The last scream died in the smoke.
Corporal Jae-Min stood in the center of what used to be Forward Operating Base Aegis, his chest rising and falling like a bellows. Blood dripped from his fingertips—not his own. Never his own anymore. The concrete beneath his boots was painted crimson, littered with the shattered remains of two hundred and thirty-seven souls who'd made the mistake of wearing the same uniform as the bastards who'd left his squad to die.
His body had changed.
Where once lean muscle had wrapped his frame, now raw power carved itself across his shoulders and arms.
His biceps had swollen to the size of melons, veins threading through them like rivers of molten steel. His chest had broadened into a wall of muscle, each breath making the slabs shift and flex. His thighs were thick as tree branches, his calves cut like diamond.
He looked like the ancient Korean heroes from the old stories—like Dangun's warriors reborn with divine wrath flowing through their veins.
