Ban Pong emerged from the dense tangle of the jungle like the ghost of a bad decision—persistent, uncomfortable, and impossible to shake. The village itself barely qualified as a settlement: a haphazard cluster of maybe fifteen aging wooden structures, their frames sagging as if they'd been fighting against gravity and humidity for decades and finally decided to surrender. Corrugated metal roofs, battered and rusted, clung to the buildings in defiance of every monsoon that had tried to tear them away. Nature was winning here; vines strangled half the houses, wrapping their green fingers around splintered boards and slithering through shattered windows, as if the jungle were reclaiming what had always been its own. Down the middle, a dirt road wound through the chaos, rutted and choked with weeds, more a memory of travel than an actual path.
Jinho took it all in with a grimace. "Cheerful place," he muttered, his tone making it clear he found the setting anything but.
Narin, hands tight on the wheel, let out a dry chuckle as she eased their battered truck forward, tires crunching over loose gravel. "Used to be a smuggling hub, back before the border got hot. Myanmar's just a couple kilometers through that mess." She jerked her thumb at the suffocating wall of green. "Thailand on this side. Out here, nobody's looking. Nobody's counting. The authorities barely exist, and the ones who do mostly look the other way."
Jinho's gaze lingered on the half-collapsed huts and the omnipresent jungle pressing in from all sides. "So, perfect for hiding stolen artifacts. Or anything else you don't want found."
Narin snorted in agreement. "Meth labs, gun runners, human traffickers—Ban Pong's seen it all. If you want to disappear, or make something disappear, this is where you come. No one cares what happens in a place like this, not even the gods." She swung the truck off the road, threading it through a break in the bamboo until they were hidden from view. "We go on foot from here. Less chance of someone hearing us."
The moment they stepped out, the jungle hit them like a wall—heat and humidity so thick it felt like trying to breathe soup. The air was alive with noise: birds screeching, insects buzzing in feverish competition, and somewhere deeper, the bark and chatter of monkeys. The smell was a choking blend of damp earth, rotting vegetation, and something faintly chemical—Ban Pong's legacy, leaking into the soil.
Jinho tugged at his jacket, instantly wishing he hadn't. Sweat glued his shirt to his back, and every breath felt heavy. "Tanaka, you're not dying in this heat?" he asked, casting a sidelong glance at their unflappable companion.
"I'm warm," she replied, her voice even, her tactical gear immaculate despite the oppressive climate. "But complaining doesn't help. You adapt or you don't."
Jinho grumbled. "Feels better to complain, though. At least it's something I can control."
"That's not how temperature works," Tanaka replied, deadpan.
"She's correct, you know," the Demon King chimed in, his voice threading through Jinho's mind, amused and smug as ever.
Jinho rolled his eyes. "Nobody asked you."
Narin was already moving, melting into the underbrush with the practiced ease of someone who'd spent years navigating places where being seen could get you killed. She barely disturbed the ferns as she slipped ahead, every step calculated, quiet, deliberate. In the Golden Triangle, information brokers didn't survive by being loud or careless.
Jinho fell in behind, Tanaka covering the rear, her eyes scanning for movement. They moved in a low crouch, circling east to approach Ban Pong from an angle that would give them maximum cover. The jungle pressed close on all sides, but it also offered concealment—a double-edged sword in a place where everything could hide a threat.
As they neared the village, Jinho felt it—a subtle pressure, almost electric, prickling along his skin. It was the feeling of a thunderstorm about to break, the world holding its breath for the first flash of lightning. Divine energy. Faint, but undeniable.
"You feel that?" The Phoenix's presence shimmered in his mind, her voice warm and bright.
"Yeah," Jinho replied, his senses sharpening.
"The Seal is close," the Jade Emperor added, his tone measured, ancient authority thrumming just beneath the surface. "Or something else touched by the divine."
The Demon King's laughter was a low, delighted rumble. "Maybe it's a trap. Wouldn't that be interesting?"
"Could be," Jinho murmured, keeping his voice soft. He didn't like how much the Demon King seemed to relish the idea.
They reached the edge of the village and dropped behind the mossy bulk of a fallen tree, low enough to watch without being seen. From here, the truth of Ban Pong revealed itself. The place wasn't nearly as empty as it had appeared from the main road.
