Archive of Our Own ^beta

Lee Gilyoung didn’t remember when he woke up.

Opening his eyes had little meaning in this place, where the horizon had long since locked the sun away, plunging the land with no land into pitch blackness. He wanted to run, but running had become no different than walking which had become no different than simply lying still.

He moved his limbs through a series of subconscious motions — stretching his arms, bending downwards till he could touch his feet. Folding each leg in succession, hugging it against his chest until it became uncomfortable. His jeans weren’t particularly co-operative with his fidgeting, but his loose-fitting brown t-shirt was thankfully far less stubborn. He twisted his body around, quickly alternating directions, until he became dizzy — it was harder in these surroundings that never changed, but that couldn’t stop him.

Eventually he settled down, his body no longer pulled around by the incessant desire to twitch. Letting out a yawn, he closed his eyes, turning the corners of his lips upwards as he tried to think.

He had seen people do this before — composing themselves serenely before they had their eureka moment, where they knew everything would be OK. Then they met the everyone’s expectant gazes, soothing the anxiety held within them with their newfound confidence.

Lee Gilyoung could do that too. He had that same confidence, and his voice never quivered when he spoke.

He could do it, because he was Lee Gilyoung. He was brave, and cool, and capable.

Wasn’t he?

Huddled comfortably in the comforting embrace of darkness, Lee Gilyoung thought. He couldn’t tell when he fell asleep. His thoughts bled into his subconscious — breathing to life the fleeting shapes within, and returning color to their forms so they could fill in the spaces where reality lacked.

In the imperceivable vastness of the convos, there was one insignificant speck; a boy with disheveled brown hair, a light blue jacket, and vivid dreams.

...

[Story ‘Grasshopper Catcher’ has begun its storytelling!]

Lee Gilyoung was an outsider.

For one, wasn’t born in Seoul — the city was a foreign place, where he hung his head low under a canopy of concrete and smoke. The city’s dazzling lights spoke of endless possibility, buzzing in a language of disorienting flickers from all around him. There, it had been hard to find something simpler.

Steadier.

A place that belonged to him alone — from the sound of his heart thumping in his chest, to the chill of the bed of damp grass against his back, and the wind running through his hair with a gentle caress. A grasshopper perched itself reverently on his arm, singing Lee Gilyoung’s praises in trill chirps.

A place where, once, he thought it was easy to reach out to the sky to tell it he would go there someday. Where it was all too easy to feel that the silent stars that decorated it would last there forever, so that he’d always have a chance to walk among them.

After all, it wasn’t as if this world had wanted him.

Sighing, he let his arm fall back down, his fingers clasping around the bug net beside him. With a quick motion, he rolled onto his side, lifting up the bug net and slamming it against the ground where his other arm had been.

His eyes glistened excitedly at the sight of the grasshopper trapped within. Stumbling to his feet, he carefully lifted the net, scooping up the little insect as he did so before firmly clutching at the mouth of the net. Taking out the jar he had brought with him, he slowly relaxed his grip, until his fingers holding the net encircled as far as they could around the jar.

He then watched, as the little insect moved, almost reluctantly, at the only path forward. Eventually, it bumped against the glass, wondering why it was blocked from going to a place it could so clearly see.

Lee Gilyoung slammed the perforated lid back onto the jar, eyeing his new catch with satisfaction.

After all, he knew all too well he wouldn’t be able to stay here long. This way, he’d have company as he was made to set off to his next destination — a friend made along the way, a reminder of those sparing, precious things that were his.

His excitement quickly dimmed as he slowly shuffled his feet back along the path he came, yet the butterflies in his stomach only grew more restless — churning in his abdomen until he felt queasy.

He drew a sharp breath as an imposing figure stepped before him. He didn’t bother looking at her face — he knew well enough what it probably looked like, and the ground was a far more comfortable place to rest his eyes on.

“Lee Gilyoung,” she said, her tone heated yet simultaneously bereft of warmth, “do you know how long I’ve been waiting here?”

A shudder ran through his spine. Suddenly, the night air felt too cold — biting at his skin while he stood there, frozen.

The middle-aged woman grabbed his arm, her rough grip digging into his skin as she wrenched it upward. She bent down slightly, until he could feel her breath on his forehead, and had no choice but to meet her steely gaze.

He felt tiny. Clutched in the palm of a stranger who taught him lessons on fragility — of how easily life was shattered and reshaped by even the lightest of touches, let alone one as forceful as this. Tears welled up in his eyes, but he knew better than to cry.

“When I speak to you, you respond,” she said, her voice low but no less harsh than before.

Before Lee Gilyoung could string together a coherent thought and then decide if it was worth speaking, however, she dragged him by the arm to her small, run-down house, and he only managed to let out a muffled yelp as his muscles strained.

“Honestly, that Lee Youngmi,” she muttered, yanking him inside and moving to lock the door, “marries who she wants, dies when she wants, and now we have to deal with everything.”

For a moment, Lee Gilyoung wanted to defend his mother, to say someone as loving as her could never live in this family. Yet even if he could collect his scattered thoughts, he didn’t know the words to express them. He gulped, swallowing down the sentence he didn’t ever know how to say.

“Look,” she said with an exasperated sigh, wiping her hands against her coarse nightgown as if trying to remove any trace of Lee Gilyoung from it.

“One more day. One more day, then we’re going to Seoul, and it’s not going to be my problem if you want to run outside then live on the streets.”

Having said that, she turned away, heading inside the only bedroom of the house and closing the door behind her. Not that it was necessary — Lee Gilyoung knew where he wasn’t welcome, anyway. Given there was nothing he could do about it, he tried to ignore the dull ache in his arm as he walked to the living room, settling down on the sofa with shaky breaths.

He didn’t mind having to sleep there. He liked that it was so close to the door — it made it easier to leave, and it meant that it was in the same spot in every house. The familiarity of knowing where something was, no matter which relative had decided to reluctantly shelter him, made having to move between houses just slightly less daunting.

He placed the jar he had brought back next to three others, each with their own little critter nestled inside. Detaching his bug net from the rod, he methodically allowed each grasshopper to climb back into the net. After adding the tufts of grass he had stuffed in his pockets inside the net, he carefully tied a knot at its mouth — then proceeded to set the net down on the day’s newspaper that he had scavenged out the trash.

