CW: Explicit language, mentions of slavery, mentions of sexual assault/r*pe, violence, gore, forced drug use, hallucinations, mentions of brainwashing, mentions of s*icide.
By the time Rin returns to the marquee, the frenzy has settled into a dizzy lull, with more Roses than guests remaining behind and enjoying the milder mood of the night. Drowsy lovers scatter the dance floor. The host is intimately intertwined with Kahin, their elegant forms swaying in time to the slow, romantic melodies of the sinfonietta.
In the thinning crowd, Rin can see Bellow dancing with an older lady, resting his head upon her shoulder with a blissful expression. Bucky sits upon the lap of a refined, fair haired woman, while caressing the Western man’s thigh as he sits beside. The familiar features in the woman and the noble tell Rin that the two are related. Perhaps even siblings.
But the Rat’s impatient gaze simply sweeps over them, lips twisting to the side when he doesn’t find what he’s looking for. He stumbles back outside, scanning the guests milling near the entrance to the docks.
Not a sign of the little lord anywhere. If he were real, he had attended the party for a very short time. A bitter taste coats his tongue. He wants to see Jun again. Not for any reason other than to ask him, why? Why doesn’t he get mad? Why doesn’t he turn him in? Call him a thief and a dirty, good for nothing Slummer?
Why did he say the things he said? And look at him the way he did?
Cacophonous thoughts churn sluggishly in his mind. He stumbles to a quiet area, feeling as though he’s about to lose his breath or his mind. With a light gasp, he steadies himself against a Sun Sculpture, one depicting the lulua whale jumping majestically from a bed of crashing waves. Nausea sours his guts. A few deep breaths keeps the vomit at bay, but only just.
Panting lightly, he wraps his arms around the sculpture, leaning his clammy brow upon the cool surface. The golden glow seeps through his lashes, restless and fractal. Following a neglected urge that he’s barely aware of, he presses his burning body against the pellucid stone. Lips follow suit, planting a gentle kiss upon the lulua whale. When he draws back, his smile is unsteady, and he idly pets the creature’s head.
A bony hand snatches his wrist, clamping it in an iron grip. A cry flees his mouth when his arm is wrenched back, body jerked and twisted to meet the thin form of a seething Northerner. The raven stares wide eyed at the man, startled fear glistening on the surface, before rapidly descending into defensive rage.
His delicate face wrinkles into a heavy scowl and he grabs the Notherner’s constricting hand, trying with all his might to free himself. “Lemme go, you asshole! I’m not for sale!”
That bony hand tightens, bruising that tender flesh. He towers over Rin in a sinister loom and brings his sallow face close, his breath laced with the bitter stench of tobacco. “You have something of mine,” he says, voice pitchy and jarring. “I will need you to return it to me promptly.”
“What, your virginity?” Rin taunts through a vicious grin. “Sorry, but I’m not the guy who–”
The man’s free hand snatches Rin’s throat before shoving him against the whale. The latter’s back explodes with pain, his wound exacerbated by the sudden impact. Staggered breaths creak as claw-like fingers squeeze with merciless force. His vision blurs with burning tears. Blood rushes thunderously through his ears. Both hands scrabble at the Notherner’s, but the man doesn’t give an inch. He’s drinking in the raven’s suffering with a sadistic edge, pitiless eyes glinting with perverse glee.
“I am a man of little patience, Rose,” sallow face says. He releases the boy’s wrist to run his hand over the latter’s body, bony fingers lingering over that pumping chest and creeping past the clenching belly. “You see, I am a man who loathes parting with his things. And when my things are taken from me, I lose control. And when I lose control…ah.” The Northerner plucks a silver medal from the left pocket, coin gleaming as he clips it back onto his lapel.
The boy’s face has been strangled blue. Darkness eats his vision. He’s on the verge of oblivion when suddenly he’s freed, and he drops to his knees, coughing and straining for air. He leans on his forearms, eyes squeezed shut, strings of saliva dripping from his gasping mouth. Tears drench his flushed cheeks.
“Get up,” sallow face snaps, hauling Rin to his feet by the scruff. “I’m not done with you.”
A clawed hand grips his nape, holding him upright and forcing his eyes up to the militant’s loathsome face. Bloodshot vantablacks meet twin flints.
“Fuck. You.” He pushes out two syllables in a pained rasp.
“I have cut out the tongues of those who have spoken to me with more decorum,” the man says, dryly, his eyes narrowed in disdain. “You will give me recompense for your transgression. If you fail to do so, I shall deliver you to the Silverswords and you will hang come morn.”