People moved between the buildings, eight or nine of them at least, their movements sharp and purposeful. These weren't locals. Their clothes were too clean, too utilitarian, designed for function and combat. They carried weapons like extensions of themselves, their eyes sweeping the area with practiced vigilance. Every gesture spoke of discipline—military, or something close to it.
"Covenant?" Tanaka whispered, lips barely moving.
Jinho nodded, watching a young Asian man stroll by, a modified assault rifle slung across his chest like it belonged there. "Looks like it. They're not even trying to blend in."
"Why should they?" Narin asked, her voice edged with bitter amusement. "Out here, they've got enough firepower to keep everyone else at a safe distance. And look—" She gestured at the largest building in the village: two stories high, its metal roof battered but holding, the windows barred. Two guards stood at the entrance, alert and unsmiling, scanning the road and the jungle alike. "That's where they're keeping whatever they found."
Jinho focused on the building, narrowing his eyes. "That's it. Has to be."
"Are you certain?" the Jade Emperor pressed.
Jinho closed his eyes, reaching out with his divine sense. The sensation was immediate—a jolt of heat and static, as if he'd grabbed a live power line. The artifact was close, pulsing with an energy that made his skin crawl.
"It's there," he confirmed. "Top floor. And it's not dormant."
Tanaka shot him a worried look. "Active? They're using it already?"
"Or it's unstable. Either way, it's leaking power." Jinho opened his eyes, the world seeming sharper, colors too vivid. "We don't have much time."
Narin held up a hand, caution written all over her face. "You're talking about storming a fortified building full of armed mercenaries, and stealing back a divine artifact before they realize what's happening. That's a tall order."
Jinho shrugged, a grim smile tugging at his lips. "That's the job. Nobody said it'd be easy."
"That's not a job, it's a death wish," Narin shot back, her eyes flicking between him and the building. "You go in unprepared, you're not coming out."
"It's only suicide if it doesn't work," Jinho replied, brushing dirt from his jeans and getting to his feet. "And I'm not planning to die today."
Tanaka reached out, grabbing his arm before he could move. "Jinho-ssi, wait. We need a plan. Let's watch first—count their numbers, see how they rotate, look for a weakness. We get one shot at this. Let's not waste it rushing in blind."
Jinho hesitated, feeling the weight of all those eyes—his team, the gods within him, and the men with guns just ahead. The jungle pressed close, and somewhere in the distance thunder rumbled, promising rain. He nodded once, settling back down beside his companions, every sense wound tight as a wire. Time was running out, but they still had choices left—if they played it smart.
"We don't have time to sit around planning. They're going after the Seal. Every minute we wait, they get closer to finishing whatever ritual they've started," Jinho said, tension thrumming in his voice. The urgency was more than just words; he could feel it gnawing at him, a deep, vibrating certainty that something irrevocable was about to happen if they didn't move fast.
"And every minute you rush in, you get closer to getting yourself killed," Tanaka shot back, her tone calm but edged with steel. She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, gaze unwavering. "You think you're saving time, but sometimes you end up trading it for lives."
The Phoenix interjected, voice lilting with a strange amusement, "She's got a pretty good point, you know. The fire that burns too quickly leaves only ashes."
The Demon King scoffed, a dry, dismissive sound in Jinho's head. "She's got a careful point. Boring. Real power is about seizing the moment, not tiptoeing around it."
The Jade Emperor's tone was more measured, almost serene. "Wisdom sits in the middle. Scout quickly, then act. A plan built on reality, not assumption, stands the strongest."
Jinho let out a sigh that seemed to drain some of his tension. "Alright. Fifteen minutes to recon, then we move. That's the best I can do."
"Thirty," Tanaka countered, not missing a beat.
"Twenty," Jinho replied, jaw set in determination.
"Twenty-five," she responded, unblinking. The air between them crackled with the intensity of two people who refused to back down, even in the face of looming danger.
Jinho shook his head, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth despite the situation. "Are we haggling for a used car, or are we planning an assault on a cult's stronghold?"
Tanaka rolled her eyes, but there was a flicker of amusement there. "You're acting like we're not about to fight trained operatives with automatic weapons. This isn't a market. It's war."
