Game 19: The Tiger That Refuses to Roar
Han Tae-yang crouched in the middle of the wrecked square like a janitor who'd been dragged to clean a nightclub fight. Dust rose around him, bits of rubble crunched beneath his sneakers, and broken weapons lay scattered across the ground like discarded chopsticks after an all-you-can-eat buffet. He bent down, pinched something between two fingers, and gave it a little shake to flick off the dirt.
It was paper, old paper. Faded, yellowed at the edges, creased but not torn. And drawn on it, in bold brushstrokes, was the proud image of a tiger.
Tae-yang let out a low whistle.
"This thing used to be worth millions before the world went full apocalypse," he muttered. "Now it's lying here like some free flyer for a chicken shop."
He dusted the sheet with exaggerated care, puffing air across the tiger's snout as if he were blowing birthday candles.
"At least you're not torn, my striped friend. History deserves some respect."
His tone was almost gentle, but it clashed horribly with the chaos still thick in the air.
Across from him, Kim Roji's face darkened. Her lips twitched into a frown sharp enough to slice her own reflection. Her dog-headed guardian, towering, broad-shouldered, holding a spear that still glimmered with cold menace, picked up on her mood. Its jackal muzzle curled back, releasing a guttural growl that rolled like thunder through the square.
Roji's voice cut across the air.
"Hey. Carefree guy. Do you think I'm joking with you?"
Her guardian's eyes lit like coal in a furnace, and before Tae-yang could reply, she snapped her fingers.
"Grab him."
The statue obeyed without a word. One heavy stomp cracked the stone tiles beneath its feet. Dust scattered in a ring. The spear tilted down like a steel fang, and then, boom, it lunged.
Tae-yang stayed squatting, tiger paper still dangling from two fingers.
He tilted his head as the weapon screamed toward him.
"The tiger doesn't roar," he murmured, "so I guess they all think it's Hello Kitty."
The spear sliced forward, carrying the full weight of a monster meant to guard pharaohs in their graves.
Tae-yang didn't dodge. He didn't even flinch.
He flicked his wrist. Just that. A lazy, almost bored wave, as if swatting a fly.
Metal screamed against air.
The spear's trajectory bent sideways like a drunk man missing his bus stop. It tore a jagged trench through the stone floor, carving out a groove wide enough to swallow a man's leg. Pebbles exploded outward. A single line of dust billowed in its wake.
Gasps shot through the onlookers like popcorn.
"What the, what did he just do?"
"He, he deflected it!"
"With his hand? He's not even bleeding!"
"Who deflects a spear with a wrist flick?!"
Dozens of eyes locked on Tae-yang. His wrist looked perfectly intact. No bruises. No broken bones dangling out like a horror movie prop.
He tilted his chin up, smug as a cat that just found out the neighbor's dog was on vacation.
"They're gaping like that because they don't know their own stats," he thought. "If they saw the System window I did, they'd already be crying."
With deliberate slowness, Tae-yang stood and smoothed his shirt like a man brushing lint before a date. He let the tiger paper dangle lazily at his side, then turned his eyes on Kim Roji.
"So," he asked, voice carrying just enough mockery to sting, "what will you do next? Your only pet's weapon is gone."
The jackal-headed statue froze, its spear half-buried in the cracked stone. Roji's lips parted in disbelief.
But only for a second.
She bit down, shoved a hand into her backpack, and rummaged like a desperate kid searching for snacks. Her fingers clinked against something heavy.
"Who says so?" she snapped. "I still have many other statues."
One by one, she pulled them free. Dark stone, etched with ancient hieroglyphics, eyes painted red with ruby dust. Each piece carried the smell of desert sand, incense, and something older, something that shouldn't be breathing in this broken tower.
With a sharp gesture, Roji slammed them onto the ground.
Cracks spread outward like spiderwebs. Black aura hissed up like smoke from a fire pit.
Then, with a grinding sound that made everyone's teeth ache, four more guardians began to shift. Limbs stretched. Heads twisted. Stone flaked off like skin shedding. Their eyes glowed, hungry and alive.
And in seconds, the square was no longer occupied by one Anubis statue.
But five.