The room Seungho was shoved in was pitch black. For all Seungho knew it might as well have been a dungeon, he wouldn't know the difference.

  It was too late to change his mind now. He had to go through with it.

  A flicker. The screen appeared.

  [OPTION 3: AWAKEN — SELECTED]

  ["Become a Combat Hunter"]

  [STATUS: PENDING | OBJECTIVE: SURVIVE]

  "That's it? That's all I get?"

  What are my stats?

  It vanished.

  "What does pending even mean? what are my powers?"

  Nothing.

  "Eh, sorry? Please, come back?"

  Still nothing.

  "Ok, I guess..."

  He sighed. The darkness dipped back in, thicker than before.

  He extended his arms and walked a few steps. The floor was uniformly flat and seemed empty. The air was colder than in the lobby.

  He stood there in silence in the hope of picking up a noise or a smell that could hint him what he was supposed to do.

  His eyes didn't seem to adapt. The darkness felt darker and darker.

  He was stuck in there. There was nothing else for him to do but wait.

  And he waited in the darkness what seemed an eternity.

  Yet, the darkness here wasn't empty. It was waiting too. He didn’t know.

  Hopefully someone will remember to turn the lights on.

  He was getting more nervous by the minute.

  Suddenly he felt a presence. His blood began to agitate, bubbling up as if boiling.

  Seungho froze.

  He panicked.

  Where are my powers?

  "Screen."

  "On."

  "Ehm, system help."

  "Dammit, this thing is not working."

  He yelled. The sound didn't return.

  How large is this cave exactly??

  He had no idea what to do. Like this, he felt exposed and lonely.

  His eyes ached. His blood burned. And slowly, impossibly, the darkness began to take shape.

  A figure moved in it. Swift. Tall and slender.

  Seungho whipped his head around, following it. He couldn't keep up.

  The figure was there, and then over there. Everywhere and nowhere.

  I can't simply stand here. I need to do something.

  How deceptive our senses are!

  So, he shut his eyes. That helped him focus and picture his opponent more easily than if his eyes had been open.

  Don't think. Act.

  He started moving to the side to see how the figure would follow him. He needed to gather information fast.

  But his body had other plans. He started to feel sick, his blood flowing as if a magnet was attracting the cells of his bloodstream out of his body. He felt like needles all over his body were penetrating his skin all at once. Like myriad of stabs.

  He needed to find shelter, fast.

  But where could he run? There was nothing he could hide behind.

  He broke in a cold sweat. Seungho was seriously getting scared.

  "Stupid powers, do something!"

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  He quickly put his hand over his mouth to muffle his trembling voice. Whoever was observing his test could certainly hear him. Seungho needed to keep it together. That's right, they would surely rescue him if something went wrong.

  He calmed down. He continued moving, to prevent himself from freezing from fear.

  He stopped. A chill went down his spine.

  The figure suddenly was behind him. It stood a couple of steps away. Close enough to kill him.

  He wouldn't be able to react fast enough unless his powers kicked in.

  "Aren't you going to rescue me?!" He addressed the test administrators.

  Apparently not...

  No. Stop worrying about that. You are imagining your own end, and that is exactly what will happen.

  His teeth chattered. He shut his jaw tight and gripped his fists to collect his determination and move past his fears.

  I am going to win this!

  His nostrils flared.

  "Are you—" He choked.

  "How dare you stand behind me!"

  His determination turned into anger. That's right, anger. He had to take that rage out from deep within himself, if he wanted to win, to survive.

  The figure moved.

  Not away. Not toward. It shited--left, right, behind him again before he could turn to face it.

  With a quick step he sprinted forward.

  He found himself alone again.

  He spun, tracking nothing. The darkness was empty. Not even a gust of air betraying the presence of the dark figure.

  Seungho realized it didn’t smell.

  Whack.

  Something hit him. He fell on his knees.

  His lungs burned.

  He ducked instinctively, although the figure was already gone, again. And he didn’t know when it would return.

  He ran but there was nowhere to go.

  The figure was everywhere. Behind him. Beside him. Wherever he chose to look.

  A blow came from nowhere.

  What the hell?!!

  His ribs exploded with pain. He stumbled, caught himself. No blood. Not even a bruise forming.

  Restless but also in perfect control. The more it moved, the more it was everywhere. It was closing in on him.

  Another hit. His right arm. Seungho saw in his mind the broken line splitting his bones into two. His bones had definitely cracked.

  He tried to scream. Nothing came out. Just air, bitter and useless.

  Just then...Another blow. His thigh. Couldn't dodge what was already there.

  So, Seungho turned his body to the other side, to protect his already hurt thigh. And he held his broken arm tight onto his chest to protect it.

