Chapter 77: What is this again?

“We shall all be together. Live today, and die tomorrow~ Hide a shrinking smile deep in our hearts~”

A dark alley.

A shabby-looking thug hummed a tune.

The mask covering his lower face filtered his voice.

The Lizardman patrolling alongside him complained.

“Do you have to sing that here?”

“Why? What’s the problem?”

“Are you seriously asking?”

“Is it because of the next verse? Don’t tell me you actually believe ghosts are real.”

“They are real!”

“Sure they are~”

The scruffy thug laughed mockingly.

‘Ghosts? Where could such things exist? It’s all lies made up by exorcists to make money.’

That was the kind of thought a man who had never seen a ghost in his life could afford to have.

But the Lizardman beside him, who was chiding him, thought differently.

“Hey, you can say that because you grew up in a middle-class household with a roof over your head, where regular exorcisms were performed. In the slums, ghosts show up at least once a year!”

“Yeah, sure.”

The man chuckled, teasing his companion as he hummed the next verse.

“At twilight when shadows fall, the Boogeyman will come~ With a rusty blade, he’ll slit your throat~ Early evening~ Stuff you in a sack and toss you into the sea~ Late night~ An empty ship will dock at the harbor~ Early morning~”

“Stop! Just stop!”

The Lizardman, who had been holding it in, finally exploded.

***

[Assassin! The boss has been taken out!]

The man and the Lizardman exchanged glances.

‘What was that?’

‘Was this some kind of belated April Fool’s joke? No one would be crazy enough to pull something like that over the radio.’

Rat-a-tat-tat!

Moreover, the gunfire coming from the gang’s hideout in the abandoned factory confirmed this was no prank.

The two hurriedly ran toward the factory.

As they got closer, they began to see other patrol members like themselves.

“Who’s the intruder?”

“Is it those Elanskoll bastards we fought recently?”

“They say it’s just one person.”

“One?!”

Before entering, they exchanged brief information.

No one knew who the intruder was or what they wanted.

No one understood how they had avoided the patrols, CCTV, and even landmines to decapitate the boss.

All they knew was one thing—the assassin was alone and still rampaging inside the factory.

They rushed in.

The moment they entered, a dagger flew out and slit the throats of two of their comrades.

“Shit! Take cover!”

Without even catching a glimpse of the assassin, the patrol team scrambled for cover.

From beyond the wall, the sounds of fighting between the frontline and the intruder echoed.

The man who had been humming earlier trembled with fear.

Clang!

“G-gah…”

“Chabo!”

One of the lieutenants collapsed, spewing blood.

‘What kind of monster could kill a lieutenant in a single blow?’

‘Could it really be the Boogeyman from the song he had just sung?’

‘No, ghosts don’t exist.’

The man shook his head, denying the thought, and peeked beyond the wall.

He had to prove it wasn’t his fault.

When he poked his head out, he saw the figure slaughtering the gang members.

A being completely wrapped in black cloth, wearing a hood pulled low and a skull mask.

The figure’s eyes met his.

Three lenses in each eye socket gave the mask an unsettling, spider-like appearance.

Predator-red lenses stared at the man wordlessly, filling him with an inexplicable dread.

“Shoot! Shoot it!”

The shout of a lieutenant snapped the man back to reality.

He ducked behind the wall again.

The being lost interest in him and instead turned its attention to those shooting at it, swinging its blade.

“Fuck! What the hell is that monster?”

“It’s regenerating! Did it escape from some lab?!”

Amid the deafening gunfire, the man’s comrades shouted through the radio.

Screams, wails, and dying breaths mixed with the cacophony.

The man made up his mind.

Grabbing the Lizardman’s wrist, he said, “Let’s run.”

This gang was finished.

It didn’t matter whether the thing was the Boogeyman, a ghost, or an escaped experiment.

Against a monster impervious to bullets, regenerating from wounds, this gang stood no chance.

The best option was to save themselves.

The Lizardman, whose wrist was caught, agreed with the sentiment.

The two began to quietly leave the scene.

Fortunately, escaping wasn’t too difficult.

Once a slaughterhouse, the factory was filled with corpses hanging on hooks.

Among the chaos, blending in with the bodies was not difficult.

They slipped out of the factory, hiding among the cadavers.

As soon as they deemed themselves far enough from the factory, they sprinted with all their might.

“I swear, I’ll never sing that song again.”

Once they were safe, the man muttered, trying to sound casual, as if he hadn’t been scared out of his wits.

“What do we do now?”

“What else? I’ve already made contact with Elanskoll just in case. We’ll go there.”

“You planning to pull the same shit there?”

“Why not? Gonna give up this cash cow?”

“No way. Count me in.”

The Lizardman chuckled alongside him, also pretending to be unfazed.

Neither had learned their lesson.

Kidnapping people without backing, luring naive students, and harvesting organs—all for easy money.

‘There was no reason to stop now.’

At least, that’s what they thought.

The two thugs managed to survive today…

Thwack!

They didn’t.

In an instant, the two were reduced to chunks of meat.

A towering figure stepped over the pool of blood that formed where they had fallen, muttering under his breath.

“Don’t block my way.”

He hadn’t given them a warning, but it didn’t matter to him.

What mattered was that the weak had dared to stand in his way.

Spitting on the severed tail of the Lizardman lying some distance away, the giant turned to face the factory.

“Let’s see who’s causing all this trouble.”

A predatory grin spread across his face as he hoisted a massive axe onto his shoulder.

