The office was a tomb of shadows, the faint red glow of the exit sign barely piercing the darkness. Jin Yeong and the survivors stood frozen, their breaths shallow, their bodies pressed against the wreckage of shattered desks and twisted metal. The air was thick, heavy with the stench of blood and something fouler, and every sound felt like a betrayal. The thing in the shadows was still there, its presence a weight that crushed the air from their lungs. Its wet, dragging steps had stopped, but Jin knew it was listening, waiting for them to make a mistake.
They'd been moving toward the exit, silent as ghosts, when Min Jae-Wo—Echo—stumbled, his legs buckling under him. Jin's arm shot out, catching him before he hit the floor, the steel pipe in his other hand clanging softly against a broken chair. The sound was faint, but it felt like a gunshot in the suffocating quiet. The group froze, their eyes wide, darting toward the shadows where the creature lurked.
"Hold him," Jin whispered, his voice barely audible, his heart pounding. The woman with the injured ankle, still clinging to his side, reached out to help, her hands trembling as she steadied Min. The man with enhanced strength and the woman with heightened reflexes moved closer, their faces pale but resolute, forming a tight circle around Min's shaking form.
Min's body was cold, his breath uneven, his eyes unfocused. Blood trickled from his nose, dark against his ashen skin, and his fingers twitched like he was fighting something inside himself. Jin's stomach twisted. Min's skill—Echo—was tearing him apart, forcing him to relive every scream, every shred of pain from this nightmare. Jin didn't know how much longer he could hold on.
"We need to keep moving," the healer whispered, her voice a fragile thread. She glanced at the exit sign, its red glow flickering like a dying heartbeat. "If we stay here…"
She didn't finish. She didn't need to. The thing in the dark was still there, its presence a blade against their throats.
Jin nodded, his jaw tight. "Slow. Quiet." He adjusted his grip on Min's arm, helping the woman with the injured ankle support him. They shuffled forward, each step deliberate, the crunch of glass under their shoes deafening in the silence. Min's weight dragged at Jin's arm, his exhaustion a mirror of their own. Running, fighting, surviving—it had worn them all down to the bone.
They'd barely moved ten feet when Min convulsed, his body jerking violently. A choked gasp escaped his lips, loud enough to make Jin's blood run cold. The group froze again, their eyes darting to the shadows. Jin's grip on the pipe tightened, his knuckles white. "Stay quiet," he hissed, his voice low but sharp, not a command but a desperate plea.
Min's head lolled back, his eyes rolling, his breath coming in wet, ragged bursts. His fingers clawed at his chest, as if trying to rip out the pain inside him. "I… can't," he rasped, his voice glitching, echoing faintly: "Can't… can't…" The sound layered with other voices—sobs, screams, pleas—each one a shard of agony from the floor they'd left behind.
Jin's heart slammed against his ribs. "Hold it together," he whispered, leaning close, his voice soft but urgent. "We're almost there."
But Min's body shuddered again, harder this time. His knees buckled, and he slipped from Jin's grasp, collapsing to the floor with a dull thud. The sound echoed, too loud, too reckless. Jin dropped to his knees beside him, the pipe clattering against the tile. The woman with the injured ankle stifled a gasp, her hands pressed over her mouth. The others stood paralyzed, their eyes wide with terror.
The air shifted, a violent rush of movement in the dark. A low, wet scrape echoed—closer now, deliberate. The thing was listening, locking onto them. Jin's pulse spiked, his eyes darting to the shadows, but he couldn't see it, couldn't pinpoint its shape. The emergency lights flickered, plunging them into deeper darkness.
Min groaned, his body convulsing, his hands clawing at his head. "It's… too much," he whispered, his voice breaking, layered with echoes of pain—a woman's scream, a man's choked sob. "I feel them… all of them." His eyes, wild and unfocused, locked onto Jin for a moment, then flicked to the exit sign, distant and flickering.
Jin's stomach dropped. Min's lips curled into a small, tired smile, and something in his gaze shifted—resolute, final. Before Jin could react, Min pulled away, his trembling hands pushing against the floor.
"Don't," Jin hissed, reaching for him, but Min was already moving, staggering to his feet. His body shook, blood dripping from his nose, his breath uneven, but he took a step forward, toward the shadows where the creature waited.
"What are you doing?" the woman with heightened reflexes whispered, her voice sharp with panic. The man with enhanced strength grabbed her arm, pulling her back, his face pale.
Min didn't answer. His breath slowed, his shoulders trembling under the weight of his skill. Then—he inhaled, deep and deliberate, his chest rising like he was pulling in the entire room.
And he screamed.
The sound was a blade, sharp and deafening, ripping through the office like an explosion. Jin flinched, stumbling back, his hands flying to his ears. The others reeled, the woman with the injured ankle collapsing to her knees, her face contorted in pain. The scream wasn't just loud—it was alive, layered with every cry, every plea, every shred of agony Min had absorbed. It looped, building on itself, growing louder, heavier, until the air itself seemed to crack under its weight.
