Chapter 017 - Moonlit Mirage 04

  Yangjin’s form was still that of a petite woman, but the unnatural air around her made her presence suffocating.

  Most of the men in the crowd were taller and physically stronger than her. Some huddled together, their restless eyes darting between each other, as if debating whether to make a move. Their fingers twitched, gripping whatever makeshift weapons they had scavenged.

  I caught Elliot’s gaze, placed a firm hand on his shoulder, and shook my head slowly. “Wait and see,” I murmured. “There are over a hundred of us here. No need to be the first ones to die.”

  The three of us stood slightly elevated on a ledge, barely ten centimeters above the rest of the floor. It wasn’t much, but it gave us a vantage point while keeping us hidden among the crowd.

  Yangjin moved suddenly, leaping forward with an unsettling weightlessness. Her long, tangled hair swung wildly as she spun her head in a full circle, her neck bending unnaturally, her hollow eyes sweeping over the room.

  Perhaps she sensed the tension among the men—how their collective anger and fear teetered on the edge of violence. She cocked her head, raised one bony finger, and pointed at them from afar. Then, without another word, she turned and hopped toward the stairs leading to the fourth floor.

  The gesture provoked one of the men.

  He was burly, with a spiderweb tattoo etched across his neck, and his voice had the harsh rasp of a man who had spent years drinking cheap liquor. He didn’t lunge at her—perhaps instinct warned him against it—but his words lashed out with frustration.

  “You’re Yangjin, aren’t you?” His voice was hoarse but steady. “You want us to find your skin? Then tell us where it is. Give us a damn clue. How else are we supposed to help you?”

  For the first time, Yangjin stopped.

  Her movement was slow—too slow, like a frame-by-frame sequence in an old, glitching film reel.

  The sound of bone snapping echoed through the silence as she twisted her ankle to an unnatural angle. Her upper body stretched upward, as if pulled by invisible threads, lifting her toward the ceiling even as her single foot remained rooted to the ground.

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  Then, with grotesque fluidity, her head dipped down—straight toward the tattooed man.

  No. 137 sucked in a sharp breath, about to scream. I reacted instinctively, clamping a hand over her mouth. If Yangjin noticed us, we’d be next.

  Meanwhile, the creature’s lips curled into an eerie, playful smile.

  “Oh?” Her voice was almost teasing. “You mean my skin? My very first one… Isn’t it already with you?”

  Before he could react, before anyone could move, her fingers latched onto his throat with terrifying speed.

  Crack.

  His neck twisted with an audible snap.

  Yangjin didn’t drop him. Instead, she dragged his limp body toward the staircase, pulling out a set of gleaming, rusted nails—long and thin, as if pried from the bones of something that had never been human.

  One by one, she drove them into his joints.

  Shoulder. Elbow. Wrist. Thigh. Knee. Ankle.

  The sound of metal piercing flesh was sickeningly precise, like a seamstress stitching together a grotesque marionette.

  Thin wires stretched between the nails, forming a web-like pattern. Yangjin gave them a sharp tug, tightening the threads. Then, with her usual eerie rhythm, she began hopping up the stairs, dragging the lifeless man behind her.

  His head lolled at a twisted angle, his limbs jerking with each bounce—like a puppet forced into a grotesque dance.

  Thump.

  Thump.

  Thump.

  Each step she ascended left behind thick, dripping trails of blood, pooling on the stairs below.

  No one spoke. No one even breathed too loudly.

  The crowd shrank back, their fear pressing inward like a crushing weight. I moved instinctively, positioning myself in front of Elliot and No. 137, my arm pressing against them to shield them from the surrounding bodies.

  The sound of dragging and hopping continued upward.

  Fourth floor.

  Fifth floor.

  Then, silence.

  Only when the last echoes faded did the people around me dare to shift, exhaling shaky breaths they’d been holding in.

  But my mind was spinning with unease.

  “The singing,” I murmured under my breath, just loud enough for Elliot to hear. “It was coming from the rooftop before, wasn’t it?”

  He stiffened beside me.

  “But Yangjin didn’t come down from there,” I continued. “She leapt up from below. Does that mean she was downstairs before? Or…”

  I swallowed.

  “…are there more than one of them?”