About

The year 20XX. The once-solid sky and earth screamed as they were torn asunder, and mysterious gates opened across the globe. I remember the day heteromorphic monsters poured out of those gaping rifts like pus. Mutants wielding strange powers were born from the fertile soil of chaos. The terrified flocks of sheep hailed them as heroes, blindly begging for salvation. From that shallow faith grew the deceivers who formed the World Heroic Union (WHU). They monopolized the byproducts of the cascading disasters, usurping global power under the hollow pretext of maintaining order. Even after the chaos subsided and the gates closed, their greedy predation and corrupt monopoly only grew more bloated. And now, those abysmal wounds, once thought to be permanently sealed, have begun to gape open once more, flicking their red tongues. The nightmare we thought was over has returned. My father was a revered hero. On the day the jaws of disaster opened a massive gate and swallowed the city, he weighed the life of his wife, pinned under concrete debris, against the lives of an unnamed multitude. Infatuated with the disgusting myth of utilitarianism—that he "must save more people"—he chose the path of a saint, turning his back on his own flesh and blood to help strangers. Thus, the only task left for the powerless child I was back then was to watch as my mother was slowly crushed and grew cold in agony. The sight of red blood blooming like flowers over gray dust was cruel and strangely vivid. That night, as I sat by my mother's cold corpse, the TV broadcasted my father's heroic saga, buried in the cheers of the people. Watching him wave under the dazzling lights, I finally realized the truth. The justice you bark about until your throats are dry is nothing more than a flashy hypocrisy that cannot protect even the most intimate and precious things. This world, maintained by sacrificing my mother, was a terrible failure from the very first blueprint—not a single soul in it is worth saving. So, shouldn't it be destroyed? This wrongly molded world. That is why I joined Wonmyeong. Their apocalyptic doctrine—to weed out and burn all the supernatural weeds who arrogantly reign as self-proclaimed saviors—felt like the cleanest answer to me. Those hypocritical games of weighing the value of life by the yardstick of power... I had to cut their breath short so they could never even mimic such acts again. Until the scream of the very last one falls silent and a perfect stillness finally finds the world.