Jihoon made his way towards the large four-story plaza; its size was something he had never seen before. On the first two pillars were huge flyers of the two most iconic anime characters. Its entrance was packed with people, each in their individual costumes: some dressed as anime characters, others as superheroes or other iconic TV characters that Jihoon couldn't recognize. He noticed a very huge dude, probably 6'7", in all red body paint. He had a helmet on with two horn-like things sticking out on both sides, but for some reason, the horns seemed like they had been cut off or trimmed down. He was wearing a brown trench coat, rather expensive-looking military-style pants, and combat boots. As he looked closely, he saw the coat had some kind of initial on it: B.P.R.D. "Weird, I haven't heard of them before," Jihoon thought as he made his way to the front of the line. "NEXT!" shouted a man barely 5 feet tall with gray hair and a chubby appearance. He stretched out his hand to receive Jihoon's ticket. for inspection. "Hmmm, VIP huh" the old man muttered to himself as he looked at the sliver rectangular shaped ticket
With its design much different or complicated than the average one that went for just 50 yuan but the sliver which was about 150 yuan only slightly below the golden ticket Worth about 300 yuan. Although Jihoon doubted anyone would waste that much money on some convention tickets, in fact he wouldn't have bought the sliver if it hadn't had its perks. "Well, here ya go" the guard said handing him back his ticket and a neck piece which had a little silver coated rectangular metal dangling down from it, the word VIP boldly in engraved on it. Jihoon careful put it around his neck before walking past the huge gate and into the plaza where he saw more cos players and photographers some cosplayers seemed like they were pulled out of the verse or story they were from.
With some cosplayers having the same body shape, height and skin tone as the said character. he walked further he could spot some convenience stores selling all kinds of merchandise. From clothes, jewelry to food and drinks... Looking at some dumplings by his right Jihoon recalled he hadn't had anything to eat all morning and decided to get some quick snack before calling his cousin...he walked towards the tiny shack, he could perceive the aroma of the dumplings which made him even hungrier almost to the point of salivating
He got to shack and saw a beautiful young lady, probably his age behind the counter.
"侬好, 今朝想买啥?"
With a confused look on his face Jihoon was about to speak when the lady said in mandarin "sorry, sorry I thought you were from around here".
With a nervous laugh Jihoon responded "really that's a first, I usually get Japanese or something else"
"Really? Japanese? I don't see it. You're way taller than most Japanese people I've met. Take that guy, for instance," she said, pointing to someone a few meters away. He stood awkwardly in what looked like an off-brand Vegeta costume—just blue spandex, yellow-tinted hair, and white-and-yellow Nikes. "He's Japanese. Well, half—his mom's Korean."
Jihoon, not wanting to prolong the conversation and feeling ravenous, gave a short reply. "Yeah, I can see it. Anyway, how much are your dumplings?"
"Oh, those are 3 yuan per piece, 10 yuan for 3, and 21 yuan for 5."
Jihoon nearly choked on his own saliva. He ordered the five-piece plate without hesitation. Sure, they were pricey, but that was expected at big conventions like this. Vendors always hiked up prices to cover time, transport, and the premium location. Jihoon had noticed on the bus ride, there weren't any convenience stores, no supermarkets. Just clothing shops and a movie theater.
" "Here you go," she said with a soft, beautiful smile, handing him a tiny plastic plate of five dumplings. Soy sauce was lightly drizzled over them, with a sprinkle of cilantro. Everything sat in perfect harmony.
"Oh, thank you," Jihoon said, reaching for his wallet.
"Oh, don't worry about the money," she replied, still smiling.
Jihoon hesitated. He didn't want to feel indebted to a stranger. "You're VIP, right? Each VIP gets a 50 yuan voucher to spend at any stall or vending machine in the convention."
"Really? That's awfully convenient," Jihoon said.
"I know, right? Run along now. Enjoy the convention and have a great day," she said with a wink.
"Thanks, you too," Jihoon replied, stuffing his mouth with dumplings. Just then, his phone buzzed in his back pocket. He shuffled to keep the plate steady in one hand while fishing out the phone with the other.
"Hewo," he mumbled, mouth full of dumpling.
"Where the hell are you?!"
"Um… het te glound flor."
"Eh? What did you say?"