He considered that, then nodded. "Fair enough. Twenty-five. But let's not waste a second of it."
Narin watched the exchange, eyebrows raised in open curiosity. "Do you two always argue like this?"
Jinho glanced at Tanaka, then shrugged. "We've known each other for about six hours. It's a record, honestly."
"And I'm already tired," Tanaka grumbled, but her eyes sparkled, betraying a grudging respect.
Narin grinned, a quick, infectious flash of teeth. "Fantastic. Love that for me." She produced a battered set of binoculars from her bag, hands steady despite the gravity of their mission. "I'll scout the perimeter. You two—try not to kill each other before the real fight starts."
She slipped into the jungle, her movements so smooth and silent that she seemed to vanish into the green, a ghost among the trees. Jinho watched her go, genuinely impressed by her fieldcraft. The team was a strange collection of talents and tempers, but maybe that was exactly what this job needed.
Settling behind a fallen tree, Jinho trained his gaze on the distant village. Tanaka found a spot nearby, close enough for conversation but far enough to give them both a sense of space. The quiet that settled between them was thick with unspoken worries and the weight of responsibility.
After a moment, Tanaka broke the silence. "You really just make it up as you go, huh?"
Jinho smirked. "Improvisation's an art. You have to react to what's in front of you, not what you wish was there."
"It's also how people die," she replied, her voice low. "One mistake, one miscalculation, and it's over. You can't improvise your way out of a bullet."
He shrugged, unperturbed. "People die from over-planning, too. They get so tangled in details, so caught up in the perfect plan, that they freeze. The moment slips away, and so does their chance. All we need is a target, our abilities, and the element of surprise. The rest, we handle as it comes."
"Surprise only works if they don't see us coming," Tanaka pointed out, her tone skeptical.
"They don't," Jinho insisted, confidence undimmed.
"They stole a divine artifact from a high-security vault. Of course they know KSID would send someone. They're expecting a response."
"Maybe, but they don't know it's us, and they don't know when. That's the edge we have—right now, in this sliver of uncertainty."
Tanaka fell silent, mulling over his words. "Your file said you're reliable under pressure," she eventually said, voice soft but probing.
"I am," Jinho replied, meeting her gaze.
"I'm starting to wonder," she admitted, but there was a hint of a smile now.
Jinho grinned, the expression cocky but genuine. "That file came from a performance review. I was trying to sound impressive. Real talk? I'm good because I don't get paralyzed by possibilities. I trust my gut, draw on what I know, and adapt on the fly. It's not recklessness, it's experience—and maybe a little luck."
Tanaka snorted, shaking her head. "You sound just like the Demon King."
"Hey," the Demon King chimed in, his voice ringing in Jinho's mind, "I'm a fantastic influence. You could do worse than listen to me."
"You're the worst kind of influence," Jade Emperor countered, his tone dry and regal.
"The best kind, obviously," Demon King shot back with a mental wink.
Tanaka eyed Jinho, half-incredulous, half-amused. "Do the three gods argue in your head all the time?"
Jinho shrugged, resigned. "Every waking minute. Sometimes they keep going in my dreams, too. It's like living next to a train station—you notice every rumble at first, but after a while, it just becomes background noise."
She hesitated, and for a moment a shadow crossed her face. "I've got Amaterasu and Susanoo. They never stop. Duty and action, order and chaos, like a storm that never breaks. It's… exhausting."
Jinho regarded her with newfound empathy. "What about you? Forget the gods. What does Tanaka Yuki think, beneath all the voices?"
She actually paused, considering her answer as if it mattered—which, for once, it truly did. "I think duty and action don't have to be opposites. You can build a structure that's flexible. Have a plan, but leave room for instinct. The gods give us principles, but we're the ones who decide how to use them. It's our choices that matter in the end."
"That's a very diplomatic answer," Jinho teased, but there was respect in his tone.
She smirked, the tension easing slightly. "I grew up in a shrine. Diplomacy's not optional—it's survival. But that doesn't mean I can't act when I need to."
"And yet, here you are in Southeast Asia, chasing down stolen artifacts and fighting cults. Seems like action won out."
