The cool breeze I'd been enjoying for the past ten hours suddenly disappears and with that, I crack one eye open.
As I suspected, the truck I stowed away on is slowing, so I let go before the driver can notice the extra weight he never agreed to carry.
My boots hit pavement hard, the impact rattling straight up my bones. The world lurches, my stomach flips violently and for a second I'm convinced I'm about to throw up everything I've ever eaten.
Which isn't even much.
I curse under my breath, so this is what they call travel cramps...
Straightening slowly, I roll a sore shoulder and look up.
This was it. The city that never fell. The last line of defense. The place where Spirit Wardens were made.
Seoul didn't take it easy on anyone, not even newcomers. It crashed over you, a tidal wave of too much. The architecture, the sheer fucking visage of it all, was already overwhelming.
Where's the sky?!
Too many things happened at once. Blinding signage stacked against concrete. The low electric hum of barrier fields, somewhere. Voices overlapping in a dozen dialects. Too many people. Too much goddamn movement.
My head spins.
The air smelled like fuel, metal, street food, and rain on asphalt.
"It's just like I imagined it," I murmured, staring up at the lit-up buildings in quiet awe.
Back home, we didn't have any of this. Nights were mostly dark. We depended on stars and lamps, on whatever light we could make for ourselves.
I tightened my grip on the worn strap of my bag. Time to blend in. I moved quickly toward where I needed to be next. Bo-hyung said Haneul Strike had the best teams. Good pay, too. Said they might appreciate what I had to offer.
Then again, Bo-hyung has a reputation for inaccurate gist. But I decided to take his word on this one.
The Wardens assigned to our town were initiates from Haneul Strike. Even as rookies, I'd found them impressive. Late sometimes, sure but effective still. If their initiates were that good, then the core teams had to be something else entirely.
The best of the best.
I clutch my bag tighter as I walk, my pulse thudding beneath my ribs. I hope they see what I can do. I hope it's enough.
I didn't come here to be seen. At least, not yet. I came here because it matters. Because it has to.
•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•
I blend into the crowd and keep walking with my head down and shoulders squared so at least I don't look out of place. It's better if I don't attract the wrong kind of attention as I'm not exactly suspect free.
Before the anxiety can really sink its teeth in, I let my thoughts drift just for a second to the things I built back home. The late nights I spent hunched over scraps and scorched metal, all the sketches I redrew until the paper went soft at the edges, half-blown prototypes that exploded, sparked, failed… and then didn't.
Here, those things could actually matter.
This city runs on power, on who manifested, who didn't, who gets chosen and who gets left behind. But it doesn't have to. I know that. I've always known that but will they listen, is the question.
My stomach then growls loudly and I freeze mid-step, heat rushing to my face before I can help it, then I huff out a quiet laugh. Guess even big ambitions don't run on empty. Thankfully I planned ahead for this. I'd saved enough for food and a place to crash. Bare minimum, but enough.
Bo-hyung wasn't joking when he said Seoul was expensive, you either live light or you don't live long and I'm glad I took the free ride. Every won counts.
I follow the smell before I even see it and I'm lead to a row of street stalls, low carts with steaming pots and plastic covers, tucked just off the main road. I order tteokbokki by pointing more than speaking. My accent would give me away anyway. The vendor barely looks at me, just nods, moves fast, scoops and then hands it over once I pay.
The first bite is literally heaven, just the amount of spicy and warm. I let out a small, embarrassingly pleased groan before I can stop myself and immediately go in for another bite.
Worth it. Every single won.
I'm halfway through my second mouthful when the screaming starts. Not just one voice but several, sharp, panicked screams cutting straight through the noise of the street. Then more shouts overlapping and spreading outward like a ripple through water.
All around me, the street vendors moved with a practiced, horrifying efficiency. Lids are slammed shut, flames killed, carts, laden with steaming delights, were wheeled back into shadowed alleys in record time. Not a single surprised face or a flicker of hesitation. They've seen this before. The sheer, chilling routine of it almost made me forget for a split second, that something had gone catastrophically, violently wrong just down the block.
To that, I turned slowly to see the street ahead is absolute chaos. Debris rained down. People scrambled around, a tide of humanity trying to escape, their movements jerky and desperate. A wrought. My mind supplied the word, an instinctive categorization from the lore I'd devoured. But no. Not just a wrought. This... this was a Tank. A shudder ran through me as the true, terrible name surfaced.
A Titanwrought.
I recognize it instantly from the books I read back home. Massive and hulking, its body looks stitched together from mismatched shadows, seams jagged and uneven like a bad repair job. The thick threads glow a dark purple along its limbs, pulsing faintly, the same color burning in its eyes.
