Start of Act III - The Covenant

  Chapter 27: The Girl who hates demons

  The backyard of Flux HQ was an island of tranquility in a world slowly being swallowed by shadows.

  A gentle breeze rolled over the manicured garden, carrying the scent of jasmine and fresh sugar. The sun was at its peak, washing the white stone and vibrant greenery in a warm, golden haze that made the previous war feel like a distant, bad dream.

  In the center of it all, Haruka and Rahee stood as a vision of hope. They were still clad in their wedding finery—soft lace and sharp silk catching the light. Rahee leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Haruka’s cheek before the latter turned to the tiered cake, the silver blade sliding through the frosting with practiced grace.

  Nearby, the sound of youthful laughter bubbled up. Eunchae was doubled over, pointing at Rin, who was trying to maintain her dignity despite a smudge of white icing perched perfectly on the tip of her nose. Rin’s single arm gestured wildly as she laughed along, her spirit unbroken by the trials of recent war.

  At the long gift table, Ren moved with his usual quiet precision, smoothing out ribbons and stacking boxes. He didn't look up when Seonho walked by, but he gave a sharp, respectful nod. Seonho’s eyes were heavy, the grief for Sungmin still a visible weight behind his gaze, but he returned the nod—a silent acknowledgment between two vessels who had seen too much.

  Across the lawn, Jiwon sat in the shade, cradling a cup of tea. She watched the steam rise, her expression unreadable, a solitary figure amidst the celebration.

  San stood on the periphery, his arms crossed, watching the trainees eat and cheer. He looked like a man trying to memorize a sunset before the night fell.

  "There he is," a voice chirped.

  San turned to see Rahee approaching, her dress trailing over the grass. She beamed at him. "The best man! Why are you hiding over here?"

  San let out a long, weary sigh, though a genuine smile managed to reach his eyes. "Congratulations again, Rahee. It’s a beautiful ceremony."

  Rahee’s expression softened. She reached out, placing a steady hand on his shoulder. "I’m sure Kanghyuk is at peace, San. Wherever he is..."

  San looked down, his throat tightening. "I... he was the soul of this team. The true protector."

  "No," Rahee countered gently, her smile turning firm. "I disagree. That’s always been you."

  San opened his mouth to protest, the guilt of the past flickering in his mind, but Rahee cut him off.

  "But," she added with a playful glint in her eyes, "Kanghyuk did always make sure to protect you."

  Haruka joined them then, draping an arm around Rahee’s waist. She looked around the bustling yard, her brow furrowing. "Where is Leeseo? Did she not get the invite?"

  "Yeah," Rahee tilted her head. "Where is our Silver Mask?"

  San’s gaze drifted toward the horizon. "Please, don't be offended. She’s... she’s busy nowadays."

  "Is there a lead?" Haruka asked, her voice dropping into a serious, soldier’s tone. "On Xin? Or... Wonjung?"

  Rahee looked at San intently. "After what Wonjung did... after the attack on the Citadel... would Flux even have her back?"

  San looked away, his jaw tightening. "I don't know."

  "When are we needed again, San?" Haruka asked, her hand instinctively tightening on rahee's.

  San turned back to them, his expression suddenly grave. "I need you away from Mainland. Both of you. Take young Kanghyuk and go back to Seoul. Find a house. Focus on the boy. Live a normal life for as long as the world allows it."

  The couple froze. Rahee stepped closer, her eyes searching his. "Are you sure, San?"

  San nodded slowly, his resolve absolute. He was a man clearing the deck so his family wouldn't be caught in the blast.

  Haruka let out a heavy breath, pulling Rahee into a side-hug. "Alright, best man. We’ll go. But you call us the second you need us."

  San watched them walk back toward the cake, the golden light of the afternoon feeling more like a goodbye than a beginning.

  Years Ago.

  The sunlight in the bedroom was golden and deceptive, filtering through lace curtains that danced in a light breeze. A young girl, radiating a beauty that felt far too fragile for the world outside, sat cross-legged on the rug. She moved her dolls with delicate, practiced grace.

