“……!”
Startled, he instinctively tried to yank his hand away—but Tae Woon was faster. His hand clamped around Sibaek’s wrist, firm but gentle. A red tongue lazily licked along Sibaek’s fingers, and then the pointed tip began teasing the tender skin between them. The raw sensation, vivid and deliberate, sent a shiver racing up his spine. Every fine hair on his body stood on end.
Tae Woon’s grip was soft. His upturned lips wore an easy, relaxed smile. It felt like Sibaek could push him away with just a little effort—yet no strength came to him. His eyes drifted past their joined hands to meet Tae Woon’s gaze. Those dark irises, sunken within their whites, stared straight into him.
And in those shadowy eyes, swimming just beneath the surface, was a hunger that could no longer be hidden.
Tap.
Sensing that spark of longing—bright and unmistakable—Kim Sibaek slapped his hand away hard enough to make a sound. Tae Woon pulled back without resistance, then deliberately ran his tongue across his lips like he was savoring the moment. The vivid red of it against his pale skin was seared into Sibaek’s vision, and he scrubbed at his trembling eyelids.
“You really…”
He didn’t even know what he was about to say. The words faltered and died in his throat. With a sigh, Kim Sibaek stood from the bench. Lord Biendeoé, frozen stiff in shock, finally dropped down to the ground, her head bowed low.
“I’m going to the restroom.”
“Yes, hyung.”
The reply was so obedient it was hard to believe this was the same person who’d just been playing with his tongue a moment ago.
It looked like their paths had crossed without incident—Pi Minhyung’s family wasn’t in the bathroom. Good. If they’d run into each other, he wouldn’t have known what to say.
Standing at the sink, Kim Sibaek finally caught sight of his reflection. His face was flushed. He ran cold water over his hands, but the sensation of that coarse tongue dragging along his skin wouldn’t leave him.
He wanted to keep things strictly as hyung and dongsaeng. He wanted that line to stay clear. But the way he kept getting thrown off—kept feeling things—was messing with him.
…Maybe deep down, he was hoping for something more. And he hadn’t even realized it.
“I think you’re misunderstanding something… It’s not like I want to date you, hyung. I’m not asking you to accept how I used to feel either.”
Suddenly, Tae Woon’s words came back to him. Looking back, everything he’d said that day… had been in the past tense.
“Used to feel”…?
Kim Sibaek was still chewing on that when—
RUMBLE!
A thunderous roar shook the ground. Screams erupted in the bathroom as people dropped to their knees. The sink fixtures bolted to the wall rattled like they might fall off.
No way—is it a monster swarm? But there was no sign of any demonic energy!
He shoved his thoughts aside and bolted out the door. Dust billowed in the distance. People were scattering in every direction. And in the middle of it all—amid the shrieking chaos—
There was a child.
“……”
Kim Sibaek gasped—but even that sensation didn’t register. The panic around him, the way time had suddenly sped up—it all vanished. He could no longer hear or see anything else. Even the frightened little god curled up on his head was forgotten.
Every sense in his body honed in on one thing.
The boy standing before him.
“…Woonie.”
The name slipped out in a breathless murmur, weak and weightless. It hit the ground without a sound, scattering into nothing. Sibaek forced another whisper from deep in his throat, though he couldn’t even hear it himself.
“Siwoon-ah.”
The child smiled.
It was the first time he’d seen that smile—and it was terrifying. That bright, innocent grin clung to the child’s lips as he whispered: Hyung…
His lower abdomen split open. A wet, red spray of blood and organs poured out. Finally, with a soft plop, an eyeball rolled free.
Fear crushed him like a vice.
***
Chaos is the god of the primordial age—residue of defeated divinity and mystery, pooled deep at the bottom of the world. It is the first impurity. Within that filth, all things are blended together. Even the instinct and will that keep living things alive are cast-off remnants drifting into it.
Monsters are born from Chaos. And the stronger and closer a monster is to Chaos, the more their origin burns within them.
Edokers was born from fear.
The fear of being exposed as the last remnant of a fallen royal line. The fear of death. The desperate fear of wanting to live, no matter what. Chaos devoured that fear—and the man who once bore a human name was given a new one: Edokers, the name of terror itself.
Even now, weakened to the point of absurdity, Edokers could still manipulate fear at will. Not even Apostles were immune when caught off guard.
***
As a child, he often wondered—if Mom and Dad didn’t love each other, why did they get married?
People said you got married because you were in love, and then you had kids. But his parents weren’t like that. In Kim Sibaek’s memories, his father was always drunk. The more bottles piled up, the longer the beatings lasted. His mother’s face was so often bruised and swollen, he couldn’t even remember what she originally looked like.
When he was really little, his mother used to scream and fight back. But one day, she just stopped yelling. Around the time her face started to harden with resignation and despair… his younger brother was born.