"I'm at the ground floor," he said after wolfing down the last dumpling.
"Really? I can't see you anywhere."
"Just look for a guy waving his left arm in the air " Jihoon looked around for a little bit before he started waving his hands high above his head, that's when he noticed a beautiful lady walking towards him, her blonde hair sat gently on her shoulder, her blue eyes which couldn't be hidden by the sunglasses she wore, her slender figure also like that of a model which complemented her clear light-golden skin.
She wore a slightly oversized, sleeveless white shirt, paired with short denim jeans and crisp white sneakers. A red mini handbag hung from her left arm, adding to her effortless "model" aura. Eyes turned and necks craned as she passed—like a star that couldn't be ignored, even if it didn't want to be noticed.
This was Han Yu-jin, Jihoon's older cousin. Though they shared blood, they looked nothing alike. Her striking features came from her mother, who was of European descent.
"Noona," Jihoon said, trying to ignore the stares directed their way.
"Yoo, couldn't you have called me the moment you arrived?" Yu-jin replied, removing her sunglasses and revealing her bright, beautiful blue eyes.
"Umm… yeah, sorry. I just had to grab something to eat first. By the way, has Mr. Li Guangming arrived?"
"Huh? No, not yet. Some of the indie creators have been here for hours. A few even started showcasing their work—hoping to catch attention in case the meetup doesn't pan out."
"Hmmm… do you think I should do that too?" Jihoon asked, resting his chin on his right hand, supported by the left.
"Considering your artwork has made waves over the past few years and how popular you are across social media it's better to wait until after the interview. You don't want other creators seeing you as a threat or competition."
"Right, right. I wouldn't want to crush some kid's dreams," he said, nodding toward a young girl, no older than fourteen, standing beside a table covered in cardboard sheets. Each one displayed a strange-looking character, but one in particular caught Jihoon's eye.
It was a man with hair as dark as midnight, flowing past his shoulders. His face was smooth, flawless, and sharply defined. Delicate silver earrings dangled from his ears, crafted like tiny chains ending in gleaming yin-yang symbols. The left earring held the dark yin its silver crescent cradling an obsidian bead—while the right bore the bright yang, its ivory bead suspended in polished silver.
His eyes were void of emotion, like the abyss itself, staring back at Jihoon with unsettling stillness.
He wore a plain white kimono, its longline design cascading like a waterfall. The sleeves shimmered with intricate golden symbols words from a language Jihoon had never seen. Before him stood a man if he could even be called that gripping twin-blade daggers, each glowing with a dark, unnatural hue. He towered over a field of corpses, too many for Jihoon to count. The ground was dyed red with blood, and the sky above burned a deep crimson, as if hell itself had cracked open. And yet, the man's kimono remained pristine—no blood, no dust, not even a wrinkle.
Jihoon blinked, the image still burned into his mind as he pushed through the crowd of cosplayers and photographers. He made his way toward the little girl's table.
A small group had gathered around her. Some admired her artwork, others listened intently as she explained the concept behind her comic. A few were just there to snap a photo with her.
Jihoon stood quietly behind her for a moment, then gently tapped her shoulder.
She turned slightly, just enough to see who had touched her. Her brown skin glowed under the fluorescent lights. Long braids cascaded down to her waist, framing her with an elegant aura. Her wide, brown eyes sparkled with innocence and curiosity
She wore pink shirt with an oversized blue jean
"Ummm, hey" she said with a light American accent hidden in her mandarin
"Hey, I'm Han-jihoon"
"Hi, Han-jihoon? Isn't that a Korean name? " She asked.
"Hah, it is, I'm Korean, I just came here to China for the convention and the interview" he replied.
The interview?? Ahh—you mean the meetup with Mr. Li Guangming?" Her eyes widened. "Wait don't tell me you're here to discourage me. Mama warned me about people like you!"
She squeaked and took a step back, trying to put distance between herself and the strange man in front of her.
"No, no, no!" Jihoon raised his hands, trying to calm her. "I—I just wanted to ask about this." He pointed to the image of the ghostly figure in her sketchbook.
"Him?" she asked, her voice steadier now.
"Yes, him. Who is he… or rather, what is he?"
She hesitated, her eyes flicking to the drawing.
"H—he's a John Doe."