  "There, Seoyeon," the girl whispered, adjusting a miniature dress. "You are the prettiest in this party. Everyone... wants to be you."

  She paused, her hand hovering over her toy box before she pulled out a plastic dinosaur, its scales a garish green against the tea-party set. She thumped it onto the table with a decisive click.

  "Ahhh! Why is there a dinosaur in here?" she asked, providing the high-pitched voice for the dolls.

  "Don’t you think everyone is allowed to party?" she replied in her own voice, tilting her head.

  "Yeah. But he’s a dinosaur."

  The girl stared at the prehistoric toy, her small fingers lingering on its jagged spine. To her, the dinosaur wasn’t an intruder; it was just lonely.

  The peace shattered. Heavy, frantic footsteps thundered in the hallway—the kind of sound that didn't belong in a home.

  The girl’s eyes widened, her heartbeat drumming against her ribs. She didn't cry. Instead, she reached deep under the toy box and pulled out a small bread knife. She pulled it close to her chest, her knuckles white as she squeezed the handle.

  "Dear Lord," she breathed, her eyes fixed on the door. "Please protect me from—"

  The door burst open.

  "Wonjung!"

  Her mother, Damin, scrambled into the room. She looked wild-eyed, her clothes disheveled. She lunged forward, pulling the girl into a crushing embrace. "Oh... you're okay. You're okay," she sobbed, her tears wetting Wonjung’s hair.

  "Mommy? What happened?" Wonjung asked, her voice small, the knife still clutched between them.

  Damin pulled back, forced a trembling smile onto her face, and kissed Wonjung’s forehead. "We, uh... we need to go, baby."

  "Where?" Wonjung sobbed, her grip on the weapon never wavering.

  "Somewhere safe." Damin began throwing clothes into a bag, her movements jerky and panicked.

  "Where’s Daddy?"

  Damin froze for a fraction of a second. She turned back to her daughter, that same heartbreaking smile fixed in place. "Uhm... Daddy is gone."

  The word gone hung in the air, heavy and final. Wonjung’s face went pale, her world tilting on its axis as she watched her mother’s frantic pace.

  "Take one toy only," Damin commanded, not looking back. "And don't lose your weapon."

  Wonjung looked at the table. She looked at Seoyeon and the other beautiful dolls, the ones everyone wanted to be. Then, she looked at the monster.

  She reached out and gripped the dinosaur, shoving it into her pocket alongside the bread knife.

  Wonjung’s small hand was swallowed by her mother’s grip, her backpack bouncing against her shoulders as they were dragged into the harsh light of the Outlands. This wasn't the manicured world of dolls and tea parties. They lived on the jagged tip of the wasteland, where the horizon was dominated by the towering, indifferent gates of Ven City.

  "Keep up, Wonjung! Don't look back!" Damin urged, her voice thin with terror.

  But Wonjung did look back. She heard it first—a sound that used to be a laugh, now twisted into a wet, guttural growl. A figure was emerging from the dust behind them, crawling on all fours. Its skin was the color of wet ash, and jagged bone spikes ripped through the muscle of its arms.

  "Mom! Mom! It’s Dad!" Wonjung shrieked, her voice cracking.

  Damin glanced over her shoulder, her face contorting in agony as she saw the thing that used to be her husband gaining ground. "Keep running, baby!"

  The demon surged forward, a blur of grey and bone. Wonjung’s foot caught on a jagged rock, and she hit the dirt hard. "Mom!"

  Damin didn't hesitate. She hauled Wonjung back and stepped between her daughter and the beast.

  "Run, Wonjung! Go! Run to the city!" Damin screamed, her eyes never leaving the monster. "Find a soldier! They’ll take you... they'll take you without us! Please!"

  The demon pounced. With a sob of pure desperation, Damin drew a concealed sword and drove it deep into the creature's chest. She gasped, her hands shaking as she felt the heart stop—the heart of the man she had loved.

  Wonjung watched from the dirt, her eyes wide, a silent scream trapped in her throat. She was watching her mother kill her father, and the world was shattering into a million pieces. "Mommy..."

