The Bulgasari towered in front of them, iron-clad and groaning beneath its own weight. Its body was a grotesque mosaic of swords, shattered shields, and dented helms, welded into a shape that barely resembled a beast. Every step it took dragged metal against metal, a grinding echo that clawed at the ears.
Jin stood ahead of the group, katana already drawn, black steel gleaming with fractured lines of faint light. The blade didn't hum. It breathed.
"Doyun, right side. Sujin, keep the alleyways closed. Yujin, take the rooftops. Mina, on my mark."
The four behind him peeled off without question.
The young Bulgasari—smaller, hunched forms still coated in rust-flecked fur—burst from the wreckage around the main one. Their limbs twitched unnaturally, eyes glowing, jaws full of iron shards as they scampered and leapt forward.
"Go," Jin said.
