The dim basement was silent except for the faint drip of water echoing through the thick, cracked walls. Han Dae Su sat on the cold concrete floor, his knuckles raw and bleeding, crimson staining the dust beneath him. The jagged cracks in the wall where his fists had pounded stared back like wounds on his own body.
He pressed his palm against the rough surface, the sting of pain grounding him for a moment, reminding him he was still here—still breathing, still trapped in this nightmare. His breath came in short, ragged bursts, chest tightening with memories that refused to let go.
The small TV in the corner flickered silently, casting pale blue light over the basement's gloom. The news showed a group of kids laughing loudly in a café, faces familiar and hated—his tormentors. Ten bullies, the ones who had destroyed everything he had. They were free, celebrating life while he wasted away in a prison cell.
Dae Su's jaw clenched as the images burned into his mind.
"Look at you," a cold voice whispered from nowhere and everywhere at once.
He froze. The voice was faint, but unmistakable—soft, yet filled with endless hatred and pain. It echoed inside his skull like a ghost trapped in the walls around him.
"You can't ignore me forever."
Dae Su's head snapped up. The basement was empty, shadows pooling in every corner. His heart hammered in his chest like a war drum.
"Who's there?" he demanded, but only silence answered.
A slow, burning rage built inside him, hotter and darker than anything he had ever felt. The rage wasn't just for the bullies—no, it was for his parents, for his lost freedom, for every moment wasted locked away. For every lie, every betrayal.
He stood abruptly, fists trembling as the anger coursed through his veins like liquid fire. The walls seemed to close in, suffocating and alive, as if the basement itself pulsed with a hidden heartbeat.
"You're weak," the voice hissed again, cruel and relentless. "Weak like the traitors who left me to die."
Dae Su's breath hitched, and his fists clenched so tight his nails dug into his palms.
"Stop," he whispered hoarsely. "You're not real."
But the voice only laughed—a bitter, hollow sound that chilled his blood.
"I am Drenval. The betrayed. The warrior who was left to rot by those I trusted most. Their blood stains this earth, and their descendants will pay for their sins."
The air grew heavy and thick, charged with an energy that made the hairs on Dae Su's arms stand on end. His vision blurred and then sharpened, shifting until it felt like he was no longer alone in the basement.
Visions flashed behind his eyes—scenes of ancient battles, swords clashing in blood-soaked fields, screams of betrayal ringing in his ears. He saw himself—not as a broken boy, but as a warrior bathed in shadow and flame, wielding power beyond comprehension.
Dae Su staggered backward, clutching his chest as the strange energy settled deep inside him, like a coiled beast waiting to be unleashed.
"What… what are you?" he gasped.
"Your blood is my blood. Your pain is my pain. I have waited a thousand years for one who shares my hatred, my thirst for vengeance. I chose you."
His knees hit the ground hard, breath coming in ragged gasps. The basement, once a prison, now felt like the forge of his rebirth.
Dae Su's mind raced, torn between fear and something darkly seductive—the promise of power, of finally taking control.
Outside, the city continued unaware, lights flickering in the night as if nothing had changed. But down here, in the depths of the basement, something ancient stirred.
For the first time since his capture, Dae Su didn't feel like a victim.
He felt like a weapon.
He wiped the sweat from his brow, trembling as the voice whispered one last warning.
"Mark my words, traitor's blood. I will have my revenge. Even if it takes generations, I will rise again. And when I do, nothing will stand in our way."
The voice faded, leaving Dae Su alone with the pounding in his chest and the sharp sting in his palms.
He looked at the cracks in the wall once more. His blood dripped slowly down the cold concrete, pooling like dark promises.
He rose to his feet, a fire burning in his eyes that hadn't been there before.
His path was clear now.
And there would be no turning back.