  "Wonjung..." Damin sobbed, the sword slick with black ichor. "Please go."

  She pulled the blade free and threw it toward her daughter. It clattered against the stones. But the demon wasn't finished. With its dying breath, it lunged, its teeth sinking deep into Damin’s forearm, injecting a dark, pulsing substance into her veins.

  "No!" Damin collapsed.

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  "Mom?" Wonjung crawled toward her, but stopped.

  Damin’s brown eyes were melting, replaced by a cold, predatory blue. Her fingers elongated into claws, and her teeth sharpened into fangs as she began to crawl toward Wonjung, the infection taking hold with a violent speed.

  "Mom!"

  The creature that was once her mother pounced. Instinct took over—the survival of the dinosaur. Wonjung threw her useless bread knife aside and scrambled for the heavy sword. She lifted it just as the weight hit her. The blade skewered Damin’s chest.

  "AAAA!!!" Wonjung’s scream tore through the wasteland air.

  Damin’s hands—still partially human in their grip—clutched the hilt. With one final, lucid spark of motherhood, she guided the blade deeper into her own heart, ensuring she could never hurt her child.

  Wonjung stood over them, her face and clothes splattered with blood. "Mommy..." she whispered. But there was no one left to answer. The two figures, once the pillars of her world, crumbled into grey ash and drifted away on the Outlands wind.

  Wonjung ran. She ran until her lungs burned like fire and her legs felt like lead. She ran until a pair of heavy boots stopped her. She lifted her head, her vision blurred by tears and exhaustion.

  A soldier stood over her, the light reflecting off a silver badge. A Flux badge.

  "Kid?" the soldier asked, reaching out a hand. "You okay?"

  Years Later.

  The sun was a warm, golden weight over Mainland City. The park was a sanctuary of green grass and the rhythmic, cooling spray of a fountain. Children laughed, and families picnicked in the shade of trees that had never known the ash of the Outlands.

  Wonjung, now seventeen and striking in her poise, stood as a sentinel at the edge of the path. She was beautiful, her hair catching the light, a sharp contrast to the Aion energy baton clipped firmly to her waist. She looked like the ideal of a Flux protector. Passersby—boys her own age—couldn't help but turn their heads, caught in the orbit of her effortless radiance. She didn't notice them; her eyes were fixed on the horizon of her own future.

  Her phone buzzed. A text from her commander. A smile broke across her face, genuine and bright, and she took off at a run, her boots clicking rhythmically against the pavement.

  Back at the barracks, the atmosphere was quieter. Mansu stood in the center of her small room, looking over her sparse decorations with a curious hum.

  "You, uh... you’re a big fan of R&B?" he asked, gesturing to the music posters on her wall.

  Wonjung entered, breathless but standing at attention. "They calm me down, sir," she admitted with a small nod.

  Mansu chuckled, the sound warm and fatherly. His eyes flared a gentle, oceanic blue as he used his telekinesis to levitate a small, polished box across the room. It drifted into her waiting hands.

  "What’s this?" she asked, her voice trembling with a suspicion she was afraid to name.

  "Open it so you find out," Mansu replied, a smirk playing on his lips.

  Wonjung flipped the lid. Resting on a velvet cushion was a Flux ID card and a shimmering silver badge. The weight of it felt like a mountain. She looked up at him, her eyes instantly filling with tears. "I got in?"

  "You don't want to?" Mansu teased softly.

  Wonjung didn't answer with words. She collapsed to her knees, clutching the badge to her chest as if it were the only thing keeping her anchored to the earth. She sobbed—not with grief this time, but with the overwhelming relief of a girl who had finally found a home.

  "Aww," Mansu murmured, stepping forward to rub her back with a comforting hand. "You’re going to be a great soldier, Wonjung."

  "I... I will do my best," she choked out through her tears.

  "You will." Mansu’s gaze drifted to her display case, landing on a weathered, plastic dinosaur sitting among her few possessions. "You a fan of history?"

  Wonjung wiped her eyes, her voice still thick. "No."

  Mansu sighed, though his smile remained kind. "Okay, well... get ready. It’s time you meet your team."

