Yoon Taeha’s gaze remained fixed on his feet with every step he took, as if looking up exposed something he was trying to suppress. His heartbeat never slowed, stubborn and refusing to cooperate, especially when the Second Lieutenant walked beside him. The closer he stood, the harder it became to breathe normally. The man’s presence had proven dangerous to him. His dominant traits were enough to drive him into heat just by standing next to him, and considering their current situation, no one could afford for that to happen.

  He constantly found himself longing for the man. Even if he was only steps away, Taeha felt the urge to reach closer. The worry never eased. If anything, it worsened when their eyes accidentally met. He hated how distracted he became around him, how easily his thoughts spiraled out of control.

  Yoon Taeha felt like a fraud standing in the middle of chaos he had once tried so hard to avoid. One moment he would struggle to breathe before entering a gate, body frozen in fear, and the next he would throw himself into battle without hesitation, battling beasts like there was no tomorrow. He had joked to himself, suspecting he was bipolar. Fear shifting to impulsive battling was not normal for a healthy mind, and Taeha’s mind was clearly broken. The shift was too extreme.

  Then again, maybe courage and recklessness were the same thing. Maybe he had simply stopped caring about whether he survived.

  What stirred his already messy thoughts was that every time he’d been too reckless for his own good, it had something to do with Kang Jeonhyun. Before he met the man, he had been much more calculating, more rational. The thought of Jeonhyun being the source of his courage had crossed his mind.

  There was a part of him that wanted to prove himself to that dominant alpha, who stood tall and strong against all odds. Fearless. And it made Taeha want to stand next to him as an equal. Maybe he wasn’t a fraud. Maybe he was just insane.

  Whether it was professional instinct or something else entirely, it felt strange. There was a pull he felt toward Jeonhyun, a certain need to reach him while at the same time being unable to grasp him. Whatever presence lingered between them, he could not touch it. Yet whatever was impossible to grasp, he felt strongly. It reminded him of pheromones, present yet bearing no scent. The bond between them never made sense to Taeha.

  He caught Jeonhyun looking at him more than once. His gaze would linger on him only until Taeha turned to face him, making Jeonhyun turn his head instantly. Their eyes barely ever met anymore. Maybe it was for the better. Maybe it was safer.

  Because whatever Taeha felt for the man was dangerous. Far more dangerous than anything he had faced before, more dangerous than any guardian waiting beyond a gate.

  There was peace between them now, but peace between hunters was fragile. One mistake could destroy it. One wrong move and that peace would shatter, never to be whole again.

  He lacked the confidence to believe this calm would last, and even less faith that either of them would survive long enough to confront what was growing between them.

  While Yoon Taeha never hated the man, hate was the reason they had met, and suspicion had been the foundation of everything. Maybe he should have been grateful that they had at least met in this lifetime. But, there was no certainty that Kang Jeonhyun had ever fully let go of that suspicion. What if the next time his gaze lingered too long? What if it hardened again? What if he blamed him once more?

  Taeha couldn’t endure that again. Not for the hundredth time. Still, he refused to bring it up. He’d rather bury that hate and suspicion between them and never give it room to breathe again.

  Yoon Taeha had counted enough funerals to understand that attachments came with a cost. Caring about someone meant constant worry, never-ending goodbyes, and never-ending preparation to die the moment they entered the next gate. The reality of hunters was a different kind of prison.

  It was the reason Taeha didn’t trust himself around Kang Jeonhyun. He needed the distance, even if it risked the bond he so desperately wanted to keep intact. He had already been reckless once, and they had created something between them far more terrifying than he could ever imagine.

  A sickening cramp twisted low in his abdomen. He stopped walking, bringing a hand to his lower stomach. At first, he assumed it was just nerves tightening his muscles, but the sensation didn’t fade. There was no green flicker.

  What the hell was that?