He’d gotten lucky, so far. Once he had brought home two grasshoppers, only to find one fine day he had returned to one of them being reduced to a meal after they had run out of food — then the other dying not long after, even though it looked perfectly fine before.

Life was so very fragile, and grasshoppers were small, small creatures.

Lee Gilyoung lay down on the sofa, covering himself with the large towel he had left on it to dry. It was still slightly damp, but it was better than nothing to combat the chills that still ran through him. Quietly, he watched his little friends as they made sense of their new companions. Thankfully, they seemed to be getting along.

He liked them. As long as he gave them food, they mostly took care of themselves, and sometimes they’d even rest on his arms or hands, like the one from earlier, as if to say they felt comfortable around him. Even if he could so easily crush them on a whim. He had, admittedly, entertained the thought sometimes — though he could never imagine himself going through with it. No.They were his, and he wanted them to stay with him.

Tomorrow, they were going to Seoul. Apparently, you could get anything in the city. Maybe he’d buy them a bigger cage — so they could jump freely, uncontained by their surroundings.

Entertaining such thoughts, he felt his eyelids droop, as he was whisked away from reality to somewhere much safer.

When Lee Gilyoung finally realized he awoke again, he managed to deduce that he wasn’t alone. He was a singular seed, resting dormant on the forest floor — encircled by an endlessly intertwined sea of tentacled roots, so constantly slithering over each other in impossible shapes in their attempts to draw closer to this one source of life.

This was a void wherein all stories were slowly forgotten — the final resting place of countless entities denied both the ability to live and the dignity to die. These creatures all had had hopes and dreams. They had experienced all of life’s joys and despairs — only to find that when the time came to try and share it with someone, that they had long since been forgotten.

Slowly, their stories grew more and more condensed, in the hopes that at least its essence would be glimpsed by a passerby in their life. The parts they left out slowly faded away, until all that was left was what their lives had now become: a desperate cry to be understood, spoken in incomprehensible verses.

Yet no longer.

Here was a boy whose story had chronicled the lonely conclusion of a world, and still continued. Here was a boy who looked upon these creatures he couldn’t understand — that he could scarcely perceive — yet still stood there to gaze at them, as if they were an old friend. Countless eyes opened to look back at him, their sclera pitch-black; not from a lack of emotion, but from the strain of holding every one of their emotions at once.

Finally granted an audience, they swarmed around him.

“ListenListenListenListenListenListen—”

Lee Gilyoung heard their voices cry out to him in long-dead languages, overlapping endlessly, until he could hear only a comfortingly familiar buzz.

“GivetomeGivetomeGivetome—”

Lee Gilyoung reached out a hand to these strange, terrifying entities. He had become the Oldest Evil once before; nothing these creatures wished to say could compare in malice. No — in comparison, they were nothing more than insects; so long as he fed them, they would take care of themselves.

He closed his eyes, trying once again to think. To think of a tale where a single, insignificant being, rejected by the world, became a part of something larger. Where even without those who understood him, he was cared for.

…

[Story ‘Insect King’ has begun its storytelling!]

Kim Dokja’s Company had settled down for dinner, gathering in the remains of what was left of the balcony of the multistorey car park.

Completing a scenario was of little cause for celebration these days. If anything, they appreciated the mundane silence their victory had brought them — the sort of peacefulness you could only find in the just the right amount of life’s chaos. It was the crunch of cobblestone under Lee Gilyoung’s foot as he walked up to Soo Yangah to receive his plate and the way sparks erupted from the haphazard barbeque they had set up as the boiled mystery meat on it was replaced. It was in the constant cacophony of cicadas, chirping tunelessly in the background.

Even the air was still in respect of this hard-earned peace, and for a moment it felt like the world was a static backdrop — existing only to house this harmonious collection of life within.

Lee Gilyoung sat down next to Shin Yoosung with his knees bent, leaning his back against the concrete wall as he balanced his plate between his abdomen and thighs. Shin Yoosung — sitting cross-legged, and with far more poise — turned to look at him.

Some things about Shin Yoosung had always confused Lee Gilyoung. They were the same age, but she was always a bit taller, no matter what he did to grow. Maybe it was because she was hyung’s sponsored incarnation. If that was the case, he could ask hyung to fix that problem — maybe as a birthday gift, if he didn’t agree.

There was also her gaze — the very one that he had locked eyes with right now. It confused him, because he couldn’t explain it. Lee Gilyoung always looked straight ahead of him; so long as he was paying attention, there was no detail his eyes wouldn’t capture. Shin Yoosung’s senses were even sharper than his — allegedly, anyway — but her eyes always seemed to be looking at him from somewhere else. Somewhere distant, as if she saw something, knew something, he didn’t.

Maybe it was because she was hyung’s sponsored incarnation.

That wasn’t important right now, though. What mattered more is that the parts of her eyes that weren’t meant to be red had started to get that way, and that — Lee Gilyoung knew exactly why. Chest puffed confidently, he pulled out a 100 won coin from his pocket, and Shin Yoosung sighed.

“You want to bet again? I’ll flip the coin, and if it’s heads, Dokja hyung is alive, if it's tails, then he’s dead.”
This wasn’t the first time they had had this conversation, and it certainly would not be the last.

“If it’s tails, you’re just going to flip the coin again until you get a heads.”

Lee Gilyoung grinned wickedly.

“Nobody said I couldn’t do that! Plus, I’ve been keeping count, and we’ve gotten more heads than tails right now anyway.”

Shin Yoosung nodded sagely, thoroughly invested in the little game despite her somber mood.

“37 heads, 24 tails.”

Nodding vigorously, Lee Gilyoung flipped the coin into the air, and the coin landed back onto the concrete with an echoing rattled as it slowly settled on the floor.

“Heads!” Lee Gilyoung cheered, his food almost falling out of his plate as he jumped up to pick up the coin, before turning back to face Shin Yoosung triumphantly.

“Oh?”

Shin Yoosung managed a small smile, and met Lee Gilyoung’s gaze directly before continuing to speak.

“I didn’t lose, though. I also want ahjussi to live.”

Huffing, he put the coin back into his pocket, sitting back down in his original spot.

For a moment things were quiet — too quiet. It didn’t take long before he noticed four pairs of eyes staring intently at them, and he scowled.

“What?”

The impromptu picnic hall immediately sprung back to life.

