The Eternal Youth
Twenty-four years later. The village of Jinsan had long been erased from the maps, replaced by a dense, suffocating forest. Emerging from the shadows of the trees was a man who looked barely twenty. Jeongwoo. His skin was unnervingly smooth, his features frozen in a state of predatory perfection-a side effect of the "Void" within him that refused to let his vessel decay. He didn't walk; he glided through the world like a ghost haunting the living.
The Silent Homecoming
He entered the small, secluded shack where he had spent his life. The air was heavy with the scent of incense and stagnant grief.
There, suspended from the rafters, was Min-seo.
A normal son would have screamed. A human would have collapsed. Jeongwoo simply stood there, his hands in his pockets, his obsidian eyes scanning her lifeless body with the precision of an architect inspecting a collapsed building.
He didn't feel sadness. He felt violation.
"Maa meri thi," he thought, his pulse remaining flat. "She was my anchor, my property, the only constant in this chaotic world. For her to take her own life meant the world pushed her to a ledge I hadn't authorized. The world damaged my possession. Now, the world owes me a debt in blood."
The Inheritance: Rakt-Viraam
Underneath her dangling feet sat a heavy, black wooden box bound in iron chains. Jeongwoo broke the lock with a flick of his wrist. Inside lay a blade that seemed to swallow the light around it-Rakt-Viraam.
The moment his fingers grazed the hilt, the "Dark Fantasy" elements took hold. The sword didn't just vibrate; it breathed.
The Detail: Microscopic, needle-like tendrils erupted from the hilt, piercing Jeongwoo's palm and weaving into his ulnar nerve. His veins turned a bruised purple, pulsing in rhythm with the blade.
Suddenly, a voice-hollow, ancient, and starving-echoed directly into his synapse.
"Khao... sabko khao (Consume... consume them all)," the Void Spirit hissed. It wasn't a suggestion; it was a biological hunger.
The Divine Warning
The shadows in the corner of the room began to coagulate, turning into a viscous, ink-like substance. From the gloom stepped a Jeoseung Saja (The Grim Reaper). He wore a traditional black gat, but his face was a shifting mask of smoke.
"Jeongwoo," the Messenger spoke, his voice sounding like grinding stones. "That blade is the sin of the Gods. It was forged to end eras. For every drop of blood you spill with Rakt-Viraam, a piece of your humanity will be incinerated. You will become a god of nothing."
The Cold Truth
Jeongwoo didn't even turn around. He raised the blade, watching his own blood flow into the metal, feeding the spirit within. He felt more complete, more 'logical' than ever.
"Humanity?" Jeongwoo replied, his voice a chilling monotone that made the Messenger's spectral form flicker. "Maine toh kabhi wo maangi hi nahi thi. (I never asked for that to begin with.)"
He looked at the Reaper through the reflection of the black steel.
"If being human means being weak enough to die like her... then I'll gladly be the monster that burns the rest of you."