  Though Kwon Gi-tae had altered the troops’ memories to erase the “miraculous” healing, the confusion was obvious. The tension of the dungeon would work as a great excuse, but it didn’t ease Kang Jeonhyun’s mind. They had to move, and Kang Jeonhyun, knowing everything had to be forgotten, assembled the hunters back into formation. Hesitation wasn’t allowed, and he hated himself to an extent. These men had been hurt, some seriously even, but they were forced to march forward once again, the Special Ops relying on the fact that they had forgotten about their injuries.

  “We can’t stay here waiting for the guardian to attack us,” he finally said, voice firm. “We continue.”

  The hunters obeyed, walking slowly, determined, yet unnaturally.

  Beside him, Yoon Taeha kept a hand pressed against his lower abdomen. The cramp had not disappeared. A sudden dampness between his thighs stopped him in his tracks for half a second before he forced himself to keep walking. The black fabric of his uniform concealed it well enough, but it was unmistakable. Carefully, without drawing attention, he brushed his fingers against his inner thigh. When he pulled his hand back, there was blood. His heart skipped a beat.

  He quickly glanced toward Kang Jeonhyun, who walked close enough to notice. Taeha closed his fist, hiding the blood before the man could see. He didn’t want him to know he’d been hurt. Not before Taeha himself understood the reason.

  If he had been injured, he should have healed already before the blood reached his thighs. But there had been no green flicker, and the bleeding hadn’t stopped. Even in pain, he couldn’t afford to slow down.

  He couldn’t afford to spend a thought on himself; he just had to move forward despite the pain. He didn’t allow himself the luxury of confusion. Whatever was happening, he would deal with it later. For now, he just had to keep walking.

  The hunters finally reached a clearing with ancient ruins surrounding it, broken pillars barely holding the stone roofs above. It was like a world that had been abandoned. The surroundings didn’t belong to this era. The eerie atmosphere made Taeha’s skin crawl while tension pressed on his shoulders. He looked around carefully, noticing the faint heat shimmer once again, the same he had seen before. His eyes narrowed, trying to determine whether it was real or another illusion waiting for them.

  Seeing the empty stone gate frame in front of him made Yoon Taeha’s heart drop suddenly. It hurt, almost enough for the cramps in his lower abdomen to disappear from his mind entirely. It was the same. Identical to the one ten years ago, in height and in structure.

  His memory yanked him back ten years, making him remember once again the smell of blood and loss. There was no mercy in those memories, and no matter how much he tried to suppress them, their grip on his mind was too strong. The flashes were intense, vivid, enough for Taeha to be unable to separate memory from present reality.

  Taeha’s stomach twisted and he crouched without warning, throwing up on the spot as the world around him tilted. Kang Jeonhyun reacted immediately, instinctively stepping forward to reach for him, but Kim Jaeseong, who had been standing right behind Taeha, was faster. He grabbed Taeha’s shoulders firmly before he could collapse onto the stone ground.

  “Darling,” Jaeseong said quietly, squeezing him tighter and pulling him back to the present, “slow breaths now.”

  Yoon Taeha felt Kim Jaeseong’s chest rising and falling against his back, and he tried to match that rhythm even though his own chest felt tight, too much so. They didn’t know. None of them did. They hadn’t stood where he had ten years ago. They hadn’t watched everything fall apart, everyone die in front of them. They had no idea what it meant to face that same scenery again.

  Seeing Kim Jaeseong holding Yoon Taeha in his place angered Kang Jeonhyun. His jaw tightened and his nails dug into his palm. He kept his body restrained so he wouldn’t step closer. He wouldn’t interrupt. But the sight of Jaeseong’s hands on Taeha’s shoulders, of Taeha leaning back against someone else for support, tightened his chest.

  Jaeseong looked down and only then noticed the dark drops staining the ground beneath them, dripping from the legs of Taeha’s pants.

  “Taeha,” he said, confusion in his voice, “you’re hurt.”

  “Shut it,” Taeha snapped, his voice barely audible.

  Jaeseong’s grip tightened instinctively. He had accepted Taeha being inside the dungeon because he trusted his healing ability enough; no matter how bad things got, he would be able to heal himself. Even more, Jaeseong had been certain he would be able to protect him with his own body if necessary. But this, blood continuing to drip with no signs of healing, changed everything.