Lee Sookyung and Yoo Sangah quickly began to mutter. Yoo Joonghyuk, on the other hand, had returned to his duties on the grill, having strongly disapproved when Lee Sookyung had prepared the initial batch. It was hard to argue with the results, either, as Lee Gilyoung took a heart bite with sauce dribbling down his chin. The meat was juicy and fresh — which was expected, since whatever it was, they had only killed it hours ago — but still entrenched with flavor throughout. Lee Jihye was observing her master intently, as if trying to grasp the culinary arts through observation alone.

Of course, not everyone had been able to attend. Gong Pildu and Lee Seolhwa rarely strayed too far out, having for one reason or the other grown strongly attached to their stations. At least one of Han Sooyoung or Soo Yangah had to remain at headquarters at all times, while Jung Heewon and Lee Hyungsung had volunteered together to remain as patrol for the city.

A few minutes later, Yoo Sangah and Lee Sookyung’s muttering died down, subsequently attracting three pairs of bored eyes to now settle upon them. Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t bother looking up — he seemed slightly distracted, though not enough to forget to flip over the roasting meat.

Yoo Sangah cleared her throat, clearly having felt compelled to speak.

“Han Sooyoung-ssi notified me about a group of hostile Incarnations having gathered north-east from here, and said we should check it out,” she said, her tone professional despite the familiarity of the company, “they shouldn’t be too difficult, but given their sponsors they might not accept a… peaceful resolution.”

“Who are their sponsors?” Lee Jihye asked, ever diligent. Yoo Sangah hesitated for a moment, and Lee Sookyung spoke up for her.

“Papyrus and Vedas — the incarnations remaining, anyway,” she said, her voice dripping with venom. Any sympathy in the party instantly vanished, the atmosphere itself growing tense at their mention.

“I’m going,” Lee Sookyung said, leaving no room for argument, “but since I only recently recovered from my injuries, Yoo Sangah-ssi has suggested I bring someone with me.”

“Bring me!”

Two voices sounded in unison, and Lee Gilyoung and Lee Jihye turned to face each other, their eyes locked in competition.

“Shouldn’t you two get some re—” Lee Jihye began, before getting rudely cut off.

“I’m not gonna get lectured by a weaker incarnation,” Lee Gilyoung retorted, his all too familiar wicked grin returning. Lee Jihye stared back at him mutely, stumped for words, looking as if she was almost ready to pull out her sword — and Lee Gilyoung was all too welcome to let her.

“Gilyoung-ah,” Soo Yangah interjected, “if we wanted the strongest incarnations to go, wouldn’t we send Yoo Joonghyuk-ssi and Yoosung-ah?”

Shin Yoosung and Lee Jihye simultaneously tried — albeit not particularly hard — to stifle a laugh, and Lee Gilyoung crossed his arms and glared at them both fiercely. He then saw Yoo Sangah, her brow creased in worry, and his expression softened a little, before returning to a playful smile.

“Well, if you don’t want the strongest incarnations, then you want the weakest ones, right?” he said, feigning innocence that fooled nobody, “then Jihye noona should be the one to go.”

Lee Jihye grit her teeth, knowing it wasn’t worth pushing her luck by riling up Lee Gilyoung’s competitive spirit again and potentially sacrificing this outcome.

“Sounds good to me,” she grumbled, pointedly ignoring everyone else’s barely suppressed giggles, “we’ll depart after dinner.”

Her eyes wandered back to the grill, only to notice a conspicuously missing figure. Panicked, she leapt out of her seat — only to be blocked by an immovable object she could do nothing against.

“Jihye noona!” he exclaimed, maintaining his veneer of faux innocence, “you should conserve your energy for the mission. I’ll go and see if I can find the so— uh, Joonghyuk ahjussi.”

Lee Jihye lamented her fate — the great Naval Warfare God, reduced to a puppet by a bright-eyed brown-haired creature she could swear had to be demonspawn, and slunk back down defeatedly. Sometimes, she really did wonder why she oughtn’t draw her blade if she was to bargain with such a being.

Satisfied, Lee Gilyoung called for Titano — easily climbing onto its back with a practiced motion and scanning the surrounding area. Spotting Yoo Joonghyuk wasn’t too difficult. He seemed to be lost in his own thoughts as he strolled leisurely down the building, and Lee Gilyoung moved to intercept him, skidding across the gravel with his arms outstretched as he dismounted from Titano.

Yoo Joonghyuk stared at him impassively.

“Hey, sooty bastard!” he taunted, trying his best to make an attempt to stare down at the much taller man, “where are you going?”

Yoo Joonghyuk remained silent, until the air itself grew uncomfortable at the question that was simply left hanging in the air to rot. The tension grew palpable, but Lee Gilyoung stood his ground, defiant. He tried to think about what he knew of Yoo Joonhgyuk. Disappearing somewhere unannounced was hardly a rare occurrence for him, but lately the sooty bastard had begun performing basic courtesies to them like responding when spoken to.

Not that Lee Gilyoung had any respect for basic courtesy, but it did make him grow suspicious — and as his suspicions grew, so did an uneasy feeling in his stomach that made him want to throw up Yoo Jonnhgyuk’s food in front of him. The thought was tempting, but a far more important matter had occupied his attention.

“Joonghyuk ahjussi...” he murmured, his voice trembling slightly, “did you get a message from Dokja hyung?”

Yoo Joonghyuk grunted dismissively at the question, attempting to walk past the young boy. He could, if he really wanted to, but something kept him rooted there — something about the way Lee Gilyoung looked at him, that reminded him of Yoo Mia.

“Damn sooty bastard! Answer me!” he exclaimed, anger seeping into his voice.

Yoo Joonghyuk paused for a long while, before deciding to relent.

“...No. Why would I have information about that frivolous guy?”

The question was rhetorical, but the nuance seemed to have been missed on Lee Gilyoung, who was taken aback by it.

“I...” he trailed off, trying to think of why exactly he thought that.

He didn’t like the answer.

“I-It’s just that—” his voice becoming a high-pitched trill, “if Dokja hyung did leave a message… I feel — I think he would send it to the person he loves most… right?”

In truth, he didn’t really know that — and yet, somehow, that’s what he thought.

Yoo Joonghyuk sighed, gently placing a hand on the boy’s head.

“Lee Gilyoung,” he said, tender yet firm, “I don’t know anything.”

Lee Gilyoung nodded.

