The sitting room in Ming Soo's house felt unnaturally cold, the midnight breeze sneaking through the cracked-open window and curling around the furniture like a lurking predator.
Lornad shut the window with a quiet thud.
Yumi, Ming Soo's aunt, sat rigid on the couch. Her left hand covered half her face, her right clenched tightly around a phone.
"What in the actual fuck?" she muttered, voice laced with bitter disappointment.
"I know," Nightwalker replied, seated across from her, his tone hollow.
Lornad came to sit beside her, the air still heavy between them.
"Am I the only one disappointed?" Yumi asked, peering between her fingers.
"No, my lady," Lornad said with a dry laugh, shaking his head.
"Are they fucking serious with us? Or are they playing games?" Her voice sharpened, venom seeping into every word.
"Yumi," Nightwalker began, "look on the bright side. They still think we're part of Sung."
"Do you really believe that?" she asked, eyes narrowing on him like blades.
"W-Well, I mean... it's possible... maybe, in this case..." Nightwalker trailed off, clearly second-guessing himself.
Yumi rubbed her chin, falling into thought. "No. Something doesn't add up. If their target was Sung, they wouldn't have come after us. But they did."
Nightwalker scratched at his arm, visibly uncomfortable. He hated it when she started connecting dots he hadn't even seen.
"Someone's pulling strings," she continued, more to herself than them. "And Crimson Veil—they still don't know we're demons."
"You think it's the Church?" Lornad asked, one brow lifting with caution. "Or Sung?"
"It can't be Sung. They're many things, but they're not this stupid," she answered coldly. "I was with them. Trust me—they wouldn't waste a bullet on us without good reason."
So that's where she disappeared to, Lornad thought silently, realization striking.
"That leaves only one player... the Church," Yumi said, her voice dropping an octave, settling into something dangerously calm.
"Hey, quick question," Nightwalker cut in, almost like he'd been holding it in. "Aren't you even a little worried about Ming Soo?"
She stared at him, her gaze deadpan. "He's a demon. There's nothing out there that can hurt that bastard and he can't bounce back from."
Both Nightwalker and Lornad blinked at the icy delivery.
There she is. Lornad smirked inwardly. The Queen.
Yeah... we're demons after all, Nightwalker thought, a grin creeping up on his lips.
"The real problem now," Yumi leaned back into the couch, "is figuring out whether we're walking into a trap."
"You're right," Lornad said, eyes focused. "And if it is a trap... that means they're expecting us."
"But when did we ever start being afraid of traps?" Nightwalker grinned wickedly. "Or anything else?"
Yumi's mouth curled into a grin. Her gaze shifted between them, fiery and proud.
"Boys. This is why I like you."
Drip.
Drip.
The first few drops were nothing, tiny taps on his forehead.
But time passed.
And each drop became a hammer.
Ming Soo couldn't move. Couldn't see. Couldn't even shiver properly. His wrists and ankles were bound tightly to something hard beneath him, wood or metal, he didn't know. He was stripped to his underwear, blindfolded, soaked in cold, bone-deep water. The silence around him was broken only by the ceaseless drip drip drip.
Every drop landed in the exact same spot, the center of his forehead.
Each one made him flinch.
He tried to brace for it, to time the rhythm, but that made it worse. He started anticipating the pain before it even hit.
Drip.
Flinch.
Drip.
His nerves began to buzz, sharp and raw. The skin on his forehead burned. It was like the water was digging into his skull—like it was carving through skin, bone, and sanity.
He wanted to scream. But he'd wasted his voice earlier.
His mind was breaking in slow motion. One drop at a time.
Then, without warning—
SPLASH.
A bucket of cold water slammed into him, his whole body recoiling as if struck. The chill turned to needles. His breath caught. His muscles spasmed. His teeth chattered violently.
This wasn't just water.
This was psychological warfare.
And he knew it.
After they left the message for Lornad and Nightwalker to find, he'd been moved. Different room. Different setup. But the intent? Worse.
Now he was laid flat. Restrained. Humiliated. Blindfolded.
Alone.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
"Hey," S2 asked casually outside the room, her voice laced with a thick German accent, "vhat's the most dangerous element in ze vorld?"
"Huh?" S3 blinked like someone had whacked him upside the head. "Element?" His voice now carried that unmistakable gruff British-Cockney snarl, like he was always two pints deep and ready for a brawl.
S2 stared at him in disbelief. "Mein Gott."
"Plutonium," S5 chimed in, stepping out of another hallway his voice crisp, UK-accented, like he was giving a TED Talk with a smirk.
"Water!" S3 suddenly declared, looking proud. "'Course it is! You seen what it does to mountains?"
The others turned to him like he'd grown a third eye.
"What? It's an element," he defended, folding his arms. "Don't get your knickers twisted."
"Vell, you're all technically right," S2 said with a sigh, tossing a dismissive wave. "Vhere do you people learn this absolute garbage?"
"Did you just call me stupid?" S3 squinted at her.
"Are you building a bomb or something?" S5 asked S2, ignoring S3 entirely.
"Nein. Just asking," S2 replied, brushing it off like dandruff.
"Hey."
"I do like my plutonium," she added cheerfully, her accent still sharp and precise.
"You could ask Haven for it," S5 shrugged, nonchalant as ever.
"Nah, she's got enough on her plate," S2 waved it off. "Especially after today."
"Yeah, she's been real busy lately," S5 agreed, tone unbothered.
"Can you all stop ignoring me?!" S3 snapped. "Canyons are made of water! Of! Did you forget about erosion?!"
"Of?" S2 echoed, amused, eyebrow raised.
"Tsk." S3 turned away, muttering something under his breath. "Buncha pillocks..."
Ming Soo's lips trembled.
What time is it...?
He muttered to himself. The drops hadn't stopped. They were now fire in liquid form. Each one stabbed into his skull like a needle made of ice and pressure.
Please… just stop.
He writhed weakly, trying to loosen the bindings. His arms ached. His joints were stiff. He couldn't feel his toes anymore.
I don't want to die.
Tears began to slip down his face, mixing with the water. He clenched his feet, trying to redirect the agony—but it was no use. The only sensation he could focus on was the excruciating impact of each drop.
His mind was unraveling. He could feel it. Every part of him pulsing with pain.
Then—he felt it.
A chill. Different from the water. Like death itself had entered the room.
A foul stench filled his nose—earth, rot, decay.
Something was crawling up his thigh.
He slapped it away—
Wait. His hand was free.
What?
His heart stopped.
He hadn't been untied. No one had said a word. But suddenly, he was free.
He felt breath. Not human. Hot and rotting. Pressed against his face.
Something was staring at him.
He reached up with a trembling hand and ripped off the blindfold—
And saw it.
A face—no, a nightmare. Like someone had taken several corpses and sewn their faces together, then smeared soil through its hair. Its eyes dangled in their sockets, barely holding on.
It looked straight into him.
"You did this to me..."
"You did this to me..."
"You did this to me..."
Over and over. A broken record in a voice that scraped like glass across stone.
Ming Soo couldn't move.
He stopped breathing.
If I don't move, maybe it'll go away...
But his heart was pounding, no, slamming, like war drums. The pressure in his ears rose. A piercing screech flooded his senses.
And then it lunged.
Straight at his face.
Ming Soo screamed, loud, hoarse, from the very pit of his soul.