"Diplomacy doesn't mean standing still or letting others decide your fate," she replied, checking her watch. "Narin's been gone twelve minutes. She's thorough."
Almost as if summoned by their words, Narin emerged from the jungle, her steps so light she barely disturbed a single leaf. She crouched beside them, her presence an anchor after the uncertainty of her absence.
"Alright," she said, pulling out her phone and a notepad. "Here's the rundown. Eight guards, rotating patrols—two up front, two in the back, four mobile. All armed, rifles and sidearms, standard formation for trained mercs. But there's a twist: at least one of them's got blessed armor."
Tanaka's brow furrowed, concern sharpening her features. "Blessed armor? That's rare. Only the well-connected—or the desperate—pull out those kinds of resources."
"Which means the Covenant's got deep pockets," Narin said, showing them a blurry photo on her phone. "See this guy, back right? That shimmer around him isn't a heat haze. It's divine shielding."
Jinho squinted at the image, recognizing the telltale glow of protective magic. "Great. That complicates things. Regular weapons won't even scratch him."
"Exactly," Narin agreed. "You'll need divine authority—something that cuts through blessings. Anything less, and he's untouchable."
Jinho grinned, a flash of confidence returning. "Good thing I've got three flavors to choose from."
Narin continued, "The building's got two entry points, both covered by patrols. Windows are secure, but not invincible. The real energy signature's coming from the second floor. That's where they're doing the ritual. The Seal's up there, probably surrounded by wards and overseen by their blessed agent."
Phoenix spoke up, her voice a glimmer of hope. "If they're channeling energy, they're vulnerable. Channeling demands focus—you can't defend and channel at the same time."
Jade Emperor added, voice resonant with authority, "That focus is their weakness. Strike then, and the whole ritual could unravel."
The three of them exchanged glances. Beneath their banter and disagreements, a shared sense of purpose crystallized—a recognition that each brought something vital to the table. Their gods, with all their arguing and wisdom, gave them a spectrum of strengths to draw on, but in the end, it was their choices, their teamwork, that would decide the outcome.
Jinho felt the old excitement stir inside him, the thrill of the impossible. "Alright," he said, voice steady and sure. "We have our intel. We have our window. Let's make it count."
Tanaka nodded, her earlier skepticism replaced by resolve. "No mistakes. We do this right, or not at all."
Narin flashed a grin, slinging her binoculars back into her pack. "Let's give them a surprise they'll never forget."
The jungle pressed close around them, thick with heat and the buzzing of unseen insects. But for the first time since the mission began, Jinho felt a sense of clarity—a conviction that, whatever happened next, they would face it together.
"I've got a plan," Jinho said, his gaze sharp as he studied the building's battered facade. The place radiated a kind of history that made his skin prickle—shuttered windows, iron bars, shadows like old scars. "Tanaka, you're with me. We go in the front, fast and loud—pull everyone's attention our way. Make them forget about anything else."
Tanaka's face twisted in disbelief. "That's suicide, Jinho. There could be a dozen armed guards in there, maybe more."
Jinho's lips curled into a thin, humorless smile. "No, that's called a distraction. The only way in is to make them look the wrong way." He turned to Narin, who was checking her knives with nervous energy. "Narin, you take the rear. When you hear noise up front—explosions, gunfire, whatever we can manage—you break in through a window. Get upstairs, find the Seal."
Narin frowned, shaking her head. Her voice was barely above a whisper. "I'm not blessed, Jinho. If there's a blessed agent up there—one of theirs—I'm dead before I make it halfway up the stairs."
"There won't be," Jinho said, a little too quickly, as if saying it would make it true. "They'll head down to deal with us. They always do—they want the big threat gone first." He tried to believe it himself. "Just grab the Seal and get out. We'll cover your exit."
"And if they don't come down?" Narin pressed, her eyes searching his for something—certainty, comfort, anything.
Jinho hesitated, then forced a grin. "Then I'll come up there and deal with it," he said, trying to sound casual.
"While fighting eight guards?" she shot back, skepticism thick in her tone.
"However many are left after Tanaka and I do our thing," Jinho said, glancing at his partner. "Tanaka's dual-blessed. We'll handle it. Right?"
