Guwung.
A faint vibration was felt not far away. Ryu Seo-ha slowly lifted his eyelashes, hanging on a blood-red cross atop a pitch-black altar.
The dim dawn light shone through the massive arched window. The reddish stained glass tinted the clear sunlight blood-red, creating an eerie atmosphere.
Was it due to the ceiling height higher than the Sistine Chapel? Or because of the dark red figures engraved on the wall instead of Michelangelo’s ceiling paintings? A chilling feeling crept along the skin.
Bang!
In the moment of holding his breath, the large, heavy door burst open with a thunderous sound. The fragments scattered with such force that they bounced up to just in front of the altar.
The large shadow of a man with his back to the light stretched long towards Ryu Seo-ha. Although his expression wasn’t visible due to the backlighting, one could imagine the man’s cold gaze just from his aura alone.
Thud, thud. The controlled sound of footsteps echoed through the vast space. Unhurried steps. With each elegant stride that exuded the leisure of a predator, the scent of blood seemed to waft.
His movement as he leapt onto the altar was surprisingly light. The face of the man, now directly facing Seo-ha, looked like a sculpture crafted by a master artisan of the century pouring his soul into it.
Seo-ha’s long eyelashes trembled at the sight of the cold smile spread across his face. The smell of blood seemed to sting his nostrils. The man gently cupped Seo-ha’s chin and twisted his lips into an even deeper smile.
“Not even crying.”
A low voice brushed past his ear, carrying a pleasant resonance. Almost simultaneously, the man’s lips lightly descended onto Seo-ha’s eyelids. It felt like an almost reverent kiss.
“Good boy.”
The man’s hot lips slowly moved down to the soft cheek, then to the exposed nape. Finally, burying his nose in the slender neck, he took a deep breath as if inhaling the scent of flowers, then stopped moving.
It was because he detected the very faint scent of another person. The expression disappeared from the man’s face as he slowly raised his head. Seo-ha accepted the man’s hand languidly caressing his chin without resistance.
“Who dared to touch you.”
The voice muttering without inflection was like frost. His gaze sweeping through the interior of the cathedral was incredibly deep and dark. The red light from the stained glass flickered like a spotlight above the man’s head.
He was the kind of person who would commit terrible slaughter, even beyond what was necessary, to find the culprit who left their scent on Seo-ha’s body. Mercilessly butchering even completely innocent people.
“…Mr. Choi Gang-hu.”
A smile spread across the face of the man, Choi Gang-hu, who had seemed ready to devastate the surroundings at any moment. As if extremely satisfied with the voice calling his name. Seo-ha pretended to shiver and drooped his eyes pitifully.
“It’s too cold here.”
Before he could finish speaking, the cross frame he had been tied to crumbled into powder and scattered. Gang-hu embraced Seo-ha, who staggered from the recoil, as if pouncing on him, and exhaled a satisfied “Ah.”
Then, as if out of habit, he lowered his lips and nibbled on the soft earlobe. Without pushing him away, Seo-ha quietly closed his eyes.
Choi Gang-hu, the protagonist of the modern fantasy novel “The Chaebol Hunter Who Returned from Hell.” Somehow, he had transformed into an obsessive maniac like those in the BL novels Seo-ha’s older sister enjoyed reading
.
How did it come to this? Even genre deviation should have its limits. The problem was that this version of him was desperately needed by Ryu Seo-ha.