the seraphim paradox

And that—that sent a ripple of unease through the room.

The guards shifted.

Morgan's smirk dimmed just slightly.

Because when Eun-jae ties his hair up?

Shit's about to go down.

"If simple talking isn't doing it," Eun-jae continued, his voice calm—too calm. "Then I'll just have to add a little touch of physical cooperation."

Morgan's smirk finally faltered.

Caesar, who had been watching from the sidelines, let out a low, amused whistle.

"Oh? We're tying the hair up already?" he mused, tilting his head with a lazy grin. "This is about to be fun."

Eun-jae didn't even glance at him.

He was already rolling up his sleeves, calmly, methodically.

"Alright, Morgan. You had your chance."

"Now? You're gonna talk."

Eun-jae's heart raced in his chest as the chaos around him erupted into a blur of sound and movement. Gunfire rang out, sharp and jarring, mingling with the sound of shouted orders, the shuffling of heavy boots, and the rapid clatter of bodies moving against concrete floors. His instincts kicked in, body moving on autopilot as he ducked behind a pillar to avoid the barrage of bullets coming from the guards. His mind, however, was crystal clear. He didn't waste a second.

"Shit. Shit. Shit."

The tear gas was already starting to fill the room, the pungent cloud clouding his vision, but Eun-jae didn't panic. No. He had prepared. He reached for his Vision-X Tactical Glasses—one of his most trusted assets. As soon as they clicked into place, the world shifted from chaos to clarity.

Targeting system engaged.

He could see them—every last one of the guards—their movements now displayed in glowing red outlines. Each of their shifts in position and stance were registered, their every move predicted with brutal accuracy. And then, the low hum of the glasses telling him exactly what he needed to do next. Shoot.

Eun-jae didn't hesitate. He stepped out from cover, lifting his gun smoothly, the weight of it steady in his hands, and fired in rapid succession. Guard after guard dropped with surgical precision. The sound of the gunshots was almost melodic—a dark, dangerous rhythm that he was used to by now.

But then, his eyes flicked to a different part of the room.

Caesar.

Standing across from him, arms crossed, with a smirk plastered on his face. Despite the firefight, despite the chaos, Caesar looked utterly relaxed. Like he was enjoying it—every moment. The guards around him were already scattered on the floor, bodies twisted in positions that didn't match their former life. Caesar had handled them without breaking a sweat.

The man was a weapon. And somehow, he was always so damn cool while wielding it.

"I don't even need to do much, huh?" Eun-jae muttered under his breath, eyes narrowing as he focused on the now-clearing air, scanning the room for Morgan. His mind was calculating every movement, every shift.

Then he saw it.

The chair Morgan had been sitting in? Empty.

"Damn it."

Eun-jae's eyes darted to the side just in time to see Morgan, knife raised, a snarl twisted on his face. There wasn't even a warning—Morgan lunged forward with speed, the blade aimed for Eun-jae's side.

"Fuck!"

He managed to sidestep, but not quick enough. The cold steel slashed across his left side, leaving a trail of blood in its wake. The sting was instant, sharp, but Eun-jae's body didn't falter. He spun, faster than any normal person would've managed, and raised his gun, squeezing the trigger with precision.

BANG!

The bullet hit Morgan's leg, and a shriek of pain tore through the air, loud and desperate. Eun-jae's eyes didn't leave the man. He was already moving to position himself for another shot. But Morgan, despite the wound, wasn't done. He staggered backward, hand clutching his bleeding leg, eyes wild with fury.

"AAARRGGHH!" Morgan hissed through gritted teeth, a venomous snarl twisting his features. The sound of his pain was oddly satisfying, but Eun-jae didn't linger on it. His mind was already focused on the next task.

"You are one risky beta." Caesar's voice floated to him, rich with amusement. Eun-jae didn't even have to look up to know who it was. The sound of Caesar's boots on the ground, his casual approach, told him all he needed to know.

Eun-jae stayed focused on Morgan, but his peripheral vision caught Caesar's smirk, his gaze practically burning through him. The tension in the air between them was a strange mix of danger and... something else. Eun-jae's lip curled up, but he didn't say a word.

As he bent down to wrap a piece of his shirt around the wound, he noticed Caesar's figure looming in his peripheral vision. The man was standing too close. The kind of close that would have made most people uncomfortable. But Eun-jae? Eun-jae didn't care. He was used to it.

The room was still spinning with the aftermath of the gunfight, but Caesar? He was a strange constant, always in the eye of the storm. Eun-jae's thoughts were interrupted when he felt Caesar's eyes on him, and then that familiar voice came, smooth as silk, laced with something he couldn't quite place.

"Lucky for you, it's not that deep."

Eun-jae glanced up briefly, his face a mask of indifference, though there was a subtle flicker of annoyance behind his gaze.

"Yeah, well, I'm still bleeding," Eun-jae muttered under his breath, more to himself than anyone else. But of course, Caesar didn't let it go unnoticed.

"Here, let me help." Caesar's voice was velvety, almost too smooth, as he reached out to help him with the wound. The touch was brief, almost clinical, but there was something about the way Caesar's fingers hovered over him—deliberate, purposeful—that made Eun-jae's pulse spike, just slightly.