The floor shook. Glass shards vibrated, spiderwebbing further in the broken windows. The walls groaned, dust raining down as the sound tore through the space. Jin's skull throbbed, the scream burrowing into his bones, relentless and unbearable.
Then—the thing reacted.
A horrific, wet shudder echoed from the shadows, followed by a grotesque thrashing. Jin caught a glimpse of it in the flickering red light—a massive, bulbous form, its flesh bulging and spasming as if rejecting the sound. Its limbs, too many and too wrong, flailed, cracking against the walls. The creature's body seemed to fold in on itself, bones snapping, flesh splitting at the seams under the onslaught of Min's scream.
It lunged, desperate, its claws slashing toward Min. Jin's body moved on instinct, the pipe raised, but he stopped himself. This wasn't his fight—not this time. Min stood his ground, his mouth open, the scream still pouring out, looping endlessly, a torrent of sound that shook the room.
The creature's movements grew erratic, its body convulsing violently. It reached Min, its claws inches from his chest—but it faltered. Its flesh caved in, collapsing like a punctured balloon, a final, wretched shriek tearing from its maw. Then it was gone, dissolving into the dark, leaving only a puddle of black ichor and silence.
The scream stopped.
Min's body crumpled, his knees hitting the floor with a dull thud. Jin lunged forward, catching him before he collapsed completely. Min's skin was ice-cold, his breath shallow, barely there. Blood pooled beneath him, dark and spreading. Jin pressed a hand to his chest, his heart racing. "Hey—stay with us."
Min's eyes fluttered, unfocused, staring past Jin. A weak, cracked smile crossed his lips. "Did it… work?" he whispered, his voice faint, no echo this time.
Jin swallowed, his throat dry. "Yeah. You got it."
Min's smile widened, then faded. His body sagged, his breath stuttering. A blue screen flickered into existence above him, its glow cold and clinical.
[ Warning: Skill Overuse Detected ]
[ Vital Functions Failing ]
Jin's fingers tightened on Min's shoulder, his chest tight. This man had saved them, had thrown everything he had into that scream, knowing it might kill him. Jin wasn't going to let him go—not like this.
He turned to the healer, his voice low, urgent, but not sharp, not commanding. "You can help him. Try."
The healer flinched, her hands trembling as she knelt beside Min. "I… it's slow," she stammered, her eyes wide with fear. "I don't know if it's enough—"
"Just try," Jin said, softer now, his gaze steady. He wasn't going to push her, not after what they'd seen, but he needed her to move. "Please."
She nodded, swallowing hard, and pressed her shaking hands to Min's chest. A faint glow sparked beneath her palms, flickering like a candle in the wind. It was weak, unstable, but it spread, rippling across Min's skin. His chest rose in a shallow, struggling breath, then another. The color in his face didn't return, but his fingers twitched, curling faintly against the floor.
"It's working," the healer whispered, her voice trembling with relief and exhaustion. "But it's… it's not much. I don't know how long it'll hold."
Jin exhaled, his shoulders slumping. It was something. Not enough, but something. He glanced at Min, whose eyes were half-open, his breath steadying but still weak. They couldn't lose him—not after what he'd done.
The group stood in silence, surrounded by the wreckage of the office—shattered desks, blood-streaked walls, the puddle of ichor where the creature had been. The air was heavy, the red exit sign still flickering in the distance, but no one moved toward it. Not yet.
The man with enhanced strength broke the silence, his voice low, hesitant. "Should we… keep going? The exit's right there."
Jin didn't answer immediately. His eyes lingered on Min, then flicked to the exit sign. The growls had stopped, but the memory of what they'd faced—of what might still be waiting outside—hung over them like a blade. They were exhausted, battered, and Min was barely holding on. Dragging him through another fight wasn't an option.
The woman with the injured ankle spoke, her voice soft but firm. "We can't move him like this. Not yet." She glanced at Min, her eyes shadowed with fear. "And we don't know what's out there."
The woman with heightened reflexes nodded, her arms crossed tightly. "It's quiet now, but… what if it's worse outside? We barely made it through this."
Jin's grip on the pipe tightened, the metal cool against his palm. He hated this—sitting still, waiting, trapped like rats. But they were right. Min was in no shape to move, and the unknown beyond the exit was a gamble they weren't ready for. Not after losing one of their own to the shadows.
"Alright," he said finally, his voice low, reluctant. "We stay. For now."
No one argued. They sank to the floor, their backs against broken desks, their breaths slow and heavy. The healer stayed by Min, her hands still glowing faintly, her face tight with concentration. The others sat in silence, their eyes darting to the shadows, to the exit, to each other.
Jin lowered himself beside Min, the pipe resting across his knees. His body ached, his muscles screaming from the endless running, the fighting, the weight of survival. He glanced at Min, whose chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths. He'd saved them, but at what cost?
The office was quiet, but it wasn't safe. The exit sign flickered, a faint promise of escape, but Jin knew better than to trust it. Not yet. They'd stopped running, but the nightmare wasn't over.
They stayed silent, their breaths barely audible, each of them listening for the next sound in the dark.