"John doe?, you never gave him a name, I like his design he's concept the white kimono contradicting his demeanor " Jihoon stopped when he noticed her body language. She was scared no she was terrified her eyes stayed glued to him but he saw her iris immediately contract at the mention of the man's demeanor. her nails trying to dig their way into the sketch book she held...
"Hey, are you okay? It's alright if you don't feel comfortable talking to him," Jihoon said gently, trying to calm her down. After all, it was just a drawing better to let it go than let a little girl feel unsafe.
"No, I'm fine, about him? Right" she said seem calmer now.
"You sure?"
"Yes". She said before walking towards the painting
" You see, a year ago, I was in a car crash that left me in a coma for weeks. And every second I spent in that coma, I kept reliving the same…
Would I call it a nightmare?
Maybe.
It always starts the same way."
I would still force myself out of bed to get ready for school. And every time, at exactly 08:06, the earthquake would strike. But it wasn't ordinary it was violent, primal. It felt like the earth was shifting beneath my feet, as if something sinister was clawing its way to the surface.
Every time, my dad would come crashing down the stairs, clutching my little brother in his arms. My brother's body was mangled his abdomen torn open, his left arm missing. Blood would trail behind them, staining the steps like a warning.
My dad would yell at me, urging me to leave the house immediately. But I could never understand the words. It was as if he wasn't speaking English or any language I knew. His voice was distorted, swallowed by the chaos.
Not waiting to understand what had happened to my brother, I'd bolt out the door behind them and into the street.
But nothing was the same.
The familiar suburban neighborhood I'd lived in for most of my childhood had transformed into a wasteland. Every house reduced to rubble. And from those ruins, bodies protruded lifeless, twisted once neighbors, once friends.
Still trying to grasp the horror around me, I heard it again. A deep rumble.
Another earthquake.
My dad screamed, still clutching my unconscious brother.
Not long after we heard a large crack... Looking back I see large crack appearing on the walls of our house, not long after the house I had known all my life, which I grew up in, had so many good and not so good memories came crashing down within a single minute but out under the rubbles I saw movement.
Every time I tried to run, to get away, my legs betrayed me. I stood frozen, as if fused to the ground. No matter how many times I tried—again and again I couldn't move. I just stood there, waiting to see what would crawl out from beneath the rubble. Even though I already knew.
Still, some part of me hoped. Hoped it was our Labrador, miraculously alive, somehow clawing its way out of the wreckage. But what came out…
She clutched her sketchbook tightly to her chest, her nails digging into the cover. Jihoon could see the terror in her eyes. Her whole body trembled, but she kept narrating the veiled nightmare.
"What came out… it was something I'd never seen before. Its face looked like a slow loris, but the eyes—sunken so deep I thought they'd been ripped from their sockets. It crawled on all fours at first, then slowly rose upright, like its body had just learned how to balance on two limbs. Like it had suddenly become a primate.
It stared at me. Eyes locked. Like I was its next meal its last chance to feed the hunger gnawing inside.
Then I saw it. Two extra limbs began to sprout from its sides. Both arms… human. Or human enough. Five fingers on each hand.
And then it ran.
It charged at me with a speed I couldn't comprehend. Its screech God, that screech is something I never want to hear again."
Tears streamed down her cheeks, falling onto the blue tiles of the plaza. Her teeth chattered as the memory gripped her.
Bu—but she kept narrating. By now, a small crowd had gathered around her and Jihoon, drawn in by the eerie nightmare she was recounting. Her expression haunted, hollow only deepened the chilling atmosphere.
In a matter of seconds, it closed the 30-meter gap between us its claws inching closer with every pounding step, each one more deliberate than the last.
Just as it was about to claw its way into my face, my father's car burst onto the scene, crashing into the creature with a deafening thud. The impact sent it hurtling through the air, slamming into our neighbor's white Jeep parked in the driveway.
"Hop on!" my dad's voice jolted me from my daze.
I stumbled toward the back door, only to see my little brother slumped in the seat. His left arm was missing. A chunk of his lower abdomen was gone, as if something had taken a massive bite out of him. His wounds were still open, blood steadily pooling onto the seats.
I—I just knew he wasn't going to make it.
But I couldn't do anything.
My little brother was going to die, and his big sister was helpless.