Rin snickers, trying to ignore the throbs of pain attacking his vocal cords. His voice is a near whisper, but the militant can hear every word as clear as day, “Says the man who almost killed me.” The raven’s eyes grow hooded, cold rage piercing his flesh like a thousand blades. “If they hang me for stealing that shitty participation badge, what do you think they’d do to attempted murderers?”
The man laughs loudly, jeeringly, his face spectacularly loathsome and ugly. “You think your life has worth, Rose? Do you know what we do with scum like you in the North?” He bares his teeth, depravity touching his features under the glow of the lulua’s light. “We use your meat to feed our dogs and replace our necrotic organs. You are our cock sleeves and playthings, cheap trinkets to enjoy once and then discard. Scum like you are the beasts we hunt for sport. Human shaped latrines to catch our shit and piss. You are a mere tool, mindless lurching flesh, the putrid arid land from which we harvest. You. Are. Nothing.”
Blood consumes hellebores until they burn red. Flesh blanch white. Sable hair drips like ink down his hollow face. White noise fills his head, quashes all that’s him. There is only a fury so profound that his mind entirely disintegrates.
With slow and unsteady movements, he rings his arms around the man’s neck and pulls him close. He embraces him tightly, feeling the body stiffen against his own. And then he buries his face in the crook of his neck and rips his throat out with his teeth.
A shocked scream strikes the heavens as foul, hot blood gushes from the open wound, drenching the raven’s face. He’s shoved away with tremendous force and his soft form crumples against the sculpture. The lulua whale is streaked with red, sea frothing pink below.
Scarlet eyes stare blankly at the writhing man, who’s pushing his hands against the gushing wound, screaming in rage and agony. Silverswords rush over with their swords drawn. Onlookers gather shouting and shrieking in shock. The party’s in a frenzy, crowds churning and cacophonous. It’s pure chaos.
All the while, Rin sits quietly with the slightest tug at the corners of his mouth. The scarlet hue of his eyes dim to the depthless well of darkness.
***
Inside the marquee, the dance floor has been cleared and the music has gone silent. The air is thick with tension, centered around the lone, bloodied figure of the Rat, surrounded on all sides by Silverswords.
Along one wall of the tent stands a line of Roses, all in various states of undress and intoxication. Of course, they stand perfectly still with practised ease, their graceful countenance near inherent to their forms. Years of training under Madame Kahin has ensured their professionalism even when severely inebriated. Bucky stands amongst those in the line, a tense pull at her face.
Lady Nam Yujin lounges in her throne, coolly sipping her wine, her Rose standing straight and tall by her side.
There’s no sign of Bellow anywhere.
“Colonel Roche is a powerful man,” Yujin drawls, swirling her wind. She seems rather put out by the situation, torn away from her Rose to deal with this unpleasant matter. Her coal eyes glance at the bloodied boy with hardly a shift in expression, save irritation. “You are lucky he had been taken to the clinic in time. If he had died, you too would have lost your life. Of course, there is no guarantee that you won’t if the Colonel decides to pursue the matter.”
Rin stands silently between his guards, staring blankly at his feet with hooded eyes. Black lashes sticky with blood tremble ever so slightly.
“He is the recipient of the Silver Medal of Valour. The medal that you just so happened to steal. Do you know what this means?”
No response. The lady sighs and takes a sip, tongue flitting out to catch a stray drop. “It means that he is a man greatly valued by the Mother. To attack him, you attack the Empress. To kill him is a direct threat to the throne. And you have made both your Madame and I culpable, purely by association.”
Again, no response.
Yujin sighs and drains her glass, patience clearly wearing thin. She gestures to Kahin with a faint smile. “My dear. I will hand this matter over to you. Whatever you decide to do with your Rose, I shall respect. You can entrust the Colonel to me.”
Kahin bows her head at the noble. “Very well, my Lady. I would appreciate it if we kept the Silverswords out of this matter. My reputation…”
“But of course.” Yujin glances at the Silverswords and gives a curt nod. “You may leave. This issue will be dealt with by the House of Nam.”
The Silverswords stiffen in surprise and dismay, but they dare not disobey, simply bowing and marching out of the tent without a single word.
We’re sorry for MTLers or people who like using reading mode, but our translations keep getting stolen by aggregators so we’re going to bring back the copy protection. If you need to MTL please retype the gibberish parts.
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Kahin stands close enough for him to catch the scent of sweet wine and lavender. She grabs his jaw and rips the mask from his face, exposing a pair of hollow black orbs and a blood streaked face. Her expression cracks. Recognition unfurls like a tea bud in hot water. “Tell me, why do you pretend to be one of my Roses?”