  He lifted his gaze toward Kang Jeonhyun, waiting for their eyes to meet so he would understand the gravity of the situation without Taeha noticing. But Jeonhyun’s gaze was elsewhere deliberately. It scanned the ruins, the hunters around him, anything but the omega in Jaeseong’s arms. It wasn’t ignorance; it was him protecting his own feelings, choosing not to notice Taeha, and Kim Jaeseong knew him well enough to understand.

  Kang Jeonhyun had never been good at expressing his feelings, and even now he refused to open himself. He contained the bitterness he felt from seeing Taeha leaning on someone else.

  Yoon Taeha’s breathing had yet to steady, so Kim Jaeseong did what he thought necessary. He released his pheromones and covered Taeha with them. Jaeseong’s worry reflected in how they felt, but they eased Taeha enough for him to let out a deep exhale, almost as if he had been released from the tension his memories pressed on him.

  Kang Jeonhyun’s gaze finally fixed on the omega as he felt the dominant alpha pheromones surrounding the two men. He opened his mouth to speak, but instead closed it again and gritted his teeth. He moved forward, choosing to ignore it.

  Yoon Taeha looked back at Kim Jaeseong, then turned ahead to see Kang Jeonhyun’s back as he walked away from him. He gulped, disappointed.

  Lee Hyunwoo and Park Minjae walked at the peak of the formation, keeping their eyes fixed on the target, bodies alert and ready to signal even the slightest sudden movement. Yet nothing happened. The clearing remained as it was, unmoved, too quiet. So much so it felt it was kept so on purpose. Their steps slowed once they had fully entered it, but Minjae’s urgency rushed him forward, leaving Hyunwoo walking behind him.

  Though Lee Hyunwoo was deaf, it didn’t mean the world was mute to him. He couldn’t hear speech or the howling wind, and he still sometimes remembered what those things used to sound like. Even after his world had gone quiet, the silence didn’t remain empty. The ground carried the sound for him. He felt the pebbles crunch beneath his boots, vibrations traveling up his body with every step he took.

  He sensed Minjae’s quicker footsteps ahead of him. It was different from hearing, but it was clear enough. Then a small stone rolled forward near Minjae’s foot, and Hyunwoo felt the change immediately. The vibration didn’t quiet down as it should have against solid ground but traveled forward. There was an impact, hitting rock instead of earth. Then another hollow echo, striking something more fragile, continuing in uneven patterns before it finally settled. That was what woke Lee Hyunwoo fully, before Minjae realized.

  “Aah!”

  Hyunwoo moved without hesitation and grabbed Minjae’s waist just as he was about to fall. The illusion disappeared instantly, replaced with a wide pit where earth had been moments ago. Minjae fell back against Hyunwoo, both crashing onto the ground.

  In seconds, the rest of the Special Ops gathered at the edge of the pit, weapons raised, only to freeze at what they were seeing. It wasn’t the pit itself that threw them off. It was what filled it.

  Hundreds of skeletons lay inside. Some looked recent, others ancient. They were not scattered randomly. It would have taken an expert to determine how long they had been there, but then again, time didn’t exist the same way inside dungeons.

  “These were not left by birds,” Choi Yoonsun said. “They’re piled up too neatly.”

  “Neither were they killed in battle,” Jeonhyun added.

  An uncomfortable silence followed, and it was Yoon Taeha who finally broke it.

  “This is an altar,” he said despite everything weighing on him. “And these are sacrifices.”

  Park Minjae scoffed beside him, as if the truth were absurd.

  “Didn’t know the death of hundreds was considered funny, but okay.” Taeha’s sharp gaze pierced him immediately.

  Minjae turned away, guilt crossing his face, not only because of Taeha’s reaction but because he could feel Kang Jeonhyun standing behind him. The last person he wanted to appear bad in front of.

