most infuriating part was that there had been no warning whatsoever. The thing had appeared so abruptly that no one could say whether it had fallen from the sky or clawed its way up from the earth. There hadn't even been a chance to quietly eliminate it away from the eyes of their prey.
"And because of these miserable insects, we can't even move—!"
"Eek!"
He finally lost his temper and let out a roar. Groans and screams erupted from every direction. Pitiful figures clutched at their own hair with filth-caked hands, trembling like aspen leaves. Ordinarily he would have been delighted — the juices of terrified prey always ran so much sweeter. But he had no luxury for that now.
If a commotion broke out in the nest of their "prey" — that is, among the humans — word spread to the entire world in no time. The human species was remarkably like a swarm of ants. For creatures whose only use was to be eaten or used as nest material, the speed at which they transmitted danger defied all imagination.
And that wasn't even the worst of it. Lately, mutants had begun appearing among the prey — ones that hunted predators in reverse. Those who called themselves the Management Bureau, and the aberrations that served them.
A truly lamentable, humiliating state of affairs. To wear a collar fastened by one's own prey. To be kept like livestock, scavenging the scraps they tossed down.
I'd rather die.
He meant it with every fiber of his being.
To avoid such a fate, even predators had to hunt in secret these days — nibble at the roots without shaking the fragile society of their prey, all so that one day they might swallow that entire flock whole, a grand future patiently assembled. But lately, his brothers had been tearing down that ancient law with their own hands.
It's all that monster's fault.
The unknown invader's power sat a rank above the combined strength of every brother he had. Not an overwhelming gap, perhaps — but it was stronger, without question. To close that difference and drive the thing out, they needed to bulk up. And so they had been feeding far more greedily, far more violently than before. Even if it meant risking the discovery of their entire brood.
Shhk.
He drew a tool from his waist. A long thing with a crude handle, its entire head bristling with jagged teeth. A chainsaw.
There were many secrets to aging the "juices" that pooled inside a prey's body. Sometimes it was best to use the tools the prey themselves had invented — to inflict a pain they already understood. Violence in a familiar shape fermented their souls so much deeper, so much richer.
"P-please... nngh, aah... help me...! I don't want to be eaten in a place like th—!"
"Shhhh."
A withered finger with grotesquely oversized knuckles pressed the prey's lips shut, vertical.
"Nnnngh..."
The sound of despair spilling from his meal. Savoring that sweet melody, the monster flicked his wrist.
WHIIIRRR!
AAAAAAAGH!!
The heavy tool danced. Chunks of flesh and dark crimson fluid sprayed in every direction, painting the gray concrete walls in a grotesque splendor. A slaughterhouse scene that could have been lifted from a painting of hell.
Oho. What's this...
His eyes gleamed as he spotted something among the red wreckage. A small ring the prey had been clutching to their chest until moments ago. He placed it on his tongue and swallowed, his mouth stretching into a satisfied grin. The thick "attachment" and "regret" the prey had poured into that tiny object melted sweetly down his gullet.
"Nngh...!"
"This can't be happening this can't be happening this can't be happening this can't be happening...!"
The prey still alive were drowning in absolute terror. A fragrance of exquisite, high-purity fear bloomed through the air. Cooking had to be this delicate. This painstaking. Only then—
Slurp!
—could you draw out the finest flavor. Only then could you grow stronger, faster.
Not much longer now.
Anticipation rose across his hideously twisted face. Soon every one of his brothers would have the strength to stand against that uninvited guest. The moment they were ready, they would rush in and snuff out that arrogant thing's life. And when that day came, even those so-called Management Bureau types wouldn't dare try to collect them—
Crack.
In that instant, he did not understand what was happening. Not until the terrible pain crashed over him.
— KYAAAAAAAGH——!!!
An ear-splitting shriek tore through the vast sewer tunnel without mercy.
"EEEK!!"
"HAAAHK!!"
The trembling humans clutched their heads as one and writhed across the floor. A monster that had absorbed every dark emotion until it reached a state of demonic power — the resonance it unleashed was wringing the fragile souls and minds of the humans dry.
Every scream and every shriek ceased. The "will" that had settled over this space had temporarily erased the very act of vocalization itself.
The monster barely managed to lift his head. And he beheld it.
Thousands of red eyes, encircling him without a single gap. An aberration that covered the sewer's walls and ceiling, radiating a terrible, crushing presence. The transcendent density of the myth that absolute being had wrought.
