Taeyang's knuckles still throbbed from the last fight. He flexed them as he climbed the dark trail behind the mountain again, feeling each raw scrape and swollen bruise like proof that this path was real — that the boy who stocked shelves and bowed his head was dead somewhere back in the city lights.
Up the winding trail, past the same tangled shrubs — he found the clearing, and the old man waiting.
Gramps was perched on a flat stone near the fire, eyes half-lidded like he'd been there for centuries. Beside him lay something new — a ragged bundle wrapped in old cloth.
Taeyang lowered himself to the dirt, breath misting in the chill. The bruises on his ribs throbbed in time with his pulse.
"You returned," Gramps rasped. His voice sounded thinner tonight — stretched, as if it was holding back something bigger than words.
Taeyang didn't bother nodding. He just sat, eyes locked on the old man's.
"Good," Gramps murmured. He nudged the bundle with his foot. "Eat."
Taeyang unwrapped it. Raw meat — dark, almost black, smelling faintly of cold iron. Not packaged supermarket cuts — something fresh, wild.
He hesitated. Gramps barked, "Eat!"
Taeyang tore off a strip with his teeth, forcing himself not to gag as the cold blood smeared his tongue. He chewed, swallowed — another piece, and another. It made his stomach twist, but he kept going until the cloth was empty.
Gramps watched him in silence. When Taeyang finished, breath ragged, he spoke:
"Tonight, you learn why the weak fear the dark."
The wind shifted. Leaves rustled. Something beyond the ring of trees cracked a branch underfoot — but this time, it wasn't small. The sound had weight behind it — a slow, deliberate scrape of claws and steel.
Taeyang rose to a crouch without thinking. His body ached, but his heartbeat sped up — not with panic this time, but something sharper. Anticipation.
A shape stepped into the clearing's edge. The firelight caught on metal — rusted shoulder plates strapped to hunched green skin, a crude cleaver dragging through the dirt. The thing's eyes glowed dull yellow under a cracked helmet.
A Goblin Warrior. Bigger than the stray — thicker arms, jagged teeth, a cruel grin splitting its face. It hissed when it saw Taeyang — then spat a glob of black spit at the dirt between them.
Gramps' voice floated over Taeyang's shoulder. Calm. Cold.
"This one thinks. This one kills for sport. If you fear it, it will gut you slow."
Taeyang didn't answer. He slid one foot back, lowering his center like Gramps had drilled into him. His fists tightened until old scabs split.
The Goblin Warrior raised its cleaver — shrieked — and charged.
Steel blurred through the firelight. Taeyang ducked just in time — the cleaver hissed past his ear, burying into the dirt where his knee had been. He lashed out — a blind punch at its jaw — but the thing blocked with its armored forearm, bony elbow cracking into Taeyang's ribs.
Pain flared. He stumbled back, breath knocked out of him. The goblin came in again — faster this time, claws flashing alongside the blade. Taeyang threw up an arm — claws raked his forearm raw, warm blood spattered across his cheek.
He pivoted on instinct, grabbed the thing's wrist — but its strength made his knees buckle. It wrenched free, backhanded him across the mouth. Stars burst behind his eyes as he hit the dirt hard.
Above him, the Goblin Warrior laughed — a wet, guttering rasp that sounded too human to be just a beast. It raised its cleaver, ready to split him open from collar to belly.
Taeyang's body refused to move — pain roared through his ribs, his shoulder screamed where claws had dug deep. He tasted iron on his tongue — his own blood pooling between his teeth.
He turned his head. Gramps was still there — standing now, closer, eyes boring through him like hot coals.
"Is this all you are, boy?" the old man said — not shouted, but somehow louder than the goblin's shrieks. "Meat for a beast's belly?"
Taeyang gasped, voice hoarse. "I— I can't—"
Gramps crouched so close Taeyang could see the veins pulsing in the old man's temples. His eyes were wrong — not human at all in that moment. Black rings swirling in crimson.
"You wish for power?" Gramps whispered. His breath hit Taeyang's ear like a hiss. "Then devour it. Tear its soul free — feed it to your bones. Take what this world denies you."
Taeyang's vision blurred — not from pain now, but from something cold and black bubbling up through his veins. He felt Gramps press two knuckles against his chest — a jolt of cold fire slammed through him, punched the air from his lungs.
His heart stuttered — then beat again, harder. Louder.
"SOUL DEVOURING," Gramps murmured. "A gate that lives in your blood. Call it. Rip the prey clean."
The Goblin Warrior hissed — it swung the cleaver down.
Taeyang moved. Not by choice — by instinct. His left hand snapped up, caught the cleaver's wrist mid-swing. The thing snarled, teeth inches from his face.
He saw it then — not just a monster's rage — but something flickering inside it. A dim light. Weak, fluttering, but real — the raw essence that made it more than meat.
A word — no, a hunger — bloomed in Taeyang's mind. Devour.
He roared — slammed his forehead into the goblin's nose, feeling cartilage pop. It shrieked — tried to wrench back, but he lunged forward. His other hand clawed at its throat — not to choke, but to tear.
The world tunneled. He felt the thing's pulse — not just its heartbeat, but the flicker of its life. His fingers curled, invisible teeth behind them. Something gave way — like wet silk tearing.
The Goblin Warrior jerked — its eyes rolled back, cleaver falling from limp fingers. A cold rush slammed into Taeyang's chest — filling the raw ache in his bones with something new. Strength — tiny, but real. A tiny echo of the goblin's crude survival instinct welded into his own spine.
The beast shuddered — then collapsed into black dust that scattered on the wind.
Taeyang fell to his knees. His heart thundered, wild and ragged. The forest was silent — no shrieks, no snarls, just his hoarse breath.
He looked up. Gramps was there — but something was wrong. The old man's outline flickered, like heat waves dancing over asphalt. His eyes were still burning coals, but they softened when they met Taeyang's.
"You see now," Gramps rasped. "This world devours the weak. So devour it first."
Taeyang's lips cracked into a grin, raw and bloody. "What are you?"
Gramps barked a laugh — the sound brittle as dry leaves. "A shadow of a shadow. A curse older than these gates you fear." He lifted a hand — thin fingers touched Taeyang's forehead. "You carry it now. The Demon's seed. Feed it well."
Cracks ran through the old man's skin — thin lines of faint silver light. Bits of him drifted free, turning to ash on the cold wind.
"Gramps—" Taeyang croaked, reaching out — but his fingers passed through empty air.
Gramps smiled. For the first time, it looked kind — almost fatherly. "Grow teeth, Taeyang. Make the world choke on you."
The wind blew harder — the old man's shape scattered like dust in moonlight. Ash swirled past Taeyang's face, cold and soft as snow.
When the wind died, the clearing was empty. The fire was out. Only the blood on Taeyang's knuckles proved any of it had been real.
He looked down at his hands — felt the faint thrum of something not his own humming under his skin. A whisper in the dark.
He flexed his fingers. The world felt smaller. Softer. More edible.
Taeyang stood alone on the mountain. His breath misted in the night air. He wiped blood from his mouth with the back of his wrist — then turned his eyes toward the city's distant glow.
"Then I'll devour it all," he whispered to the dark.