  Kim Jaeseong was still practically glued to the omega when Taeha finally distanced himself from his grip. He kneeled carefully to look down into the pit, still ignoring the ache in his abdomen. He remained silent for a moment, brows furrowed as he studied both the bones and the surrounding ruins.

  “The Four Guardians were once worshipped as divine protectors.”

  “Maybe, but gates have only existed for two decades, so what does it have to do with anything?” Park Minjae asked, calculating his next steps.

  “Just because they didn’t show themselves to us doesn’t mean they didn’t exist,” Taeha said. “Look around you. Do these ruins look like they were made by birds? Or that they are two decades old? No, right?”

  “So, you think these are man-made?” Choi Yoonsun asked, grasping the situation faster than the others.

  “Is there another option?” Taeha replied. “Gods need altars to be worshiped at.”

  “Who would worship something that wants to kill them? These beasts’ sole purpose is to stir chaos in our world, and we are supposed to take them down.” Minjae raised his voice slightly, frustrated.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  “I think Taeha hyung has a point,” one of the twins said carefully. “Have you ever heard of a deity that didn’t control their subjects with fear? If these guardians, or beasts, were treated as divine, sacrifices wouldn’t be strange.”

  “What would you know about deities?” Minjae asked, unable to stop himself.

  “Apparently more than you do,” Taeha answered calmly. “The Four Guardians were believed to be protectors, but with power comes sacrifice, and it looks like this is the sacrifice they demanded.”

  “Who was the one sacrificing these people then?” Kim Jaeseong asked.

  “I’d think they were people from centuries ago.” Taeha looked around at the ruins again. “The architecture alone tells a tale of a different time.”

  The situation no longer seemed entirely absurd, even to Park Minjae, who had opposed everything Taeha had previously said. If this had truly been a place where humans gathered to worship their gods, then gates had appeared long before modern hunters existed. The silence that followed lasted long enough for the tension to shift into something close to desperation. If everything they speculated was true, it would change everything they knew about these gates and the dungeons inside. More than that, everything they knew about the beasts guarding them.

  It was no longer fear of immediate death, but fear of history. Kang Jeonhyun’s gaze drifted toward the far end of the clearing, thoughtful.

  “What if the guardians are attacking us…” he began slowly, “because there’s no one left to worship them anymore?”

  “No worshipers, no sacrifices,” Taeha agreed quietly.

  Choi Yoonsun squatted down, pressing both hands against his head. “Fucking hell. We didn’t need things to get more complicated than they already were.”

  Hyunwoo felt it before anyone spoke again, vibrations alerting him. The ground began to split open. It was a familiar sensation to Taeha, exactly like before. Vermillion birds of all sizes burst from the cracks, wings flapping violently. The hunters reacted instantly and attacked in unison without waiting for commands.

  Yoon Taeha forced himself to keep breathing, refusing to let his memories swallow him again. No matter how much he feared the outcome would be the same as ten years ago, at least this time he had a chance to change it.

  It may have started as A-class, but if this only rose to S-class, he told himself, we still have a chance.

  Without hesitating further, Taeha turned to Lee Si-woo, who had remained quiet the whole time. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but will you be able to take me around?” He paused. “I’m useless here, but I can heal everyone as they move if I’m with you.”

  “I’m not fast enough.”

  “You’re S-class, Si-woo.” Taeha smiled faintly. “Of course you’re fast enough. You just need the motivation.”

  Lee Si-woo laughed, then with a northern accent he said, “Alright, comrade. Let’s do this.”

  Before taking off, Taeha turned to Park Minjae and Lee Hyunwoo. “Take care of Gi-tae. He doesn’t have combat qualities.”

  “Sure…” Minjae muttered, almost whispering. Yoon Taeha would have normally punched the man for his attitude, but he didn’t have time for tantrums. He had people to take care of.

  Si-woo grabbed Taeha’s waist and began moving through the battlefield, scanning for injured hunters.

  Park Minjae felt an unfamiliar arm grab his waist. Kwon Gi-tae rested his chin on Minjae’s shoulder.

  “I don’t mind being protected by a pretty boy,” he grinned.

