Chapter 38: The “Pseudo‑Human” in the Elevator
“That's it… the smell of going back to my mother’s.”
As everyone stared at one another in confusion, Han Su subtly relaxed the tension along his nerves, exhaled a satisfied breath, then turned his head slightly and surveyed his surroundings.
While everyone’s gaze was fixed on the elevator, their eyes unblinking, Han Su paid more attention to the surroundings.
It was too familiar.
That indescribable tension and malevolence lingering in this space—even the air seemed woven through with unseen, nameless threads, stitching the entire area together.
Within the shadows, something seemed to be watching.
The darkness flowed and gathered like a living creature.
Han Su knew this feeling well. Having been to many ancient castles, this sensation had practically seeped into his bones.
It was the omen of a twisted entity about to appear—the mysterious aura only found on those monsters that shouldn’t exist in reality.
Before, he often encountered this sensation in castles—but he never expected to feel it again inside a modern high‑rise building.
It felt like a nightmare he had every night suddenly manifesting in reality.
“Be careful.”
Not even a second had passed.
As the others frozen in shock—some even about to ask the chubby guy—Han Su’s warning came.
At the same time, he drew his gun.
“Sliiick!”
In that fleeting instant, as if something heavy had been torn apart, the grip of reality and logic began to fade.
The next moment, all four elevators—silent all night—opened simultaneously. Immediately, pale, human‑shaped forms spilled out as if they were cargo piled inside.
Those present didn’t even react in time; the things lunged and knocked them to the ground.
They were sticky, roughly humanoid—but to the touch too soft, lacking human skin’s texture. Someone caught sight of one of their faces.
He nearly had a heart‑attack—because it had no human face, just a blank mass of dough, writhing and contorting.
“Ahhhhhh…”
The unimaginable mutating forms forced several people present to scream.
That wave of mysterious, absurd horror—it might sound okay from a distance, but up close, slamming into your face, you’d realize just how fragile human sanity is.
“Bang!”
But then a gunshot rang out.
Before the elevators even opened, Han Su had already taken a step back—and fired without hesitation.
The bullets struck the figures with a shattering crunch.
On the surface of the dough‑people, fake skin tore open, and dark crimson blood spurted out.
The closest one staggered backwards as if shot in the flesh.
“It works…”
“However, it’s no joke…”
“…”
Han Su thought to himself, though his wrist trembled slightly.
Hēi Dōu Hood had warned him about the heavy recoil and taught him recoil‑mitigation shooting techniques—but never mentioned it’d be this intense…
It’s just a pistol—why such a strong kick?
What were those researchers even doing?
“Creak!”
In that split second before anyone could react, Camouflage Man suddenly stepped forward and charged into the crowd.
His reflexes so sharp that as the dough‑figures spilled out, he dodged—but immediately saw trainees pinned underneath.
With all four elevators open, the odd things poured out at once. Only Han Su, Camouflage Man, the chubby guy, and another trainee who had been standing near the outer edge managed to avoid being crushed: three trainees were pinned beneath.
Camouflage Man held a gun—but hesitated, and didn’t draw it.
Instead, he shoved it into his hip pouch, faced two white, approaching faces, stepped forward, swung his elbow—and like a bowstring releasing, smashed one right in the face.
The face was soft, like it had no bones: the blow absorbed fully into it.
But his elbow was simply too hard, the force behind it substantial. Although the thing was soft, it carried a waxy texture that still absorbed part of the impact, and was thus sent flying.
The next moment, the Camouflage Man advanced with a feinting step, lifting his knee in a direct strike, sending another doughman—who had just risen halfway—flying into the air.
Immediately after, he fiercely lowered his head, and a doughman pouncing down from above was slammed aside by a headbutt.
The area around him instantly cleared. He then swiftly pulled up a trainee from the ground, without even glancing back at the crowd behind, flung him outward, and using the wall to gain momentum, leapt into the air.
At that instant, he looked as if he were soaring over eaves and scaling walls.