"Wh-when — since when—?!"
He hadn't known. He hadn't felt so much as a whisper of presence. That something this powerful could approach without his noticing — it made no sense. But a prey animal's bewilderment only served to sour its mood.
At those words, a single concept finally flickered through his mind. The absolute sovereign who could hold in her grasp a city of a hundred night-walking horrors — who could seize and shake an entire thriving human society.
"Why — why would the Teoju herself deign to visit such a wretched place—?!"
In the terror of impending death, his bestial brain spun desperately. Why was this being here? And with no warning, no less. The manner of her arrival was the answer itself. The thing that had appeared without anyone even perceiving it. The invader that had claimed the heart of their territory without leaving a single trace. The identity of the new predator that had been threatening his brothers.
"Ah — aah... no. That's not—"
CRUNCH!
He slammed the head he had just lifted straight into the cement floor. Tough hide split open, and filthy fluid splattered in every direction.
"Nooo!! Had I known Your Eminence had descended in person, I would never have dared hunt so excessively—!"
"Please, please!! Pleeease!! Just my life—!!"
Crunch—
The scream cut off abruptly. An invisible pressure had crushed him in a single instant. A thin smear of blood-red meat paste spread across the hard floor. His end was no different from a sewer rat flattened beneath a truck's tire.
The being that had casually flattened the Squatter soon lost interest and slowly turned her gaze.
"Ah, aaaah..."
"Heheheheh..."
Laughter spilled out. The sound of "prey" that had been cooked to perfection in the Squatter's hands. Neither emotion nor intellect remained in them any longer.
The one who had just executed the "rat" also happened to enjoy the fear and despair of prey, in her own way. Compared to a human tongue, it was spicy and salty — a cheap, stimulating taste that came to mind every time you ate it. No refinement, perhaps, but a flavor you never quite tired of.
But once they were this thoroughly "cooked," every last bit of that flavor rotted away. A catastrophe born of insignificant things coming face-to-face with her rank. That said, she was not the sort to waste food.
Gulp.
A simple meal, without so much as a sound of chewing. Not a single trace remained in that place.
The deep hours of the night.
"...Nnh?"
What woke Iseor was a certain coldness. The peculiar warmth that had always been close at hand whenever she fell asleep lately was absent tonight. The sensitive girl pushed her eyelids open and shifted slightly. Her head turned to the side of its own accord.
A room-and-a-half too cramped to even call a studio apartment, with only the kitchen split off by a door. On the bedding laid out along one wall — her mother's bedding — the shadow that should have been there was gone.
...Where did she go?
The clock pointed to two in the morning. It was strange. If her mother wasn't in her spot at this hour, the sound of typing usually drifted over from the kitchen. The girl had long since understood her mother's ways. Her mother was not human. So it stood to reason that she might not need sleep. Iseor had even felt a tiny flicker of envy once — the freedom to move about while everyone else was asleep.
But tonight was the first time her mother had gone outside in the dead of night.
How lonely.
At the same time, the girl felt the change in herself. A wry smile tugged at her lips. The empty space where her mother should have been felt... awkward. Without realizing it, she must have come to believe that her mother would always be right there.
Even though she was still afraid.
It was getting more comfortable, little by little.
That gap — between fear and ease — frightened her, and yet she welcomed it.
Rustle.
A small hand gripped the edge of the bedding across from her.
Beep-beep.
The door lock chimed. As the door opened, Iseor caught a scent rushing in — the cool night air, and a metallic, iron-tinged smell of blood. Faint, but unmistakable.
"...Where have you been?"
"You were awake. I was out catching a little rat."
At first she didn't understand. Then, the moment the meaning seeped into her mind, Iseor sat up.
"A 'rat'? You don't mean..."
"Vermin not even worth calling a diversion."
It would have been a baffling answer if she hadn't recalled their previous conversation. But the girl understood at once that it was an affirmation of her question.
"Then... does that mean we're all safe now?"
"No. You must still return before dusk falls."
Her mother looked down at her, indifferent.
"There are still two left on those streets."
Silence settled over the room once more. Her mother reached a hand toward the girl. In the space of a single blink, Iseor realized she was lying down. She had no idea when she had moved.
"Sleep. It is time for the child to rest."
An irresistible drowsiness washed over her. Iseor closed her eyes just like that.
Gazing at the sleeping face, her mother lay down beside her. Those red eyes betrayed not a single emotion.