Chapter 192

The wind cut through the empty streets of Hyesan, a town at the edge of North Korea. There was no sound, not even the usual dull hum of life that people spoke of when they remembered the good days. Now, the place had been reduced to a quiet expanse, blanketed by a silence so dense it felt like the very air might suffocate someone. The rusted edges of old buildings creaked with every gust, the kind of sound you hear in a dream you can't wake from, one where nothing ever quite makes sense.

Jiho walked alone. He had been walking for hours, the cold biting into his skin. His boots cracked against the frost-riddled ground, and he could feel the bitter sting of the wind every time it hit his face. He had seen the reports. He had heard the rumors from the soldiers at the border. But this? This was something different.

They said a devil walked these streets, a rogue iron devil, whose only purpose was to turn men into rusted corpses, to make them less than nothing. Some people claimed to have seen it. Some didn't make it back to tell the story. And for Jiho, the unease was only growing as the darkened sky folded in on itself.

He hadn't meant to come out this far. The border was close, sure, but there were whispers in town, stories that didn't seem to fit. The stories from the soldiers about things they had seen that didn't make sense. His brother, Seok, had left for the mountains months ago to investigate rumors of disappearances. Jiho hadn't heard from him since. That was the last straw, the point where his curiosity overtook him. He came to find Seok, to bring him home, even if it meant stepping into a nightmare.

There was no moon tonight. It was dark, darker than Jiho had ever seen it. The sky was more like a hole, a black void that seemed to be swallowing everything. And then, something snapped in the distance—a sound so sharp that it broke the silence, made the world feel smaller. A quick, metallic sound. A scrape. It echoed through the streets, sent a jolt through Jiho's spine. He paused, looked around.

Nothing.

He kept walking. His footsteps grew louder, his breath clouding in front of him as the cold sunk deeper into his bones. He had been out here for hours, but it felt like days. He kept his eyes on the dirt road ahead, focusing on the tracks of those who had passed before him. His mind raced as he tried to convince himself that whatever the hell it was, it wasn't real. But deep down, he knew. The stories weren't rumors. It was real.

In the distance, he thought he saw something—a shape in the shadows, something that didn't fit. He squinted, trying to make it out. The figure stood still, just beyond the glow of the streetlight, waiting. Jiho's pulse quickened. He could feel the tension wrap around him, tightening. His heart beat hard against his chest, and his hands trembled, but his legs didn't stop moving. Step by step, he got closer.

The figure didn't move. It was tall, impossibly tall, standing unnaturally still, as though it were waiting for something. But what?

It wasn't a person. Jiho could tell that. The shape was too rigid, the posture too perfect, too stiff. The closer he got, the more he noticed. The thing was made of iron—its limbs were jagged, like metal twisted into a mockery of a human form. Rust clung to it like a disease, creeping along its surface. Something about it made Jiho's stomach twist.

Then, the figure moved.

It wasn't a movement like a human's. It was more like a mechanical jerk, slow but deliberate, like something far older and more dangerous than anything he had ever seen. The air seemed to hum with it, with an energy that made his skin crawl. It took one step, then another, dragging its iron limbs across the dirt.

Jiho froze. His mouth went dry, and he could feel the sweat break out on his neck, the cold turning his spine to ice. That was it. That was the rogue iron devil. He had heard enough to know what was coming next.

A low groan echoed from the thing's mouth, a sound like metal scraping across metal. It opened its mouth wider, revealing jagged teeth made of rusted steel. Its eyes—if you could call them that—were just hollow pits. There was no life there. Only death.

And that's when Jiho realized: he wasn't looking at a man. He wasn't even looking at a devil. He was looking at a thing that had once been human, something twisted and broken, turned into something far worse.

The thing moved again, faster now, its iron legs dragging the ground like chains. Jiho stepped back, his heart pounding in his chest. His legs shook, but he couldn't run. He couldn't move. The thing was too close, too fast. It raised a hand, its fingers outstretched, the tips sharp like daggers.

Jiho screamed. He didn't know why he screamed, didn't even hear the sound come from his own mouth. All he knew was that the thing was close, and it was going to do what it had done to so many others. He backed up, tripping over his own feet, his breath coming in short gasps.

Then the thing lunged.

It was quick—too quick. One moment it was standing there, its head cocked to the side, and the next it was on him, its hand reaching out to grasp his arm.

The pain was immediate. He felt his flesh turn cold, his bones freezing, his muscles stiffening. The iron fingers wrapped around his arm, and Jiho felt them digging into his skin. The pain of being crushed by iron—he couldn't breathe, couldn't move. It was like his body was already turning into the rusted iron of its grip. His skin cracked like brittle paper, and the blood froze in his veins, turning thick and cold. His muscles locked up, turning stiff like the metal that held him. He was dying, and there was nothing he could do about it.

The rogue iron devil was dragging him along the dirt, its grip tightening as Jiho felt his limbs give way. His arm bent in ways it shouldn't, his fingers curling into claws of rust. His skin, his flesh—everything about him began to rot, turning into iron at the devil's touch. His heart pounded in his chest as he could feel the life draining from him, slowly, painfully.

He thought of Seok. He thought of the moment he had last seen him, of the promise he made to find him, to bring him home. But now, there was no promise left to keep. His body, now stiff as iron, was a curse. There was no escape from it. No turning back.

And then, just as quickly as it had begun, it was over. The iron devil released him, dropping his body like a sack of broken tools. Jiho fell to the ground with a harsh thud, unable to move, unable to scream. He could still feel it—his body, encased in rusted iron, his lungs suffocating with the weight of it.

He wasn't alive anymore. He wasn't human anymore. He was nothing but a twisted piece of iron now, just another victim of the rogue iron devil's curse.

In the distance, the wind howled again, and Jiho could only hear the metallic scrape of the iron devil's steps as it turned away, walking off into the darkness. It had claimed him, just like all the others.

His last thought was of Seok, of the brother he would never find. He would never return home. And that was the end of it all.