Chapter 41: Mummy’s Boy

Dr. Joonmyeon Kim descended from a long line of forward-thinking botanists. Experience in cell-manipulation bloomed into excellence in emergency medical care. Illegal drug smuggler is hardly the title for a man who personally engineered every cure filling up his basement retreat. “My family scientifically crafted our very own brand of guilt. And I chose outright rebellion as a coping mechanism;” June strove to embody an obsolete season.

This generation's superfoods were his father's creation. Laete Farland's father stuffed his face, and Nefaria was born. Coincidences aplenty merged to birth homo Homo sapiens in the Underground. Jongdae's situational irony was inevitable. 

“Gone for 1 week. 3 women left for dead. Did the apple taste so sweet?” Johnny walked circles round the Tower's 13th floor—displeased despite Cerberus and Scylla’s homecoming. “Well? Well, here we are again: gracious father and ungrateful mutt. What punishment suits this crime? Well—speak!”

Yeol arrived at the Dog Fights when “Jongdae” turned 10. Gabriel: a mailman who speaks in celestial code. Fenrir: a monstrosity proud to be bound. “Jongdae” pleaded for sole masterhood. Sit. Stand. Roll over. Hand shake. He felt their difference, and he reveled in it. 

“Adopt an active role. Play your intended part. Sentimentality doesn't befit Cerberus—well how would you know?”

Mornings included a general hubbub of clattering pots. Old, white-clothed women blended bath oils for the cleansing ceremony. Pumpkin spice, lavender, vanilla extract poured between closed cabinet doors—fitted with such luxuries as a wool blanket atop two pillows. Bastard born and raised beneath a leaky sink, “Jongdae” wasn't “Jongdae” until he turned 15.  

“You leapt through fiery hoops for the name Cerberus. Jongdae Kim. Blessed. Nothing short of treason to run from a choice.”

Desperate for affection, he opened Fenrir's cage. The beast boasted size, strength, seizing the opportunity to test his mettle. 23 minutes: Yeol's record-breaking, dialectic-demolishing escape time. Without a slave, the master lost his cabinet space privileges. Unwilling contenders weren't rare in the Dog Fights.

“Up to make another?” Johnny showed off what his name earned him: floor-to-ceiling windows; balcony seated close enough to touch the artificial heavens; spiritual detachment from the affairs of mere mortals. “Cerberus leapt to his death. Right here. Over the bars. A beautiful splat wasted on the concrete. 8-years-old, but set in his choice.”

Kitchen boy v. Adlet: showstopper for the ages. The species' weakest links duke it out in an open-fist fight for guts, glory, and lots and lots of gore. “Jongdae” fought for 11 hours straight. Half the audience saw his end: an axe to the cranium.

But he struggled for breath seconds later. Commenced a dazed waltz round the ring. Brain exposed. Pulsating beneath bloody fingertips. All-encompassing wetness lasted days after. Clinging like a sickness. Disease of the mind. 

Certified Stray. 

Bathed the day they threw him back in. Covered with vanilla. Cornered in another TTD. Stray v. Nightmarish Brute: now that's a match-up!

“Well?” Johnny echoed the question he asked a nameless boy who survived asphyxiation. “Well!”

Fatherhood's a muddied concept. The enigmatic Dr. Huang shuttled a nameless boy into the Haven as a substitute for the flattened Cerberus and offered him lineage—plus a hand-me-down home life to boot. He wasn't the first three-headed gate-keeper. He wouldn't be the last. “What's my other option?” "Jongdae" asked.

Early retirement begins with a deep sleep. The Blue lured dreams closer with woodwinds. Simply divine: the concoction pumped into his veins. Yeol hummed the strangest tune. Nefaria sang along. Underground ditties instill contentment in the native-born.  

Jongdae dreamt of neither ghosts, goblins, nor ghouls. Selective memory opened the flood gates. Irrelevant details teased numbed sensations. Ebony curls curling circles, circumventing closed eyelashes. Flutter. Butterfly wings. Rorschach test. Motherhood. Affection swirls atop two pillows. 

Forceps pinched back thick flaps: skin, fat, muscle. Fleshy wings spread open. Bodily awareness spoke volumes. Spokes poked and prodded his exposed heart. Ribs cracked snapped back to cage the small, sticky, fragile thing. Anesthesia absorbs the visible agony. 

A saw came out. Buzt. Buzt. Buzzing lulled eyes behind eyelids. He saw his brain floating in gelatinous ooze. Neurons fired off: recollection of childhood. Mother or father? 

Mother.

Machinery revved to a halt. Another blackout ended the day’s procedure. Week’s? White blurred across recovering retina. Electric burns shrouded tears—black. Out.

The medical bed rolled out of the Blue. Wheels echoed along with three sets of steps. “Jongdae!” Minseok answered. “He’s not bouncing back.”

“ADS slows the healing process,” Dr. Kim diagnosed above his head. “He doesn’t know he’s broken yet.” 

“Then let’s show him:” Nefaria. Hair a webbed mesh of black. Spider strands dragged over charred skin she peeled. Tore. Ripped to bits.

Senses jerked as one at once. Pores spilled wet, warm pain, reducing him to a wailing mass of cooked meat. Adrenaline insisted he be awake for this: their record-breaking, dialectic-demolishing escape. Choose to stray a little longer, Cerberus.