  ***

  The neon glow of the city hummed in the late-night air, casting long, dancing shadows over the pavement. Wonjung walked with her shoulders hunched, her hands buried in the pockets of a soft pink hoodie. She looked up at the towering skyscrapers, her pulse quickening with every block they traveled.

  "Guys... uhm, so what kind of party is this?" she asked, her voice hushed. "Is it like the one with music and elegant wine?"

  To her left and right, Jiwon and Yaejin—looking young, wild, and full of life—burst into a fit of giggles. "Yeah, right," Yaejin teased. "It is very elegant. Majestic, even."

  "I’m just thinking—" Wonjung let out a nervous chuckle, her eyes darting toward an alleyway as she thought she spotted a high-ranking officer. "We’re breaking a bunch of rules right now. It better be worth it."

  "Don't worry," a voice called out from the front.

  The girl leading the pack didn't look back. She walked with her hands shoved deep into her pockets, her short blonde hair catching the artificial light. She moved with a confidence that seemed to anchor the entire group. "I’ll take care of you guys."

  Wonjung hurried her pace, squeezing between the laughing Jiwon and Yaejin until she was walking beside the leader. "You’re sure you can save us from disciplinary action?" Wonjung whispered urgently. "I kept my record perfectly clean when I was a field soldier. I don't want to mess it up now."

  Gaeul stopped in her tracks. She turned, and the breath caught in Wonjung’s throat. Gaeul was stunning—her blonde hair was short and messy, a stark contrast to the disciplined look of the Flux Academy. She looked like a rebel, like someone who knew a secret the rest of the world hadn't figured out yet.

  "But you’re a Frontliner now," Gaeul said, her gaze intense. "And you’re in my team." She stopped in front of a dimly lit bar, the muffled thump of bass vibrating through the walls. She looked Wonjung up and down and smirked. "And we don't stay clean here."

  Wonjung’s heart did a strange, violent jump. It wasn't the fear of getting caught anymore—it was something else. She found herself more attracted to Gaeul’s confidence than annoyed by her recklessness.

  The bouncer at the door, a massive man with a tired face, looked at Gaeul. "Age?"

  "Nineteen," Gaeul said flatly, stepping past him without waiting for a reply.

  "You can go in, but you can’t drink," the man grumbled. He turned to Yaejin. "You?"

  "Twenty-one," Yaejin lied through her teeth.

  "Bullcrap! You're eighteen!" Jiwon yelled, laughing.

  "Go in, but no drinks," the man sighed, waving Yaejin through.

  "Dammit!" Yaejin stomped her foot as she entered. Jiwon followed, still cackling. "She’s seventeen!" Yaejin shouted back, pointing at Jiwon as they disappeared into the music.

  "Heyy!" Jiwon protested.

  The bouncer crossed his arms, blocking the entrance as he looked at Wonjung.

  "I am... also seventeen," Wonjung admitted, her voice trembling.

  The man didn't even argue. He simply closed the door in her face.

  Wonjung stood on the sidewalk for a moment, blinking in the sudden silence. She turned to Jiwon, who was still standing beside her, having been blocked as well. "Right. We’re safe," Wonjung said, a small, relieved smile tugging at her lips.

  Jiwon stared at her, completely unimpressed. "What is wrong with you?"

  "I don't—"

  "Don't talk. Zip!" Jiwon commanded, making a zipping motion over her lips.

  Wonjung nodded immediately, falling into a submissive, quiet silence. She was a Frontliner now, but standing outside that bar, she realized she was still the girl with the plastic dinosaur in her pocket—just trying to figure out where she belonged.

  The wind howling through the alleyway grew louder by the second, whistling between the steel buildings as if trying to warn them.

  "Maybe we should call Doyun—" Wonjung started, reaching for the phone in her pink hoodie.

  Jiwon’s hand snapped out, gripping Wonjung’s wrist with surprising strength. "Stop! I said zip, didn't I?"

  Wonjung bristled, a flicker of her field-soldier pride rising to the surface. "Jiwon... I am technically older than you by a few months. Maybe you should let go of me."