  “Ugh, betas.” Minjae mock-hurled.

  Hyunwoo adjusted his stance, tracking every shift of movement around him as if he could hear the entire battlefield.

  The sky darkened from wings flapping violently through the air, vermillion birds swarming and attacking the hunters as they charged forward. Taeha remembered the gate from before, remembered how helpless everything had felt back then, but now, watching the men fight these beasts, he realized something different: these hunters were far stronger. Kang Jeonhyun tore through the sky with his wind quality, riding the currents to keep himself in the air. He used wind choke repeatedly, crushing birds in invisible grips before they dropped to the ground.

  When he landed, cracking the earth beneath him, he forced it open further with a swift motion. He walked forward, lifting both hands to his sides, and raised large rocks into the air before launching them at the birds one after another. He did not miss. Not once.

  Forty hunters battling dozens of vermillion birds did not look as difficult as it should have.

  Kim Jaeseong was preoccupied with opening portals for Choi Yoonsun, carrying him through space and dropping him directly in front of beasts so he could attack them head-on. Yoonsun had no fire-based ability and no protective gear, so every hit he landed burned him. He didn’t complain, nor did he slow down.

  “Si-woo!” Taeha called while following Yoonsun’s reckless movements.

  “On it.”

  Si-woo teleported them to Choi Yoonsun just as he landed from another attack. Taeha placed both hands on his back, and the green flash healed even the smallest burns on his body.

  “Dude,” Taeha looked up at him, already out of breath, “I can’t keep up if you keep injuring yourself like this. I have forty others to heal too.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” Yoonsun grinned. “I’m tougher than you think.”

  “Tough or not, skin is still skin. You burn like every other hunter here.”

  “Nah, it’s fine. I’ll bring the burns as souvenirs.”

  Kim Jaeseong punched Yoonsun’s shoulder lightly. “Let’s go.”

  “I’m serious!” Taeha yelled after them.

  “We know,” Yoonsun smiled back. “So cover for us as long as you can.”

  Yoon Taeha gritted his teeth. The recklessness of these hunters frustrated him. They faced the beasts as if they were animals in the wild. It had nothing to do with survival, almost as if they had a death wish.

  “Let’s bring out the guns and send these fuckers blazing. I need time to gather strength to heal these idiot hunters. We know they’ll be hitting the ground in a minute or two.” Taeha turned to Lee Si-woo, who immediately pulled a rifle from his inventory.

  Together they shot down bird after bird, at least a dozen falling, their bodies crashing against stone. They heard running steps approaching.

  “Do you have an extra?” Kwon Gi-tae asked.

  Si-woo handed him another rifle without hesitation. Gi-tae dropped down beside them and began firing like the soldier he was, his expression calm as if they were doing it for entertainment rather than survival.

  “You were supposed to stay with Corporal Park and Specialist Lee,” Taeha said, not looking at him.

  “As much as I want to spend time with the short one,” Gi-tae replied, adjusting his aim, “I feel more useful with a gun.”

  “Whatever.” Taeha rolled his eyes and used the opportunity to move again, sprinting toward the injured hunters before the beasts could beat him to it. Si-woo’s gaze shifted to Yoon Taeha’s back as he ran away, but quickly returned to his gun, aiming at the beasts.

  Lee Hyunwoo’s eyes scanned their surroundings as he stood further back. Though he could not hear the chaos, he felt it all; he saw it all. The vibrations beneath his feet shifted, alerting him to something below. He turned to Park Minjae immediately and signed downward with urgency. Without question, Minjae nodded.

  “Lieutenant! The guardian is emerging! 1400!”

  Kang Jeonhyun turned toward the stone gate and extended both hands forward. With a ripping motion, he tore the hill open, exposing the massive guardian hidden within. He didn’t give the creature time to rise.

  “Hold formation,” he ordered without turning back, his eyes never leaving the guardian. “Do not interfere.”

  “Lieutenant—” Choi Yoonsun started, but Jeonhyun was already flying.