A jagged leer cracks his face. “Why else?” His voice grates painfully in his injured throat. “But to drink, fuck, and make merry?”
“What should I do with you?” The Madame ignores his words. She pinches his chin and tilts his head this way and that, studying his features intently. “You put my Roses in danger. Sullied my reputation. You turned a great military power against me and I do not like being threatened. Especially by a man.” Her wintry ire flares and her words cracks against the air like lashes from a whip.
“You have the face of a Rose.” Her thumb presses into the light scar on his cheek. “But you treat your body poorly. And your bearing is that of a rabid dog with nothing of value to offer.”
“Look, whatever you wanna do with me, just do it already. I’m coming down off my high and I’m getting really bored of this.”
“Are you sure that is what you want?” Those green eyes hold a wicked glint, a warning of what’s to come.
Hellebores narrow, his fear easily overcome by liquid courage. “Then again, I don’t want anything to do with a whoremonger like you. Do your beloved Roses know how much you’ve been exploiting them?”
The Rose to his left twists his arm in her grip, nails piercing the skin. The one to his right throws the back of his hand across Rin’s cheek, snapping the raven’s head to the side with a resounding smack. He’d stagger, if not for his guards constraining his every movement.
Kahin holds up a hand as she gently admonishes them. “Roses. Do you so easily forget your training?”
Her attention returns to Rin, her displeasure clear but she maintains her temper. For now. “You are a bold child, indeed. Or perhaps you are simply a fool. It will be a pleasure to train such a spirited Rosebud.”
“Fuck you,” the raven seethes. “I’d rather be hanged than be a godsdamned Rose.”
“That too, can be arranged,” Kahin says, calmly, gesturing for the Roses to drag the lad outside.
Barely a step is taken before the Rat retaliates.
His body twists and writhes, spine coiling as he snaps his jaw down on one of the constricting hands. A shriek pierces his skull. Jaw clenches, teeth sink, bones crack and snap. His mouth fills with another’s blood. Another’s flesh. The wounded Rose staggers back, clutching her bloodied hand that’s now missing a finger.
He spits out the digit and swings his freed fist at the guard to his left. Something shatters beneath his knuckles. The Rose drops to the ground, howling in pain. Strong as they are, they are but entertainers, not cut out for violence – at least the kind outside of the bedroom.
The third Rose wraps his burly arms around the smaller boy, limbs snaking around and squeezing like a hungry snake. Ribs crack from the tremendous pressure. The raven lets out a sharp cry of pain. He swings his foot forward to gain momentum, then strikes his heel into the Rose’s groin. The latter doubles over, releasing the Rat to grab at himself.
All three guards downed, Rin scrabbles to his feet, panting and trembling in pain. He dashes for the exit — only to be thwarted by several more Roses, all tense and ready to grapple him should he near. He swerves and makes a beeline for the buffet table, blindly snatching up a sharp knife.
Wild eyes roll this way and that. Enemies surround him like a net closing in. Lady Nam lounges nearby, sipping on her wine. But the one closest to him is the Madame herself, watching him with a curious smile upon her face.
Without thinking, he lunges at her, grabbing a handful of her luxurious hair and yanking her head down to his level. Her spine arches as she’s forced back, eyes staring calmly at the chandelier above.
The knife digs into her throat, his arm coiled around her from behind. Blood beads the thin cut as her skin is broken, a drop slithering down the delicate lines of her neck. He brings his face to her ear, bloodstained teeth bared in a savage grin. “Call off your dogs. Otherwise you know how this goes.”
Kahin hums, utterly serene. “No. Why don’t you tell me how this goes?”
“Never had a knife to your throat before?” Rin sneers, digging the blade into her flesh. The cut widens, releasing fine rivulets of red to paint the canvas of her flesh. “This is what’s gonna happen. You call off your dogs. Make them tie each other up. Then you and your lady here do the same to each other. And then I take all your coin and get the fuck outta here. Or…I can kill you and anyone else that tries to stand in my way. Your choice, pet.” He licks his lips nervously, wide eyes flitting from person to person, silently daring them to make their move against him.
“And then what’s your plan? After you escape, whether you kill me or not, what will you do? You will not be able to return to your home. You will hunted no matter where you go until you are inevitably caught. In the end, you will be executed and forgotten the very next day. Is this what you want?”
“If that’s how it’s gotta go down, then why not? I’m not afraid to die. Question is, are you?”
