Machine and Flesh.
When two entities, utterly mismatched and incapable of any exchange, were miraculously fused by an abnormal phenomenon, the result became a horrifying catastrophe.
If you ask what makes a mechanical heart superior to a flesh-and-blood heart, the answer is undoubtedly its output.
A power so immense it could momentarily activate even devices with dead batteries—this energy surged from the colossal form of the Distorter.
Vroooom.
As the Distorter grew stronger, it reached a point where it completely overwhelmed the force that had initially matched it.
At the same time, parasites began appearing throughout the research facility, gradually filling the corridors.
Full encirclement was only a matter of time.
Kang Han equipped the barrier artifact made by Kwak Dohyeong on one arm.
He focused solely on breaking through, disregarding the damage to the barrier or his own body.
Escape.
We were sprinting down the research facility corridors, fleeing from the Distorter and the parasites.
“Damn it, shit!” Kwak Dohyeong cried out tearfully as he ran behind Kang Han.
“Hey, Kang Han! Please use it sparingly! If that thing breaks—!”
“I’ll get you a better one later. Focus on escaping for now.”
I instructed Kwak Dohyeong, who was gasping for air as he ran.
“Keep an eye on the walls hidden in the shadows. There’s a shortcut that crosses the facility at regular intervals. If you find one, signal us and manipulate the panel. Kang Han and I will hold them off.”
“Got it… Wait, but how do you know that?”
He was meticulous even in moments like this.
“We all looked at the facility’s schematics in the briefing room, remember? I noticed an unnatural empty space. Places like that usually hide secret passages.”
After tossing out a plausible excuse, I pulled out a device I had tucked away—a recording left by the head researcher.
Inside it was the truth.
Thanks to our berserker clearing a wide path, I had enough time to check the recording.
Let’s see what terrifying thing lay inside the panic room.
I powered on the device.
A few years ago, a mysterious structure called the Tower appeared in the world.
It was a dangerous zone where monsters emerged, but also a realm where humanity found new resources for advancement.
We researchers were not hunters who fought directly.
But there was still something we could do for humanity: analyzing data and clues from the Tower to increase hunters’ survival rates and understanding the Tower’s structure to create safer approaches.
Among our projects, one stood out as the most ambitious—to create a stable space connecting reality and the Tower, dubbed the “Zero Floor,” a buffer zone allowing hunters to enter safely.
One day, as the project neared success:
“We’re almost there,” my partner, Shim Junghoo, said with a radiant smile.
“We’ll save so many lives. Hunters won’t have to die in vain anymore.”
I held his hand tightly.
On our hands were traces of countless sleepless nights spent drafting designs and simulations.
The first experiment with the buffer zone was a success.
Stepping into the temporary zone, we confirmed it functioned as a stable space bridging reality and the Tower.
“It’s… peaceful here,” Shim Junghoo remarked, astonishment in his voice.
The buffer zone was filled with the Tower’s energy, but it wasn’t aggressive or dangerous.
However, the peace didn’t last.
As the energy stabilized, the space warped, and the air grew heavy.
“What… is this?”
Researchers glanced around uneasily.
Then, a sound echoed through the void:
[Foolish, arrogant insects. Pay for defiling this sanctuary.]
It was a voice, vast and majestic as if encompassing the cosmos.
Humans instinctively realized it.
A holy and supreme being had descended.
In that moment, disaster began.
“Ugh… Aaaargh!”
“Gah, ugh, blergh!”
The researchers’ screams filled the Zero Floor.
Their skin swelled, blood vessels burst, and their bodies turned crimson.
Beneath their skin, something writhed, pushing out like tumors.
“My body… my body is wrong!”
Some tore at their flesh; others screamed in terror.
The curse of the constellation eradicated homeostasis, explosively proliferating bacteria within them.
The researchers quickly lost their human forms, turning into grotesque flesh monsters.
Yet, they didn’t truly become monsters.
“Help… please…”
Even as they transformed, the researchers retained their human consciousness, screaming in agony at the realization of their fate.
By chance, I was at the farthest point and wasn’t affected by the curse.
Unlike the others flailing in agony, I remained rational.
My conclusion: the curse of the constellation must not escape the facility.
If this dreadful curse spread beyond, it could threaten not just South Korea but the survival of all humanity.
