The moment they faced each other lasted less than a single breath.
But to him, it stretched thin and endless.
Black blood seeped from the creature's abdominal wound, trailing in sticky, viscous streaks darker than the rainwater. The metallic stench rose thick and heavy, tightening his throat. Foul saliva spilled from its jaws, dripping onto the metal floor and mixing with the relentless rain.
The creature's pupils constricted.
No calculation. No hesitation.
Only naked hunger, sharpened by blood and pain.
It lunged.
"Shit!"
He spun and ran the instant metal clanged beneath his feet. Pain flared from the very first step—not explosive, but deep and spreading, crawling from his ankle up to his thigh, making each stride heavier than the last.
There was no time to adjust his footing.
The space ahead opened toward the reinforced upper section. Narrow metal stairs, slick with rain. He grabbed the railing by instinct and hauled himself upward, gasping so hard he couldn't even hear his own breath clearly.
Behind him, the creature roared.
Low. Broken. Brief.
Close enough to freeze his spine.
"Not… not now…"
He climbed higher, one hand slipping before he caught himself again. He'd only started working this section recently—less than a month. His first official job. Long shifts. Reprimands for tying cables too loose, for standing in the wrong place.
Not long enough to call it home.
But long enough to know where he could step safely.
He ran along the narrow path hugging the wall. The wind was fiercer at this height, rain slashing sideways, stinging his face. Below was a yawning darkness, the ground invisible. Above loomed the massive wall—rough, cold, indifferent.
The thought flashed through his mind, bitter and almost absurd.
I'm going to die on the very wall that's kept me alive all these years.
A flicker of defiance rose beneath the panic.
The creature was climbing after him, getting closer.
It wasn't fast. Its low, curved body made balancing at height awkward.
SKREEEKH!
One hind leg slipped off a rung, claws screeching against metal in a grating burst of sparks. But it kept coming—driven by strength and instinct alone.
His hand shot toward a tool lying near the edge—the one used to secure reinforcement panels. Long shaft. Sharp tip. Perfect weight. More familiar to him than anything else up here.
"Get the hell away from me!"
His voice cracked.
The creature didn't slow.
He turned and swung on reflex. The blow only grazed its ridged skull, producing a dry, jarring impact that sent numbness shooting through his arm.
"Damn it!"
The creature reacted slower than he expected. It twisted, the movement tugging at the wound in its belly—but enough for its claw to sweep toward him.
The strike wasn't clean. Instead, it slammed its whole body into him.
He was thrown backward, spine smashing into the railing. His head rang. His foot slipped from the iron plank, nearly pitching him over the edge.
In that instant, the creature's hind leg skidded across the slick metal.
It lost balance.
But before it fell, it reached.
Its jaws clamped around his shoulder.
Pain exploded—sharp, blinding. Hot blood poured out, and for a split second his mind went blank.
"No!"
He didn't think. Didn't have time to be afraid.
There was only the thing in his hand.
He twisted, gathered every scrap of strength left, and drove it forward—deep into the creature. No aim. No idea where he struck.
Just drive it in.
GURRRGH—
The creature convulsed.
Its roar cut off, shattering into a warped, choking sound. The jaws released. Its massive weight lost purchase.
They fell together.
THOOM!
No scream.
No immediate, thunderous crash.
Only rain and wind—and a silence so brief it felt wrong.
Then the heavy impact echoed from below.
He didn't know how long he lay there. When awareness returned, the first thing he noticed was that nothing was crushing his chest.
He was lying on top of the monster.
He rolled off to the side.
It lay motionless. The iron bar was still buried deep in its throat. Blood mixed with rain, streaming in thin rivulets across the stone.
He lay on his back, gasping. Rain tapped against his face, running through the corners of his eyes, across his forehead, over his lips. Every breath hurt—but it filled his lungs.
A hoarse laugh tore out of him.
"What a shit day."
He lay there a while longer before the pain finally crashed over him. His body wasn't ready to obey just yet.
His shoulder throbbed dully; every movement sent a streak of pain down his arm. His left leg felt numb and heavy, as if it no longer fully belonged to him.
The good news was that he was still breathing.
"At least… I'm alive."
His voice was hoarse. It didn't sound comforting at all.
The monster lay right beside him. Low, curved body. Motionless. The tool he had driven into it was still embedded where it struck. The blood had stopped spurting, but rainwater dragged it into thin, diluted trails across the concrete.
He stared at it for a moment.
Not long.
A faint trace of satisfaction crossed his face.
Then his gaze halted.
Near the old wound in the creature's abdomen—where dark flesh had been torn open before—something caught the faint light. Not metal. Not bone.
He frowned and leaned closer despite the pain in his shoulder.
"No way…"
A mana stone.
It wasn't large—about the size of two, maybe three fingers pressed together. Irregular in shape, edges slightly rounded. The surface was smooth, though not perfectly so. Cloudy gray, with a faint bluish sheen when light touched it.
No cracks.
Whole.
Completely different from the broken fragments of mana stone he had seen before—the kind weaker Awakened or veteran workers bought sparingly, using them like crude patches for bodies worn down to the brink.
This one… was intact.
He didn't need anyone to explain its meaning.