“I guess if you did know something, you wouldn’t—”

Lee Gilyoung’s pupils dilated in shock, and he turned to face a departing Yoo Joonghyuk. He wanted to chase after Yoo Joonghyuk, but he felt as if he had lead flowing in his veins — leaving him paralyzed, unable to move from the weight.

“—you wouldn’t still be here.”

Lee Gilyoung knew there was no point chasing after Yoo Joonghyuk. If Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t want to be followed, he wouldn’t be, and if he wanted to rescue Dokja hyung, he would. For a moment, dread filled Lee Gilyoung, its tendrils wrapping tightly around Lee Gilyoung’s heart until he could barely breathe.

If even Yoo Joonghyuk was so somber about the news, then could it be that—

No. No, it had to be that his hyung was just in danger, and that sooty bastard would rescue him.

He wished he could say he wished he knew how to be the one who saves his hyung, but in his heart, he knew. He knew how he could rescue his hyung — but he had swore to his hyung he would never call upon that name. All he could do was keep that promise, knowing that his hyung would keep his.

“Lee Gilyoung!”

A voice rang out from behind him, and he found himself quickly enveloped by a strong but fond embrace, snapping him out of his daze. He blinked rapidly, sniffing his nose and inhaling deeply as he gathered his bearings. One of the pair of doting hands ran its fingers through his hair, while the other kept him locked in that hug, his body shuddering as he realized how cold he felt.

“Gilyoung-ah, you have to be more careful,” Lee Sookyung said, gently patting him, “it could be dangerous out here!”

It felt good, being hugged. With his head buried in the folds of clothing, it was warm, and dark, and safe. It made him feel small, and trapped in someone else’s arms, but it made him feel so small that nothing could ever hurt him in this little space he had found, so he had no reason to leave.

Eventually, Lee Sookyung pulled him backwards, kneeling down so she faced him at eye level.

“Ah, Gilyoung-ah,” she said, clumsily moving her hands to wipe the tears off his face, before realizing he hadn’t cried, “it’s going to be alright. Everyone—”

She paused, as if trying to double check her words, before giving a slight nod.

“Everyone is here for you.”

It had taken a long time for Lee Gilyoung to warm up to her — and after what had transpired between her and the man he so idolized, she could hardly blame him. But this, at least, was not a relationship she had twisted beyond recognition. It could be salvaged, reshaped still into something beautiful.

Dutifully, Lee Sookyung rinsed one of her hands in water. After unsuccessfully trying to neaten up his hair by combing it with her hands, and failing to remove any of the dirt on his clothes, she notices the sauce stain running from Lee Gilyoung’s lips to his chin she pauses — running through her mental list to see if she was missing anything.

Lee Gilyoung, having long since regained his senses, batted her hovering hand away.

“Gilyoung-ah,” she asked softly, trying to offer him a warm smile, “what did that Yoo Joonghyuk say to you?”

“Nothing,” Lee Gilyoung replied, tiredness creeping into his voice.

“Ah, surely he said something, Gilyoung-ah.”

She met Lee Gilyoung’s eyes, and having processed what she said, immediately backtracked.

“Actually, never mind that,” she said, prompting a small laugh out of both of them.

As a disconcerting quietude began to creep back into their interaction, Lee Sookyung moved her hand as if wanting to try and find something to do — only to be met by a forceless defensive maneuver by Lee Gilyoung, who had started to grow exasperated.

One hand quickly turned into two, and eventually the two were engaged in a match of extremely low-stakes boxing. Lee Sookyung didn’t even know what her end goal was — maybe she should pinch his cheeks — and their limbs entangled as the showdown went on. In the midst of all this, their eyes met, and they caught a glimpse of their smiling reflections. Lee Gilyoung’s hands fell tiredly to his side, and they both chuckled at the absurdity of the situation.

For one, extraordinarily brief moment, the pair felt as if they were the most fleeting of normal families.

“Come on, you still haven’t finished dinner yet, Gilyoung-ah,” Lee Sookyung said, patting him on the arm before standing up.

Lee Gilyoung groaned exaggeratedly, but it had the desired effect.

“I’ll get you something sweet on my way back from the mission,” she said, before quickly adding, “scratch that. I’ll buy you something sweet with some coins if you go back and finish your plate.”

“Deal,” Lee Gilyoung replied, lazily calling for Titano, who arrived promptly and hovered at the gap between the car park floors. His stomach growled, and he turned away from her embarrassedly as she laughed.

“Kim Dokja,” Lee Sookyung whispered, “you don’t ever need to forgive me. But —”

Her expression settled into a bittersweet smile as she watched Lee Gilyoung move towards the giant mantis, talking to it languidly in a series of buzzes and clicks she didn’t know the human tongue could make.

“I hope… I hope you understand, now. Why I paid that price.”

Either she had been louder than she intended, however, or Lee Gilyoung’s hearing was much sharper than she anticipated. The boy turned around to face her, a spark of rage flickering behind his eyes.

“No.”

She instinctively gulped, her instincts telling her that she had made a mistake — that she seemed to make mistakes, every time she expressed her love. Lee Gilyoung continued to speak, his voice quivering and interspersed with shaky breaths.

“Dokja hyung is nothing like you!”

Her heart began to sink into her stomach at the child’s words. It was true — she was nothing special. She was just one, among many others, for whom Kim Dokja had become a guiding star. A light of their lives.

“F-for one, unlike what you did, Dokja hyung would never leave me alone. A-and!”

Lee Gilyoung glared at Lee Sookyoung, but his words, barbed as they were, lacked any sort of venom behind them. No — they were not words of hate, but of love. Love for Kim Dokja, and love for everyone around him.

“Dokja hyung will come back. I know he’ll come back. H-he’s nothing like you.”

Having run out of words to say, and not wanting to deal with their consequences, Lee Gilyoung stormed off — climbing onto Titano and flying away before Lee Sookyung could even call out to him. Not that she could, anyway, with the way the words got stuck in her throat.

She wasn’t as strong as him. Tears rolled freely down her cheeks, and as she slowly processed those words that had so deeply cut into her, she let out a bitter laugh.

“Lee Gilyoung-ah,” she whispered, this time truly outside of anyone’s earshot.

“Thank you. Thank you for believing in my son where even I did not.”

Wiping her face on her sleeve, she climbed upwards, reminding herself she still needed to get that boy to eat.

“If it wasn’t for you, we would have to find ways to survive in a ruined world where Kim Dokja no longer lived.”

