Back in Korea, where this mess had all begun, on the flanks of the Seongsan Ilchulbong looming over the sea, something else was happening that the group was not privy to.
A group of old men stood at the mouth of the volcanic tunnels, looking into them with an expecting gaze. On the surrounding walls, many bujeok had been stuck to walls at regular intervals in an attempt to seal, or at least purify, the entrance of this tunnel.
But from further in, the five old men could hear the sound of combat.
The pitter-patter of footsteps echoed, getting closer to them, as a group of three men ran toward the exit, a fourth man in their arms, badly wounded.
Gazing at him, the five old men felt the dread of the situation dawn upon them.
The young man who was wounded screamed in pain as the others lay him on the ground.
His left arm was missing at the elbow, crudely ripped off, with jagged edges to the wound.