  "I know," Jiwon countered, not budging. "But you’re the last person put in this team. Professionally speaking, that makes you the maknae."

  "That is not—"

  BLAM!

  "...how it works."

  The heavy metal door of the bar didn't just open; it exploded outward. A man in a grease-stained leather jacket was sent flying across the pavement, skidding through the grit until he hit the opposite wall with a sickening thud.

  Wonjung’s breath hitched. She stood frozen, her eyes wide as she watched the aftermath.

  Gaeul stepped out into the night air as if she were taking a casual stroll, her hands still buried in her pockets. Yaejin followed close behind, nonchalantly sipping a soda with one hand while dragging a second, bruised man with the other. She dropped him into the dirt like a bag of trash.

  Gaeul walked over to the man in the leather jacket, who was coughing and struggling to find his feet. "You okay?" she asked, her voice dripping with mock concern. "That must’ve hurt."

  "Unnie!" Wonjung gasped, her hand flying to cover her mouth.

  Gaeul didn't look back, but she tilted her head and gave Wonjung a sharp, playful wink.

  "You... you’re one of those Flux weirdos," the man hissed, spitting blood. "What are you even—"

  "One of my intels proved there was a demon in here," Gaeul interrupted, letting out a short, dry laugh. "It’s crazy, right?"

  "A demon? In Mainland?" Yaejin smirked at Jiwon. Jiwon just grinned back, her eyes dancing with the thrill of the hunt.

  But at the mention of the word demon, Wonjung felt the temperature of her blood drop. Her pulse began to thrum with a dark, familiar rhythm.

  "What? That’s crazy... No demons get past Ven City—" The man’s voice died in a choke as Gaeul’s hand suddenly clamped around his throat, hauling him upward until they were nose-to-nose.

  "No," Gaeul whispered, her voice turning to ice. "Not a demon from the Outlands. A demon capable of molesting his own daughter."

  The man shrivelled under her gaze. He looked into Gaeul’s eyes and saw something far more terrifying than a soldier. "So what? That’s Flux business too?"

  Gaeul shook her head slowly. "No. It’s my business."

  With a grunt of effort, she swung the man through the air, slamming him back down onto the pavement. Wonjung winced, her eyes squinting at the sheer impact.

  The man scrambled up, fueled by a desperate, pathetic rage. He swung two wild punches. Gaeul didn't even take her hands out of her pockets; she simply stepped into the empty spaces of his attacks, a blur of blonde hair and shadow.

  The man lunged with a massive hook, but Gaeul’s eyes flared a brilliant, oceanic blue. The air rippled. Reality fractured for a split second as a solid wall of red bricks manifested out of thin air between them. The man’s fist collided with the masonry with a crunch of bone. He fell back, howling in pain over his shattered hand.

  The wall vanished. Gaeul stood there, shaking her head as she fought back a laugh. Jiwon and Yaejin weren't holding back—they were doubled over, cackling at the sight.

  The man tried one last, stumbling attack, but Gaeul flicked her fingers. In a shimmer of blue light, his leather jacket vanished, replaced by a tiny, ruffled crop top. His rugged pants snapped into a flowery skirt.

  The alleyway erupted in laughter. Even the guy Yaejin had dragged out couldn't help a small snort, before Yaejin shoved his face back into the dirt.

  "Please... I—" the man in the skirt sobbed, his dignity completely erased.

  Gaeul didn't laugh this time. She stepped in and delivered a punch to his jaw that sounded like a gunshot. She pinned him to the ground, her eyes glowing with a blue light so intense it looked demonic.

  Punch. Punch. Punch. She was deleting his face with every strike. Wonjung watched, a cold pit of fear forming in her stomach. This wasn't a training exercise. This was raw, unchecked power.

  Gaeul lifted the man’s bloody head by his hair. "Touch your daughter again," she hissed, "and I will fill your mouth with live jellyfish. Nod if you understand."

  The man nodded frantically, his eyes glazed with terror.

  PUNCH.

  One last strike for good measure, and he went limp.

  Four Years Later.

