The corridor was a graveyard. What was left of it, anyway—more ruin than structure now.
Steel walls folded inward, warped under pressure. Concrete ceilings were cracked open, leaking cold water that splattered against the debris below. Flames burst from broken vents in short, erratic pulses, casting strobe-light shadows across the wreckage. Loose wires dangled like vines from the ceiling, swaying with the air.

And the bodies…
Soldiers. Scientists. Crushed beneath collapsed steel or scorched where the fires ran longest. Their visors still glowed faint red through the dust—like some part of them hadn’t realized they were dead yet.

Minjae floated forward. The air parted around him without resistance. Hair lifted from his face, pushed by the soft, rhythmic pulse of pressure coming off his skin. He wasn’t breathing hard. He wasn’t scanning the ruins.
From the moment he opened his eyes… something changed. He wasn’t afraid. Not anymore.

Everything felt slower now. Sharper.
The chaos that once crushed him? He could see right through it.
For the first time in his life, nothing felt heavy. Not the air. Not the moment. Just stillness—and the awareness that he was no longer reacting to the world—he was directing it.

The space ahead tightened. Red lights blinked behind him, steady and dim. His shadow trailed across the fractured steel.

Up ahead, a massive vault door loomed in the dark. A low hiss escaped from within—sharp, deliberate. Six metal locks disengaged, one by one. Each release echoed across the ruined corridor.

A broken speaker crackled in the debris. The voice that came through was garbled, nearly unreadable. But Minjae didn’t need to understand the words. He felt the intent behind them:

Code Red. Protocol V has been released.

Steam rushed out, covering the corridor in red-tinted fog. Then came the sound—heavy footsteps. Each one struck the floor with deliberate, solid weight.

Three shapes emerged through the haze.

The first was massive—a giant armored from head to toe. Its arms were plated in reinforced shell, too heavy for any normal human. At its center, a glowing blue core pulsed slowly beneath the chest.
The second was leaner. Smoother. It moved without sound. Twin blades extended from its forearms, and a thin horizontal visor scanned the world like a line of cold light.
The third was bulked in the back. Mounted equipment weighed down its shoulders, and small drones hovered in tight formation behind it. It moved slowly, deliberately.

They weren’t soldiers. They weren’t people. And they weren’t like anything Minjae had faced before.

Geumgang (가금)
The one in front. He blocked the light with his body alone. Tungsten-black limbs layered in armored plates. A walking fortress. A blue core pulsed in his chest—steady, unnatural. One arm was a shield. The other, a cannon fused into his frame. His helmet was smooth. Faceless. Only the runes etched across its surface moved, flickering as he walked.

Hwagwang (화광)
Not the tallest, but built for range. A generator hummed steadily on his back. Coolant hissed from his sides as his limbs adjusted. Drones hovered in sync, reacting to each micro-movement. With a single gesture, they swept forward, scanning the ruins.

Mujang (무장)
The smallest—and already gone. He disappeared the moment the door opened.
A killer made for perfect elimination. His body bent light itself. His arms weren’t arms at all—but twin energy blades built for silent, close-quarters death.

Minjae stood alone—hovering just above the broken floor. His hair drifted with the pressure. Aura flickered like starlight—dim, but sharp. His bare feet floated an inch above the ground. His eyes glowed softly. Focused. Calm.

"Three against one," he said. "Did you think I wouldn’t notice the one trying to hide? Didn’t think you’d be scared enough to send three grown men for one boy."

He smiled. Not wide. Just enough to show he meant it.

Then Hwagwang fired.

Two bolts of blue-white plasma tore through the air. The floor behind Minjae cracked from the pressure—before the blast even got close.

Minjae raised a hand—lazy, almost bored. The pulses stopped mid-air. They hovered, trembling.
Then shattered.
Not exploded—disintegrated.
Light and static faded where they had been.
The air shook as the vacuum filled.

But that was the bait.

Behind him—a shift in the air. A flicker.
Minjae turned—too slow.
A silver arc sliced through his side. Clean. Deep. Instant.

Mujang appeared for half a second—no face, only a mask and humming blades—then blinked out. Gone.

Minjae staggered in mid-air. Blood floated upward, caught in the weightless haze of his aura.
Fast. Faster than the others.

He didn’t have time to think.

Geumgang charged. Like a mountain in motion—shield arm raised, core glowing bright. Each step cracked the ground beneath him. His kinetic barrier activated mid-sprint, forming a shimmering dome around his body.

Minjae flicked his wrist—a force vector slammed forward. It hit, full power.
But Geumgang didn’t stop. Not even close.

The pressure rebounded—violent, crushing. Minjae felt it immediately. Blood slipped from his ears.

So this is what it means... when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object.

He pushed harder. The floor buckled beneath Geumgang. But he was still coming. All that energy—and he was barely slowing him down.

Minjae was slammed into the far wall hard enough to crater it. The hallway held—barely. Cracks raced up the steel behind him. Debris dropped in sheets.

His aura flickered, pulsing out in chaotic bursts as his back hit.
Tch—

Geumgang raised his arm again.

Minjae’s eyes lit. Brighter. Sharper.
A telekinetic shockwave blasted outward—silent, instant. Geumgang staggered back, his boots tearing grooves into the floor.

But it wasn’t over.

Hwagwang’s drones had moved into place during the clash. Four of them. Circling. Watching.
Their lights blinked in rhythm as they closed around him. They locked onto his aura—one by one. The fields overlapped.

