Sungyeol opened his eyes and stared up at the unfamiliar ceiling.  He gathered what strength he had and forced himself up from the bed.  He glanced about the darkened room.  A bedroom.  Where was he?  Whatever he had been injected with had made him groggy.  It took him a moment to gather his thoughts.  He searched his pockets for his phone and frowned when he could not find it.  Where was it?  He tried to recall where it could be.  The last thing he remembered was making a call before he lost consciousness.  Realisation hit him then.  He had to warn him.

He glanced at the bedside table and saw a telephone.  He picked up the receiver and quickly dialled the number from memory.  The phone rang and rang.  He waited and waited but still no answer.  He could not help but feel that something was wrong.

He immediately got up and headed for the door, surprised to find that it was not locked.  Only when he exited the room and stepped into the hallway, did he realise that he was in what looked like a hotel.  Who had brought him here?  If they were an enemy why would they allow him to leave freely?  If they were a friend, why did they drug him?

He had so many questions but the most important thing was that he had to get back before it was too late.

Moments after the call ended, he heard screams echoing in the night.  They were already here.  He let out a sigh as he reach under the bed and retrieved an object wrapped in black cloth.

"Let me borrow this," he said to the sleeping figure.

He headed for the door but stopped to take one last look at the sleeping figure on the bed before he closed the door behind him.

A group of masked men were at the front door, all armed with swords.  The bodies of the few guards he had lay in a heap on the floor.  He looked back at the group.  He knew who they were and why they had come.

"The Dragon Army," he said.  He had hoped that this day would never come to pass.  "What have you done with Sungyeol?"

"Do you have time to be worrying about someone else?" one of the men asked.

"Hand over the traitor!" a second man demanded.

"Over my dead body," he replied.

"That can be arranged."

With those words, the group of men advanced on him.  He unwrapped the object in his hand to reveal a sword.  He drew out the blade just as a sword came crashing down at him.  The sounds of metals clashing against another rang out as his enemies attacked him continuously, giving him no opportunity to even stop and breathe.  With his quick reflexes, he was able to evade the attacks and counter strike, proving to them that he was not an easy target.

"As expected of the Gyoha clan's former right hand man," remarked one of the masked men.  "But you should have died along with your old leader."

They continued with their relentless attacks.  They were vast in numbers and no matter how many he struck down, their numbers did not seem to dwindle.  Time had taken it's toll on him.  He was not what he used to be, not after what happened that day.

Two of the masked men attacked him from both sides, simultaneously.  With only one sword, he was only able to block one blade while his hand caught the other.  The blade cut into the palm of his hand and blood gushed out.  Against the pair, he lost the battle of strength.  They knocked the sword out of his hand and their blades slashed him across the back and chest, opening deep gashes.  He stumbled back and dropped to the ground as blood poured out from his wounds.  Before he could recover, their blades came crashing down at him.

He was prepared for the worst until he heard the clanging of metal.  Something had intercepted their blades.  He looked up to see a figure standing over him, holding a sword, the sword that was knocked out of his hand before.  He looked at the figure with surprise.

"The traitor has finally appeared," said one of the masked men.