With a casual, almost bored flick of a hand-like appendage, it swatted a bicycle aside. The impact was a symphony of screeching metal, a violent, tearing sound that echoed through the sudden, eerie quiet. A nearby building groaned, then shuddered, showering the street with concrete dust and shattered glass.
My fingers tighten around my food container.
A sudden, brutal grip on my shoulder ripped me from the hypnotic hum of the Tank. My trance shattered.
"Hey civilian," a man said sharply.
I turn to face him, he's in uniform but not a Warden. He's regular security, maybe city enforcement. His expression is tight and controlled, but the fear in his eyes gives him away.
"Follow me," he said. "Wardens are on the way."
I glanced back at the Tank for a moment longer, then brushed his hand off and broke into a run.
"HEY—!" he shouts after me but
I don't stop.
The ground shakes as something whistles past my head. I threw myself sideways, just as a sedan, torn from its moorings, slammed into the asphalt precisely where my feet had been moments before. Close. Too close.
I strapped my bag tighter and sprinted, heart hammering and eyes already dissecting the chaotic urban landscape. There was a street lamp ahead grotesquely bent into a question mark. Perfect.
I hear heavy breathing behind me.
"What the hell are you doing?!" the officer pants, he had caught up to me somehow.
I risked a quick, incredulous glance over my shoulder. He actually came after me? I'd fully expected him to cut his losses, to bolt for safer, less suicidal pastures. "You followed me?" I demanded, the sheer audacity of it baffling.
"You're insane!"
"I'm insane?!" I snapped, a laughless bark escaping me. "You're the one chasing certain death! You should've left when you had the chance, copper."
He opened his mouth, a fresh volley of protests clearly forming, but his gaze snagged on my bag. "Are you manifested, civilian? A Warden? I don't see an armband."
"That's because I'm not a Warden, you dumbass."
"Wha—"
"And my name is Ren," I cut in. "Use it."
A guttural roar ripped through the air, closer this time, shaking the very fillings in my teeth. Without a second thought, I shoved the officer back, hard. He stumbled, a yelp tearing from his throat as he went down. I didn't wait or look back, I just bolted forward.
In one fluid motion, I vaulted onto a parked car, using its hood as a springboard. My leap for the bent streetlamp was desperate but perfectly timed. The Tank, in it's mindless rage, slammed into the lamp post where I'd been, metal screaming its death throes as the whole structure buckled and collapsed in a shower of sparks and concrete dust.
I land on the ground and roll forward, running around fast in sharp turns and tight circles. The wroughts I tended back home were smaller, nimbler, a real bitch to outmaneuver. This Tank was a lumbering brute by comparison, but that didn't make this deadly game any less terrifying.
Am I cooked?
"What are you doing?" the officer yells as I skidded back toward him.
"You really should've left when you had the chance," I said calmly.
He spun, eyes wide with dawning horror. The Tank charged furiously towards us and the officer screamed throwing his arms up in a futile gesture of defense, bracing for the inevitable, bone shattering impact.
But after waiting for a short while and there was no impact or pain, he cracked one eye open.
The Tank is frozen mid-lunge, wrapped tight in glowing wire strands biting deep into its limbs.
I was beside him then with my teeth gritted, a coil of wire clenched between them as I worked with frantic precision. A charge box, hastily slapped to the ground, hummed and with one decisive flick of a switch, electricity exploded outward violently, a crackling supernova of blue-white light.
The Tank howled and the officer just stared in astonishment as the electric surges are actually causing damage. "That—that's not possible..."
I scoff.
In his defense, he's right. It shouldn't be. Wroughts can't be injured by normal weapons like guns or blades. Only one thing could hurt them and unravel their cursed existence. The very thing that made them in the first place.
Spirit energy.
The wires flared brighter as that energy surged through them, searing deep. The Tank convulsed, letsout one last scream, then collapsed face-first into the street.
After a silent count to five, I cut the power cut. The Tank's colossal form shuddered, a final, violent twitch and then went completely still, leaving us in a heavy satisfying quiet. No, I wasn't manifested. I didn't have a glowing armband or innate power. Every scrap of tech I wielded, I'd forged myself. The spirit energy that practically lived in my gear was a stolen gift, ripped from the very Wroughts I'd dismantled.
The officer remained a trembling statue, rooted to the spot. I didn't spare him a glance, my boots crunching over debris as I approached the monster's fallen head. From a cargo pocket, I drew a knife. A knife I had imbued with spirit energy. The blade faintly shimmered with it.
Deep within the Tank's ruined chassis, was a prize. A dark blue orb, the creature's spirit core, pulsed with a weak, exhausted light. So exposed and vulnerable. A slow, predatory grin stretched across my face, cracking the dried blood on my lips. Months. That core was a jackpot.