“You are a terrible liar,” the Madame says, bringing her gaze to her captor’s face. Cold sweat beads the latter’s brow, exposing his anxiety. “I can smell your fear from here.”
Unable to bear her Rose being threatened right under her nose, the lady rises from her throne and glides towards Rin, her countenance utterly glacial. She stops a few feet away when he jerks Kahin back, blade flashing in warning.
“You listen to me, boy. Very closely. Very carefully.” Her voice is soft, clear, and fast. Something about her tone draws his attention, as if to not hear her words would prove a detriment to himself. “You are a poor negotiator, so I will do so on your behalf. You have no chance of ever living past this night. Not if you run without settling your debt. The only outcome for you is death, whether after a year or by the morn. This is a guarantee, an event that is set in stone. You cannot escape it. Unless I do something about it.”
Rin wavers. The knife eases off Kahin’s throat, giving her room to breathe. But his hesitation is short and suspicion flares. He tightens his grip on the Madame, eyes narrowing to wary slits. “Why do you want to help me?”
“Because your hostage is someone very precious to me and she will not receive another scratch. Not from you. Not from anyone.”
Kahin glances at the lady, expression unreadable. Yujin gives her a gentle smile and continues speaking, eyes hardening when they return to the raven. “I am a considerable force in the Mother’s court. If there is anyone who can persuade the Colonel to give you your freedom, it is I. If there is anyone who can keep you alive, that is something I can do as easily as breathing. But in return, you must release the Madame and join her palace. Consider it an alternative punishment to death. That is your only chance of freedom. Your only chance at life.”
“I don’t want to be a fucking Rose. If you’re so godsdamned powerful, then you can find me a better solution.” Rin smirks, tapping the flat of the blade against Kahin’s cheek. “Remember, I got your precious someone at the end of my knife.”
“The Colonel will not be satisfied with words alone. I have offered you the only out I can give,” Nam says, coolly. “It is up to you whether you take it or not.”
The raven lowers the knife back to the Madame’s throat, lips twisting in anger. “Like I said, I’d rather die than be a Rose.”
The lady sighs and shakes her head. “Very well. If that is your choice, then you have also forced my hand.” She tosses her wine into the boy’s face, momentarily blinding him. Reeling, he quickly wipes his eyes with his free hand. And he inevitably loosens his grasp on Kahin.
The Madame twists and slithers free. A needle jabs into his knife wielding hand, sending a numb shock through the veins. The knife clatters to the ground.
Vitriolic Roses, beaten and bloodied, wrench him from their Madame. His knees hit the floor, his head follows suit, and no amount of struggling eases their crushing hold. His body feels strange, heavy and numb. The painful prickling in his needled hand spreads through him like a minute shards of glass, mercilessly seizing every nerve ending.
Ragged pants pump his chest as he jerks his head to the side, staring at Kahin in a panic. “What…did you do to me…?” His words come slurred. He sags to the ground. His lashes quiver as he struggles to maintain awareness.
The Madame smooths her hands down her robes, stranding with her spine straight. “I am impressed,” she says, and oddly, she seems rather sincere. “I enjoy the way you fight. Your body is overflowing with an energy unlike anything I have seen for many years.” A blood-curdling smile creeps across her face. “It will be difficult to train you, but I do relish a good challenge.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
Yujin approaches the Madame from behind, eyes glittering. “My,” she breathes, sliding a hand around her Rose’s waist, “what a brazen mouth it has.”
“It does indeed,” Kahin sighs, turning to face her client. She rings her arms around the lady’s neck and gives her a deep, sensuous kiss. When they part, she licks her lips and smiles sweetly at Yujin. “I thank you for your assistance, my Lady.”
“Of course,” Yujin murmurs, glancing down at her Rose with tender eyes. “Deal with the boy. I will go and speak with the Colonel.” She presses a tender kiss on the corner of Kahin’s mouth. “Come to me when you are finished. I shall keep the bed warm for you.”
The Rat gags loudly behind the women and spits out a mouthful of bile.
***
The Rose Palace is a sprawling pleasure house with several private villas scattered across a large plot of land. Red lanterns lining the paths give off a soft glow, encasing the grounds in a dreamy, heady atmosphere. Unassuming by day, by night it’s the crowning jewel in the city. Not even the towering green walls are able to conceal the dazzling display within.
Carefully curated gardens and ponds serve as an exquisite respite between the villas. The main building rises over three floors with a stage and dining hall on the ground level. If the people of Hanjuyang don’t come here for the Roses or the shows, they come for the food, the menu created by arguably the best chef in the city.
