Jihoon's legs twisted in midair, jerking sideways with a violent snap as a sudden force wrenched him backward. The soles of his sneakers scraped across the pavement with a shrill skid, traction lost entirely.
A stunned breath hitched in his lungs–too fast to scream and too slow to react. Pain cracked through his shoulder as he crashed against a lamppost, the jolt vibrating throughout his spine.
He gasped, body curling on instinct.
"What the–" he choked out, disoriented and shallow with panic.
Then he saw him.
Taeoh.
Or whatever remained of him.
The man's frame was hunched, chest rising in erratic gulps. Sweat matted his hair to his forehead, dark and stringy, like he hadn't washed in days.
His lips were torn, coated in dry flakes of blood. The corners were cracked and oozing, the skin around his mouth bruised a deep maroon. One eye was swollen, barely open; the other glinted with something feral.
Taeoh looked like he'd been dragged out of hell.