  The desk was a graveyard of classified files and empty coffee cups. Wonjung, now twenty-one and carrying the weight of the world in the dark circles under her eyes, sat trembling. The "beautiful" girl from the park was gone, replaced by a soldier who looked like she was waiting for a death sentence.

  A sharp knock at the door made her jump. "Come in..." she whispered, her voice fractured.

  Gaeul entered. Her short blonde hair had grown out into long, flowing black tresses, and she moved with the practiced stillness of a General. She stepped into the room, her boot accidentally catching on the plastic dinosaur toy that had fallen to the floor.

  "Oops. Sorry," Gaeul murmured. Her eyes flared a brilliant, effortless blue. In a sudden ripple of reality, the chaos of the room vanished. The files stacked themselves, the cups disappeared, and the dinosaur was placed back on the desk, standing tall and defiant.

  Wonjung didn't care about the room. She lunged forward, throwing her arms around Gaeul and burying her face in the crook of her neck. She held on with a desperate, bone-crushing strength, as if Gaeul were the only thing keeping her from floating away into the void.

  "Man... the Council is really exhausting you," Gaeul said, her voice softening as she felt Wonjung tremble. She pulled back slightly, looking Wonjung in the eye. "Are you ready to tell me what’s going on now?"

  "I can’t..." Wonjung looked away, her gaze landing on the desk. "It’s confidential."

  Gaeul let out a long, weary sigh. "You know I’m fine with protocols, Wonjung. I’m not a gossip. But I don't even know why I’m here if you won't let me in."

  "I just—" Wonjung’s voice broke into a sob. "I’m sorry... I just need you. Please."

  She pulled Gaeul back into the hug, tighter this time, her grip almost threatening to break ribs. Gaeul didn't pull away. She leaned into the desperation.

  "Okay. Okay, I’m here. Sit down," Gaeul commanded gently. They sat together on the edge of the bed, the silence of the Citadel pressing in on them. "We can talk about other things. Like, uh... oh, did you hear Jaejin finally got promoted to—"

  "Gaeul, please," Wonjung interrupted, her head hanging low. "I don't want to talk about your friends from the Covenant."

  Gaeul paused, the mention of her other life creating a flicker of tension. "Okay. Uhm. How about... uh..."

  "Tell me about your day," Wonjung whispered, reaching out to take Gaeul’s hand. Her fingers were ice cold.

  "My day?" Gaeul looked surprised.

  "Yes. I want to hear how you are." Wonjung forced a small, fragile smile. She was starving for a normalcy that no longer existed.

  Gaeul looked away, a rare moment of bashfulness crossing her face. "Well, uh... I finished some missions. And, uh... I trained a bunch of field folks. The new recruits are... energetic."

  Wonjung nodded, hanging on every word as if it were a lifeline.

  "And, uhm..." Gaeul trailed off.

  Wonjung leaned in, her eyes fluttering shut as she moved for a kiss—a desperate attempt to feel something other than fear. But Gaeul moved her head, the kiss landing harmlessly on her cheek.

  "Aaand..." Gaeul continued, her voice steady but cautious.

  Wonjung pulled back, a flash of hurt crossing her face before she masked it. "Sorry..."

  "No, it’s okay," Gaeul said, her tone gentle but firm. "I was just telling you about my—"

  BZZZT. BZZZT.

  Wonjung’s phone shrieked on the desk. The caller ID was blank—the mark of the Council. Wonjung’s face went pale, her hand shaking as she reached for it.

  "It’s them," Wonjung whispered, her eyes wide with a terror she couldn't share. "I have to..."

  Gaeul stood up, the moment of intimacy shattered by the cold reality of their ranks. She leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss to Wonjung’s cheek. "You got this," she said softly.

  But as Gaeul walked out the door, Wonjung didn't feel like she "got it." She felt like the girl with the bread knife again, waiting for the monster to burst through the door.

  The air in the Sacred Chamber was thick with the scent of incense and old paper. This was a room that didn't exist on any map of the Citadel—a sanctuary for the Three Councils: Jeon, Han, and Gyu. For the first time, their hoods were down, revealing faces lined with the cold weight of absolute authority.