Spirit cores, the unkillable heart of every Wrought, could only be destroyed by their own kind of energy. But this one? This wasn't for destruction. This was power. Months of it. No more scrounging, no more waiting for a recharge. More weapons. My hand tightened around the knife, ready to claim my bounty.
Spirit cores can't be destroyed except by spirit energy itself and this one could power so many things. I wouldn't need to wait for a long recharge anymore, plus I can make more weapons. I raise the knife.
The Tank's eyes snap open, I noticed it immediately but it was too late.
A massive claw, impossibly fast, snatched me. My world became a kaleidoscope of pain and stars as I was slammed into the building behind us. A wet cough and blood misted the concrete.
"REN!" the officer screamed.
Through a haze of pain, my vision blurred, but the core's dark blue pulse was still there, glowing. Fuck. This would've made things a lot easier for me but if I don't destroy it now, I'll die.
The irony tasted like ash and copper. I smirk, lifting my gun. "What a waste."
I fire the gun without a moment's hesitation and the shot punches straight through the core.
The Tank evaporates completely and just like that, it's gone.
Before I could collect my thoughts, I hear the sound of boots skidding on broken glass and cracked asphalt and turned to see the officer rushing towards me.
"Y–You did it," he panted, eyes wide, staring at the empty space where the monster used to be. "I can't believe you...you actually...how did you—what are you?"
I wiped blood from the corner of my mouth, a wince betraying the scream of my ribs as I forced myself upright. "I'm hungry," I stated flatly, the pain making me more irritable. "And you, Officer, should probably move."
He blinked, utterly lost. "What?" The answer came with a gut-wrenching shudder. The building behind us groaned. Cracks spiderwebbed across the concrete, then exploded inward as something massive tore through, showering us in dust and rebar. The impact sent a shockwave ripping down the street, a symphony of shattering glass and wailing car alarms.
In came another Wrought. Smaller than the Tank, yes, but faster. Its lean, predatory physique screamed higher rank, a more dangerous breed. Fuck. We are so utterly cooked.
Its limbs, a nightmare of unnatural angles, bent and twisted as it clawed free, dragging itself from the wreckage with a sickening, wet scrape.
A genuine shudder, cold and unwelcome, ran through me and so does the officer by my side. Without thinking, I shove him as hard as I can. He stumbles back, hits the ground hard and yells my name as the creature lunges.
"REN!"
The next second is pain.
A blur of motion, then something slammed into me and the world folded inward. My back hit the wall again, breath ripping out of my lungs. I hear something crack. Maybe concrete or a bone, I'm not even sure anymore everything just fucking hurts.
I slid down like a broken doll, hitting the ground hard. Blood, thick and coppery, splattered onto the pavement. So this is it.
The Wrought advanced slow and deliberate, like a predator savoring its kill. My gun, a useless weight, lay inches from my outstretched hand. If I could just move… But I couldn't.
My arms felt like lead, my legs felt like they don't belong to me anymore and for a fleeting, agonizing second, my mind drifted to my siblings.
The bunker...how are long are they even gonna last there? How long will rations last when the influx gets worse?
They'll probably get kicked out and then they'll be left out to be devoured by the wroughts.
At least we'd all be together again. Mom, Dad everyone.
I closed my eyes to accept my fate but then the air changed and pressure rolled over the street so heavily it silenced everything for a second.
Then the wrought screeched and reared back just as something slammed into it from the side, sending it skidding across the ground like a skipped stone.
Blue light flared.
A woman lands between me and the monster, boots cracking the asphalt. Her armband glows bright, pulsing in time with the energy flowing through her body.
"Why didn't you evacuate?" she snaps, already turning to face the threat.
"I—" My throat burns.
She glances at me once, then reaches into her belt and pulls out a small, glowing blue bean.
Before I can protest, she harshly clamps a hand over my jaw.
"Hey—!" I choked as she shoved the bean into my open mouth and forced me to swallow. It burned going down my throat, like liquid fire tearing through my insides.
I gasped and curled inward as the pain faded just as fast as it came, warmth spreading through my chest, knitting something back together.
"Stay down, dammit," she ordered. "Let it work."
I didn't argue. Mostly because I couldn't move even if I wanted to. So I stayed put and shut my bitch ass up. At least for now.
From the ground, I watch as three more Wardens arrive in a blur of motion. One's hands glow molten red as he drives a punch straight into the wrought's torso, the impact launching it into the air. Another is already there, leaping high, extending a staff mid-air until it spears clean through the creature's head down to it's feet.
The staff slams into the ground, pinning the monster like meat on a stake.
The Warden lands effortlessly on the tip, balanced and composed. A flick of his wrist and mechanical blades erupt from the staff, slicing outward. Purple liquid sprays from the monster's body as the core is pierced.
