CHAPTER 103: THE SUPREMACY ARC, PART 6

The signal pierced through the earpiece like a bullet to the temple:

"Enter."

Altair’s voice came through the mask, steady and emotionless. It wasn’t a command—it was a statement. As if everything had already happened.

We stood before the main gates of Oblivion Prison, sunken deep into the desolate wasteland. A concrete bastion buried in earth and steel—more a sarcophagus than a building. A resting place for those the world had long declared dead.

Outside—high walls lined with razor wire, watchtowers, long-range turrets, searchlights, and patrolling guards.

Inside—seven floors: four down, three up.

And somewhere in that abyss... was Dmitriy Volkov.

I looked down. My fingers, wrapped in gloves, twitched. I inhaled.

We all donned our masks.

A second of silence—then the ground trembled.

From beyond the slope, the first wave of Umbra surged forward, a mass of darkness. Silent.

No shouting. Only steel, blood, and their shadows.

The floodlights stuttered, flickered.

Sirens howled, as if the prison itself realized it wouldn’t survive.

"Perimeter breach! West wall, CODE RED!"

"All units alert! Umbra forces have broken through! Repeat, hostile units are inside!"

Ta-ta-ta-ta-ta!

Gunfire tore through the air. Bodies began falling from upper levels—ours and theirs alike. No screaming. Just explosions, gunshots, the hiss of boots.

The three of us—Altair, Seojun, and I—didn’t run. We glided along the flank, shadows among the concrete tides. We slipped through the side while the soldiers smashed through the main gate.

Altair himself sliced through the keypad lock. The door clicked open like a bone snapping.

"Inside. Silent."

We entered.

And the air changed.

The prison breathed like a living thing—low humming, vibrations, the stench of sweat and metal. Narrow corridors. Chrome walls. Cameras on every corner.

Lights flickered.

Distant shouting.

And then—a shuffle.

"...What the—"

The first guard turned the corner. Altair’s blade flew, silent and precise—straight into the eye. The second guard dropped with a clean strike from Seojun to the neck.

I stood still. Didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

I couldn’t.

I couldn’t kill humans.

Down the hall, heavily armed guards emerged—dozens, carrying armor-piercing rifles. Umbra forces clashed with them immediately. Bullets tore through air.

Altair didn’t look back.

"Kihyun!" he barked. "Find Volkov. We’ll clear the path."

I nodded.

But deep down... I made a different choice.

Instead of going down—to where the prisoners were kept—

I went up.

To where he might be.

Kang Suwon.

Maybe it was stupid. Maybe they’d suspect. Maybe Altair would realize I’d been gone too long. But I had to see him.

Meanwhile, the outer walls were collapsing.

Through a shattered window, I saw turrets blown to dust. But with every shot, our people died too. Demons dropped, hunters thrown back. Shockwaves shattered glass.

Seojun advanced. His blades were nearly invisible—only glints of light. He spared no one.

Altair...

He moved like snow in darkness—silent, cold, unstoppable.

The corridors became a slaughterhouse.

Prison defenders fought to the last: grenades, blood-forged weapons, RPGs—anything to slow the Umbra for even a second.

But Umbra wasn’t an army.

It was a black wind, seeping into cracks, poisoning the air, unraveling the very idea of defense.

I turned a corner and passed corpses.

Some guards still breathed. Some begged. Some stared at me, not knowing whose side I was on.

But I didn’t take a single step toward them.

I hadn’t come to kill. I came for the truth.

Over the internal comms:

"We’ve already called for reinforcements from the Association. Military is inbound! We’re holding zone C-7, but if they break into C-6—we’re done!"

"Where’s Volkov?! Confirm Dmitriy Volkov’s location!"

The noise drew closer.

I heard the Association raising an army. Heard flying transports, combat shields sweeping the sky.

This wasn’t a raid anymore.

And while they tried to contain the chaos... I searched for him. Kang Suwon.

And finally—I found him. At the end of a quiet corridor, cleaner than all the rest.

He looked up at me, slowly.

And saw my eyes—filled with calm. And darkness.

He counted my every breath. Goosebumps crawled down his spine.

"Long time no see, old man."

"Kihyun..? You’re alive?.. Then you’ve joined Umbra. I figured as much..."

I said nothing. My gaze answered for me.

Then I spoke:

"When I became a hunter, you raised me to the heavens. Even threw a ceremony.Was that out of pity for my family?"

My cold voice pierced his ears like glass.

"...Your father, before he died, asked me to look after you. But after he disappeared... I didn’t want to see you. I just paid for your living, pretending it was more than you deserved. What a fool I was..."

"My mother. My father. They were close to you. But when they asked for help—you turned them away. Why?"

Suwon’s eyes twitched. The past flickered in his memory.

"...Because I was afraid of you. Your power. It could’ve saved the world—or destroyed it. When I learned your parents planned to marry... I was overwhelmed with jealousy. Kihyun... I... loved Arinel."

He buried himself deeper, voice cracking.

"When you were born, I saw her... holding you with pure joy. And I hated you. I hated Arinel. I hated Yeonho. Your father... he was a good friend. I wished him the best—but inside, I envied him with every fiber. Kihyun... Your parents only wanted you to be happy. And I... tried to help you find it, in my own way."

Suwon collapsed. His forehead hit the floor. As if begging for forgiveness he knew he didn’t deserve.

The old man knelt in shame.

But me... I felt nothing.

No reaction. No pity.

"Old man."

He lifted his head slowly, cheeks flushed red.

"Be proud of yourself. With my father, you built the hunter world. And your daughter... She’ll carry it on."

I turned, my dark cloak sweeping behind me. Then I put the mask on and stepped away.

Before I left, I said:

"Don’t be bitter. You lived a soft life. Not all fathers can protect the ones they truly loved."

Not long after, I reached the eastern wing. Walls thickened. Concrete grew darker. The air—heavier.

The deeper I went, the quieter it became. As if the prison itself stifled the sound of fear.

Before me stood a sealed door. Conservative. From another time.

Layers of steel, reinforced locks, auto-sealing systems.

Behind it—the mission’s target.

Dmitriy Volkov.