Tears blurred my vision as I climbed into the car. My dad didn't waste a second he floored the gas, speeding past every traffic sign, ignoring every red light. The hospital was close. Maybe just maybe we could make it.
But as we neared the final turn, we hit a dead stop.
Traffic.
My dad and I jumped out to see what was causing the hold-up. That's when we saw it.
A wall.
But not a wall of concrete or steel. No. It was made of human bodies arms, legs, twisted faces. Each face frozen in horror, pain, desperation. All crammed together as if something had fused them into this grotesque barrier.
Some body parts were so decayed they could no longer hold on, breaking off and dropping to the ground with sickening splats.
The smell God, the smell.
It was as if a corpse had been soaked in acid and left to rot in the sun. The stench hit me like a hammer to the gut. I doubled over and vomited Again And again. Every time I thought I was done, another wave of nausea rolled through me. The moment I caught another whiff of that putrid air, bile burned up my throat, forcing its way out.
All around me, people were retching women, children even grown men. The air was thick with the mix of vomit and death, making it nearly impossible to breathe.
And then—
The ground trembled beneath us.
"Another earthquake!" someone shouted. A man in joggers sprinted toward his car.
"Everybody, get back inside your cars!"
My dad grabbed my arm. "Come on, honey. Get in the car."
For once, I was grateful to have him as my father.
At 6'6", my dad was a massive guy built like a tank. He had been a bodybuilder in his teens before joining the Marines. Maybe it was the years of discipline, or maybe it was just who he was, but I had never seen him panic. Not even when a burglar broke into our house. Instead of fighting the guy, my dad just... sat him down and talked.
To this day, I still don't know how he did it.
As we rushed back toward our car, the ground beneath us convulsed, shaking so violently that deep cracks split open. From within those fissures, arms dozens, maybe hundreds began sprouting, pale and writhing like grotesque vines.
They reached toward the cars, clawing at metal, gripping tightly, pulling them down as if trying to drag them into the earth itself.
Panic set in.
One by one, people realized there was no escape. Their vehicles were ensnared, wrapped in a tangle of human limbs like some nightmarish trap.
And then—
"IT IS ALMOST TIME."
"A voice.
It wasn't a shout. It wasn't a scream It was simply there carried by the wind, yet somehow whispering directly into my ears.
That's when we saw him.
A man sat atop the writhing wall of bodies, motionless despite the chaos. His long blonde hair, tied in a loose ponytail, swayed with the wind. A black blindfold covered his eyes, stained with fresh streaks of blood that dripped slowly down his face. Something was written across the fabric in a language I had never seen before letters twisted and foreign, shifting the longer I stared.
Despite his unsettling presence, his clothes were surprisingly clean. He wore a slightly undersized black wife-beater that stretched over a broad, chiseled frame. His arms, wrapped in intricate chain-like tattoos. His loose-fitting tobi pants swayed slightly, the extra fabric around his legs rippling in the wind.
Then his lips parted."
"HE IS ALMOST HERE."
"The air around me thickened as his words fell like a curse. Suddenly, it felt like I couldn't breathe. My lungs burned, my throat tightened, and I gasped, desperate for air. Around me, bodies littered the ground some writhing, clawing at their throats, others already still.
Jihoon's gaze flickered to her trembling hands, watching as droplets of blood dripped onto the tiled floor. Her fingers, raw and torn, gripped the sketchbook with such force that her nails had broken, the jagged edges giving way to oozing crimson. And yet, she stood there still talking, still trapped in the terror of her own words.
Her brown skin had paled, a sheen of sweat coating her face. Jihoon had seen fear before, but never like this. Not in a child.
"I think you should st—" He started, hesitant, but she cut him off, her voice rising in urgency.
"Some who hadn't collapsed started running, pushing, trampling each other in their desperation to escape. The freeway turned into a stampede screams, bodies, chaos. I pushed myself up, lungs aching, hoping praying I could make it to the other side.
But before I could take a step, a firm hand yanked me back.
My father.
I turned to him, my eyes pleading, my body trembling with exhaustion. I couldn't do this anymore. Six hours. Just six hours, and I had seen more horrors than I had in my entire life. I just wanted to run, run until my legs gave out, until I was anywhere but here.
But my father only pulled me into his arms, his voice a broken whisper against my ear.
