Lookism: King's Ascension

The fire raged.

Smoke churned into the night sky, thick and acrid, coating the back of Taeyang's throat. Embers scattered in the wind, glowing like dying stars before vanishing into the blackness.

But for all its destruction, the fire wasn't the loudest thing in Uiwang.

It was the silence.

The fight had ended, but not in the way anyone expected. No winners. No losers. Just two monsters who had clashed, only for the battlefield itself to shift beneath them.

Taeyang clenched his fists, watching as Seokdu disappeared into the flames, his massive silhouette fading into the chaos. 

Jeongdu stood still, his breathing slowing, his expression unreadable. Blood trickled from his forehead, but his posture remained strong, unshaken.

He tanked it.

The legendary headbutt that made some of the most hardened fighters of the time crumble. And yet, here he stood, unfazed, fists still clenched like he was ready for round two.

Jeongdu hadn't fallen.

But neither had Seokdu.

Taeyang exhaled. His ribs ached. His body still screamed from the beating earlier. But right now, none of that mattered. Because the night wasn't over.

The fire was spreading.

Suwon's fighters were scrambling to salvage whatever they could, barking orders, hauling crates, kicking down doors to get to their supplies. Jeongdu's men watched them, uncertain, some shifting on their feet as if they wanted to keep fighting. But they all knew.

That wasn't the goal.

This wasn't a battle to conquer Uiwang. It never was.

It was a message.

And that message burned bright in the night, licking at the sky with hungry flames.

Then, Jeongdu moved.

He wiped the blood from his forehead with the back of his hand, then glanced at his men. A single nod was all it took. 

They understood. It was time to leave.

No words were needed.

One by one, the Anyang crew pulled back, slipping into the night like shadows. Some limped, some carried the injured, but all of them left with their heads high. No retreat. Just a departure.

Taeyang paused at the body of the chain-wielder. His fingers tightened around his wooden bat… his lifeline.

He wasn't a corpse… he wasn't dead, just knocked out cold.

A bastard who had nearly killed him.

The one who had whipped him with a chain, wrapping it around his throat and yanking like he was trying to rip his head clean off.

Taeyang slowed his steps. His heart was still hammering in his chest, but it wasn't from fear. It was something else.

Something deeper.

His eyes flicked down to the chain, lying slack in the guy's limp hand, the metal glinting under the streetlights and the flickering light from the fire.

He crouched, fingers closing around the cold steel.

It was heavier than he expected. The weight of it felt solid… true.

He yanked it from the unconscious man's grip. The links clinked together, rattling slightly as he stood back up, the chain wrapped loosely around his fist.

It was his now.

A trophy? No. He hadn't been the one to defeat him.

A reminder? Definitely.

But more than anything, it was a weapon. Another weapon.

Taeyang wrapped the chain around his bat, clinking it tightly around the end.

Jeongdu's voice cut through his thoughts.

"Got what you need?"

Taeyang looked up. Jeongdu had finally turned to glance at him, his face unreadable.

Taeyang tightened his grip on the chain.

"Yeah," he muttered. "I got it."

Jeongdu held his gaze for a moment, then gave a short nod before turning back to the road.

They kept walking.

Taeyang's fingers curled tighter around the chain, its cold weight pressing into his palm.

 His steps were slow, steady, the exhaustion creeping into his bones now that the adrenaline was fading. But something made him glance up.

A few paces ahead, one of the others was struggling.

The guy who had put the brick in his pocket.

His shoulders were hunched, his steps uneven as he dragged the unconscious body of one of their own, the weight clearly wearing him down. The deadweight of the man's limp form pulled at his balance, nearly making him stumble.

Taeyang recognized the unconscious guy.

The one he had tried to save.

He didn't know why he moved.

Didn't know why his legs carried him forward, why his hands reached out, why his fingers closed around the unconscious man's right arm.

But he did.

He didn't say anything.

Neither did the brick guy.

Together, they carried him.

The streets were eerily quiet, the distant glow of the fire still burning behind them, but here, in the darkness of the city, it was just them.

No words.

Just footsteps.

The only sound was the occasional scrape of shoes against pavement, the shuffle of fabric as they adjusted their grip. The weight was easier to bear now, the effort divided between them. But the silence was heavier than the body they carried.

And still, neither spoke.

Not even when the warehouse came into view.

The metal doors loomed ahead, a familiar sight.

A place of rest. A place of safety.

Inside, dim lights buzzed faintly, casting long shadows against the concrete floor. The others were already there… some slumped against the walls, some tending to wounds, some simply sitting in exhaustion, heads bowed, breathing ragged.

Taeyang and Brick Guy didn't pause.

They just kept walking, right to the middle of the room, where they finally lowered the unconscious man onto the floor.

The second his weight left their arms, the tension in their muscles sank deep. Taeyang rolled his shoulders, shaking out the stiffness, but still, he said nothing.

For a while, neither of them did.

Eventually, Taeyang broke the silence.

"Why a brick?"

Brick Guy let out a breath, rubbing his sore arms. He glanced at Taeyang, then snorted.

"They never see it coming," he muttered. "Well… until it hits them."