  Yoon Taeha continued healing hunters as they dropped around him. None of them complained. None of them hesitated. The moment they were healed, they stood and returned to battle as if nothing had happened. As if healing had been the most natural thing in the world. But Taeha knew Kwon Gi-tae would be having a field trip manipulating those memories later.

  “I need to do it in bits and pieces,” Gi-tae had said. “If I try all at once, I won’t manage that many, especially if we’re rushing.”

  Kim Jaeseong caught Choi Yoonsun mid-air again through his dimensional split, but behind him a smaller bird dove too fast for him to react in time. Jaeseong twisted, barely missing the hit, yet claws ripped through the fabric across his shoulder, tearing muscle. Blood spread down his sleeve instantly as both he and Yoonsun crashed to the ground.

  Taeha’s breath caught in his throat at the sight. He ran without thinking. Jaeseong’s shoulder was torn open badly, blood staining the ground.

  “You’re a very convenient friend to have,” Yoonsun laughed, still lying half on his back.

  “Aren’t I?” Taeha muttered, placing both hands on Jaeseong’s shoulder. The green light seemed brighter than before, mending muscle and skin in seconds. Sweat ran down Taeha’s temple. For a brief moment, there was relief. He finally felt useful.

  Then he looked up. Kang Jeonhyun was fighting the guardian alone. Wind and flame crashed together violently in the air. Nothing about the sight was pretty. It was a disaster. Jeonhyun wrapped the beast in his wind choke and forced it down to the ground, but the guardian tore free and rose again as quickly as it had fallen. They were two beasts, equal in strength.

  Fuck, he’s not going to be able to take it down alone. I have to do something. Taeha gritted his teeth.

  This time the guardian moved faster than before. Its beak focused on its target and clamped onto Kang Jeonhyun mid-air before he had the chance to react. There were no screams from the man, just a light grunt someone might make from falling to their knees. Even hitting a little toe against a table leg would make someone louder. But not Kang Jeonhyun. Even as he vomited blood, he remained quiet and determined. The guardian threw him down as if he weighed nothing.

  Taeha stopped for half a second, but only for that long. When it came to this man, running to him was pure instinct.

  Like Taeha, Kim Jaeseong made an opening and caught Kang Jeonhyun before he could hit the ground.

  Taeha didn’t need instructions; as Jaeseong landed next to him with the man in his arms, Taeha’s hands were already pressing against Jeonhyun’s abdomen. The green light covered his body entirely, as if Yoon Taeha placed more of his power into this man than anyone else. He sealed the internal damage as quickly as it had been inflicted. He was good as new. Taeha dropped back onto the ground, lying on his back as he wiped sweat off his forehead with a deep exhale.

  Jeonhyun didn’t spare him a glance. The moment he felt stable enough to stand, he was back in the air.

  “Lieutenant!” Taeha called after him, but he ignored it and continued fighting as if nothing had happened, as if he had never been hurt.

  Taeha exhaled sharply and turned to Jaeseong. “Will you take me up?”

  “What are you planning?”

  “I’ll blow it up.”

  “I’m not risking it.” Jaeseong’s gaze dropped to Taeha’s abdomen again. “Did you stop bleeding?”

  “It’s different,” Taeha said quickly, his brows furrowing.

  “Then it’s a no.”

  Kim Jaeseong’s words left Yoon Taeha little choice. He stood up and called for someone he knew would act.

  “Si-woo!”

  Si-woo appeared beside him almost instantly. His power had grown stronger; he was finally grasping it. “You called?”

  “Take me up there.”

  There was no room to argue, and Taeha knew it.

  Lee Si-woo looked up at the beast and Kang Jeonhyun exchanging attacks in a precise rhythm, wind and flame colliding attack after attack. He lowered his gaze back to Taeha, who stood there waiting, a furrow set in his expression. Si-woo took a second, then let out a quiet laugh. Kim Jaeseong grabbed his arm immediately.

  “Don’t you dare take him.”

