The Devouring Genius of a Destroyed World

Eventually, he reached a place where iron bars were chained up.

*‘How do I open this?’*

Seongho struggled with the chains for a while, but he never got the chance to undo them.

He was caught by the bishop, who had come searching for him, and he was promptly scolded.

What seemed like a harmless childhood misadventure, however, took on a new meaning today, connecting to something entirely unexpected.

*‘Could that iron bar be connected to the morgue?’*

Initially, Seongho had planned to burn the cultural school down and then use the underground tunnel to help the survivors escape.

He had intended to climb up the building’s exterior, access the rooftop, and infiltrate the building from within.

But what if there was a way to reach the school without needing to go above ground?

*‘This is unbelievable.’*

It seemed that, by following the black beast, Seongho had found an easier and quicker route.

It seemed the fortune cookie’s prophecy was really worth believing.

Seongho, steadying himself, cut through the lock on the iron bars.

When the chain was released, the iron door creaked open, the rusty hinges screeching loudly.

This was the same underground passage that he had once explored.

For a moment, Seongho stared into the darkened tunnel.

He then moved all the lanterns, including those in the basement and the church, to the underground passage.

This was to ensure that the church people wouldn’t be frightened if they woke up in the dark.

That wasn’t all.

Seongho also secured the problematic steel door that connected to the outside with cable ties.

He carefully completed the task, ensuring no one from the camp would enter the morgue and stumble upon the hidden passage.

While Seongho worked busily, the crow stayed by Jeong Han-su, observing everything.

*‘I’ve done all I can.’*

Finally, after hesitating for a moment, Seongho’s steps became lighter.

He let out a shallow sigh, stepping back slightly.

Just then, the crow flew up with a flap, returning to its place beside Jeong Han-su.

Seongho watched this, feeling a strange sense of discomfort.

*‘I don’t know what their relationship is, but...’*

One thing was certain—the crow seemed to care for Jeong Han-su.

Perhaps the reason it had interrupted Seongho earlier was because it wanted to help him?

*‘Well, this is interesting. A crow repaying a debt.’*

Seongho chuckled lightly to himself and grabbed one of the lanterns he had brought from the basement.

With no more hesitation, he turned his body and began walking down the tunnel.

As he walked with the small light, his mouth instinctively dried up.

The deep darkness seemed to swallow the faint light, stretching endlessly ahead.

It felt as if he were stepping into the mouth of a monster, the eerily unsettling feeling of entering the unknown.

With every step, his tension heightened, unsure of what might emerge ahead.

*‘What was I thinking when I first came in here as a kid?’*

Seongho shook his head in disbelief at his younger self.

Just then, as Seongho began to feel the unease from the past creeping back,

“------.”

“---! ----.”

He heard murmurs from above.

It was definitely the sound of human voices.

* * *

In the early hours before dawn, the survivors trapped inside the cultural school of Myeongdong Cathedral began to gather in the basement lounge.

Each of them represented different families or teams.

The first to speak was a small, gaunt man, his frame fragile-looking.

“It seems like everyone’s here.”

The others, who had been talking in small groups, turned their attention to him.

This man, Yu Min-sang, had been the one to wake everyone up and gather them here.

“I apologize for waking you so early, but based on my experience, this is the time when the least activity can be detected outside.”

Once he confirmed the focused attention on him, he continued speaking with a nervous tone.

“The reason I gathered you all at this hour is to discuss our approach to the missing persons.”

“What kind of approach are you talking about?”

Before he could finish, a pointed question shot out from the group.

Yu Min-sang paused, took a deep breath, and then continued.

“I want us to think this through together. You might have sensed it already, but... there’s something strange going on here.”

Yu Min-sang reflected on the past days since he and his friends arrived at the facility, about two weeks ago.

*‘Back then, I really thought we had witnessed a miracle.’*

It had been over a year and a half since the virus outbreak.

Yet, there was still a place where they could eat well and sleep peacefully.

He truly believed God had saved him and his group.

That’s why he accepted the two-day quarantine with a willing heart.

After being moved to a new facility, he also tried his best to fit in with the existing members.

But that enthusiasm didn’t last long.

He realized something wasn’t right.

The first strange thing was that it was impossible to leave the building.

But there were still people going outside.

Some were chosen to go out to work.

*‘The problem is, none of those who left have come back.’*

It wasn’t just one or two people.

And when family or friends asked about those who had gone out,

*‘Those people were taken out again the next day.’*

And they never returned.

That wasn’t the only thing that felt strange.

*‘No one stays here for long.’*

He was the longest stay.

Those who had been there before him had already been taken out for labor.

Just yesterday, a family that had arrived a day after his group was taken out.

Naturally, they never came back.

This situation made him uneasy.

Could he be next?

What would happen to him if he was sent out?

Was this really a safe place, a place they could trust?

The constant mix of anxiety and uncertainty made every waking moment a struggle.

He couldn’t sleep well, and eating had become difficult too.

But that was only his problem.

Not everyone felt the same way.

“What’s so strange about it? Don’t make a fuss.”

“Yu Min-sang, I know you’re suspicious of the priests, but is it really okay to doubt the people who’ve given us warm food and shelter without any conditions?”

“Is there no shame left in you...?”

These were people who had only recently joined the facility.

They hadn’t been there long—only two or three days.

They didn’t want to ruin the little peace they had found.

So, they didn’t pay much attention to Yu Min-sang’s concerns.

But Yu Min-sang, who had already formed his own suspicions, didn’t give up.

“How do you prove that those people are priests?”

“What did you say?”

Yu Min-sang raised his voice sharply in the face of those who were dismissing his concerns.

“They’ve locked us in here, boarded up all the windows from the outside, and worst of all, people keep disappearing! There’s way more that’s strange than normal!”

But his words didn’t seem to reach them.

“So what! They’ve fed us and given us a safe place to stay, so what’s wrong with that?!”

“Must be nice to eat, huh? You think there’s another place like this?”

“If we get kicked out, our kids will end up on the streets again!”

Everyone was united in not wanting to lose their newfound comfort.

They couldn’t face the possibility of going back to the miserable days of starvation.

But continuing to live like this, with constant anxiety, wasn’t possible either.

If everyone thought the same way, it would be great.

“Now, we need to take action!”

“No! Stay calm, don’t cause trouble!”

The many opinions seemed to be going nowhere, and tension grew.

The conflict between the two opposing sides intensified, but just then,

“Moving might be the best thing.”

A new voice suddenly interrupted from the

door.

It was Seongho, who had emerged from the underground passage just as the tension reached its peak.