***

Inside the abandoned factory, Amon swung his sword.

Wearing a skull mask, he moved without emotion as he reaped the lives of the gang members.

Killing shouldn’t feel this numb, but those Amon struck down were no longer human.

The former slaughterhouse was now filled with horrors: corpses hung like livestock, living people tossed into machinery, and bodies gutted to replace their organs with white-powdered packages.

‘How could they still be called human?’

So, Amon swung his blade.

He cast aside even the slightest sympathy he might have had and decapitated the wicked.

His movements were eerily silent.

Even as his clothes rustled or his blade slashed through the air, no sound could be heard.

No matter how ferocious his strikes or how hard he stomped the ground, the space around Amon seemed unnaturally quiet, as if it existed in a world of its own.

Even though his presence had been discovered, the silence continued to function.

“There he goes, hiding again!”

At the gang member’s shout, Amon slipped among the hanging corpses.

Infusing a trace of magic into his clothing, it shifted its color to blend seamlessly with the shadows.

No sound. No visible presence.

Despite the many eyes watching, no one could track Amon’s movements.

Once again, he appeared above one of the gang leaders.

Driving his blade through the leader’s shoulder and into his heart, Amon withdrew it, spraying blood into the air.

While the blood mist obscured their vision, the lenses in Amon’s mask cut through it.

He observed their expressions: some squeezed their eyes shut instinctively, others widened their eyes, forcing themselves not to blink.

Amon memorized each face as he swung his sword.

Five heads flew into the air.

His mask’s lenses detected bullets flying between the severed heads and torsos.

Amon didn’t bother dodging.

Clang!

A sharp metallic ring echoed as a heavy impact hit his neck.

The bullet failed to penetrate his mask.

The sniper, undeterred, aimed for his chest next.

This time, Amon slightly shifted his position, letting the bullet hit his shoulder instead.

He felt a heavy thud but no significant damage.

‘Armor-piercing rounds?’

If it was enough to bruise him, who was completely immune to regular bullets, that seemed likely.

The shooter probably assumed Amon’s skin was the result of some advanced armor procedure.

It wasn’t entirely wrong—but it wasn’t right either.

His resistance was a result of adaptation.

Since entering the factory, Amon had exposed himself to gunfire, starting with pistol rounds, then rifle rounds, and now armor-piercing rounds.

Each wound had healed, and he had developed immunity to most bullets.

Even grenades posed little threat now.

Physical attacks were effectively useless.

Trusting his abilities of Adaptation and Rapid Regeneration, Amon pressed forward.

He tracked the origin of the two bullets and located a sniper on a second-floor balcony.

Amon committed the sniper’s position to memory but feigned ignorance, continuing to swing his blade.

The moment the sniper fired again, Amon slid under the legs of a gang member in front of him, vanishing from sight.

The sniper panicked, unable to find Amon.

Scanning the ceiling, he failed to consider Amon might be beneath the gang member’s legs.

Meanwhile, Amon glided silently through the chaos, pulling out his pistol.

He fired one shot into the back of the knee of the gang member above him and another through the jaw of another aiming at him from the opposite direction.

Thanks to his clothes dampening sound, even his gunshots were silent.

Quickly dispatching the two, he used the momentum of his slide to rise and leap high.

The sniper, finally spotting Amon, aimed—but Amon fired first.

A single shot pierced the sniper’s lens and went straight through his eye.

‘Oh, lucky shot.’

Amon smirked at the improbable outcome.

He had aimed for the head, but it played out like a scene from a movie.

Landing back on the ground, Amon continued cutting down the remaining gang members.

That’s when he felt an ominous presence approaching.

He turned toward the direction of the killing intent and saw a massive shockwave hurtling toward him.

Boom!

The enormous force barreled straight for Amon, leaving no room for finesse.

Throwing himself to the side, he barely escaped.

Without time to execute a proper roll, he dodged two more incoming shockwaves before finally standing upright again.

From within the ruins of the collapsed factory, Amon stared toward the origin of the attack.

His eyes narrowed.

A hulking figure with a massive axe stood before him, glaring.

The problem lay in the figure’s appearance.

‘Why does it have a drill for horns?’

It wasn’t an animalistic horn—it was a literal power drill attached to the man’s forehead.

Even more bizarre, his groin glowed with red light, emitting a demonic mask’s eerie glare.

Amon’s only thought was:

‘What is that…?’

As much as this world allowed for eccentric fashion, Amon couldn’t make sense of it.

‘Should I give him a lecture on how to dress?’

As Amon considered the absurd, the hulking man bared yellow teeth in a grin.

Ignoring the fallen gang members, he fixed his gaze on Amon.

“So, it’s you? The one playing hero lately?”

Amon tilted his head in confusion.

‘Hero?’

Seeing Amon’s lack of comprehension, the man sneered and continued.

“Don’t play dumb. It’s because of you that I haven’t been getting any test subjects or materials. And you’re poking around my subcontractor at a time like this? Coincidence, my ass.”

Amon pieced it together.

‘Ah, so he’s part of the human trafficking network too.’

Still, Amon didn’t attack right away.

To avoid any misunderstanding, he decided to clarify.

“Are you law enforcement?”

“Law enforcement? Do I look like a cop to you?”

“Then why are you here?”

At Amon’s question, the man grinned and hoisted his axe high.

Slamming it down with a thunderous crash, he shouted:

“To catch a rat!”

Another massive explosion shook the factory.