Its value wasn't small. At least not to him.
Several months of his wages might not even come close.
The thought came quickly.
What if I kept it?
No one saw. No one knew. The monster was dead. A late-shift accident. Low-tier beasts didn't always carry mana stones.
Just a fleeting thought—but enough to make his heart pound harder.
He swore under his breath.
And still, he bent down.
He had to pause halfway because of his injury. The moment he hunched forward, pain flared so sharply his vision dimmed. He gritted his teeth, switched hands, and pushed his fingers into the monster's wound.
Clumsy. His fingers slipped over cold, slick flesh. The metallic stench clung to his skin, twisting his stomach.
When he finally pulled the mana stone free, his trembling hand nearly dropped it. He had to snatch it with both hands to keep it from falling.
"Damn it…"
The mana stone sat snug in his palm.
Heavier than he expected. Not by much—but enough to feel like a condensed block of value. Cold. Silent.
He stared at it for one more second, then slipped it into his inner pocket, close against his chest.
Only then did he think of the next step.
Contact.
He pushed himself upright and limped back toward the tool storage. Each step drew protest from his left leg, but he kept moving, leaning on the wall and the warped metal frames that remained.
Inside—what little of the storage room was intact—the familiar scent of metal and oil hit his nose. The communication device hung in the corner where workers reported incidents.
He reached up. His hand trembled so badly he had to try twice before managing to activate it.
"Tool storage area… NVB late shift," he said, voice hoarse but clear enough.
"Monster intrusion. Neutralized. I'm injured—shoulder and leg. Request medical support."
He paused, then added more slowly,
"One Awakened deceased."
The confirmation signal came a few seconds later.
He leaned back against the tool rack and slid down to sit on the floor, exhaling.
It didn't take long.
Footsteps echoed urgently outside. Flashlights swept through rain, across twisted metal, over the monster's corpse lying still beyond.
The medical team arrived first. They worked quickly and efficiently, asking few questions. Immobilized his shoulder. Checked his leg. Recorded his condition.
Then two more people appeared.
One wore a Rad insignia—likely government personnel. Clean uniform. The familiar gaze of someone viewing the scene as a problem of responsibility.
The other wore no uniform, but his attitude needed no disguise. A member of a family—Kim Uyn So.
In his eyes—and in the quiet whispers of laborers—they were the same kind.
Vultures.
They only showed up when there was a corpse to dissect for blame—and something to profit from.
Even so, he didn't hate them that much. If he had that kind of strength, maybe he would do the same. Choose a job that paid well without carrying too much responsibility. Who wouldn't?
Old Hoob arrived shortly after.
He looked the boy over once, muttered a quiet curse, then turned to the medical staff and the two officials.
"The kid did his job," Hoob said.
"If anyone screwed up, it's because you let that thing slip through."
He didn't let the boy hear more than that.
When the two men began speaking in low voices, Hoob stepped half a pace in front of him, arms crossed, broad frame forming a very real wall. His voice remained level—neither raised nor lowered.
"I'll file the report. The site's sealed. The witness is injured and needs rest," he said. "If you want more, wait until the shift supervisor's here. Not now."
The man with the Rad insignia frowned, as if about to argue, but Hoob's gaze didn't waver. The Kim family representative gave a thin smile—one that didn't reach his eyes—then shrugged as though it barely mattered.
"Just a Gnawbeast,Fine," he said. "We'll follow procedure."
Hoob didn't respond. He simply turned to the boy and jerked his chin toward the inner corridor.
"Go. You don't need to stand here."
Compared to his usual half-asleep look—like he might nod off at any second—Hoob now seemed surprisingly reliable.
V wasn't close to him, but he enjoyed their daily idle chatter. Hoob's stories about strange animals, or odd dishes from the old era—most of which he probably heard from someone else.
Lost in that drifting thought, he barely noticed the medical team finishing their work. His shoulder was secured, the bandage tight but not suffocating. His left leg neatly wrapped, fitted with a temporary brace.
When he tried standing, the pain was still there—but not as overwhelming as he'd imagined while lying in the rain.
The monster's teeth hadn't sunk deep. Bruising. Torn flesh. But nothing catastrophic.
"Lucky," one medic said shortly. "Not a bad case."
He nodded, unsure what to reply.
Back in his familiar room, his hand unconsciously moved to his inner pocket.
The pocket watch was there.
But this time, when his fingers brushed it through the fabric, something felt different.
Not vibration.
Warmth.
A faint warmth—like metal placed near a heat source.
He pulled it out.
The face wasn't running fast; the hands ticked steadily as usual. But beneath the glass, near the twelve o'clock axis, a faint mark was glowing.
Not bright—just a pale blue shimmer. Slow.
The mana stone in his inner pocket was warming as well.
"What the hell…?"
He didn't get to finish the thought.
The sensation came suddenly.
As if his body's weight had shifted all at once. The floor beneath his feet turned into thickened water. Sounds receded, slightly distorted, like they were submerged. The light narrowed into a thin strip.
He staggered, gripping the pocket watch instinctively.
For a brief moment, he felt as though he was no longer standing in his familiar room.
Then everything lurched.
And went dark.