  Si-woo only looked at him and smiled, and in the next breath disappeared into purple pixels, reappearing behind Taeha a split second later and grabbing him by the waist.

  “Watch me,” he grinned at Jaeseong, who was left standing there gritting his teeth as the two vanished.

  Lee Si-woo took them high above using the Jujak’s trace, positioning them right above the beast before gravity began pulling them down. As they started falling, Si-woo leaned closer and whispered, “You better be prepared,” and then he let go. Taeha dropped.

  He let himself fall, adjusting to the pull. He pulled two combat knives out of his monitor and aimed himself toward the bird’s neck. He landed hard against the creature, its feathers burning Taeha as he balanced on one knee. The heat was intense, but he didn’t hesitate. He drove the knives into the nape, marking a deep “X” across it. The bird let out an ear-shattering scream, one Taeha was familiar with, but he didn’t stop. He tore the muscle deep enough, pulled an explosive out of his monitor, and shoved it inside the wound with a forceful push.

  Yoon Taeha barely caught Kang Jeonhyun’s expression in that moment before he pulled the detonator free and pushed himself off the guardian, his body in flames.

  He fell feet first, green light spreading across his entire body as he healed himself mid-air before the burns could consume him. Ryu Seojin, using his sprint burst, appeared beside him within seconds, grabbing him and leaping back safely to the ground where Seoyeon was already waiting.

  “I haven’t heard from you in a while,” Taeha said as he exhaled smoke.

  “You’re not giving me any room to speak, you suicidal bas—” Seojin stopped himself. “Hyung.”

  Yoon Taeha laughed, but the sound was cut short as the explosion detonated above them. The guardian crashed down from the blast, its massive body slamming into the clearing and creating multiple cracks across the ground. The earth shook violently.

  Lee Hyunwoo waved for attention, feeling through the tremors that this was not just impact. Kang Jeonhyun realized immediately that the ground beneath them was sinking. They had to move. Fast.

  “Back to the gate!” he commanded. They all took off.

  “Si-woo,” Taeha said quickly as they ran, “take Gi-tae to the gate. He’ll know what to do.”

  Lee Si-woo nodded without a word, appearing beside Kwon Gi-tae a second later and disappearing with him the next.

  The others ran. Kang Jeonhyun reached Yoon Taeha and swept him off his feet without warning.

  “I can’t believe you.”

  “Hey, I saved you twice. Try to be grateful.”

  “Can’t you do it without getting third-degree burns?”

  Taeha laughed, but then suddenly crouched as his lower abdomen cramped again. Distracted by the fight, he had forgotten about the pain. He had healed all of his burns. But the abdominal pain remained.

  With forty hunters behind them, they arrived at the gate. One by one, the hunters began exiting. Kwon Gi-tae placed his hand on each forehead as they stepped through, wiping Taeha from their memories.

  “We need to go find the core,” Choi Yoonsun said, placing his hand on Kang Jeonhyun’s shoulder.

  “There’s no time, the earth is breaking!” Park Minjae yelled, already knowing it would be Jeonhyun who would go back. “The beast is dead, let’s just go!”

  “You goddamn idiot! Jujak is a phoenix bird! Once it dies, it turns into ash and regenerates. The core needs to be fetched now!” Yoonsun snapped.

  Minjae was taken aback. Yoonsun had never yelled at him before. His expression hardened, and he turned toward Yoon Taeha with a frown, as if looking for someone to blame, and Taeha was the easiest target.

  “Have you located the core?” Taeha asked, his expression serious despite the pain.

  “Hyunwoo believes it to be beneath the altar.”

  “Under the skeletons,” Taeha muttered, rubbing his chin before looking at Si-woo. “We’ll go. It’ll be faster. Si-woo can take me down there in seconds, and we’ll be back in another few.”

  Kang Jeonhyun was about to interrupt when Kwon Gi-tae stopped him.

  “We were never here. The rest of you need to exit without us anyway. General will teleport us out once we have the core.”

  Jeonhyun gritted his teeth and tightened his fist, his gaze shifting to Taeha, whose expression hadn’t changed.

