---

A long time ago, people began to weave stories by finding connections between completely different things. These connections were believed to be linked by some invisible element, allowing them to influence one another through unseen threads, leading to the development of magic, the emergence of faith, and eventually, the birth of religion.

They say that although it’s not connected in a way that can be seen, it is undoubtedly related.

The raindrops falling from the sky and the clouds are different entities, yet they are thought to be connected.

Strands of hair that have long fallen to the ground were believed to still be linked to their owner.

Brothers born from the same womb, though distinctly individual beings, were considered connected simply because they came from the same vessel.

Such beliefs deepened over time, eventually leading to the notion that if a giant phallic figure were created, many children could be born, and warriors would gain even more courage.

If one were to ignite a fire and create thick smoke, it could turn into clouds, bringing rain to the earth.

Even when things are apart, if there is a memory linking them, a curse could be placed on someone using that connection.

Thus spoke the people.

Thus, they believed.

However, such beliefs and superstitions weren’t limited to things that could be controlled by humans.

Superstitions and beliefs rooted in fear.

Stories that emerged from human imagination, spreading uncontrollably through collective infection and empathy.

These stories traversed through the emotion of fear, establishing themselves in communities as urban legends and monsters, portraying a distinct and vivid form.

What Park Jinseong did was one of these things.

One of the magics associated with that monster.

“A wicked curse roams the world, reddening the eyes and making all that is seen feel like a threat, compelling violence. It leads one to disbelieve in the overflowing love among people, in their ability to help and receive help, a ploy of the demon. It causes humans to reveal their true selves, drooling over flesh and blood, no different from beasts. A foul-smelling creature sprouts hair and stands on two legs like a wolf; what shall we call such an abominable beast?”

It is a world-renowned monster.

A brutal beast that attacks humans, resembling a dog or wolf.

“Those clad in skin say it is a monster born from unclean soil, cursed descendants of wolves raised by demons. They become the demon’s shepherd, donning wolf skins, losing their names, reduced to mere prey with a singular focus on violence and a greedy thirst for blood, bound by the demon’s collar, ever ready to hunt. But how terribly unclean and defiled it is, making salvation almost impossible. Oh, Church, Clergy, Angels, save them! Rescue them! Cover them with white wings and grant them even a moment of peace to sleep undisturbed! Long ago, people called it a Vrykolakas (βρυκόλακας).”

A werewolf.

In modern times, it is a magic associated with a monster that has gained worldwide fame alongside vampires.

* * *

With a sickening sound, the leather sack bursts.

The kind of leather pouch that serfs or travelers in old Europe would commonly carry.

An awkward sack that one could hardly call well-made soars high into the air, only to succumb to the shock of its fall, bursting apart, spilling its contents everywhere.

With a splattering sound, red droplets of blood erupt.

Mixed with bits of innards, it splatters like the playful throwing of water balloons by children—staining clothes, walls, cars, and people’s bodies.

“What the hell is this?”

“Blood? What the hell are those damn vegetarians doing now?”

“Ugh! Isn’t this pig’s blood?! I’m a Muslim, damn it! Ugh! Ugh! I just had that damn pig’s blood and meat in my mouth?!”

It’s a nasty prank.

Throwing water balloons isn’t it, nor is it spraying paint.

They hurled a bag filled with presumed animal blood and innards.

This is neither the Museum of Modern Art in New York, nor any civilized place!

Why on earth would anyone burst a bag filled with blood?

And yet they boldly show no shame in their deeds, hurling the bag from afar over the wall, creating this damn chaos.

It’s truly something that shouldn’t even be allowed to happen!

Especially for those unlucky souls who get splattered—blood in their mouths or on their eyes—is all the more horrid.

There’s no telling what kind of animal this could be. For some, it might be something unclean that they absolutely must not touch for religious reasons; it’s utterly horrifying!

The thought that they not only smeared that blood on their bodies but also ingested it is unbearable, even for those with the broadest of minds.

Let alone because this damn blood bag is aimed at those guards filled with aggression!

So how can this not cause a reaction?

Anger.

Fury rises within me.

The repulsive smell clings to the tip of my tongue.

A sickening odor that begs for a retch.

Is this how it feels when one collects the flowing entrails of an animal, throwing them into the trash? Does it seep through even waterproof clothing to mesh with the skin, that nauseating stickiness and unpleasant warmth?

As I breathe in this stench, it feels as if the entrails are coiling around my body.

The more I taste the metallic aftertaste that lingers on my tongue, the more ghastly the image becomes—sucking on the entrails of an animal filled to the brim with feces!

No matter how much I rub my eyes or cry, the blood smeared on my face doesn’t wash off; instead, it conjures horrific images of filthy germs and parasites from that blood invading my eyes and drifting off towards my brain.

A white, short thread invisible to the naked eye.

A thread shorter than scraps of thread rolled on the floor after sewing, writhing as it burrows into my eye. Swimming through a space denser than water, it wiggles along the nerves, beginning its journey through the bloodstream. The blood vessels are piloted with ease, eventually reaching the place where the parasite should never go.

And there, the parasite settles into its new abode, filling the entire gray expanse.

A vast gray plain like heaven, where the parasite celebrates over the cerebral cortex.

And it begins to wriggle through the brain, eating away at it.

Vilely.

Disgustingly.

“Ugh! Damn it!”

Damn it, damn it, damn it!

How can such disgusting things exist?!

That this revolting incident could even happen!

It’s all because of that damned bag.

Awful luck with getting splattered in blood has led to this nauseating debacle!

Hospital.

I want to go to the hospital right now.

Throwing away this electric shock baton, tossing aside the taser, and capriciously firing the revolver into the air, I feel an impulse to hop into a pickup truck, clear away the cars blocking the road, and rush to the hospital for a check-up; this desire is burning inside me.

As time passes, it seems it can only become harder to turn back.

I just want to quickly wash out and expel these damned things from my body!

Desire grips me; I want a guarantee of safety, want to confirm it, and it refuses to leave my mind.

An image surfaces.

A doctor holding up a chart scribbled with childish lines stands before me.

He’s looking at an X-ray photo that’s difficult to comprehend, saying—

“Here, you can see these dots, right?”

“I couldn’t discern much from the X-ray alone so we decided to take an ultrasound… It’s likely a tumor, or possibly some kind of organism. Well, I can’t say which is better… but for now, let’s observe the situation.”

Quack.

Freaking quack doctor!

“Ah, that’s the medical fee. It might be a bit pricey—ah, you’re not enrolled in health insurance? Understand that this cost is unavoidable… Oh, do you have a question? Oh, you want to know what psychological stabilization measures are? Didn’t the hospital provide warm water for you to calm down? We even provided you with a cup stamped with our hospital logo. Yes, that’s the cost. Is it expensive? Haha. It’s not a service; it’s a hospital consultation. Thus, the price has to reflect that.”

Quack—!

That money-crazed quack!

“You’re a quack! You’re a bastard who deserves to die!”

Fury.

Fury rises within me.

Fury speaks.

“What? Bastard?! Did you just call me a bastard? You white trash piece of shit!!!”

This damn anger feels like it could explode at any moment—let it burst forth.

“You white trash?! You damn dark-skinned Mexican, are you calling me—!”

Let it all out.

For those bastards who dare touch you.

You have a fitting means to unleash that.

“Die—!!!”

 

---