Tanaka rolled his eyes. "This is nuts. I mean, properly unhinged."
Jinho shrugged. "It's simple. Simple plans are harder to screw up. The more moving parts, the more things go wrong."
"Simple gets people killed," Tanaka muttered, eyes narrowed.
"Complex gets people killed too, just with extra steps and more paperwork afterward," Jinho replied, patting his jacket for reassurance. His fingers closed around the talismans he'd hastily packed back in Seoul—wards for luck, for speed, for what he called 'oh shit' moments. He probably carried enough to supply a small shrine, but superstition was just another tool. "Look, we can sit here arguing until sunrise, or we can move now, while we still have the element of surprise. What's it gonna be?"
"I'm in," the Demon King rumbled, voice like gravel, stepping forward from the shadows. His presence was a weight in the humid air.
"I say we wait," said the Jade Emperor, voice cool and stately, arms folded, eyes unreadable.
The Phoenix, her feathers gleaming faintly even in human shape, spoke up. "I say we trust Jinho. He's kept us breathing this long. That counts for something."
Tanaka and Narin traded a look—the kind of look you give when you know your leader's about to drag you into insanity and you're not sure if you're ready to follow. But loyalty was a funny thing. Sometimes it was all you had.
"Fine," Tanaka said, exhaling through his teeth. "But if this blows up—"
"If it blows up, you get the honor of saying 'I told you so' at my funeral," Jinho quipped. He turned, boots crunching softly on the jungle floor. "Let's go. We won't get a better chance."
They moved through the tangled undergrowth, the jungle thick and oppressive, every step a quiet negotiation with roots and shadows. Jinho led, brushing aside branches, senses stretched tight. Tanaka followed, muscles coiled, his own aura a subtle shimmer. Narin trailed, melting into the darkness until she split off, silent as a cat, to circle around.
As the village drew nearer, Jinho felt the air change. It buzzed with something more than heat and humidity—a pressure, a trembling in the bones. The Seal was close. Even from here, its energy clawed at the edge of his senses, ancient and fierce. He could taste its flavor: fire, ashes, the scent of things ending and beginning anew. This was the Phoenix's kin, locked away for three millennia, waiting for the world to be ready—or to burn.
"If they wake it," the Phoenix murmured, her eyes fixed on the distant building, "Zhu Que will trigger the first stage of the System. The culling begins."
Jinho glanced back over his shoulder. "How many die in stage one?"
"Millions," the Phoenix replied. "Maybe hundreds of millions. The System doesn't care about mercy. Anyone it deems 'weak'—gone, erased like chalk in rain."
Jinho's jaw tightened. "Then we stop them. No matter what."
They halted at the edge of the village, crouched behind a tangle of ferns. Two guards stood at the main entrance—a pair of young men, alert and dangerous, their uniforms crisp, weapons slung with casual confidence. One smoked, eyes scanning the treeline; the other scrolled through his phone, but his thumb never strayed far from the safety.
Jinho didn't waste time. He stepped out of the jungle's shadow, walking toward the guards as if he belonged there, hands shoved in his pockets, posture relaxed. Tanaka sucked in a breath, hissed, "Jinho-ssi! What are you doing?"
"Sticking to the plan," Jinho called back over his shoulder, not breaking stride. He played the part—lost, harmless, maybe a tourist or a hiker who'd wandered off the map. He'd found that sometimes, the best disguise was audacity.
The guards noticed him instantly. Cigarette Guy flicked his smoke to the ground, grinding it under his boot. Phone Guy's head snapped up, and his hand went to his rifle with a speed that said he'd done this before.
"Hey!" Jinho called in English, letting his accent thicken for effect. "Sorry, I'm lost. Is this Ban Pong? I'm looking for a guesthouse—"
Phone Guy was all business now, weapon raised. "Stop. Don't move," he barked, voice tight.
"Not so lost, then," Jinho said, stopping a good twenty meters away—close enough for the wards, far enough to react. "Let me guess—you're not supposed to let anyone near this place."
"Turn around and leave," Cigarette Guy replied in nearly flawless Korean, his stance wide, eyes hard. "Now."
Jinho shrugged, like this was all some inconvenience. "Can't do that. See, you've got something my boss wants back. And he's not the patient type."
