The warmth of Earth was unfamiliar.
It had been less than an hour since Yi Ji-Hyuk walked out of hell, but everything already felt wrong — too clean, too safe, too fragile.
He sat on a bench in a small park just outside the city's heart. Night had deepened, and the rain softened to a whisper. A few college students passed by, laughing, unaware of the war-born god in their midst. A dog barked in the distance.
Ji-Hyuk glanced down at his hands. They were covered in scars, some still glowing faintly with mana that refused to sleep. His nails had long since sharpened — not because he wanted them to, but because Berafe had no time for trimming and Earthly things like hygiene. The rain washed over his skin, but it couldn't cleanse what was carved deep inside.
He touched the stone pendant at his neck — cracked, old, and worthless to anyone but him. The last thing he'd carried from Earth before Berafe stole him. He had almost forgotten its weight. Now, it was the only thing that reminded him he was human.
If he still was.
A sudden light flared to his right.
A police car.
Two officers stepped out — one older, bulky, with a slow step; the other young and twitchy. Their eyes locked on him immediately.
Ji-Hyuk realized his appearance wasn't helping. Barefoot. Ragged clothes torn from a world no one here could imagine. Dried blood. Mud. A faint aura of magic still clinging to his body like a second skin.
The older officer approached. "Sir, are you alright?"
He blinked. The words were in Korean. Native. Familiar. Like a song he hadn't heard in a thousand years.
He nodded slowly. "I'm fine."
"Do you have any ID?"
"No."His voice was flat, cold. A voice that had once whispered curses to gods.
The younger officer flinched. He reached for his belt — too fast.
Ji-Hyuk's hand twitched.
He saw a flash of motion, an instinct honed over centuries. A movement that would've torn the man's spine out before he blinked. But he stopped himself.
Just barely.
Breathe.
You're not in Berafe anymore.
"You seem… disoriented," the older officer said, more cautiously now. "Were you assaulted? Did someone hurt you?"
A bitter smile tugged at Ji-Hyuk's lips. If only you knew.
"I need help," he lied smoothly. "I don't remember where I'm from. I think I was attacked."
The officer's expression softened. The young one stepped back. They made a call, spoke in low tones, and soon an ambulance arrived.
They didn't ask many questions. That was the nice thing about Earth. If you said the right words — amnesia, trauma, injury — the system folded around you. Helpful hands. Warm blankets. Fluorescent lights. All so very different from the screams of monsters and the taste of blood.
At the hospital, a nurse checked his pulse. A doctor examined him. He let them touch him. Let them poke and scan and scan again, confused at why a man with a body like iron and no heartbeat could still speak.
Machines broke trying to measure his vitals. The staff wrote it off as trauma-induced error.
Let them.
He needed a backstory. A new identity. A mask.
The government assigned him a temporary ID. He told them his name — Yi Ji-Hyuk — and they couldn't find any records. No surprise. As far as Earth was concerned, he'd been gone for over a thousand years. A missing person case that never existed.
But now, he had a bed. Clothes. A simple phone. A quiet room with a window.
And still, sleep didn't come.
How could it? In Berafe, closing your eyes meant death. Here, it just meant silence — and in that silence, the screams came louder.
He sat up in bed and stared at his hands again. The mana was still coiled beneath his skin like a caged beast. Power so dense it warped the air when he wasn't careful.
He would need to suppress it.
He remembered spells. Hundreds of them. Rituals designed to disguise aura, to hide one's presence even from gods. He whispered one now — soft and ancient, in the tongue of Berafe's high mages.
The light in the room dimmed, just slightly.
His presence vanished.
If anyone tried to scan him now, they would see a man. Just a man. Ordinary, forgettable.
The mask was in place.
Now he could begin.
Not as a warrior. Not as a monster.
But as a man trying to live.
Tomorrow, he would walk the streets. Find food. Learn the world again.
But tonight, he sat by the window, watching the city lights blink like stars he had forgotten — and for the first time in a thousand years, he let himself hope.
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