  His other hand touched the broken arm. The bones had shifted, but the arm held. Compact.

  It is functional.

  He almost laughed from relief. Then...

  Ha! another hit!

  It was incoming.

  Seungho was preparing for impact. He just needed to make sure this thing didn't surround him, and strangle him.

  He focused on his neck to protect it. He felt an energy there, like a fluid. He began imagining it extended over his shoulders, limbs, torso, all over his body, protecting him. A new kind of warmth enveloped Seungho. The energy began to transmute into light.

  He could perceive a faint picture of his own body in front of him, glowing in the dark. A projection.

  His body convulsed. Something in his throat wanted to come out, desperately. Then it stopped.

  When Seungho lifted his head, the figure was in front of him. Its eyes burning in between violet and scarlet. They were incandescent and ferocious.

  Instincts kicked in, Seungho placed himself in a fighting stance, one he had seen on TV martial artists take. Of course, he had no idea what he was doing.

  Despite that, he felt surprisingly confident.

  You will get out alive of this situation.

  He wrinkled his nose, clamping his feet onto the floor to ground himself.

  Seungho had to pay careful attention or he would miss its blow.

  But he already did.

  He went flying on his back, the air of his lungs shot out, and a pain so intense gripped his upper body.

  Still on the floor, Seungho could feel the breath of this thing on his neck, so close its growling resonated into his ear.

  Seungho wanted to cry, but decided to get angry instead. Or else he would succumb right then.

  Wait. If no one is intervening to stop this....then it means I still have a chance to defeat this beast.

  The body of the figure brushed the skin on the back of his arm.

  Breathing through his teeth, Seungho said:

  "That just did it."

  He sucked in a breath, and yelled at his enemy.

  "Now I am mad! I hate that! I hate you!"

  He hadn't yelled that since he was a child. To his elder sister.

  Seungho kicked. Like really kicked. Once, with all his might.

  It didn't do anything. The figure easily moved out of the way. Seungho jumped and rolled away. He was shaking, despite the beast inside himself was coming out to hunt this thing.

  The figure outmatched him.

  His ribs screamed. His thigh throbbed. He was running out of time, out of breath, out of self.

  The pain had returned like it had never left his body.

  He needed to get away.

  He needed to regroup and think of an attack strategy.

  That reassured him. Next blow, he would be out of the way. Then attack.

  Was this what he had imagined combat would actually be for hunters?

  No. This is no time for this. For distracting thoughts.

  He thought of the Duke. Of that perfect pivot. Of hyperfocus.

  The boiling in his blood tuned to a single note—a hum.

  I need to focus. To hyperfocus.

  The figure moved. He saw it—not with his eyes, but with something deeper. A pressure in the dark directed him. He didn’t know why he simply trusted it.

  Another blow was about to hit Seungho. He pivoted his foot, an inch, imperceptibly. He propelled his body out of the way.

  The figure passed where he'd been standing. Close. Too close. But he was still upright.

  He gasped. He'd done it! He'd actually—.

  The figure attacked again. Seungho dodged again. This time he felt it. The rhythm. The way it moved through darkness like swimming through water. He wasn't faster. He was earlier.

  I am getting the knack of this!

  He felt pumped. His body shook. His ribs still ached. But he was still standing. He was winning.

  Then the figure melted. Reformed.

  The angel opened its mouth.

  From an invisible presence with firing eyes, now Seungho could finally see its true shape. A dark figure, no features.

  He stared. Felt a little disappointed by the banality of the case.

  It punched him.

  Seungho bent over his stomach. He grinned, feeling his ribs on the verge of cracking. He inhaled deeply, ready and confident.

  The dark figure molded into one of those angels from the Castle attacking humans, but of a much smaller size. Curiously completely black. Now Seungho was confused.

  Where does that come from?!

  He had no time to ponder questions. He had to figure out if this thing was going to fight the same way as the dark figure did.

  The angel opened its mouth.

  Not the monstrous jaw underneath, its real mouth. The gross one biting humans in the documentary.

  Its scream hit Seungho like a wall.

  His ears popped. He clamped his hands over them, but the sound kept coming, drilling through his palms, into his skull. His teeth vibrated in their sockets.

  He dropped to his knees. Something warm ran from his nose. Blood.

  It tasted like the Han-river. He didn’t know how he knew that.

  Then the sound went deeper.

  Into his chest. His ribs hummed. His heart was about to stutter. He could feel his organs shaking, loose inside him, rattling against each other.

  He retched. Nothing came up but bile and fear.

  And still the sound kept going.

  Into his cells. His blood began to boil. He could feel it bubbling up, his own body turning against itself.

  Please make it stop!