Both guards stiffened, hands tightening on their weapons. The tension in the air was electric, the kind that could snap at any moment.
"Last warning," Cigarette Guy said, voice low.
Jinho smiled, slow and dangerous. "Alright, here's mine." He slid his hands out of his pockets, and golden symbols flared to life along his forearm—marks of the Jade Emperor, power shimmering and alive. The air thickened, the jungle itself seeming to pause.
"You can walk away right now," Jinho said, his voice carrying the weight of command. "Or you can try your luck against a triple-blessed agent. Up to you."
For three heartbeats, the world held its breath, waiting to see who would flinch first.
Cigarette Guard barked something sharp and guttural in a dialect Jinho couldn't place—a harsh edge in the words that made the hair on the back of his neck prickle. Whatever he said, it sounded urgent, almost panicked. Jinho barely had time to draw a breath or ask what was happening before Phone Guard reacted with ruthless efficiency, raising his rifle and pulling the trigger in a single, fluid motion.
Jinho's body responded before his mind could catch up. The Demon King's blessing surged through him, warping reality in a way that felt unnatural but deeply familiar. The world flexed, and space curved—Jinho found himself five meters to the left, heart hammering, as bullets shredded the air where he'd been standing. The thunder of gunfire echoed in his ears, hot and immediate, and he felt the heat of near-misses brush his cheek.
He barely had time to register the narrow escape before chaos doubled. From the edge of the tangled jungle, Tanaka burst forth, golden radiance shimmering around her like the first rays of dawn slicing through storm clouds. Amaterasu's blessing, burning bright. She moved with a terrifying, beautiful precision—her steps swift, each motion deliberate, no wasted effort. In a single, almost casual gesture, her hand snapped up and a blade of searing light coalesced, slicing through the air and burying itself in Cigarette Guard's chest. He crumpled with a shocked gasp, his cigarette tumbling from limp fingers, and lay still.
Phone Guard spun with a soldier's discipline, swinging his rifle toward the source of the golden light. But Jinho was already moving again, propelled by adrenaline and the Demon King's power. This time, he didn't call on any miracles—just raw, desperate speed, the world around him blurring as he closed the gap in a heartbeat. Before Phone Guard could fire, Jinho crashed into him, grabbing for the rifle, muscles straining as he tried to rip it free.
But Phone Guard was no ordinary thug. He held tight, refusing to yield. With a grunt, he drove his fist toward Jinho's jaw. Jinho barely managed to block, feeling the shock reverberate up his arm. In that instant, Jinho realized the truth—this guard wasn't just strong; he was blessed too, his strength just a shade beyond human.
"Oh, you're one of us," Jinho said, surprised despite himself. There was a grudging respect in his tone—he could appreciate someone with backbone.
Phone Guard's eyes flashed an unnatural red, pupils narrowing to slits. Energy crackled along his sinews, and his next punch came faster, powered by something more than muscle. Jinho ducked, rolling aside as the man's fist whistled past his head. He could feel the force of it in the air, the promise of broken bones if he got sloppy.
The fight tipped into chaos. Phone Guard attacked with clinical precision—tight, efficient, never overcommitting. He moved like a man who'd seen real battles, whose body was trained to respond to threat without hesitation. Jinho, on the other hand, fought with the desperation of the outnumbered and the creativity of the blessed. He ducked low, kicked sand in the other man's face, and slammed his elbow into Phone Guard's ribs. Between brawling and blessings, he kept his opponent off-balance.
A surge of power rippled along Jinho's arm—he called upon the Jade Emperor's authority, the characters glowing gold against his skin. "STOP," he commanded, voice ringing with impossible force. For a fraction of a second, Phone Guard froze, caught between the compulsion of divine command and the stubborn will of his own blessing.
That hesitation was all Jinho needed. Tanaka's sunlight gathered, focused into a spear of brilliance that lanced across the clearing. It struck Phone Guard dead center, hurling him through a rickety wooden wall in a shower of splinters. The man didn't get up; the light snuffed out whatever resistance was left.
Jinho staggered, breath ragged, chest burning with exertion and leftover fear. "Two down. Six left," he muttered, scanning the edges of the clearing.