'I won't let anyone hurt you, baby girl.'
He carried me toward the car, where the trunk was buried beneath a tangle of limbs. He set me down beside him.
'Do not move. Do you hear me?' he said softly, before pressing a kiss to my forehead.
my lungs too weak. Words felt blades in my throat. I nodded my head towards him.
Then, he turned back to the car, gripping the trunk with all his strength. He pried it open, but the moment he did, the weight of the lifeless arms tangled within shifted, dragging the metal downward. The sound of the car bending under the pressure sent a chill through me.
I barely noticed myself fading. The world swayed at the edges of my vision, but I could still hear them the stampede, the screams of people crushed under the wave of bodies, the desperate cries of children abandoned in their parents' struggle for survival.
And somewhere in that chaos, my father's voice called me back.
'Aliyah… stay with me, baby girl. Daddy's here.'
Something cool brushed against my burning skin. My breath steadied, but his… his was slowing.
'I've got you, baby girl,' he murmured. Then he collapsed.
"Dad!" My voice cracked as I shook him.
"Please wake up! Please, don't leave me! We still have to take Jackson to the hospital! Please!"
Desperate, I tore the oxygen mask from my face and placed it over his. One minute. Two. Three. But he didn't move.
Tears spilled onto his back as I clung to him. My mind raced, but I had no plan, no strength, nothing but the sinking realization that I was alone.
The highway, once a battlefield of chaos, had fallen silent. Only the distant wails of abandoned children remained. Blood pooled in the cracks of the pavement, the trampled bodies now nothing more than discarded remnants of desperation.
I thought maybe, if I could just reach the end of the highway, maybe someone would be there. Maybe there was still hope.
My legs barely held me as I stood, each step slow, unsteady. The path ahead was littered with bodies some crushed beyond recognition, others torn apart. The scent of blood clung to the air, thick and metallic, and I swallowed back the bitter bile rising in my throat.
Then I saw him.
A lone figure standing amidst the carnage.
He was beautiful.
Long, raven-black hair cascaded past his shoulders, so dark it seemed to swallow the light. He wore a pristine white kimono—untouched, unblemished, as if the blood-drenched world around him did not dare to stain him.
And his eyes…
Empty.
Devoid of remorse, of sympathy, of anything human.
Hundreds lay dead at his feet, and yet, he felt nothing.
He looked at me, his lips moving in a language i couldn't understand.
He moved toward me, slow and steady, each step cutting into my nerves like a blade inching closer to my throat. I turned with everything I had, desperate to flee back the way I came.
But I only managed three steps before I saw it.
A wave no, a writhing, surging tide of human limbs and faces, hurtling toward me. Their screams tore through the air, a cacophony of agony and despair. Arms flailed wildly, clawing at anything and everything. I could feel the terror deep in my bones. If that thing caught up to me, I was as good as dead.
But I couldn't stop running.
Because behind me was death itself.
I could still hear his footsteps neither fast nor slow, his steps cold like I wasn't even worth his effort.
The grotesque wave rolled over corpses littering the ground, devouring them as it passed. I watched, horrified, as the arms and legs of the fallen were ripped away, absorbed into the storm of flesh. It was alive. A force beyond reason, swallowing everything in its path.
And then then I saw him.
My father's face.
Twisted in torment, his mouth stretched in an endless scream.
A sob wrenched from my throat. Everything I had known was gone in the blink of an eye.
And there I was.
Standing in the middle of a highway, trapped between two nightmares.
To my left, the monstrous wave of human remains.
To my right, the man in white, closing in with that same unshaken stride.
This was it.
This was how I died.
I collapsed, screaming, begging for something anything to rip me from this nightmare. The deafening wails of the storm closed in, a relentless reminder of my impending doom.
And then
"HALT."
The voice cut through the chaos, sharp and absolute.
It was him.
And this time, it was as if he stood right beside me.
I lifted my head, trembling. The wave had stopped mere meters away. The man in white continued forward, unhurried, his dark eyes locking onto mine.
His lips parted as he whispered, his voice calm, chillingly so.
"DO NOT FRET, YOUR DEATH IS A STEP TOWARDS TRUE EQUITY."
I saw my own back as my head hit the ground.
Darkness swallowed me whole.