Snake Venom Ch 121

Chapter 121

He scarcely registered the object wavering beside Cheon Wooshin’s face before realizing what it was. When had he picked that up? The thought barely sparked before Wooshin drove the man’s head sideways—once, twice—each blow landing with a sickening crack. The guard’s body went slack, and Wooshin released him without hesitation, fingers already tapping his in-ear comm.

Joo Doyoung’s voice filtered through.

— No signs they’ve noticed yet. Should we hold longer?

Eyes fixed on the gasping man, Wooshin replied,

“Two minutes.”

The guard, stubborn and hardy, was already trying to push himself upright. Wooshin’s mind flickered—brief, sharp, dangerous. Should I kill him?

Reason protested—no unnecessary escalation. But blood surged hot and fast, and from the depths of his consciousness, the serpent stirred. It slithered up his spine, scales cold and sleek, coiling, whispering its sweet venom.

Just kill him. You always have. Blood makes it better.

Heat flared at the corner of his vision—an all-too-familiar haze, that rancid fever that sometimes fouled his sanity. The serpent coiled tighter, urging him to tear, to rip, to end.

His fingertips twitched. He wanted, for one breathless instant, to slit the man’s throat open.

“Team leader.”

The voice snapped the thread. Wooshin’s gaze shifted.

Lee Yeon-woo stood there.

“If you like, I could try knocking him out. I’ve been practicing. Like this—on the neck…”

Wooshin’s murderous reverie shattered against Yeon-woo’s earnest, unaware expression. His breath steadied—barely.

And then—

Yeon-woo.

A whisper crawled in his skull, obsessive and possessive. Reality snapped sharp. If you give in to the snake, you lose him. A violent rejection surged through him.

Over my dead body.

“I’ll do it.”

Wooshin swept the man’s legs out, flipping him without pause. He tore the lanyard from his neck, struck a pressure point cleanly, rendering him unconscious in one smooth sequence. Then he tossed the retrieved access card to Yeon-woo.

At that moment, someone emerged from the corner—Jung Suho. Yeon-woo flinched, then relaxed.

Suho swept past him, exchanging a brief, razor-silent glance with Wooshin. He tugged his rumpled jacket straight and took over the unconscious guards.

Joo Doyoung’s voice sounded again in the comms.

— Commence now.

Yeon-woo sprinted toward the path where the waiter disappeared. Wooshin followed, leaving Suho to hide the bodies.

He pressed the card to the reader. The lock clicked. Yeon-woo slipped inside, scanning swiftly. The contrast was jarring—gaudy club outside; shadowed corridor within.

This was a passage. Nothing more.

It hadn’t appeared in any blueprint—not even the versions Seol-kyung pulled and Yeon-woo memorized.

He inhaled. The Hephaesi trace thickened—pulling him onward.

Wooshin shut the door behind them, sealing away the outside roar. Silence swallowed the passage. Only dim emergency lights and that fine thread of scent guided them now. Doyoung held the cameras—minutes only. They had to find something fast.

Yeon-woo poured every nerve into instinct. The air swelled thick with raw, chemical scent—like fresh-cut lumber, like drying cement. A place newly built. Hastily, clandestinely.

Turning a corner, stairs rose upward.

He crouched low, climbing. The smell intensified. The walls wore unfinished texture, as if slapped together for function alone.

At the landing, his eyes glimmered with heat. He swept the narrow hall. The ceiling hung absurdly low—not like the club above. The Hephaesi scent now pointed without hesitation. He mapped space by breath and instinct.

Going straight meant confronting the source head-on—risky. Alarms, guards, traps. Discovery now meant the factory could erase itself before they reached it.

Better to approach unseen.

He lifted his gaze. A vent sat at the seam between wall and ceiling—a narrow square, but promising. His intuition rang clear.

Yeon-woo flicked his eyes at Wooshin. Wooshin moved instantly. A short tug—metal rasped—and the grate came off with startling ease.

Inside was tight, damp, reeking of chemical residue—but traversable.

Yeon-woo straightened, meeting Wooshin’s eyes.

“I’ll go ahead.”

He did not need to explain. His body alone fit.

Wooshin hesitated. Only a second—but enough to betray it.

“If you get lost, signal me. Any way you can.”

Any way, he said. That trust—unyielding, protective—hit Yeon-woo hard. Awe and affection rose, uninvited, unstoppable.

“Yes. I will.”

Team leader, you’re so cool.

The unspoken confession fluttered dangerously at the edge of his tongue.

Large fingers suddenly covered his vision—warm, steady. Even amidst an operation, Wooshin’s touch ignited him. The words I like you surged—he barely swallowed them.

Instead—

“I want to do well.”

“You already are.”

The gentle assurance recalled their first mission together, before split personas and deception and chaos. It felt like coming full circle.

Biting his lip, Yeon-woo listened as Wooshin ruffled his hair.

“I’ll be waiting.”

“Yes.”

Permission. Trust. Devotion exchanged in a single breath.

Yeon-woo slid into the dark, vanishing. Wooshin replaced the grate with a soft metallic click. Straightening, hands clasped behind him, he waited in the silent corridor—still as a blade sheathed for war.

Elsewhere, Im Sehan directed the external support. With Wooshin protecting Yeon-woo inside, someone had to manage the overwatch—security channel monitoring, route tracking, infiltration standby coordination. Complex, but not taxing. Wooshin had broken orders into microscopic precision; Joo Doyoung supported with sharper instincts than Sehan’s own.

Experience made the quiet feel almost comfortable.

A radio ping cut the lull—word from Wooshin’s direct team investigating Shin Jun-seong’s identity. They’d returned early. Sehan’s pulse ticked up.

“Yes, go ahead.”

— Sent the files.

A message meant confirmation—Jun-seong’s identity truly fabricated. Sehan didn’t need to check now, but something said there might be useful intel. Even a sliver could help.

And the tingling certainty in his chest—hard-earned instinct—told him not to ignore it.

“Doyoung. I need to look into something. Call if I’m needed.”

— Aye aye, commander. All smooth here.

“Silence is good news. Thanks.”

He opened the file—immediately scanning through the incoming data.