Underworld Ascension: Martial Arts System

The sounds of police sirens echoed from a distance. 

Far off, muffled by the maze of twisted alleys and dilapidated buildings. Expectedly so—the cops had little business in Dalcheon or the neon-drenched shadows of the Hollow district. It was as though the city itself had given up on this place, left it to fester and rot, a wound too infected to bother treating.

Tae blinked awake on the cold concrete, his head throbbing with confusion. 

He lay there for a moment, staring up at the dull, polluted sky, wondering if he was dead. It felt like he should be. His memory was hazy, but he remembered the gun, Banker, the sound of the shot… his mother and sister's screams. 

He reached slowly for his chest, feeling the thick, dried blood clinging to the fabric of his hoodie. His fingers found the hole in the fabric, the place where the bullet should have been buried deep. But there was no pain, no wound. His chest felt whole.

What… happened?

As he pushed himself up on his elbows, trying to piece together the fragments of his memory, a shadow fell across him. Tae froze, his senses kicking in as he noticed the silhouette of a man nearby, half-hidden in the murky twilight of the alley.

Before he could react, the man spoke, his voice calm, almost amused. "It was a success," he said, his tone laced with something unreadable. "I guess you are your father's son after all."

Tae's mind raced. He forced himself up a little more, eyes narrowing as he tried to focus on the figure. His guard was up, instincts sharpened from years of survival, even if his mind was still foggy. 

"Who… who are you?" he managed, voice rough, his body tensed, ready for anything.

The man scoffed, an exasperated chuckle barely audible in the dimness. "Don't ask stupid questions," he replied. "Your hatred will lead you to me eventually... so until then."

And just like that, the man faded back into the shadows, his presence vanishing like smoke in the night. Tae struggled to his feet, his eyes darting around, scanning the alley, his heart pounding. But the man was gone, as if he'd never been there at all.

As Tae steadied himself, taking a shaky breath, something else caught his eye. Right in front of him, hanging in the air, was a strange, glowing panel—transparent but real, floating as though it was projected from thin air.

A holographic screen, flickering to life, displaying bold, unblinking text.

[Initializing Martial Arts System]

"What the…" Tae whispered, his eyes wide as he stared at the words, the glow of the screen casting shadows over his face.

Tae shook his head, trying to dismiss the screen, the shadowy figure, the whole twisted night as hallucinations—symptoms of stress, trauma, maybe even blood loss. But the only thought cutting through the haze was his family. 

His mom, his sisters—they were back there, with him. Panic hit, sharp and all-consuming, propelling him forward.

He ran, weaving through Dalcheon's back alleys, each heartbeat heavy with urgency. The bruises on his ribs throbbed, but he didn't feel them.

The dull light from street lamps cast his shadow long and gaunt, stretching across cracked pavement as he approached the building.

He slowed down at the doorway, his instincts taking over. 

Quiet. Stay alert. 

His hand reached down and grabbed a cold, rusty steel pipe off the ground, gripping it tight, as if it could steady his own heart. The silence was unnatural, pressing on him, thick and heavy. 

No voices. No sound. Just the distant hum of the city outside, as if the rest of Gwangdo had already moved on.

Tae's fingers felt numb as he reached for the door handle and stepped inside. The hall was dark and cramped, the air thick with a sour, metallic scent. He took careful steps, keeping his breaths shallow as he approached the main room, his eyes darting to every shadow. 

His grip on the pipe tightened until his knuckles went white, his pulse became loud in his ears.

Inside the house, everything was still. A strange calmness settled over him, unnatural, like something pressing down from the inside out. The pipe clattered softly as he let it fall to the floor. His hands, trembling, clenched and unclenched at his sides as his eyes swept the room, darting, careful to avoid lingering too long.

A dark stain on the floor caught his eye—his blood, crusted and dried, ugly and final. And there, lying next to it, was the gun. The same gun he'd tried to use to protect them.

Tae bent down and picked it up, its cold weight grounding him, the iron smell mingling with the bitter taste in his mouth. His fingers tightened around the grip, the barrel aimed downward as he moved, almost on autopilot, to the center of the room.

A piece of paper lay on the chair, left there like some sick afterthought. With trembling fingers, he picked it up, his breath catching as he read the words scrawled across it:

"Debts collected."

The words sank in coldly. 

Collected. 

The room felt like it was spinning, like it was too small, the walls too close. Tae let the paper slip from his fingers as he fell into the chair, his eyes staring blankly ahead. The gun felt heavier in his hand, pulling him down with it, as if it could drag him right through the floor.

His chest rose and fell in shallow, shaky breaths, each one harder to catch than the last. His thumb slipped over the safety, and with a deep, rattling breath, he raised the gun to his temple, the cold metal pressing against his skin. His finger curled around the trigger, and he closed his eyes.

Click.

Nothing. He blinked, dazed, and tried again.

Click.

Another empty click, and then another, until his breaths came out in harsh, shuddering gasps, and a hollow, bitter laugh escaped his lips. "It has no bullets," he whispered, his voice barely a tremor. "It's not that I didn't shoot first… the gun just had no bullets."

He laughed again, a broken sound, and his voice cracked. "Isn't that ridiculous, sis?" he murmured, looking up with tear-blurred eyes. His vision steadied, and he forced himself to finally, finally look.

And then he saw it.

His breath froze in his throat. His fingers went numb around the gun, the metallic taste of fear flooding his mouth as he took in the sight.

His little sister. She was hanging from the ceiling, her small, fragile body swaying slightly, her head at an angle that defied all reason. Her face was calm, eyes wide, unseeing, staring at something he couldn't see.

A raw, strangled noise tore from his throat, barely a sound, more like the shattering of something deep inside him. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe. His heart hammered wildly, as if trying to force him back to life when all he wanted was to stop.

The room felt colder, the shadows pressing in around him as the gun slipped from his fingers and hit the floor with a heavy thud.

And then, flickering in front of him, cutting through the darkness like a ghostly blade, that screen appeared again, casting a pale light over his sister's lifeless body, over the horror he couldn't unsee.

[Initialization Complete]

The words floated before him, more mocking than anything, as though it were the only solid thing left in a world that had crumbled to dust.