Lee Gilyoung blinked his eyes open, a wet sheen forming over them as he did. He remembered a story he had almost forgotten — a story of his journey through that world, complete with even details he had no memories of. He remembered every single one of its characters who had supported him in some way. Yoo Sangah, Shin Yoosung, Gong Pildu, Lee Hyungsung, Jung Heewon, Uriel, The Abyssal Black Flame Dragon, Sun Wukong, Abaddon, Lee Sookyoung, Han Sooyoung, Yoo Joonghyuk—

And most importantly, his hyung.

Kim Dokja.

Those memories were painful. They reminded him of how his companions were no longer beside him. He tried desperately to hold them in his heart, but the memories skewered him through his chest, leaving the fragile organ to be picked apart the moment it was left exposed.

At his age, he was meant to have all the world’s possibilities still ahead of him.

Yet he had already walked among the stars, been bathed in their brilliance, and then left longing for their light when he was blinded once more. He had no regrets about this path he took — it was indeed better to have loved and then lost than have never loved at all.

But why did he have to lose things in the best place?

Lee Gilyoung had learnt from the best how to refuse the injustice that the world had decided was its outcome, and he had honed that ability to a fine edge so he could guard against those who would try to foist the world’s whims upon him.

Indeed, for all the pain those memories caused him, they also gave him a sense of familiarity. He had been in this situation before — and just as he had stood his ground unfalteringly against it before, he would do so again.

Kim Dokja would return.

He didn’t really know how. He wasn’t like Yoo Joonghyuk or Han Sooyoung. They were able to work seamlessly in tandem with Kim Dokja — they always knew exactly what his hyung had done, muttering colorful curses as they planned their actions around it.

He wasn’t like Shin Yoosung, who was chosen to be his incarnation — who had that same look of distant wisdom in her eyes, and always understood what Kim Dokja was trying to say. That’s why she was the Saviour of the Star.

He was Lee Gilyoung. All he knew was that there was a man who had protected him, and wanted him to live. He knew there was a man who gave his life repeatedly just for that. There was a man Lee Gilyoung looked up to, even before he had become a star in the sky — a man who returned every time, just as often as he disappeared.

He didn’t know what to do, but he did know that man — his hyung, Kim Dokja.

If Lee Gilyoung hadn’t been told what to do, then anything he did was what he was meant to be doing — because that’s what his hyung would expect, and would have planned around.

Right now, he just didn’t want to be alone — and like always, he had been left with plenty of company. The Outer Gods had enclosed like a cocoon around him, their oppressively suffocating statuses dwarfed only by his own. They watched Lee Gilyoung intently through myriad eyes, listened to the story they were being told through imperceptible ears.

No longer.

Lee Gilyoung didn’t want them to be so separated from him. Gently, he placed a hand on this eldritch cocoon, the wall of fleshless tentacles tearing apart as they began to transform.

[Story “Insect King” is rapidly growing!]

Even if Lee Gilyoung couldn’t understand them, even if they could never be understood, Lee Gilyoung would know them as a part of his story. Countless stories merged with his, adding whatever they could to be a part of this story that had so enraptured them.

And as they did, their guttural wishes to be understood caused them to change — to turn into the only thing Lee Gilyoung could communicate properly with.

Slowly, Lee Gilyoung was engulfed in a sea of twisted, insectoid creatures. Their forms were huge, but mangled and hideous — entire parts of them gone missing, the remainder of their anatomy twisted around this absence to form what to most would be monstrosities.

To Lee Gilyoung, however, they were simply insects. Insects with strength enough to effortlessly tear his head off his soldiers, but insects nonetheless. A creature resembling a giant wooly aphid flew up to him, Lee Gilyoung seemingly dissolving in the fluffy coating as it allowed him to lie on its back.

They were now a part of his story — existences he understood as if they were an extension of himself. They lived, moved, and breathed as one. When Lee Gilyoung dreamed, the outer gods would learn to dream with him.

If the outer gods were just insects, then the Insect King was also an Outer God King.

A voice sounded in Lee Gilyoung’s head.

[Story ‘Insect King’ has grown into ‘King of Pestilence’.]

[Due to the story ‘King of Pestilence’, you have acquired a new modifier!]

[Your new modifier is ‘Beacon of the Sun-Blotting Swarm’.]

Lee Gilyoung turned to lie flat on his stomach, instinctively wrapping his arms around the fuzzy hairs of the oversized aphid. For the first time in the untracked eons he had been here, he felt hopeful — the compounding effect of countless Outer Gods who had let themselves become a part of a story, and supported the direction Lee Gilyoung believed it would go.

He felt proud — when he saw everyone again, he would show them just how far he’d come. Jihye noona would be seething, and Shin Yoosung wouldn’t be able to argue that she was the stronger one anymore.

As his eyelids began to droop, a small smile formed on his lips — and the supercolony centered around him felt the joy of companionship once again.

…

[Story ‘King of Pestilence’ has begun its storytelling!]

When Lee Gilyoung registered that he was awake again, it was due to that same voice that had lulled him to sleep ringing in his head.

[A New Hidden Scenario has been generated.]

[Hidden Scenario “A Pointless Search” has begun!]

A scenario window opened up in the midst of the void, seeming glaringly bright to his eyes that had long since adjusted to the darkness. His heartbeat quickened, and he found himself drawn to the information on the screen.

[ Hidden Scenario — “A Pointless Search” ]
Category: Hidden
Difficulty Level: ???
Clear Conditions: ???
Time Limit: ???
Compensation: ???
Failure: ???

Lee Gilyoung stared blankly, unable to comprehend the meaning of the words before him. Before he had a chance to even attempt at figuring it out, however, another message appeared before him.

[A New Hidden Scenario has arrived!]

Just as before, a giant screen opened up in front of him, this one far more clear-cut than its predecessor.

[ Hidden Scenario — “Disaster of the Apocalypse” ]
Category: Hidden
Difficulty Level: SSS
Clear Conditions: Become the disaster that will destroy this world.
Time Limit: ???
Compensation: None
Failure: Death due to the Probability Storm.

—Due to the nature of this scenario, Outer God King ‘Beacon of the Sun-Blotting Swarm’ will be immune to the effects of probability until the time limit runs out or the clear conditions are met.

Next to the screen, a portal seemed to form, as if the Star Stream itself was tearing open a gap in the fabric of reality that kept that world together.