It wasn’t just containment.
All four drones attacked at once—each in its own way.

The first fired a focused laser, cutting toward his center mass. The second launched plasma—hot, unstable, fast. The third emitted a burst of soundwaves, sharp enough to shake the air around him. The last surged with electricity, crackling as it arced through the red-lit fog.

Minjae focused everything—trying to mimic the barrier Hwagwang had deployed.

It held, barely.
For a moment, the attacks bounced off: laser, plasma, shock, sound. But they didn’t stop. The drones kept pressing.

Then—he felt it. A crackle. Static, deep inside his skull. His focus slipped.

What had felt limitless...
Wasn’t.

His aura dimmed. Not from damage—from strain.

Then Mujang struck again. A cross slash—hip to shoulder.

Minjae was ready this time. He caught it with a vector. Not clean. Sparks burst out. Blood followed.

He spun mid-air, thrown downward by the hit. Skidded across the floor—a stream of sparks trailing behind his shield as it scraped metal.

For a moment—just a moment—he was on one knee. Breathing. Shaking.

They weren’t attacking at random. They were syncing—covering each other’s gaps.

Minjae gritted his teeth. They were trained for this.

The drones pinged—maybe from overheating. Minjae thought, for a second, he might catch a break.

But then Hwagwang fired again. From a small launcher mounted on his right shoulder—suppressor rounds, distorting the air as they tore through it.

Minjae’s body shimmered. Psychic vectors lashed out like spinning blades. He caught a few dozen rounds. Deflected another dozen.

But one got through. Just one. Enough to injure a teenage body.

It hit.
An energy round slammed into his right side—bursting on impact with a wave of concussive force.

Pain tore through his ribs. His aura cracked again, lines of light shaking loose.
He dropped to one elbow, breath sharp, chest heaving.

From the far end of the hall, Hwagwang’s voice came through the drone link—distorted, mechanical, but clear:
"Subject 208 weakening. Confirmed suppression. Execute final phase."

His breath rasped through his teeth. Metal and dust choked the air.

Four drones circled him like vultures. His aura flickered—dim, strangled by the suppression fields closing in.

Every pulse scrambled his senses like static bleeding into thought.

And still... they advanced.

Geumgang’s core shifted—blue turned to red. Steam hissed from the vents on his back. His stance widened. The shield arm pulled back.

A seismic punch was coming.

Of course it’s the big guy... Minjae thought.
The hammer. The wall. The wrecking crew.

He raised his hand—

But the drones spiked. Their field tightened. His aura locked up. Refused to move.

That’s when he felt it. Every vibration. Every shift in the air.
A presence above him. No footsteps. No sound.
Mujang.

Minjae twisted—too late.
The blade dropped. It carved across his collarbone. Close. Too close. Barely missed the throat.

He screamed.
His blood sprayed upward—but Minjae froze it mid-air with a flick of thought. Mujang vanished again. Not even a blur—just a memory of a silhouette.

Strike. Vanish. Repeat. That’s Mujang’s game.

Minjae crashed to the ground, aura sparking. Pain surged through him.

He reached inward—focused on the wound. Forced the bleeding to stop.

It worked. Somehow. He had never done that before. Never even tried.

But right now... He didn’t have a choice.

He was still flickering.
Still holding—barely.

And yet, something inside him stirred.

Minjae remembered the pain—what they did to him. What they did to the others. To Moon.

His fist clenched. Then opened.
No.
Not yet.

The air around him convulsed. Minjae pulled every speck of dirt and debris from the floor—whirled it into the air like a smoke bomb.

Visibility vanished.

The drones attacked. But this time, he didn’t raise a shield. He dropped to the ground. Feet planted. Aura lashing downward.

He used vectors—not to block, but to move.

Faster.

One drone fired a laser. Minjae dodged—barely—then deflected the beam with a precision redirect.

It ricocheted—straight into the soundwave drone. Destroyed it on impact.

But that wasn’t all.
The laser carried forward. Clean shot. Straight through both of Mujang’s legs.

That should slow him down, Minjae thought.

The other drones scattered. Their lights flickered red. Searching. Recalibrating.

Minjae exhaled. He’d been using his powers wrong. Brute force. Raw pressure. Trying to crush his way through.

But there were limits. Even now, he could feel them.

If he wanted to survive—he had to be precise.
Efficient.

Every movement had to count.
There wasn’t much energy left. And no second chances.

Geumgang stomped the ground—the shockwave cleared the haze in an instant. Debris scattered. Smoke vanished.

His eyes locked onto Minjae, standing in the far corner.

With a furious roar, he charged. Red lights surged across his armor. Steam vented from every joint.

Overdrive.

Not a sprint—a freight train.

Nothing could stop him now. Not even Minjae.

He slammed into him full force. The concrete wall cracked on impact—Minjae’s body smashed into it like a splattered insect.

Or so he thought.

When the dust settled—it wasn’t Minjae pinned to the wall.
It was Hwagwang.

His body slumped, crushed into the concrete—steam still leaking from his frame.

Geumgang froze.

Minjae stood across the room, untouched.

The moment he’d reflected the laser, he’d realized something—he could reflect light.
Not just as a weapon.
As an illusion.

He’d bent the light around himself. Projected it onto Hwagwang.
To Geumgang, it looked like Minjae was still standing in the corner. To a brute, it was like seeing water in the desert.

Just a mirage.