  Beside them stood the muscle. Jooheon, clad in heavy plate armor, leaned on his massive mace, while Mansu stood with his arms crossed, his blue eyes reflecting the flickering candlelight.

  Between them lay a dead man on a stone table.

  "So this man almost kidnapped Seonho?" Han asked, his voice echoing in the vault.

  Mansu nodded grimly.

  Gyu’s gaze turned to Wonjung. She was sweating, her breath coming in ragged hitches. "And he was your friend?"

  "He was—" Wonjung’s voice broke into a sob. "But... I had nothing to do with—"

  "Wonjung," Jeon interrupted, his tone deceptively soft. "We chose you to be our Knight. A secret to all Elites, because of your talent... and your hunger to kill demons. Perhaps we have burdened you too much."

  "No—no!" Wonjung shook her head frantically. "You can trust me! I made one mistake, but I can fix it—"

  "Wonjung," Han’s voice was like a gavel. "Did you let this man through because he was your friend... or because you wanted young Seonho to die?"

  Wonjung went silent. The room seemed to grow colder. She looked at the ground, her voice a hollow whisper. "He’s... a demon, isn't he? Seonho?"

  Gyu let out a long, disappointed sigh. "Wonjung... you are relieved of your duty as an Elite. You are, effective immediately, suspended."

  The world began to blur. The councilmen’s voices turned into a distorted sludge of sound, replaced by a low, rhythmic whisper that crawled into Wonjung’s ears. Behind her, invisible to all but her, the burning red eyes of Xin hovered in the dark.

  "Weird... you are only doing your job... yet you are being punished..." the voice hissed. "Make this right, Wonjung. You know what to do. They are protecting the Paragon. They are choosing the demon over you."

  Wonjung’s fear curdled. It turned into a hot, blistering rage that tasted like copper. She looked up, and for the first time, her eyes didn't glow blue. They flared a violent, predatory Red.

  "What? What is that?" Jeon gasped.

  "GAHHH!" Wonjung roared.

  A pulse of Scarlet Energy erupted from her, hitting the Council like a physical wave. In an instant, the Aionic connection in their blood was severed. Their powers—their very status as gods—were deleted.

  "Mansu!" Jooheon yelled.

  Mansu reacted with the instinct of a veteran, his telekinesis flaring as he hoisted Wonjung into the air, pinning her against the ceiling. She struggled, a snarl ripping from her throat.

  Jooheon didn't hesitate. He leaped, swinging his massive mace with a sickening crack into Wonjung’s abdomen. She hit the floor, gasping for air, but before she could recover, the hammer came down again. And again. A brutal, rhythmic thud against her ribs, her shoulders, her face.

  "Jooheon! That’s enough! You’ll kill her!"

  "She’s possessed!" Jooheon barked, his face splattered with her blood.

  Wonjung tried to push herself up, her vision swimming in red.

  "Let’s just say... she vanished," Jooheon whispered, looking at the broken girl. "Went missing in the Citadel. That’s like a Tuesday."

  Gyu was trembling, tears streaming down his face as he clutched his chest. "I can’t... I can’t use my powers."

  Jooheon looked down at Wonjung one last time. He raised the hammer and dropped it directly onto her face.

  Darkness took her.

  Present Day.

  Wonjung opened her eyes.

  The air was salty and cold, the mist of the Sanctuary islands swirling around her. She was sitting in a meditative pose on a grassy hill overlooking the ocean. The scar on her face—the one Sungmin had given her—was a jagged reminder of the price of her "justice."

  Leaning against a nearby tree was the Spear of Yaejin, its tip reflecting the grey light of the morning.

  "I told you," Wonjung said, her voice devoid of the emotion that had haunted her memories. "Flux won't have me."

  Beside her, leaning casually against the bark of the same tree, was a man whose presence felt like a shadow in the sun. Jaejin. The "friend" from the Covenant that Gaeul had mentioned years ago.

  He looked out at the ocean, a terrifyingly calm smile stretching across his face.

  "With what’s about to come?" Jaejin murmured. "They will."

  Dinosaur.