That made Taeyang smile. Just a little.

"Smart."

Brick Guy shrugged. "Not smart. It just works."

The silence returned, stretching between them. But it wasn't awkward… just exhausted. The kind of quiet that came after a full on fight like the one they'd come back from.

The kind of quiet that came from witnessing the clash of monsters too.

Then, out of nowhere, Brick Guy spoke again.

"Why did Minho call you a thief?"

Taeyang gave him a weird look. Then, after a second, realization dawned. 

"Oh that's the tall guy's name? I… I stole some money from you guys, before I realised you were a Circle… I needed it."

"So now you're with us to pay it off?"

"...something like that."

Taeyang's mind went back to what Minho had told him in the concrete room.

This is you choosing to delay your death.

Well… after being in a fucking gang fight, he understood what he meant.

They expected him to die.

Or, at the very least, to crawl back beaten, broken, and begging.

But now he was back.

And he was fine… arguably.

A possible broken rib, a ridiculous number of bruises and probably the mark on his neck from that chain. He held up his bat, listening to the soft clinks of the chains.

He didn't miss the blood stains coating the edge.

Had those been from him?

He leaned back against the wall, watching the others take care of themselves, putting their weapons back and wrapping bandages around themselves.

It was almost routine for them. Taeyang could see that.

Go out, fight someone for the Circle, come back. Heal. Repeat.

Was that… was that going to be him?

He thought back to the resolution he'd made to himself before. Surviving and escaping the first generation.

Now that he'd seen a small scale of what it all was… was there really any escape for him?

His thoughts were cut off as someone walked into the warehouse.

Heavy footsteps.

The Tall guy. Minho.

Minho was scratching his tattoo covered neck, his prickly buzz cut scattering the dim warehouse lights.

He ran his eyes throughout the room, noting the way everyone was taking care of themselves or just resting. Taeyang didn't see his eyes soften but… the expression changed.

And then his eyes landed on him.

Taeyang didn't back down. He stared back.

Minho's eyes narrowed slightly, scanning him like he was searching for some hidden injury. Some proof that Taeyang had barely scraped by. But there was nothing. Nothing visible at least.

Just bruises, a busted lip, and a whole lot of blood on his clothes.

But he was still standing.

Minho sighed, shaking his head.

"Lucky bastard." Taeyang faintly heard him mutter.

Taeyang scoffed under his breath.

At the other end of the room, Jeongdu was cleaning the blood off his forehead—the same forehead that had taken a road-shattering blow, and yet, here he was. Still moving.

Minho turned to him. "How was it, Jeongdu?"

Jeongdu didn't rush to answer. He just shrugged off his blazer, leaving himself shirtless, the bruises and cuts across his torso visible under the warehouse lights.

"Hangu managed to throw the Molotovs into one of their supply buildings," he said finally. "Old structure, so the fire spread fast. They won't be able to expand into Uiwang anymore. Not as quickly as us, at least."

Minho hummed, tapping a slow rhythm against his camo pants. His steel-toed boots were planted firm, the reason his steps always sounded so damn heavy.

"Who did that to you?" he asked.

Jeongdu wiped his hand across his forehead, smearing the blood that hadn't dried yet.

"Seokdu was there."

Minho inhaled sharply. "Did you—"

"The fire stopped the fight."

A beat of silence. Then Minho exhaled, tension easing just slightly from his shoulders.

"Good. We don't need that heat right now."

Taeyang scoffed under his breath, leaning slightly toward Brick Guy.

"Worse how? What's worse than Seokdu?"

Brick Guy barely spared him a glance. "It could've been one of the pre-gen fuckers."

That shut him up.

The warehouse suddenly felt colder.

Before the First Generation, before all the territory wars, before the streets were claimed by people like Minho and Jeongdu, there were others. The ones who came before.

And they weren't like Seokdu. They weren't like anyone.

The old-school ones. The ones who had nothing left to prove, because they'd already won their fights. The ones who came from a time when grudges were settled with blood and broken bones, not just business.

Gapryong Kim's followers, the Yamazaki syndicate, the other Fists scattered throughout South Korea.

A time where losing didn't mean retreating. It meant disappearing.

For good.

Anyang was one of the few cities which didn't have any Pre-generation fists remaining. They'd either died or moved out. 

Unfortunately, Suwon still had theirs. Their Fist collaborating with the students they'd recruited to fight the rest of Gapryong Kim's followers.

Taeyang blinked, that must've been why there had never been a King of Anyang shown in the manhwa. There must not have been one to emerge because they'd never worked with a Fist.

But was having a fist a necessity for becoming a King?

Brick Guy must've seen something shift in his expression because he huffed a quiet laugh.

"Yeah," he muttered. "Now you get it."

Taeyang didn't reply.

His thoughts ran wild.

He thought back to the feeling of taking down his first opponent. The feeling as the wooden bat had cracked across his ribs and he'd gone down.

That feeling of rising, that feeling…

It felt good.

Taeyang held out his hand, looked at his bruised fist.

His thoughts weren't stopping anytime soon.

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A bit of a slow chapter, to calm things down after the gang war. Also planting a few seeds.

Now rain me with thy power stones... please