  “Fine. If you can’t destroy the core, take it with you. Don’t stall trying to break it,” he said, knowing none of them carried destructive abilities strong enough to guarantee it.

  “Needless to say, Lieutenant, you never saw us here. Their memories have been altered,” Lee Si-woo added, pointing toward the hunters who had exited. “But per the First Lieutenant’s request, we’re keeping yours. So don’t disappoint us.”

  Without a word, Kang Jeonhyun nodded.

  Kim Jaeseong stepped forward and took Yoon Taeha into his arms once again, hugging him tightly. “We’ll find a way to come see you soon,” he said quietly.

  Yoon Taeha lifted both hands and placed them on Jaeseong’s cheeks, squeezing them together to make him look even more like the puppy he already resembled.

  “I’ll miss you,” he said, laughing lightly.

  Jaeseong smiled back at him and slowly let go, slightly reluctant. Jeonhyun tried once more to take a step forward, but Park Minjae grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

  “Lieutenant, we don’t have time,” he said, his frown shifting from Jeonhyun to Taeha.

  Jeonhyun didn’t argue. Instead, he stepped closer to Lee Si-woo.

  “Take care of him,” he whispered.

  Si-woo answered with a small laugh. “Better than you ever will.”

  Kang Jeonhyun didn’t respond, partly because he knew there was truth behind those words. Minjae tugged at him again, urging him toward the gate, and after one final look at Taeha, Jeonhyun turned and walked out.

  Once the others had exited, Yoon Taeha and Kwon Gi-tae grabbed Lee Si-woo tightly, and in seconds they were back at the altar, the clearing looking even worse than before.

  “The guardian did half of the job for us. The altar is cracked enough for us to reach it without detonation,” Taeha said, standing at the edge of the pit and looking down into the remains of shattered stone and bones, preparing himself mentally to jump in.

  “How will you destroy it?” Lee Si-woo asked.

  “I have a thing I can use,” Taeha muttered. “It’ll be a waste, but it’s the only way.”

  “We should have kept one of the Ops with us here…” Kwon Gi-tae sighed, scanning the ground.

  “No, they need to go out and say they finished the job. The gate is closing anyway; they won’t know the difference,” Lee Si-woo replied.

  “That’s not true,” Taeha said, eyes still focused on the pit. “If any of the gate experts are present, they can check if the dungeon is still active. We have about a minute.”

  “This is why I never wanted to be part of the hunter’s world. You guys are too much. We don’t even know how long a minute here is.”

  “That’s why I have to be fast,” Taeha answered, finally looking at Si-woo. “Get ready to pull me out when I give you the signal.”

  Lee Si-woo nodded.

  Taeha pulled a rope from his monitor and handed one end to him, tying the other securely around his own waist before stepping forward and jumping down into the pit.

  The skeletons at the bottom were mostly shattered into fragments from the collapse, breaking further under his boots as he moved them aside. The altar stone had cracked open enough to expose what lay beneath it. The core was already visible.

  It shone like a ruby, not just reflecting light from the red sky above but pulsing as if it were alive. It was already loosened from the dirt and stone that had once held it in place. Even damaged, it felt heavy.

  Understanding what he was looking at, Taeha didn’t waste time. If this regenerated, everything they had just done would be meaningless. He reached forward and grabbed it. The pulse it sent through Taeha’s body didn’t stop him; he didn’t let go. With his other hand, he pulled a small metal sphere from his monitor and opened it. Black particles spilled out immediately, attaching themselves to the core in seconds and spreading across its surface.

  Taeha yanked the rope. In a split second, he was pulled up, Lee Si-woo catching him firmly.

  Kwon Gi-tae had already attached himself to Si-woo. The three of them began breaking into purple pixels, but slowly enough to hear the core detonate in the pit below them. The explosion was not as loud as the guardian’s fall had been, but it was finally over.

  Yoon Taeha exhaled in relief. He had never wanted to use that weapon. He had saved it for himself. And now it was gone.

  I guess I better give the rest to your son.