Suddenly, the jungle came alive with shouts and pounding feet. More guards converged, weapons drawn, the urgency in their voices unmistakable. The clatter of magazines being slammed into rifles, the metallic click of safeties flicked off—reinforcements, and they weren't wasting time.
"Narin better be moving," Tanaka said under her breath, hands already aglow with twin halos of divine energy, ready for whatever came next.
"She is. Trust me," Jinho replied, eyes never leaving the oncoming threat.
Tanaka shot him a skeptical look, her skepticism palpable even through the adrenaline. "I barely know you. Trust doesn't come that easy."
He shrugged, a wry grin on his lips. "Fair enough. But you'll see."
Four more guards rounded the corner of the building, their advance coordinated, rifles up and scanning for targets. One in particular stood out—he wore ornate, shimmering armor that seemed to hum with power, the kind of blessing that was impossible to miss even in the chaos.
"I'll take armor guy," Jinho said, already squaring his shoulders for the coming clash.
"That's the most dangerous one," Tanaka pointed out, her gaze flicking between the armored man and his companions.
"Exactly. The other three are yours."
Tanaka arched an eyebrow. "Three against one? You're generous."
"You're dual-blessed. You'll manage. Besides—" Jinho grinned, adrenaline sharpening his features. "I do my best work alone."
She rolled her eyes, but there was a glimmer of anticipation in her smile. "You mean you get lazier when you're alone." Already, light was swirling around her, a miniature sunrise caught in her palms, ready to unleash.
The three unarmored guards wasted no time. Their rifles spat fire, the air filling with the whine of bullets. Tanaka darted forward, her movements a blur, almost liquid—light and storm interweaving as Susanoo's blessing joined Amaterasu's. Lightning danced at her fingertips, and with a flick of her wrist, she sent a bolt arcing through the nearest guard. He convulsed, dropping to the ground with a strangled cry. The second guard dove for cover, desperately fumbling with his weapon, while the third tried to circle around.
Meanwhile, Jinho closed on Armor Guy. The man didn't bother with his rifle—instead, he drew a combat knife that shimmered with divine energy, its blade exuding menace. The weapon alone would have been lethal, but combined with the armor's blessing, it made him a true juggernaut.
"Nice gear," Jinho said, feinting to the left.
Armor Guy gave no reply. He lunged, knife flashing toward Jinho's ribs with deadly intent. Jinho twisted, catching the man's wrist. He felt the armor's power resist him—a tidal force, equal and opposite to his own. For a heartbeat, the two blessings clashed, reality itself buzzing where they met. The air thickened, charged with power.
Armor Guy's eyes widened in surprise. "You're—"
"Triple-blessed. Yeah." Jinho forced the knife aside, twisting the man's arm and driving his knee into the armored gut. The blow vibrated through the divine plating, not as effective as he'd hoped, but enough to stagger the guard.
Without hesitating, Jinho pressed his palm to the man's chest and summoned the Jade Emperor's authority again. Gold characters blazed along his arm, the power behind them absolute. "YIELD."
The command hit Armor Guy like a hammer. His body went limp, divine resistance crumbling, and he dropped to the ground, unconscious but alive.
Jinho turned back to the chaos. Tanaka had already dispatched two of her three opponents—one lay sprawled in the dirt, still twitching from a lightning strike, while another was trapped in a cage of solid, radiant light. The last was making a run for the jungle, panic overriding any sense of duty.
"Should we—" Tanaka began, glancing at Jinho, her hands still crackling with barely contained power.
An explosion rocked the building, sending a jolt through the floorboards and scattering dust from the ceiling. For a split second, everything froze, but the answer was clear—something had gone sideways, or Narin was making her move.
"That's either Narin or something's gone really wrong," Jinho said, already pushing his legs into motion, sprinting for the entrance with a sense of urgency that left no room for hesitation.
They barreled through the battered door, which hung half-broken on its hinges. The room they entered might have been a shop years ago; now, only empty shelves and debris remained, the counters stripped of anything valuable. Dust hung thick in the air, swirling in the wake of their entrance, while the acrid tang of smoke drifted down from the upper floor, curling around their ankles in ghostly tendrils.