With several quick steps, he charged deeper in, rescued another trainee who was tightly encased by doughmen, and hurled him far beyond the encirclement.
As he landed, he spun and kicked upward—hooking a doughman who had just approached into the air—then followed with a downward chop of his foot, slamming the doughman hard to the ground.
His movements were ferocious, like a maddened bull, yet simultaneously radiated a cold composure that weighed heavily on those who saw him.
When the Camouflage Man remained still, he merely appeared dull and grim. But once in motion, he exuded a terrifying aura.
Wherever he passed, the scattered doughmen standing upright were sent flying like paper dolls, forming a clear, empty circle with him at its center.
The third trainee was nearly dragged into the elevator by countless hands stretching out from inside. Yet even he was saved—snatched by the neck and yanked backward by the Camouflage Man, pulled out with such force it seemed his very soul was left behind.
“This guy… is this guy really that skilled?”
Even Han Su, watching from outside, couldn't help but twitch his brow at the sight.
“It’s—it’s a monster…”
Beside him, a trainee who had just been rescued by the Camouflage Man finally managed to scream.
Trembling, he raised his gun, fumbling with the safety.
“A monster’s nothing. Never seen one before?”
Han Su reacted swiftly, slapping the gun out of the trainee’s hands and shouting, “There are people inside! Don’t shoot blindly!”
The trainee looked on the verge of tears—like hell he’d ever seen one of these before.
After knocking away that trainee’s weapon, Han Su’s gaze swept around, noticing the others.
Fearing they might also panic and fire, potentially injuring the Camouflage Man who had gone in to rescue others, he shouted loudly toward the interior:
“Your fists tougher than bullets or what?”
“……”
The Camouflage Man saw Han Su’s face and understood the reminder. But recalling the chubby one’s earlier words, he still hesitated.
Just then, the chubby one also seemed to have confirmed something, and shouted, “Shoot! Shoot! Our mission is to stop them from getting out…”
“No, wait…”
He quickly followed up, “Be careful. Don’t hurt our own.”
“……”
“Bang! Bang! Bang!”
Inside the mass of doughmen, the Camouflage Man finally stopped hesitating.
He smashed back a doughman with his elbow while drawing his gun.
In that instant, it was as if some killing machine had been activated—every shot struck the head, downing the surrounding doughmen instantly.
While firing, he carved a path through the horde.
But just then, the elevator doors opened and closed again, and once more countless figures surged out—this time even more grotesque, barely human.
Over a dozen twisted arms, as though sewn together through some bizarre surgery, waved wildly, clawing at the Camouflage Man’s shoulders, arms, and back—some even reaching for his gun.
The Camouflage Man twisted his body, swept his elbow to break free from most of the grip, and urgently tried to retreat.
Yet from within the elevator, more hands reached out and grabbed him, trying to drag him back inside.
At that very moment, Han Su suddenly lunged forward with a feinting step.
With his right hand still holding his gun, he instinctively reached out with his left, gripping the Camouflage Man’s hand from afar and pulling with all his might.
Only then did he realize—the Camouflage Man was incredibly heavy. It was hard to imagine how strong those arms were.
Not only could he not pull the Camouflage Man, he himself felt like he was about to be dragged in.
In that tense state, Han Su’s attention instinctively focused on his straining left hand.
Unknowingly, the scar on the back of his left hand suddenly throbbed with intense pain.
That cross-shaped scar flickered with a copper hue in the dim light, as if it wasn't formed from flesh and blood but rather cast from some mysterious bronze.
Han Su sensed that the spiritual energy he concentrated on the scar was rapidly draining.
Yet at the same time, his left hand became strange—rigid and powerfully strong, as though it had turned from flesh into a bronze-cast machine.
He gripped the Camouflage Man’s hand tightly, bones cracking audibly under his grasp.
The next instant, his right foot stomped the ground as he yanked hard, dragging the Camouflage Man—easily two hundred pounds—out from the horde, over his head, and flinging him beyond the crowd.