The Weapon Genius: Anything I Hold Can Kill

Jin didn’t hesitate.

He ran for the edge of the building, heart steady, the cold night wind rushing past his face as he launched into the air.

Below, the broken skeleton of the city waited. Twisted metal, collapsed streets, the faint outline of an old emergency stairwell barely hanging on. He didn’t aim for it directly. He let the motion carry him, then twisted mid-flight, pulling the three-section staff from his inventory in one smooth motion.

The metal clicked and snapped into place.

He spun it once to build momentum, then caught the edge of a bent railing, redirecting his weight. The staff flexed under the strain but held long enough for him to flip forward, crashing into the side of the staircase with a grunt.

Not graceful. Not clean. But effective.

Jin landed hard, boots skidding on rusted steel, and leapt down the remaining steps two at a time. When he hit the ground, he let the momentum pull him into a crouch, already sheathing the pole and sending it back into his inventory with a shimmer.

In the same breath, he reached for the sword.

The broken-hilt katana settled in his grip like it never left.

Jin stood. Exhaled. Watched.

The street in front of him had changed.

The vines weren’t just creeping anymore. They were slamming through pavement and slithering across walls like they had minds of their own. Tendrils thick as his arm coiled across windows, slapping at broken glass. One cracked a traffic light in half like it was nothing. Another flung a twisted piece of rebar across the street, embedding it in a wall.

They weren’t spreading, they were searching.

He stepped forward slowly, blade tilted downward, eyes on the movement around him.

Then the air changed.

There was a sound, not quite a sonic burst, more like a shivering crack and Echo landed beside him, dropping down from a nearby rooftop in a full sprint.

"Jin!" Echo barked, breath sharp. "You good?"

Jin nodded once. "Yeah. Barely."

Behind Echo, Seul landed hard from above, knees bending to absorb the force. Her descent wasn’t clean, she’d clearly used her gravity to crash down faster, and there were streaks of soot and dirt across her jacket.

Joon skidded out from behind a blown-out wall seconds later, sliding into the open with two metal orbs spinning above his palm, sparks already snapping across his knuckles.

"Tell me you didn’t wake it up more," he said, eyes sweeping the chaos.

Jin’s reply was grim. "I think it’s always been awake."

There was no time for more.

The vines surged.

One lunged toward Seul’s leg, she kicked it back with a gravity pulse, and the pavement cracked beneath her. Another snapped for Joon, who launched one of his spheres like a grenade. It exploded midair in a jolt of electrical force, reducing the vine to ash.

Echo shouted, "Cover left!"

A vine the size of a firehose slashed out from a second-floor window, aiming for Jin’s shoulder. He ducked and cut up through it, the katana biting in deep, black sap spraying across the street.

They formed a loose circle without needing to say it, instinct, training, survival.

The vines kept coming, faster and more erratic.

They didn’t look like natural growth anymore. These were weapons.

"You feel that?" Joon asked between breaths, electricity dancing at his fingertips.

"What?" Jin asked, blade flicking out again.

Seul was already turning, face tight. "The air."

It was subtle at first. Just a shift in smell. A greenish haze creeping low across the street, clinging to the cracks in the concrete. Jin hadn’t noticed it before, too busy cutting, moving, surviving. But now that she mentioned it...

His lungs felt tighter.

Just a little.

Not choking. Not enough to stop moving.

But it was there.

Like rot and sap and smoke all mixed together. And underneath it, something sharper.

"We need to move," Echo muttered, already scanning the rooftops. "It’s not just the vines."

"No," Jin said, eyes narrowing. "It’s getting closer."

They all froze for a half second. Not physically just mentally. Like a wall of pressure had dropped in around them. The vines didn’t stop, but now even their motion had intent. They weren’t trying to trap or tangle.

They were trying to slow.

And even though the monster wasn’t visible yet... something about the direction the vines were moving told them exactly where it was.

Jin exhaled again. Not from exhaustion — just to keep the rhythm in his chest from breaking.

He adjusted his grip on the katana, body slightly hunched forward, and didn’t speak.

The vines didn’t care about noise.

The thing behind them? That was different.

It wanted them quiet. Disoriented. Off balance.

And still, in the middle of it all, Jin didn’t move yet.

But the vines did.

They pulsed, then twisted, rearing back like serpents preparing to strike. Their surfaces changed in real time. Smooth tendrils split open, bark peeling to reveal spikes. Hooks. Barbs. The tips gleamed wetly in the moonlight.

Joon’s breath hitched, but he didn’t speak.

Then they came.

The vines struck from every direction, not as random lashes, but with precision and force. They slammed against concrete, curled around corners, and shot like spears through shattered windows.

Seul reacted fast.

Her hand hit the ground, and a ripple burst outward, invisible, but heavy. A field of compressed gravity expanded around them, halting the first wave mid-air. The vines bounced off, some splintering, others recoiling.

"Not long," she said through clenched teeth, already straining.

Jin shifted his stance beside her, katana steady. Echo flanked them on the ledge above, scouting their rear.

But the vines were learning.

They adjusted to the rhythm of the pulse, attacking in timed bursts, testing the limits of the shield.

And then, it cracked.

The sound was subtle, a dry fracture and the pressure collapsed. The shield blinked out.

A vine hit the ground beside Jin hard enough to dent the pavement.

He lunged forward, blade flashing. Seul dropped low to avoid another strike. Joon pivoted, gravity pulling him sharply to the side to avoid one lashing past his head.

Then the smoke hit.

Thicker than before. Green. Heavy.

Jin felt it first, a subtle drag on his limbs, like something had reached into his joints and turned the resistance up.

His muscles didn’t burn. They slowed.

Seul stumbled. Joon lost his footing. Echo crouched low on instinct, eyes scanning but even he froze halfway through his motion.

The vines didn’t press their attack.

They stopped.

And drew back.

Coiling away like something else was coming.

A tremor rolled through the ground. Not sharp like before — deeper. Thudding. Rhythmic.

They knew what it was before they saw it.

The Gugwe-mok.

It stepped through the smoke as if parting a curtain. No need for theatrics. Its arrival was a fact. An inevitability.

Jin’s fingers wouldn’t tighten on the hilt.

He couldn’t move. None of them could.

The vines parted completely as if making room. As if welcoming something greater.

Through the thinning haze, the outline emerged. The jagged crown of bark. The shifting mass. That awful, slow rhythm of its limbs against the earth.

It didn’t hesitate.

It raised a limb.

The smoke peeled back.

But their bodies didn’t respond.

Jin fought to move, to speak, to do something but even his breath felt distant, locked behind the weight in his chest.

The Gugwe-mok towered above them now. Its shadow covered them all. Its arm descended.

Jin’s neck strained, barely turning.

And then, through the broken sky, he saw it.

A single, white streak arcing downward through the clouds, fast, bright, and falling.

A light tearing across the night like it had been thrown from the heavens.

Not a plane.

Not a weapon.

Just light.

A shooting star.

Jin’s mind clung to it.

Not for what it was, but for what it meant.

A wish.

Let us survive this.