The only way to stop it was to seal off the entire research facility.
“Open the door! Open this door, now!”
“You traitor! Are you trying to kill us?”
The sealed research facility fell within two days.
In an instant, it became desolate.
The cursed lost their reason, turning on each other, devouring one another until a pitiful end.
Now, all that remained in the facility were the still-functioning buffer zone, a handful of grotesque monsters with no trace of human form left, and scattered chunks of flesh throughout the premises.
A variable I had never even considered destroyed all plans.
“Divine intervention.”
The constellations burned into fragile mortals the truth that the Tower was not a mere exploration site but a sacred domain.
Their authority—the collapse of homeostasis and the explosive proliferation of bacteria—reduced humans to ruin in moments.
Before their might, the dignity humanity had built over millennia was exposed as a mere illusion.
Monsters of flesh and machine were born, and the buffer zone within the facility itself became a disaster due to the curse of the constellations.
Amidst all this, I could not escape the facility.
There were responsibilities I still had to bear—like dealing with my former lover, who had turned into a monster.
“Kieeee…”
Shim Junghoo, who was struck directly by the curse at close range, was different from the other monsters.
Even as the other researchers succumbed and transformed, Shim Junghoo evolved far more rapidly and powerfully than they did.
His body went beyond mere monstrosity, evolving endlessly.
Monsters from across the facility gathered to challenge him, only to be torn apart by his overwhelming strength.
He shredded them with his flesh-made limbs and absorbed their remains into his body.
“Grrrr…”
Shim Junghoo no longer retained human speech or emotions.
His only instinct was to grow stronger by hunting other monsters.
The more he consumed, the larger and tougher his body became.
He tore through walls and pipes, roaming the facility, devouring anything weaker than himself.
He was no longer human.
He had become a higher-tier monster feared even by other creatures.
From the briefing room, I watched it all.
Witnessing Shim Junghoo’s transformation into a monster, seeing him devour fellow researchers and grow stronger, was endless torment.
“Junghoo…”
I whispered his name.
Only silent emptiness echoed back.
“I’m sorry…”
I resolved to kill my former lover.
There were many ways, and I chose to use the panic room.
Its thick steel doors, designed to withstand even nuclear explosions, would surely contain Shim Junghoo, no matter how monstrous he had become.
Using the remaining systems, I began luring Shim Junghoo.
[Junghoo, it’s me.]
I called his name through the operator microphone in the briefing room.
[Come here. Be with me.]
Shim Junghoo reacted to my voice.
Though he could no longer understand human language, it seemed my voice still resonated somewhere within him.
Following the sound from the speakers, he tore through the facility, steadily approaching the panic room.
Once he was inside, I sealed the space.
“I’m sorry… Just wait there a little longer.”
The panic room’s defenses were enough to contain the monster.
Though he pounded the doors and walls with his enormous body, even his immense strength couldn’t break free.
After locking him in, I began preparing to erase the facility entirely.
Not just the buffer zone and monsters but also myself.
The curse of the constellations could not be undone through mere physical destruction.
Even a fragment of shrapnel or a piece of flesh escaping could reignite the disaster.
“Erasure of existence itself… That is the only salvation.”
First, I expanded the buffer zone, engulfing the facility and isolating it by deleting its coordinates from reality.
This was the only way to completely seal the curse.
The plan was set and executed immediately.
I activated the facility’s systems.
[Output capacity at maximum threshold.]
A cold, monotonous message appeared on the monitor.
The Zero Floor’s energy swallowed the surrounding space, gradually severing the facility from reality.
Walls and ceilings glowed faintly as the dimension twisted, the boundaries of space trembling.
This place was no longer part of the real world.
“Now for the final step.”
[Executing coordinate deletion protocol. Set timer?]
I gazed at the panic room.
Inside, Shim Junghoo was pounding the door with his massive frame.
“I’ll end this quickly.”
I chose not to set a timer.
Even a moment of delay might shake my resolve.
“Goodbye, Junghoo.”
Watching the facility, now a virtual space, slowly disintegrate, I closed my eyes.
“Though this record will vanish along with the destruction of this space, should someone, anyone, find this recording…I hope they understand what happened in this monster-filled facility.”
(A quiet sob is heard.)
“And so, I leave this record behind.”