Kaiju No.8: Monarch of Shadows

The question hung in the air like a guillotine. "What are you?"

Kafka Hibino's heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat of pure panic. His mind raced, cycling through a thousand useless lies. He was standing naked and exposed, literally and figuratively, before a being who had casually swatted him down like a fly. To his left were the two shadow knights, Igris's silent judgment and Beru's chittering bloodlust a constant, terrifying pressure. To his right, the Defense Force, with Mina Ashiro's sharp, analytical gaze now fixed on him, filled with a dawning suspicion.

He was trapped. Utterly and completely trapped.

"I… I'm…" Kafka stammered, his voice cracking. He swallowed hard, trying to grasp for any plausible explanation. "I work for the Professional Kaiju Cleaner Corporation. A cleaner. That's me."

The words were so absurd, so colossally out of place, that silence descended once more. Even Beru's manic chittering seemed to pause.

Jin-Woo's face remained a mask of cold stone, but a flicker of something—disappointment? annoyance?—flashed in his glowing violet eyes.

"You lie poorly," he stated, the words cutting deeper than any blade. "The energy resonating from you is the same as the monster I just pinned. It's thin, almost dormant, but it's there. A lingering stench."

He took another step closer, his shadow falling over Kafka. The primal hum inside Kafka's chest intensified, a strange mix of terror and an exhilarating, magnetic pull. It was as if the ancient power within him was a compass needle, and Jin-Woo was true north.

"Now, I will ask you one more time—"

"Stand down!" Mina Ashiro's voice, now amplified by her suit's external speaker, cut through the tension like a circular saw. She had recovered her composure, her captain's authority returning like a suit of armor. "Sir. You are an unknown variable in a restricted zone. Igris and Beru, as you call them, are unregistered entities. You will come with us. Willingly, or by force."

Several squads of JDF soldiers, their courage bolstered by their commander's resolve, began to advance, their rifles raised. They formed a semi-circle, creating a loose cordon around Jin-Woo and Kafka.

Jin-Woo didn't even turn to look at them. He let out a soft, almost pitying sigh.

"Force?" he mused. He lifted his left hand, palm open. A dense, crushing pressure slammed down on the advancing soldiers. It wasn't a physical attack. It was a release of his pure will, his mana. The air thickened into invisible syrup. The soldiers froze, their knees buckling, their state-of-the-art battle suits groaning under a weight that didn't technically exist.

"This is not force," Jin-Woo said, his voice dropping to a dangerous low. "This is a warning. Your 'force' is an infant's fist beating against a mountain. Do not make me show you what the mountain can do."

He clenched his fist, and the pressure vanished. The soldiers gasped, stumbling back, their faces pale with shock and exertion. They had been utterly dominated without a single blow being thrown.

Mina's eyes widened. This wasn't a fighter. This was a natural disaster in human form. Her tactical mind, which always saw five steps ahead, could only see a checkmate. She lowered her rifle, a clear signal to her troops. Force was not an option.

"Then we ask for your cooperation," she said, her tone shifting from command to negotiation. "You are not from here. That much is obvious. And our world is under attack by threats we are only now beginning to understand. You possess knowledge, power… something. Help us. Let us help you. We need to understand what is happening."

Jin-Woo considered her for a long moment, his gaze unreadable. His curiosity, the one thing that had saved Kafka's life, was his only real motivator. This world was broken, primitive, but it was also a puzzle. And the piece standing naked in front of him was the most interesting part of it.

"Fine," he conceded, his voice clipped. "Take me somewhere I can get answers. And bring him." He gestured dismissively at Kafka. "The stinking liar. I'm not done with him yet."

An hour later, Kafka found himself in a sterile, white debriefing room in a fortified underground JDF bunker. Someone had mercifully given him a standard-issue jumpsuit, but it did little to make him feel less exposed. He sat at one end of a long metal table, nursing a cup of lukewarm tea with trembling hands.

At the other end of the table sat Sung Jin-Woo. His two shadow knights had been dismissed, melting back into his shadow with a silent fluidity that had made the JDF guards flinch. He sat with a preternatural stillness, his back perfectly straight, observing everything with a calm, predatory intensity. He had refused all offers of food, water, or medical attention for the few scrapes he had. He didn't need them.

Mina and a grim-faced Kikoru stood by a large monitor on the wall, which was currently dark. The bunker's power was unstable; the lights flickered intermittently, a symptom of the city's damaged grid.

Kikoru couldn't take her eyes off Jin-Woo. She was cataloging him. The way he carried himself, with the effortless economy of motion of someone who has never known a moment of doubt. The network of white scars that crisscrossed his torso and arms—not the random marks of a brawler, but the precise, deliberate lines of blades and claws. They were the roadmap of a thousand life-or-death battles. He was a living weapon, and every fiber of her being, the part that craved strength and perfection, was screaming at her. She hated him. She was obsessed with him.

For Kafka, the feeling was different. The close proximity was doing strange things to him. The Kaiju core within him was quiet now, but it was a humming, expectant silence. Being near Jin-Woo felt… right. It was a terrifying, deeply unsettling feeling, like a forgotten part of his soul was recognizing a long-lost master. He quickly shoved the thought down. No! It's just fear! I'm scared of the guy who can bench-press a Kaiju! That's all!

Mina finally broke the silence, her voice professional. "Let's start with a simple question. Who are you? Where did that portal come from?"

Jin-Woo leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. The simple movement held an unnerving weight.

"I am Sung Jin-Woo. I am the Shadow Monarch," he said, as if stating his name and address. "And the portal… was an execution. An assassination attempt. They failed."

"They? Who are 'they'?" Mina pressed.

Jin-Woo's eyes narrowed slightly. "Beings far beyond your comprehension. Be glad you have not met them."

Kikoru scoffed, unable to contain her prideful indignation. "Don't be so arrogant. This world has faced threats that would—"

"Threats?" Jin-Woo interrupted, his gaze snapping to her. For the first time, he smiled. It was not a kind expression. It was sharp, predatory, and utterly dismissive. "You call those lumbering beasts threats? Child, I have slain gods. I have toppled armies that numbered in the millions. The creature you were fighting today was an appetizer. A poorly made one."

Kikoru's face flushed with crimson. She was about to retort when Jin-Woo's gaze shifted back to the monitor, then to the flickering lights.

"Your infrastructure is fragile," he noted. "And your understanding of the enemy is flawed. You think you're fighting wild animals. You're not."

Mina leaned in, her interest piqued. "What do you mean?"

Jin-Woo looked from Mina to Kafka, a slow, deliberate motion. He was no longer being interrogated. He was taking control. He was a king in a foreign court, and he was about to rearrange the board.

"The one I destroyed… Kaiju No. 0. It was not born. It was manufactured. An engineered weapon. The energy core was artificial, designed to absorb and repurpose kinetic and biological energy." He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. Then, he delivered the final, devastating blow.

His gaze locked onto Kafka.

"Just like the energy signature I feel inside him."

Kafka froze, the teacup slipping from his numb fingers and shattering on the floor.

Mina and Kikoru spun around, their eyes wide with shock and disbelief, staring at the terrified cleaner.

Jin-Woo leaned back in his chair, the cold, cruel smirk returning to his face.

"Your greatest weapon and your greatest secret, sitting right here at this table." His voice was a whisper that echoed like a thunderclap in the silent room. "Now… let's stop the lies. Tell me, Captain Ashiro, why does your Kaiju janitor smell exactly like Kaiju No. 8?"