His chest tightened, but he shoved the feeling down.

"Thanks. But I've got this."

But before he could pull away, he felt Caesar's hand on his side, steadying him, fingers brushing dangerously close to the raw, bleeding skin.

"Thanks… I'm fine."

Eun-jae's voice was sharp, clipped, laced with an edge of impatience as he pushed Caesar's hand away from his waist. His skin still tingled where those fingers had pressed, but he wasn't about to dwell on it. Not now. Not when there were far more important things to deal with—like the bleeding bastard slumped on the floor.

Without another glance at Caesar, Eun-jae turned and stalked toward Morgan, his boots echoing against the cold concrete. His body moved with the same deadly grace as a panther—calm, calculated, but poised to strike at any moment.

Morgan barely had time to react before Eun-jae grabbed him by the collar and yanked him up, ignoring the sharp grunt of pain that came from the man's lips. With zero hesitation, Eun-jae threw him onto the chair like he was nothing more than a sack of garbage, the wooden legs scraping harshly against the floor. Morgan winced, but the glare in his eyes remained defiant.

Tsk.

Eun-jae had seen that look before. The 'I won't talk' act. It was almost adorable how they all thought they could hold out.

He made quick work of tying Morgan's wrists behind the chair, the rope digging in tight—tight enough to cut off circulation, but not tight enough to do permanent damage. That was the fun part about interrogations. You had to drag it out. Make it last.

Once the knot was secure, Eun-jae's fingers curled into Morgan's greasy hair, yanking it back so that their eyes met. Morgan's teeth gritted as his neck bent at an uncomfortable angle, pain flashing in his expression.

Eun-jae's lips curled into something between a smirk and a sneer.

"We can do this the easy way or the hard way, Morgan." His voice was dangerously smooth, a mockery of patience laced beneath the words. "I personally prefer the hard way—it's more fun for me."

Morgan spat blood to the side, his eyes burning with defiance.

"You think I'll talk?" he sneered.

Eun-jae clicked his tongue. "Awww, that's cute."

Without another word, he let go of Morgan's hair with a sudden jerk, letting the man's head drop forward roughly.

Eun-jae sighed dramatically, rolling his shoulders before taking a slow look around the dimly lit room. Then, his gaze landed on something interesting. His lips twitched with amusement as he crouched down, fingers brushing against a small pile of rusty nails.

He picked them up one by one, feeling the rough, jagged edges between his fingers, the metal cold and sharp against his skin. Perfect.

With deliberate slowness, Eun-jae turned back to Morgan.

"You've got a big mouth, Morgan." His voice was almost teasing, but there was malice dancing beneath it. "Let's put it to good use, shall we?"

Before Morgan could react, Eun-jae shoved the nails into his mouth, forcing his jaw open as he stuffed the sharp objects between his teeth. The man's muffled protests were instant, his body jerking against the restraints, but Eun-jae was quick.

He grabbed a roll of seal tape from his belt, ripped a long piece off with his teeth, and slapped it over Morgan's mouth, sealing it shut.

The sounds coming from the bound man were now pure panic—desperate, muffled grunts vibrating against the tape. The sharp nails pressed against his tongue, each tiny movement threatening to cut if he wasn't careful.

"Oops." Eun-jae smiled, tilting his head. "Better not move too much, sweetheart. You wouldn't want to accidentally shred that tongue of yours, now would you?"

Morgan glared, his nostrils flaring with rage, but Eun-jae just laughed, turning on his heel to begin casually circling the chair like a predator toying with its prey.

All this while, Caesar was watching.

And God, was he enjoying the show.

Eun-jae could feel those piercing blue eyes on him, assessing his every movement, lingering on the way he moved, the way he controlled the situation without hesitation. He could almost hear Caesar's smirk, that faint amusement bordering on something else entirely.

But Eun-jae ignored it.

He had a job to do.

"Now, let's have a little chat." He let his fingers trail over the back of Morgan's chair, his voice mockingly casual. "I heard a Korean technician is coming to fix Voron, right? He should be arriving tomorrow, isn't that correct?"

Morgan didn't respond—obviously—but the way his fingers twitched gave him away.

"Where will we be able to find him, hmm?" Eun-jae mused, then punched Morgan across the face.

The impact was brutal—Morgan's head snapped to the side, his body jerking against the chair. But before he could recover, Eun-jae hit him again. This time from the other side.

Crack.

A sickening sound filled the room—probably the breaking of Morgan's cheekbone—but Eun-jae barely flinched.

He grabbed Morgan's hair again, pulling his head up so that their eyes met once more. His grip was tight, his fingers twisting into the sweaty strands.

"Do you feel like talking now? Hmm?"

Slowly, deliberately, Eun-jae reached up and ripped the tape off Morgan's mouth, the adhesive peeling away harshly from the man's bruised skin.

Morgan gasped, his lips smeared with blood, but instead of answering, he simply glared.

A beat of silence.

