IBPOFCP 16

[Chapter 16]

At that moment—

With a thunderous explosion, a section of Building C’s wall collapsed, sending a flock of crows that had been hiding nearby fleeing into the sky. Still bound by shackles, he rampaged like a wild beast, tearing through the area. His inhuman speed and strength distorted the very air around him, shredding it with resistance that could no longer keep up.

His entire body surged with adrenaline. Reliving the horrible emotions he had felt five years ago, he didn’t even realize he had lost his reason—only that instinct was exploding out of him.

Lemoni.

Just thinking of that name made him want to vomit. As he repeated it, the tension in his clenched jaw tightened, and his bones jutted visibly through his skin. He gritted his teeth and kicked a building in Block A.

“…What the hell is going on?”

Inmates who had been loitering in the first-floor corridor of Building A turned their heads toward the noise. Deon didn’t care. Taking long strides, he approached a grotesque creature.

And then, he slammed his long leg into the creature’s abdomen.

The impact of his foot carved deep ridges into the creature’s belly, flattening it to the ground. Its wide eyes bulged like a suffocating frog.

“What the—? What is it?”

Inmates began to gather at the commotion, but Deon didn’t stop his destructive onslaught.

Because he hadn’t killed Lemoni.

“That—”

A strange sound came from below.

It was the creature that had walked alongside Lemoni earlier, the one that had leered at her with a perverse gaze. Seeing the thick saliva oozing like sludge from its toad-like lips made Deon’s rage burn hotter.

His brutal assault didn’t let up, fueled by heat that refused to settle. Thud. Creak. The creature made strange noises from the floor as tears leaked from beneath its eyelids.

“S-Stop… Please, stop…”

The berserk potion activated the primal instincts and desires embedded in living beings. Knights preparing for war often used it for this reason.

When he first saw Lemoni in the hallway, he’d thought everything was finally over.

He had waited five years for that moment. Imagining how he would kill her, how her face would twist in agony, how she would kneel and beg for her life, how those vicious violet eyes would finally fill with tears.

But instead—

“Kill me, Deon.”

The moment he heard her strangely calm voice, his blood ran cold.

Even in the moment of killing her, he would still be submitting to her command. It felt like every plan he’d built had crumbled into dust.

“Fuck.”

The low curse escaped his blood-spattered face as he glared at the fallen creature.

He couldn’t kill Lemoni.
He couldn’t let himself move to her tune, even at the very end.

“If you’re done… please… please…”

If only the pitiful whimpering from beneath him belonged to her.
With one final blow, he struck the creature until its skull caved in. It stopped breathing.

Screams echoed around him, and several other monsters fled in terror. One of them bumped into a torch on the wall as it ran, and the flickering shadows along the narrow corridor trembled.

All that remained was the deathly silence of the hallway—and Deon’s ragged, heavy breathing. Maybe it was because he had downed the berserk potion all at once, but the adrenaline refused to fade. As he tilted his head back to push his hair away, his eyes caught a nearby creature—and he swung his fist again.

Or rather, he was about to.

“Deon. Return. Now.”

A sharp command shot through his brain like an arrow piercing a target.

It was strange. The 24-hour limit hadn’t passed yet, and yet he heard her voice.

And then—he felt the berserk potion’s effects begin to subside.

Meanwhile, in Building C.

Ian had picked me up—trash bag and all—and was walking off somewhere. I kicked and struggled against the tough, straw-like material of the bag, then remembered the sword I’d picked up earlier and tried to slash through the bag.

Tried being the key word.
Apparently, this thing had been designed to withstand being stuffed full of trash—because the sword could barely scratch it.

“Sh-Shit! Why is this so damn tough?!”

The fear of dying overwhelmed my logic. My screams turned hoarse and wet with tears. I never thought I’d die like this. Please. Please. When the sword left not even a scratch, my trembling hands reached for the gun strapped to my waist.

I had to do something.

I had promised myself just hours ago that I would survive. I didn’t care if it was Deon or Ian in front of me—if I was going to die, I’d at least leave a scratch on their face. That weak, cowardly version of me was gone.

“Lemoni, so you know how to curse too?”

Ian’s irritatingly smug voice sang out, unfazed by my struggle. He was seriously insane. At least Deon could be reasoned with—this guy couldn’t even hold a conversation.

I fumbled through what I remembered from action movies and shoved what I assumed was a magazine into the gun.

“Lemoni, what are you doing?”

It should have clicked. Gritting my teeth, I pushed harder.

Click. Finally, the sound I wanted. I nearly smiled in relief when suddenly, the pile of bags shifted. I shrieked.

“Ahh. You’re not dead, huh? Just checking since it got quiet.”

Ian casually mumbled and began to untie the cord on the bag.

Or rather, he was about to.

“Why do I hear her voice from you?”

At the familiar low voice, both Ian’s hand and my breath froze.

“Why is her voice coming from your direction?”

Though quiet, the voice carried a weight that pressed on the very air around us—with a hint of irritation.

It was Deon.
Definitely Deon.

Without a sound, he had walked in and was now coldly staring at the bag.

It was bizarre. He was the most dangerous being in this entire prison, and yet just hearing his voice filled me with overwhelming relief—so much so that hot tears welled in my eyes. Why? I didn’t know. But one thing was certain:

Deon would never let me be killed by someone else.
Not even if that someone was me.

Ian didn’t respond.

“Lemoni, still haven’t changed your mind?”

Instead, golden eyes shimmered from the half-open mouth of the bag, glowing in the dark. Deon stood right there, yet Ian’s gaze never left me.

“If you switch prisoners with me, I’ll save you from that bastard.”

Save me? From whom?

I trembled at his horrible words, and the shiver only made his smile spread like watercolor across his face. A dry laugh echoed from Deon’s direction.

And then—just as I aimed the gun at Ian—

A blast exploded next to my left ear.

My lungs felt tight. Like something had pierced me deep inside—but I couldn’t even tell where the pain was coming from. In the dizzying haze, my eyes slowly focused.

The first thing I saw was dust.

Through the rising heatwaves, a broad-faced man appeared amid the collapsing ruins. Was it Deon? Or Ian?

“Open your eyes properly.”

A cracked baritone brushed past my nose. Through the gray smoke, I glimpsed a dangerous red blur. When my eyes fully opened, I saw a tanned hand gripping something tightly. Veins popped along the arm, clenching blood-soaked fabric.

It was stained with blood.

I looked around, trying to get a grip on the situation—

“…You really managed to survive.”

Hahh.

A warm breath brushed my forehead as if the tension had finally left him upon seeing me alive. As he lowered his head, his sweat-soaked black hair tickled my cheek.

“…Huh?”

“If you can’t even feel pain, what are you supposed to do? Look at your waist.”

His annoyed tone deepened as he glanced down again. Oh—right. Deon had been pressing there earlier.

I forced myself upright and looked down. His veiny hand was pressing down on my uniform, now soaked with spreading blood.

Bleak.

The bleeding was far worse than the pain I could feel. In fact, I hadn’t even realized I was injured.

Damn it.

His face darkened as he kept pressure on my waist.

“You think you’re immortal just because you can’t feel pain? How the hell did you even become a guard with a body like this?”

“Is it bad?”

“Does it not look bad?”

“I can’t tell. It doesn’t hurt.”