The entrance to Nokcheon Landfill was chained shut. A rusted sign warned against trespassing. Another, older sign had fallen, half-buried in the mud, the words "Restricted Zone" faded to shadows.
Yi Ji-Hyuk stepped over both.
The smell hit him first — not just rot, but something deeper. Decay of meaning. The kind of stench born when life and death mix too many times in the same place. Magic had soaked into this soil.
The veil was thinner here.
And something was pressing through.
He walked in silence through the mounds of broken machinery, discarded appliances, and skeletal trees that had refused to die.
Every step took him closer to the origin point — the resonance of the spirals all narrowing toward a center. Even without a spell, he could feel it: a heartbeat below the earth.
The land breathed.
And he wasn't alone.
He reached the crater at the heart of the landfill. A pit where garbage had burned years ago, leaving only ash and silence.
In that silence stood a gate.
It wasn't large — only the height of a man — but it felt infinite. Constructed from bones, black stone, and writhing script that crawled like insects. Runes bled purple fire across its arch.
It pulsed once.
Then again.
A rhythm. A countdown.
And in front of it, waiting, stood a man.
Not robed. Not cloaked.
Just standing there in an old suit, hands in his pockets.
His face looked ordinary.
But his eyes held a thousand screams.
"Vernox," Ji-Hyuk said.
The man smiled. "Ah. I was wondering when you'd find me."
The two stood across from one another.
The gate crackled behind Vernox, its power stretching across the air like spiderwebs of pressure.
Ji-Hyuk didn't move.
"Why Earth?" he asked.
Vernox chuckled. "Why not? You sealed me away once. Thought I died. I didn't. I wandered. Drifted between the worlds, leaking into broken minds until someone let me in."
He gestured casually at the gate. "Berafe is dying. You know this. The wars have stripped it hollow. But Earth? Earth is ripe. Unused. Untrained. And utterly unprepared."
"So you'll twist it like you did Berafe."
"No," Vernox said, voice dropping. "This time, I'll merge them. Tear down the wall, bring through the old gods. Make a world where time doesn't bleed, and death is optional."
Ji-Hyuk's voice turned cold. "And how many have to burn for that vision?"
Vernox tilted his head. "All of them."
The gate pulsed again. Louder. Stronger. The veil was almost gone here.
Ji-Hyuk stepped forward, hand on his blade. "I won't let you open it."
"You already have," Vernox said, smiling. "You brought the seventh mark. I never needed the boy to finish the pattern — I needed him to draw you here."
A glyph flared under Ji-Hyuk's feet.
A trap.
The earth split.
Chains of black light burst upward, wrapping around his limbs.
Vernox's smile widened. "You're the key, Ji-Hyuk. The final lock. The one being tied to both worlds. You're not here to stop the gate. You're here to complete it."
Pain lashed across Ji-Hyuk's body as the magic tried to anchor him.
Berafe's laws surged through the chains — trying to rewrite his presence, to convert him into a bridge.
His vision flickered. The air around him twisted into Berafean colors — green skies, screaming earth, rivers of glass.
The Gate was beginning to open.
Vernox raised his hands. "And now, the world learns to kneel—"
A whisper cut the air.
Then a shriek.
A spear of pure white light shot from the distance — striking Vernox in the chest.
He staggered back, growling. "What—?"
Maeryn emerged from the smoke, eyes burning silver.
"Not alone," she said.
Then Yeonho appeared behind her, clutching a relic-staff. "You think we'd send him in without backup?"
Vernox snarled, energy surging.
But Ji-Hyuk smiled.
Even bound, he was still dangerous.
He slammed his foot into the earth, activating his own glyph beneath the trap.
A counter-sigil exploded outward, nullifying the chains in an instant.
His body moved like lightning.
In the same heartbeat, his blade was out.
And his fist met Vernox's jaw.
The impact cracked the air.
Vernox flew backward, crashing into the gate.
The portal buckled — not opening wider, but twisting.
Ji-Hyuk followed the strike with another — a war spell born from centuries of bloodshed.
The gate screamed.
The runes bled white.
And the first signs of collapse began.
"No—!" Vernox howled. "You don't get to erase me again!"
He lunged forward — but Ji-Hyuk was faster.
His blade struck deep.
Not into flesh.
But into the heart of the portal.
The explosion was silent.
The gate didn't shatter. It folded, sucking itself inward like collapsing lungs. The runes burned out, one by one.
Vernox screamed as his essence was dragged back — not just into Berafe, but into the dark spaces between.
Ji-Hyuk didn't flinch.
He just whispered, "Stay dead this time."
Then the light was gone.
And the landfill fell still.
Later, Ji-Hyuk stood alone where the gate had once pulsed.
Maeryn and Yeonho had taken Min-Soo to safety. The boy would live.
Earth, for now, was safe.
But Ji-Hyuk knew better than to believe in peace.
The veil would heal. But the scar would remain.
And something out there had seen what happened tonight.
He looked up at the stars.
"Next time," he whispered, "come at me yourself."
Because no matter how long it took, they would try again.
And when they did…
He would still be waiting.
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