Jihoon's boots pounded the cracked pavement, Seoyoon's hand tight in his as they sprinted down a narrow alley. The slums of Seoul were unraveling, screams tearing through the air, mixing with the wail of useless sirens. Fires flickered from shattered vendor stalls, casting jagged shadows on crumbling walls. Neon signs buzzed overhead, some sparking as they flickered out. Another roar shook the ground, not the same metallic growl from the warehouse, but something deeper, hungrier. Jihoon's chest tightened, his mother's frail face flashing in his mind. She was alone in their tiny apartment, coughing, defenseless. He had to get to her.
"Keep moving!" Seoyoon snapped, her voice sharp but strained. Her cap was gone, lost in the chaos, her short black hair plastered with sweat. She clutched her cracked tablet, its screen flickering as she tried to pull up a map of the slums. Jihoon's lungs burned, but her grip kept him grounded. He could still hear Kwangsoo's rough shout—Get out of here!—and the clang of his pipe against that beast. Was the ex-hunter still alive? Jihoon shoved the thought away. No time for that. His mother was all that mattered.
The alley twisted, opening into a cluttered street strewn with debris. A toppled cart smoldered, its fake relics scattered like broken toys. Jihoon's heart sank. Their apartment was a fifteen-minute run on a good day, but with the dungeon break, every step was a gamble. He pictured his mother, curled up on her thin mattress, the medicine bottle empty on the table. They'd run out yesterday, and he hadn't scraped enough cash to buy more. If a beast reached her, he'd never forgive himself.
"Jihoon, focus!" Seoyoon's voice cut through his panic. She yanked him behind a rusted dumpster as a group of slum-dwellers ran past, their faces pale with fear. A woman clutched a crying kid, her eyes darting to the shadows. Jihoon's stomach twisted. He wanted to help them, but Seoyoon's grip tightened. "Your mom first," she said, reading his mind. "We can't save everyone."
He nodded, throat tight. She was right, but it didn't make it easier. The slums were a death trap, abandoned by the guilds and government. No hunters were coming to save them, not here. The rich districts got S-Rank heroes; the slums got nothing but screams and fire. Anger flared in Jihoon's chest, hot and sharp. Those officials at the ceremony, laughing at his F-Rank power, they didn't care if these people lived or died. Useless, they'd called him. He clenched his fists, pushing forward.
They ducked through another alley, dodging a collapsed awning. Glass crunched underfoot, and the air stung with smoke. Seoyoon's tablet pinged, but she cursed under her breath. "No signal," she muttered. "Can't even check for safe routes." Her eyes met his, fierce despite the fear. "We're close, right? Your place is just past the old market."
"Yeah," Jihoon panted. "Two more streets." His voice cracked, betraying his worry. He could almost see their apartment, the peeling walls, the single bulb flickering over his mother's bed. He had to believe she was okay.
A low, guttural screech stopped them cold. It wasn't the wolf-beast from before—this was different, sharper, like nails on metal. Jihoon's blood ran cold. He pulled Seoyoon behind a stack of crates, peering out. A D-Rank beast lumbered into view, its body a grotesque mix of insect and machine. It stood on six spindly legs, each tipped with a curved blade that gleamed under the neon lights. Its head was a bulbous mass of black scales, with jagged mandibles snapping and compound eyes glinting like oil. The thing's carapace pulsed with faint circuits, as if someone had stitched tech into its flesh. It was smaller than the warehouse beast but no less deadly, its movements quick and jerky.
Seoyoon's breath hitched. "That's a Blade Mantis," she whispered, her voice tight. "D-Rank. We can't fight it."
Jihoon's eyes darted around, landing on a rusted metal pipe half-buried in the rubble. Memories flooded back—summers as a kid, swinging sticks in the alleys, pretending to be a hunter. He'd been small, weak, but he'd learned to move fast, to stay alive. His hand closed around the pipe, its weight solid in his grip. "Seoyoon," he said, his voice low but steady. "Get to my house. Make sure my mom's safe."
Her eyes widened. "What? No way, Jihoon, you can't—"
"Go!" he snapped, louder than he meant. "Please. I'll draw it off."
She hesitated, her face torn. The mantis screeched, its bladed legs scraping the ground as it turned toward them. Seoyoon cursed, grabbing his arm. "You better not die, idiot," she hissed, then sprinted down the alley, her footsteps fading into the chaos.
Jihoon faced the beast, his heart hammering. The mantis's eyes locked on him, mandibles clicking. He gripped the pipe tighter, his mind racing. Don't get hit, he told himself, the words a mantra. Something clicked, like a switch in his head. He felt his hitbox—the invisible boundary around his body—tighten, as if he'd willed it smaller. It wasn't a shimmer or a glow, just a sensation, like flexing a muscle he didn't know he had. The mantis lunged, its bladed leg slashing at his chest. Jihoon focused, and the blade passed through where he should've been, cutting only air. He stumbled back, unharmed, his breath catching. It worked.
The beast screeched, slashing again. Jihoon swung the pipe, aiming for its leg, but it glanced off the scaled carapace. He focused harder, shrinking his hitbox with every move. Another blade swiped at his head, missing by a hair as he ducked. The crowd nearby—scattered slum-dwellers hiding behind stalls—gasped, some shouting, "How's he doing that?" Jihoon's chest swelled, a flicker of pride cutting through the fear. His power wasn't useless. Not here, not now.
He darted to the side, drawing the mantis away from the alley Seoyoon had taken. His swings were clumsy but enough to keep its attention. The beast's blades sliced through crates, sending splinters flying. Jihoon's focus held, his hitbox shrinking with each dodge, letting attacks phase through him. He could see it now, faintly, like a mental outline—the beast's own hitbox, a jagged shape around its body. Was that a weak point, maybe at the joints? He didn't know, couldn't think, but it felt like his power was trying to show him something.
A scream broke his focus. A kid, no older than ten, stumbled into the street, tripping over a broken plank. The mantis's head snapped toward the boy, its blades rising. Jihoon's heart lurched. "No!" he shouted, sprinting toward the kid. His focus wavered, his hitbox faltering as his mind split between saving the boy and dodging. The mantis spun, its blade slashing at Jihoon's side. He tried to tighten his hitbox, but he was too slow. Pain exploded in his ribs, sharp and hot, as the blade grazed him. Blood soaked his jacket, and he staggered, swinging the pipe weakly. The mantis reared for another strike.
Jihoon pushed the kid behind a crate, his vision blurring. Don't get hit, he thought, but his focus was gone, scattered by pain and fear. The beast's blade came down, and he raised the pipe, knowing it wouldn't be enough. The world slowed, his mother's face flashing in his mind—her weak smile, her coughs. He'd failed her again.
A blast of force slammed into the mantis, knocking it into a wall. Jihoon's knees buckled, his vision darkening. Through the haze, he saw a scarred figure—Kwangsoo, the ex-hunter, his hands glowing with faint energy, a dented pipe in his grip. "Get out!" Kwangsoo roared, but his voice sounded distant, like it was underwater.
Jihoon's legs gave out, the pipe clattering to the ground. The last thing he saw was Kwangsoo charging the beast, then nothing. Darkness swallowed him whole.