[Hidden Scenario “Disaster of the Apocalypse” will begin upon passing through the Great Hole.]

Lee Gilyoung hesitated.

He knew all too well the consequences of choosing to step through that portal. After all, he had witnessed the Great Apocalypse firsthand — the terrifying consequences of a world-line rushing towards its end. Stepping through that portal was consigning himself to inflicting on that world the same horror that he had suffered through.

He knew trying to search for Kim Dokja was pointless — he had gathered as much from the first hidden scenario. And yet…

Lee Gilyoung gulped.

His hyung would have predicated his plans on Lee Gilyoung doing what he wanted. He knew that Lee Gilyoung, when given a choice, would never be able to sit still.

Trembling slightly, he walked through the Great Hole.

[Main Scenario has been updated!]

Lee Gilyoung heard the message in his head, and knew exactly what it was trying to convey even without reading the accompanying scenario info screen that had accompanied it. The inhabitants of this world would quickly catch on too, as they looked to the sky and realized whatever they had prepared for — it wasn’t this.

Monstrous insect mutations emerged in droves from the Great Hole in such numbers began to cast over the sky itself, slowly carpeting the world in their shadow as they swept through the tattered remains of this civilization. An insatiable hunger had filled them over the timeless years, and after having been deprived of their own, it was the world itself they wanted to consume.

Lee Gilyoung could feel each individual mandible, tearing viciously at anything that had been a part of this world’s story. He moved in every single serrated forelimb as they cleaved through flesh and bone. His voice was in every one of their thunderous cries that sounded so incessantly it could drive one mad.

Most importantly, he was gazing through every single pair of eyes, scanning the lands he ravaged for someone who was probably never here.

Of course, the incarnations of this timeline fought back with all their might, and were undeniably accomplished after having survived this far; unfortunately, he was the Beacon of the Sun-Blotting Swarm. The story of his survival went back much, much further.

One thing, however, caught him by surprise. Something that, in hindsight, he should have expected.

He heard the sound of a language only he knew the entirety of.

For him to walk in this world, Lee Gilyoung had to exist in it. The Lee Gilyoung of this timeline had to have survived.

If only out of curiosity, his feet picked up their pace until he was moving at inhuman speeds. It didn’t take him long to arrive in Seoul, watching the eye of a hurricane of bugs, and the familiar figures that stood within them.

He saw Yoo Joonghyuk, Lee Jihye, and… Himself.

They looked different. Worse. For one, he only had one ahoge in this world — a marked downgrade over the pair that he had, that curled upwards like antennae. The fact they were drenched in insect blood wasn’t doing them any favors, either, even if it was his own fault. But most recognizably, their eyes were more haunted, strained by the weight of all the difficult decisions they had had to make by themselves.

Slowly, he walked through the swarm until he could see them face to face. Their expressions showed signs of wanting to be surprised — but they had expected this, as much as they didn’t want to. He saw Yoo Joonghyuk grip his blade, but his eyes weren’t looking at him. They were fixed on this timeline’s Lee Gilyoung with a glassy stare.

After all, in this timeline, without Dokja hyung, they probably had to kill Shin Yoosung already. The girl who, in his story, Lee Gilyoung had even been willing to become the Oldest Evil to protect.

Lee Jihye, in turn, looked at her master. He knew, even in this world, every bone in her body was screaming at her to stop Yoo Joonghyuk. But she couldn’t. Just like Lee Gilyoung with Kim Dokja, she could never manage to save Yoo Joonghyuk from himself.

He couldn’t blame her. Even their fighting stemmed from their similarities, from poking at each other’s easily bruised egos. Maybe that’s why, when the situation called for it, she could work together so well with him — him, who might as well have been translating every word he spoke and heard from the indecipherable language of bugs.

Lee Gilyoung knew that this world’s characters were entirely different from his own. He knew they had never met Kim Dokja, never been shown how to survive by him. But this was also a story that Dokja hyung loved. This was also a Yoo Joonghyuk that Dokja hyung had loved above all else. That meant his hyung had seen something in them, something Lee Gilyoung had to have faith in.

His eyes slowly settled on himself, the him of this timeline.

But what about him?

This was a boy who had survived, for no other reason than that he didn’t want to die, then met two others who reluctantly agreed to let him tag along.

This was a boy who was incisive enough to know what was transpiring mere centimeters behind him — but, instead of begging for his life, had quietly resigned himself to the possibility that he would be thrown away.

Indeed, what about him?

Lee Gilyoung took a step forward, and everything around him seemed to freeze.

Then he took another, and yet another. When given the possibility, Lee Gilyoung would always choose to act.

He walked until he stood directly in front of the him of this timeline, gazing into his own deep brown eyes. He knew and understood what this boy had gone through. He knew exactly who this boy was, and what he needed.

He would give this boy a possibility. A possibility he had lived through, to know it was real.

He pulled the boy into a hug, experiencing the familiarity of his own pain, and how that wound of not being wanted would tear him apart when left to fester.

And in return, the Lee Gilyoung of this timeline saw a world with Kim Dokja.

Where someone had wanted him to live.

He saw a world with many characters, difficult decisions, and painful outcomes. He saw countless nights where a crushing pain in his chest refused to let him sleep. He saw a story of the novel ‘Three Ways to Survive in a Ruined World’, and an ending he refused to let be an ending.

He saw a world where Kim Dokja had constantly abandoned him, which meant he had to come back every time to do so — and that even when Kim Dokja left him, he was not alone. A place where he and Shin Yoosung were allowed to be children, and he ruthlessly tormented Lee Jihye but always had her back. Where he was coddled by Lee Sookyung, taken care of by Yoo Sangah, and felt safe riding on Lee Hyungsung’s shoulders.

A world where Kim Dokja had a life or death companion called Yoo Joonghyuk. A man who seemed cold, but would always risk his life for Kim Dokja, and who would lie to Lee Gilyoung about it just to see him safe.

A world where Incarnation Lee Gilyoung was loved.

When he stepped back, he met his own dazed stare and smiled brightly, knowing that even if he didn’t cry, it didn’t mean he didn’t need comfort.

Then, the Outer God King ‘Beacon of the Sun-Blotting Swarm’ turned to leave. He knew the consequences of failing this scenario — he simply didn’t care. He would follow his heart, which had everyone in it, till the very end.

That’s what the people who loved him would want him to do.