Jinho didn't pause. He vaulted the foot of the stairs, taking them three at a time, the old wood creaking dangerously under his weight. Tanaka followed close behind, his movements quick and precise, each footfall silent despite the chaos—ready for whatever waited above. The shouts and crashes from upstairs grew louder, punctuated by strange, echoing sounds that didn't belong in the world of ordinary people.
At the top, chaos reigned.
Narin stood with her back pressed tight to a corner, face drawn but determined, hands raised defensively. Opposite her stood a woman in her thirties, dark hair falling in disarray around her shoulders, robes covered in hand-drawn sigils that seemed to writhe and shift in the flickering light. The woman's hands glowed with a sickly purple-black aura, otherworldly power crackling at her fingertips—holy, perhaps, but unmistakably hostile.
Between them, on a battered table, sat the Phoenix Seal—whole again, both halves reunited. It pulsed with a deep, angry red glow, sending waves of heat through the room that made the air shimmer and dance. The energy radiating from it was palpable, making the hairs on Jinho's arms stand up. It was as if the artifact was breathing, each pulse a heartbeat that threatened to grow stronger.
"You're interrupting," the woman said in flawless Korean, her tone casual, almost playful, as if she found the whole thing amusing. "That's pretty rude, you know."
Jinho squared his shoulders, refusing to be intimidated. "Stealing artifacts isn't exactly polite either," he shot back, voice steady. "So I guess we're even."
She regarded him with a measuring gaze, something calculating flickering in her eyes. "The triple-blessed agent. KSID's little experiment." Her lips twisted in a half-smile. "I was wondering when you'd turn up."
He smirked, masking his nerves with bravado. "Surprised it took me this long?"
"Not at all." She gestured toward the glowing Seal, its light reflecting in her eyes. "It gave us time to charge the Seal up to eighty percent. In about two hours, Zhu Que begins to awaken. And there's nothing you can do to stop it."
Jinho felt the gods stirring within him, their voices overlapping in his mind. The Demon King's tone was low and wary: "She's confident."
The Phoenix's voice was sharper, urgent. "She's stalling. Look at her stance—she's hiding something."
Jinho's gaze narrowed. The woman kept herself squarely between them and the Seal, but her posture was tense, her eyes flicking to the side every so often. It was subtle, but unmistakable—she was shielding something else, something she didn't want them to see.
"There's someone else here," he said, voice quiet but certain.
The woman's smile widened, a glint of approval in her eyes. "Sharp."
As if on cue, a door at the back of the room creaked slowly open. Every eye turned as a man in his forties stepped through, his appearance deceptively ordinary—shirt open at the collar, expensive jacket thrown carelessly over his shoulder. He moved with the unhurried confidence of someone who believed he was in control, every step deliberate. His face was forgettable in its plainness, but his eyes were another story—cold, intelligent, taking in every detail with unnerving clarity.
He locked eyes with Jinho, and for an instant, the world seemed to contract around them. Recognition flashed between them, though Jinho couldn't quite place where he'd seen the man before. It didn't matter; the sense of danger was immediate, visceral.
"Agent Seo," the man said, his Korean crisp and unaccented, each syllable precise. "Glad you made it. We've been expecting you."
Jinho's heart clenched, and for a moment, all three gods in his head spoke in unison—a rare event, and never a good one. "That's bad," they echoed, their voices overlapping in anxious harmony.
Jinho hesitated, searching for a plan, but dread was already blooming in his gut. "Who are you?" he demanded, though he suspected he already knew—or at least, knew enough to be afraid.
The man's smile was small and sad, tinged with conviction. "I'm the one who's going to save humanity—whether humanity likes it or not."
He raised his hand, fingers splayed. In an instant, divine energy slammed through the room like a tidal wave, shattering the tense standoff. The air crackled with power, filling every corner with searing light and blistering heat. The sound that followed was ancient, primal—a roar that seemed to echo from the dawn of time itself.
Jinho had a single, fleeting impression of the Phoenix Seal's glow intensifying, the table beneath it beginning to smolder, the symbols on the woman's robes igniting in violet fire. Narin's eyes met his, wide with a mixture of fear and defiance.
Then the world dissolved into blinding radiance, suffocating heat, and the deafening sound of something old and powerful awakening at last.