They didn’t even love each other, so why a second child? Kim Sibaek didn’t understand. He didn’t know that his brother had been born after a night when their mother’s screams had sounded especially hopeless.
His brother was… different.
While other babies cooed and babbled, he just sat there, blank-eyed. He didn’t speak a word until he was three. He seemed to understand his name—Kim Siwoon—but barely responded when called. Sometimes he would just stare at his own waving hands or watch himself move, completely absorbed.
Back then, there wasn’t much research on autism or developmental disorders. No one had the language for what made his younger brother different—so they just called it “slow.” And a slow child was a father’s shame.
Their father refused to acknowledge Siwoon as his son. He’d interrogate their mother, demanding to know whose child he really was, then smash bottles in drunken rage. Siwoon, who normally played alone quietly in a corner, would always crawl into Sibaek’s arms on those nights. Even for a boy who barely reacted to anything, their father’s violence seemed unbearable.
Sibaek would pull a blanket over them, press his hands over his brother’s ears, and hold him close. That tiny body, warm and twitching in his arms, felt impossibly heavy. Siwoon never cried. He would just nuzzle into Sibaek’s chest and fall asleep, his uneven, fragile breathing making Sibaek feel even more helpless.
That morning was just like any other—they’d fallen asleep tangled together.
But unlike every other morning, their mother—who only ever cried, yelled, or cursed—was busy at dawn, frying pork cutlets in the kitchen. Their father was gone. He’d probably lost his temper and stormed off to drink again, not yet come home. When he drank through the night, he wouldn’t show up again until long past noon.
Their mother looked especially anxious that day.
The house was quiet. There was no trace of their father’s scent—no booze, no sweat, no fury—only the rich smell of fried pork cutlets drifting through the air. Sibaek liked that smell. Their father didn’t love their mother. He didn’t love Sibaek or Siwoon either. But at least their mother loved them. That much was obvious.
She stacked the pork cutlets high on a plate, then hugged Sibaek tight.
“Sibaek, I’m going to the market, okay? Watch the house while I’m gone. I’ll bring back more pork cutlets—your favorite.”
She stroked his back gently, but wouldn’t meet his eyes. And that’s when Sibaek knew—something was wrong. He didn’t look away. He couldn’t.
“Mom.”
“Hm?”
“I’m fine… so can’t you take Siwoon with you?”
Her face crumpled instantly.
He hadn’t meant to make her cry. She didn’t even make a sound—just twisted her whole face and let the tears fall.
“I’m sorry, Sibaek. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry…”
And just like that, he regretted it. If he’d known it would hurt her this much, maybe he should’ve just stayed quiet.
Siwoon had slept through everything. He didn’t hear their mother cry. He didn’t see her for the last time. When he finally woke and asked for her, Sibaek cut the pork cutlets into tiny pieces and fed them to him. Even cold and stiff, Siwoon ate them like they were the best thing in the world.
Their father came home around sunset. When he realized their mother was gone, he flew into a rage. He got even worse after that. The stench of alcohol lingered no matter how much they aired out the house, soaking into the walls and mixing with the mold until it became part of the air they breathed.
One day, after school, Sibaek came home to find Siwoon sitting alone in the corner of the room. And for the first time—
He spoke.
“Hyung…”
Not Mom. Not Dad. His first word was “Hyung.”
And in that moment, Kim Sibaek knew.
That one word would chain itself to his soul for the rest of his life.
Back then, bruises from his father’s beatings were masked by those from teachers’ canes. Their father must’ve preferred Sibaek—at least he responded when hit. Siwoon was just a strange, quiet “thing” who couldn’t talk properly and never reacted. Honestly, Sibaek had felt relieved that it was him and not Siwoon.
“Hyung.”
Even if their father was right—even if they weren’t really brothers—it didn’t matter. Every time that slow, clumsy child looked up at him, said Hyung, and reached out with his tiny fingers, it washed the pain away. There was no one else in the world who could protect him.
Only Sibaek.
Even after their mother disappeared, Siwoon still loved pork cutlets. By then, elementary schools had started serving lunch. On days when cutlets were on the menu, Sibaek would sneak his share home.
He got caught for it. Bullied for it. But he didn’t care. His little brother, who barely ate, who barely wanted to eat, would always chew those cold, stiff cutlets with quiet joy. It filled Sibaek up in a way nothing else could. Maybe this was how their mother had felt—cooking for them, watching them eat.
“Siwoon-ah… Do you miss Mom?”
“…I dunno.”
As always, Siwoon took his time, then gave his answer.
“I don’t know Mom.”
He said it like it didn’t matter—like he was too focused on the cutlet in front of him to care.
And that was when Kim Sibaek made up his mind.
He had to find her.