He saw the Great Hole through which his insects still spilled out of in an endless torrent, and went through it — leaving behind the insects that had already become a part of that world to join yet another person able to understand them. To help with enacting whatever story he so wanted to see.

Meanwhile, he found himself whisked up once again in the fluffy embrace of his trusty wooly aphid. The many eyes of his swarm regarded him sullenly. They knew that if he died, the outer gods who had added their stories to his would once more be forgotten — that they would once again suffer through the gradual descent into their eldritch form.

Trying to give them an answer, he laid back against the fuzzy fur of his aphid, and began to think. As he did, a fleeting question passed his mind.

Did I want to give up?

He had spent so very long now, telling the same story over and over again so that it would not fade away in this empty abyss. No matter how large his story had become, there was only so many times he could repeat it before the words themselves became a chore.

It no longer stirred the same emotion in him, either. Every time he told that story, the only emotion that he was left with — one that grew stronger with every retelling — was longing. He wanted so desperately to be in that story once again that the longing felt like it could tear him in two, a part of him clinging to that which could not be held.

It hurt. It hurt so much, and not at all, because all his emotions had begun to numb.

But… Did he want to give up?

Maybe it would be easier. Maybe an existence of oblivion would be so much more comforting than this.

There was but one issue.

If he gave up and died now, then he would never get to see Kim Dokja again — which meant that his hyung had broken the promise he had made to him.

It well and truly meant that Kim Dokja, too, was done with him, and he had once again been tossed away.

The story he had told himself — that story where he was loved, and never truly alone, would be rendered moot. What point did that story have, if it ended right back where it had begun?

He shuddered, instinctively pulling himself furthered into the wooly torso of the aphid he was lying down upon.

That was one place he could not return to, no matter what.

Because Lee Gilyoung was a brave, strong, and incredibly cool kid. Perhaps there was a lot he did not understand — but that had never stopped him from being able to do almost anything he set his mind to.

He had kept up with the adults in Kim Dokja’s company, shared all their hardships with them, and then picked himself back up to keep moving towards the future when even they sometimes could not. He was one of the best, most accomplished, most important incarnations in the universe, able to both awaken and contain even the feared Ruler of the Deepest Pit.

He was a brave, strong, and incredibly cool kid.

But he was still just a kid.

He had to be loved, and nurtured, and allowed to grow.

That was why — that was why there was only one place he could never return to.

He could not go back to somewhere where he had been discarded by everyone he had met, as if he was never worthy of receiving love. Where he was punished for receiving any, until he was left to wither in a world devoid of it.

He could not return to that place where he had been all alone in the universe.

That’s why he had to believe that Kim Dokja would keep his promise.

Even if it was painful, or pointless.

Even if all the probability in the Star Stream dictated it would never happen, he would believe it. Because perhaps even the Star Stream could not possibly understand him — that he knew only one thing that could never, ever, happen again.

[Story ‘Demon King’s Fanatical Believer’ started its storytelling!]

[Story ‘Demon King’s Fanatical Believer’ protected Story ‘King of Pestilence’ and Story ‘Grasshopper Catcher’ from deterioration!]

His last and most important story. The one that had kept him together. He sighed in exhaustion, turning to cuddle the wooly aphid and drift back to sleep, when he heard a familiar voice.

[You have met the conditions to clear the hidden scenario ‘Disaster of the Apocalypse’.]

He exhaled shakily in relief, a grin formed on his face that widened until the emotion behind it could only be expressed in almost manic laughter. Slowly, his chuckling died down, until only a soft smile was left.

He really might be the ‘Oldest Evil’.

He decided — he would be visiting many timelines yet, even if he would have to bring disaster and risk death every time. For either he would meet Kim Dokja at some point, or he would make the world where Lee Gilyoung was alone an impossible occurrence while trying to do so.

With that positive thought, he closed his eyes to have equally sweet dreams.

…

Somewhere far away, a trio had watched the lonesome departure of an Outer God King, leaving behind the creatures he had almost brought about their doom with to use for their salvation.

It wasn’t the only thing he left behind.

He had left behind something far more valuable — everything he knew about a story, loved and read by a single reader.

Yoo Joonghyuk felt a hand rest on top of his sword arm, his fingers still tightly gripping the hilt.

“Incarnation Yoo Joonghyuk—

—Would you like to see the conclusion of this world?”

Once, there was a boy who reached up to the stars. He told himself that they would last forever — so that one day he would exist alongside them, never to be lonely again. As time passed, he only became more certain of the notion.

Eventually, on a long journey through a ruined world, he had reached that night sky. He had walked amongst the stars, and eventually—-

He overtook them.

His ears rang, his head was pounding, every part of his body screamed at the strain of having to move another step. A warm trail of blood flowed from his nose, coagulating against his skin in a sticky mess and filling his mouth with a sharp metallic taste each time he managed to pry it open.

He turned back.

There was something he wanted to see, but his vision was too blurry. He wiped his eyes with his hands, a wet trail forming across his arm as he did so.

Tears. Was he crying? He didn’t think he was. He never did.

Then again, the only coherent thought in his head was that he had to keep running. He kept reminding himself of it, because it was important — important enough he could feel that something extremely valuable to him had been sacrificed for him to do it.

A heavy weight hammered in his chest, making it difficult to stand — making him feel as though he should curl up, until he was just a ball. Gravity was slowly falling away around him, and with his legs no longer needing to meet solid ground to drift him forward, he pulled them close to him, burying his face against the fabric of his jeans.

Even as he drifted further, to a place they would not go, he could still feel it.

The searing presence of all the sky’s constellations, their mere existence washing over him oppressively. It didn’t bother him, though. He was too tired to remember what, but he was waiting for something.

Even with every single one of his senses overloaded, he knew when he heard it.

[Constellation Demon King of Salvation is smiling proudly at Incarnation Lee Gilyoung.]

Slowly, his tattered grip on his consciousness slowly slipped away. The last thing he thought of before sleep took him was that even now — especially now —- he could believe that the stars would exist forever, until he could walk amongst them once more.

[Constellation Demon King of Salvation is smiling at Incarnation Lee Gilyoung.]

His heart beat painfully fast in his chest as he relived those memories, a bittersweet melancholy welling up inside him as he tried to hold onto that final moment. Reaching out to the stars, and wanting to walk amongst them — even years later, he still turned to that old habit for comfort.