Then—Morgan spat. The bloody nails tumbled onto the floor, followed by a chuckle—hoarse, weak, but still defiant.

Eun-jae sighed, rolling his eyes. "Oh… okay."

Without another word, he slapped the tape back on, sealing Morgan's mouth shut once more.

Then, he started punching.

And punching.

And punching.

Fist after fist, impact after impact, until blood was dripping down Morgan's nose, smeared across his already battered face.

By the time Eun-jae stepped back, flexing his sore fingers, Morgan looked wrecked—his head hanging forward, his breath ragged, his entire body trembling from the sheer force of the beating.

Eun-jae sighed dramatically, shaking out his hand as he tilted his head.

"Are you ready to talk, sweetie?"

Nothing.

Just ragged breathing and a weak chuckle from Morgan's split lips.

Eun-jae clicked his tongue, crossing his arms. "This is more difficult than expected. He still won't talk…"

He tapped his fingers against his arm, deep in thought, before his eyes landed on something.

Morgan's knife.

The very same knife he had tried to gut Eun-jae with earlier.

Perfect.

Eun-jae sauntered over, crouched down, and picked it up, testing the weight of the blade in his palm. He turned back to Morgan, a slow, wolfish smirk creeping across his face.

Then, in a voice dripping with saccharine menace, he said—

"Alright. Shall we continue, honey?"

He took a step closer.

Morgan's breath hitched.

And God, if Caesar wasn't having the time of his life watching.

Eun-jae twirled the knife between his fingers, feeling the cool weight of the blade dance along his skin.

It felt good.

Too good.

There was something soothing about the familiar heft of it, the way it sat in his palm like it belonged there—an old friend, waiting, ready, whispering promises of pain and persuasion. The steel glinted under the dim light, catching his gaze for the briefest moment before he let it spin again, flipping between his fingers with effortless ease. A lover's caress. A predator's patience.

The sound of Morgan's labored breathing filled the space between them—ragged, uneven, laced with just the right mix of defiance and fear. It was the fear that intrigued Eun-jae the most. Oh, it was still buried under that tough exterior, sure, masked beneath clenched teeth and bloodied lips, but it was there. He could see it lurking in the tightness of Morgan's jaw, in the tension of his shoulders, in the way his fingers twitched—like he was resisting the urge to flinch.

Admirable.

Stupid, but admirable.

Eun-jae allowed himself a slow, amused exhale as he lowered himself into a crouch, balancing effortlessly on the balls of his feet. He took his time, watching Morgan through hooded eyes, letting the weight of the moment settle, letting the silence drag until it became something sharp, pressing into the room like a blade against bare skin.

Then, finally—softly, smoothly, dangerously—he spoke.

"You know… ancient warriors had a very special way of dealing with stubborn enemies."

Morgan's shoulders twitched, just barely, but Eun-jae saw it.

Oh?

He smirked, tilting his head slightly, his gaze dropping to the blade still playing between his fingers.

"They wouldn't just kill them," Eun-jae continued, voice dropping into something silky and deliberate. "No, that would be too… quick. Too merciful." His eyes flicked up, watching the way Morgan's jaw tensed. "And I'm not really in the mood for mercy tonight."

The words dripped like honey, slow and syrupy, but there was no sweetness behind them—only the razor-sharp edge of a man who knew exactly what he was capable of.

Eun-jae let out a slow, mock sigh, as if he were discussing something as mundane as wine selection, then lifted the blade and let the tip barely graze Morgan's exposed collarbone. Just the ghost of pressure—enough to remind him it was there.

"They had a technique," Eun-jae mused, letting the knife trail lazily downward, just over the fabric of Morgan's ruined shirt. "One that required patience. Precision. They'd start at the chest first."

He tapped the flat of the blade against Morgan's sternum.

"Right here."

Morgan was very, very still now.

Eun-jae smiled, but there was no warmth in it.

"They'd make the first incision shallow—not deep enough to kill, but just enough to slip a hand beneath. And then?" He tilted his head, voice turning into a low, intimate murmur as he leaned in closer, breath brushing over the shell of Morgan's ear.

"They'd peel."

Morgan's breath hitched.

Eun-jae chuckled, dark and pleased.

"You'd be surprised how easy it is to separate skin from muscle when you do it right," he continued, dragging the tip of the knife lightly across Morgan's shoulder—not cutting, just reminding him of what could happen if he stopped being fun.

"The trick," he whispered, "is to go slow."

A pause.

Then, even lower—soft enough to be a promise, sharp enough to be a threat—

"Peel it back, strip by strip. Keep them awake. Make them feel it."

Morgan let out a slow, shaky exhale, nostrils flaring, but he still didn't speak.

Impressive.

Stupid, but impressive.

Eun-jae hummed in mock contemplation, tapping the blade against his chin.

"I'm just wondering," he said, "if I were to start with you… where would be the most fun place to begin?"

He reached out then, fingers gripping Morgan's jaw, tilting his face up until their eyes met. Morgan's pupils were blown wide now—not in fear, no, not yet—but in something dangerously close to it.

Eun-jae's thumb dragged over his bloodied lower lip, a mockery of gentleness.