The wrought evaporates.
The staff retracts and the Warden descends, boots touching ground without a sound.
I stare in awe.
These are Wardens.
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It's not like I've never seen Wardens up close before but I had to admit, this was a different experience from back home. It was really hard to believe that despite their aura and mind boggling abilities, Wardens were just… people. Humans.
I sat there staring at them begin to make their exit stupidly, lost in a daze and amazement. By the time my mouth remembers how to move, they're already disappearing into the fog.
"Wait—", I croak, reaching my hand out for them but they're already gone.
Wardens sure don't waste time on questions or acknowledgements. They have other missions, ones that need attention immediately.
Damn it...
Missed another opportunity.
Not long after the Wardens leave, the recovery staff move in and start their work efficiently. Their job is basically to clean up after the Wardens. We didn't have recovery staff at my town, we did the cleaning and rehabilitation by ourselves. But since things got more hectic during this influx, everyone had to get moved to that bunker.
I curse at having to remember that again as my heart pounds with worry. My siblings don't have much time left, I have to get moving.
Around me, the recovery staff are still working, and no one has noticed me yet. Hands lift debris, stretchers slide into place, someone calls out vitals and another marks a body with a tag I don't want to look at too closely.
A shadow cuts across my vision before I could even move.
"Hey, hey—easy there," a man says, stepping directly in front of me.
He blocked my line of sight completely.
"Are you okay?"
I open my mouth but he doesn't let me answer.
"Oh wow," he breathes, crouching to inspect me like I'm a finished project. "This healing work—this is Seoyeon-ssi's, isn't it?" He asked, not really expecting an answer, he sounded so reverent.
"I knew it," he continues, fingers hovering just above my arm. "You can always tell. The precision, the residue curve—ah, she's unbelievable. Truly. I mean, she could've been stationed anywhere, but she still takes the time to—" He laughs softly to himself. "I swear, if I ever get transferred to her unit—"
I tune him out.
He's rambling but he's right, the heat inside me has changed. The burn from earlier has softened and soothed my insides. My fingers twitch when I tell them to. My legs don't feel like dead weight anymore and I could stand. Not well—but I could.
That's dangerously impressive.
I shifted my gaze and my stomach drops. Someone has my bag.
A woman in a grey vest lifts it from the ground, turning it over once, then again. She silently observed it without rummaging through it with a pensive look.
Oh no.
Another staff member approached from my right and he's holding my charge box.
Slowly, our eyes meet.
His expression sharpened instantly.
"Who are you?" he asked with a tone that shifted between curiosity and suspicion.
My throat tightened and I started thinking. The man glazing Seoyeon-ssi has stopped yapping and is also looking at me with confusion now.
"Ah—sorry," I mumbled weakly, forcing my voice to crack. "I—don't know. I think I hit my head."
The staff member with the charge box doesn't blink.
"Name."
I sway slightly....on purpose.
The obsessed medic reacts immediately, catching my shoulder. "Woah—see? Disoriented. Classic post-manifest shock. I've seen this before."
He turned, waving the other man off. "Give him a second. Seoyeon-ssi's bean works fast, but the nervous system lags."
The staff with my charge box hesitates just for a second and I take advantage of it.
I let my knees buckle. The medic swears and grips me tighter, lowering me back down. In the motion, my hand brushes the inside of my jacket—where my gun is still holstered.
The woman with my bag steps closer now. "This belongs to him?"
"Yes—well—probably," the medic says vaguely. "He was right where the Warden found him."
"Then it needs to be logged."
She reaches for the zipper.
"Wait," I croak.
All three of them look at me. I swallow a thick lump.
"That bag," I say slowly, forcing fear into my voice. "It—it's contaminated. I was told not to let anyone touch it."
Silence.
"…Contaminated how?" the woman asks.
I don't answer immediately, I need to time my responses right.
"Residual backlash," I whisper. "From a failed manifestation."
That does it.
She recoils instinctively, setting the bag down like it might bite her.
The medic stiffens. "You should've said that earlier."
"I tried," I murmur weakly.
The charge box guy exhales sharply. "We need clearance before handling this."
"Agreed," the woman says. "I'll call it in."
She turned away and at that moment, I forced my body to move. I rolled to my side as if adjusting, fingers closing around the charge box the moment the man loosens his grip. He looks down, confused, just as I drive my elbow into his ribs and shove.
He stumbles back with a shout. I'm on my feet before my body can argue. A jolt of pain runs through my spine but I do my best to ignore it. It's not that hard to, thanks to the bean, I'm able to move a little.
I grab my bag next, my gun and sprint off.
Someone yells behind me.
By the time they decide whether to chase, I'm already gone, slipping into the fractured alleyways the Wardens cleared and forgot.