Min-jun awoke to the feeling of cold, hard stone against his cheek. His head throbbed with a dull, persistent ache, a low, painful thrum that echoed the chaos of his fall. A thick, musky scent of damp earth and ancient dust filled his lungs, far removed from the stench of the factory floor. He was lying in a large, subterranean space, a profound and oppressive silence hanging in the air. High above, a single, thin crack in the ceiling allowed a dusty beam of sunlight to pierce the gloom, illuminating a small circle on the floor. This was the ruins of the Ecliptic Temple, a site whispered about in the slums as a cursed, forbidden place.
Stumbling to his feet, Min-jun's body screamed in protest, every bruise and scrape from the fall making itself known. His eyes adjusted to the darkness, and he saw that the walls around him were covered in murals unlike anything he had ever seen. They depicted figures, not glowing with the vibrant, elemental Ki of the Hwarang, but shrouded in shadows, wielding power that seemed to consume light itself. The images were haunting, the figures' faces contorted in expressions of both immense power and profound suffering. He felt a strange energy, both repulsive and captivating, emanating from the very stone around him, a heavy, ancient presence that felt older than the Hwarang themselves.
Drawn by an unseen force, a desperate curiosity overriding his fear, he moved toward the center of the temple. There, on a crumbling altar, sat a piece of obsidian-like crystal. It was perfectly smooth, radiating a dark, rhythmic energy that made his blood hum and his vision swim. Min-jun, mesmerized and lost in a daze of fear and wonder, reached out his hand and touched it.
A searing, agonizing pain shot through his body, far worse than any of his physical injuries. The crystal's energy erupted, wrapping around him like a thousand needles of ice and fire, a force that was cold, yet burned with an unholy intensity. He felt as if his very soul were being ripped apart and re-stitched with a thread of pure darkness. His consciousness faded in and out, a chaotic maelstrom of thoughts and feelings. He saw flashes of his past—the hungry, empty feeling in his stomach as a boy, the shame of being humiliated by Hae-chan, the silent tears he shed while watching Seulgi sleep. The Shadow power, as the murals had called it, was not just energy; it was a parasitic entity that fed on his pain and his rage, amplifying them tenfold. He screamed, a sound that echoed through the empty temple, his voice raw with a pain that was both physical and existential. This was not a gift; it was a parasitic host taking root, a curse disguised as a key.
When he awoke again, the crystal was gone, and the blinding pain had subsided into a dull, ever-present thrum beneath his skin. He was trembling, every nerve ending on fire, his head throbbing with a phantom ache that felt like an imprint of the crystal. He was not alone. The low hum of a mechanical drone filled the air. A rusty, Ki-powered defense drone, corrupted by centuries of neglect, had detected his presence and was closing in. Its small Ki core pulsed with a dim, corrupted light, and its weapon, a cracked plasma coil, was pointed directly at him.
Min-jun's body reacted on its own, a desperate, instinctive response born of pure survival. Before he could even think, a wisp of black, ethereal shadow, as thin as smoke, shot from his outstretched hand. It was a terrifying sight, a tendril of pure darkness. It latched onto the drone, and Min-jun felt an immense, foreign power flow through him. He felt the drone's Ki core, its corrupted energy, and with a thought that wasn't his own, he siphoned it. The drone's Ki core sputtered and dimmed as its energy was leeched away, and with a final, pathetic whir, it collapsed into a useless husk of metal and wires.
He stared at the broken machine, then at his own hand, which was still faintly wreathed in the smoky shadow. The power was intoxicating, terrifying, and utterly alien. He felt sick, his stomach churning with the aftertaste of the drone's corrupt Ki. His mind was racing, a chaotic mess of fear, rage, and a terrifying new sense of power. He scrambled to find a way out, his mind screaming at him to escape this place and the thing that was now a part of him.
He found a crack in the ceiling large enough for him to climb through and made his way back to the surface. He emerged into the familiar, polluted air of the slums, his body heavy and his mind reeling. The sun was setting, painting the sky in sickly shades of orange and purple. Back in his small room, the silence was almost deafening. He looked at his reflection in a cracked mirror. He saw his bruised and battered face, but for a moment, he also saw something else—his eyes held a faint, dark glow, and a weak, shadowy mist sometimes formed around his hands. He touched his hand, and a thin wisp of shadow energy briefly formed before vanishing. His life was forever changed. The power he had so desperately wanted had come with a horrifying cost, and he was now a monster, a harbinger of the forgotten past, in a world that had no place for him.
Chapter End.