Even as the memory slipped away, and he was slowly spirited back to reality, that final moment still felt all too real.

[Constellation Demon King of Salvation is smiling proudly at Incarnation Lee Gilyoung.]

He let out a shaky breath. Just the thought of it alone made him feel seen. Validated.

[Constellation Demon King of Salvation is smiling proudly at Incarnation Lee Gilyoung.]

Usually, he would’ve woken up by now. Gazed at the nothingness for a while, played with his companions. Maybe even strike the lottery and stumble upon a hidden scenario to clear, before once again forcing himself to retell his stories as he fell back to sleep once more, perhaps having forgotten he woke up at all.

Still, he wasn’t complaining. He was grateful for the opportunity to be able to linger in those last few moments.

[Constellation Demon King of Salvation is wondering if you will only respond to the Modifier Beacon of the Sun-Blotting Swarm.]

His racing heartbeat froze still in his chest, making his head start to spin.

It couldn’t be.

He couldn’t believe it, despite never having stopped believing in it. He felt his whole body go limp, exhausted at the effort of trying to hold back his hope.

“H-H-Hyung…?” he stuttered cautiously, his voice meek and shrill.

“Gilyoung-ah,” a quiet whisper responded, as tenderly as one could make a human voice go, “I’m here.”

Blinking open his eyes, he saw a plain looking man — dressed in a white coat, two red horns on his head, and angel wings on his back. He stared in disbelief, letting the sight sink into his sore eyes, until a voice snapped him out of his trance.

[You have met the conditions to clear the hidden scenario ‘A Pointless Search’.]

Then he threw himself off his wooly aphid and at the man, wrapping his arms as tightly as he could manage around the man’s torso, as if trying to force his own struggle properly breathing onto the man before him. In turn, he felt one hand gently return his embrace, the other softly patting his head.

They remained like that for a while, Lee Gilyoung initially unwilling to do anything that would give him the impression of time passing.

Eventually, however, all the lost time began to catch up to him. He simply had too much to say, so much so that he scarcely knew where to start and all that came out of his mouth was a stuttering mess of incoherent noises.

“It’s okay,” Kim Dokja said, despite the fact it was not at all okay. What he went through wasn’t okay. All the havoc he had wreaked wasn’t okay. It wasn’t okay that it would be okay, after all this, just because his hyung was finally here.

He was too happy, and too angry, and too sad, and too bitter, and too relieved, and everything else except okay.

He started sobbing uncontrollably, but these were tears of happiness. They were tears of everything else too, and how overwhelming it all was, but Lee Gilyoung was too cool for that. It wasn’t until Kim Dokja’s shirt was drenched with a mix of tears and snot that a sniffling Lee Gilyoung managed to talk, not lifting his head from the comforting warmth and darkness of being buried in Kim Dokja’s shirt.

“Wh-where have you been…”

Kim Dokja answered him slowly, as if they had all the time in the world to spare.

“I don’t know,” he said with a small laugh, “everywhere, maybe. Or nowhere. Certainly dead.”

Lee Gilyoung didn’t get it, but he didn’t care. He just needed answers. He just needed to know there was an explanation for all this, that it couldn’t have ended any other way.

“And h-how…?”

Kim Dokja paused as he collected his thoughts, and a comforting silence comforted them until he was ready to speak once more.

“It’s because…” Kim Dokja said, looking down to directly face the mess of disheveled brown hair that was latched around him.

“It’s because I’m really lucky to have someone like Gilyoung-ah,” he said, his voice completely serious.

Lee Gilyoung peaked upwards as Kim Dokja once again stopped to think, recognizing that distant, wise stare that Kim Dokja had as he did. He wondered if he did now, too.

As much as a part of him wanted to be more like Kim Dokja and Shin Yoosung, he hoped he didn’t. He was happy being just Lee Gilyoung.

“It’s because in every world Gilyoung-ah visited, he gave a story to a boy who desperately needed it — a story that made him a reader in that world,” Kim Dokja continued, his expression turning bittersweet as he thought of what he had put Lee Gilyoung through for this.

“And every single one of them wanted to see this possibility.”

Kim Dokja knew that there was no way he could possibly compensate for all this boy had experienced.

That’s what made him Kim Dokja, a man who owed every part of his existence to a story he had yet to see the ending of — an ending he had by now guessed the contents of, yet wanted to experience anyway.

“It’s because Gilyoung-ah dreamed so earnestly of wanting to be in a world we had experienced together—” he muttered, turning as the familiar voice of the Star Stream spoke once more.

[Due to clearing the hidden scenario “A Pointless Search”, you have earned the ability to return to the Regressor’s 1864th turn.]

“—that we still have the right to return back there.”

Lee Gilyoung broke the hug as he turned to look at the Great Hole that had appeared before him, so familiar yet different from all the others. His hand found Kim Dokja’s, and he clutched onto it tightly.

“Gilyoung-ah,” Kim Dokja said, eyes fixed distantly on the portal, “we can finally go back.”

Lee Gilyoung felt his blood running cold as he squeezed Kim Dokja’s hand.

An ocean of insects stirred, hovering menacingly around the pair, as an oversized wooly aphid flew into the space between them and the Great Hole.

Here, he could keep his hyung beside him. Kim Dokja would never get to leave again, and he would never again have to embark on yet another pointless search to find someone who would no doubt inevitably disappear. He looked at his hyung, who gazed longingly at the portal, then back at him — as if he was willing to accept any decision that Lee Gilyoung made.

It was the least that he owed him.

Or perhaps, he already knew what decision Lee Gilyoung had made — because Lee Gilyoung had believed in Kim Dokja for all this time despite everything.

Kim Dokja, who was first and foremost a reader — whose existence could not be separated from the story ‘Three Ways to Survive in a Ruined World’, just as that story could not be separated from him.

A story where Kim Dokja was the Demon King of Salvation, and his sponsored incarnation was Shin Yoosung.

Where the person Kim Dokja loved most would always be Yoo Joonghyuk.

Lee Gilyoung knew — if he tried to separate his hyung from that story, then he would no longer be Kim Dokja. He would no longer be the person Lee Gilyoung so fervently put his faith in. The insect blocking their path reluctantly flew away, and they turned back to face the portal leading to that story.

It was okay.

That was the story of Kim Dokja, but it wasn’t just Kim Dokja’s story anymore.

It was also the story of Lee Gilyoung—

The Demon King’s Fanatical Believer.