Dawn paints the sky bloody when Madame Kahin and her Roses enter the grounds. The palace guards, dressed in rich viridescent as is the Madame’s colour, patrol attentively around the perimeter of the brothel. Even at this hour, the palace is bustling with guests and the Roses left behind are hard at work, having to cover for those sent to the soiree.
Rin’s zealous guards keep their unyielding hold on him as they march after Kahin. So strong are they, not even his wild attempts at escape seem to budge them. They remain his faithful golems until they reach the Madame’s office, situated on the top level of the main building.
Here, the only access is by a private elevator, secured by two guards. It’s the first time the Rat had ever seen such an invention. Not even the Hwans had a contraption as remarkable as this. Kahin must have powerful contacts to enjoy such luxuries.
Kahin’s office is vast and dressed in sumptuous decorations. It appears moreso like an opulent bedroom than a study, with the vast canopy bed as the centrepiece. Lush green curtains drape over the tester, heavy and velveteen.
To one side of the room, there is a magnolia whitewood desk, behind which the Madame sits with her back straight and hands folded neatly upon the surface. With the blazing firelight and the warm electrical lights chasing away the gloom, her beauty is all the more stark and breath-taking. Her flawless complexion is the deep brown hue of a Western coneflower, with luscious black curls framing her perfectly sculpted face. The robe draped elegantly over her form is traditionally Eastern, but they are of a deep viridescence that swallows the light.
The three Roses bring Rin to stand before the desk, keeping their firm hold upon him. The one behind stands too close, his broad chest bumping into the raven’s back. Rin tries to flex the muscles in his arms and the limbs prickle painfully in response. Pursing his lips, he shoots his captors a nasty look each. None of them are even looking at him, so enraptured are they by the sight of their Madame.
He has to endure. Now that he’s in enemy territory, his chances of escaping are next to nigh.
“A bit gaudy in here, isn’t it?” Rin says loudly, casting an unimpressed look at his surroundings. “Trying to overcompensate?”
The Rose behind slams his fist into his skull and pain arcs through his head and down his spine. His knees buckle as he temporarily loses his senses. “Ow…fuck…fucking dick!” He gasps, sagging in his captors’ hold.
Kahin smiles thinly, her gaze cool and steady. “I see that you are afraid. Good.” She unfolds her hands and picks up an ornate letter opener, made from what appears to be malachite with its unique swirling patterns. “Your mother. How does she fare? Has she recovered from her chill?”
Eyes watering from the pain, Rin raises his head to squint at the blurred impression of the Madame. He shakes his head to recentre himself. “How did you know…” His spine stiffens. “Have you been spying on us?”
“I have been keeping my eye on you, yes,” Kahin says, calmly. “Who do you think sent for Iris when your mother fell ill?”
Rin’s nape prickles as uneasiness turns into alarm. He blanches, face wan even under the warm electric glow. “…But why? We’ve never even met. Why would you be interested in us?”
A pleasant, breathy laugh shakes the Madame’s form as she slides the malachite knife through an envelope. “It is not you I am interested in. You are an inconsequential blight.” She glances at the letter with a bored sweep of her eyes before tossing it to the side. “You owe me a great debt, Rat. A debt that you cannot afford.”
“I owe you nothing,” Rin spits out, scowling. “Answer my question, Kahin. How do you know my mother?”
The knife smoothly slices another envelope, cutting through a golden seal with the imprint of a lion. This missive gives her pause, a lethal glint pulsing in her eyes. She folds the letter carefully and sets it down, along with the knife.
“Madame Kahin,” she corrects him, rising to her feet. Her robes sweep the floor as she rounds her desk, luscious robes trailing at her heels. “A Rose must always address me as ‘Madame Kahin’ or simply ‘the Madame’.” She comes to a golden trolley with several crystal bottles of what appears to be liquor. With well-practiced and elegant movements, she prepares a glass, the liquor clear like water.
“I’m not a Rose, Kahin.” The Rat squirms, eyeing that clear liquid with a racing pulse. “Look, whatever Dasom owes you, that’s her burden, not mine. I barely make enough to feed myself, let alone pay her debts as well.”
The woman laughs, her voice lilting and pleasant to the ear. “Her debt cannot be paid by you,” she says, taking the glass and setting it upon the desk. She gracefully sweeps her robes out before retaking her seat. “No, that is a private matter between her and I. What you can offer me however, is your devotion.”
His face wrinkles in disgust, the back of his neck prickling with unease. “Eurgh. Look, you may be a pretty face and all, but you’re not exactly my type.”
“Lust and devotion are two very different things,” Kahin says, black lashes slicing her gaze in half. “I require all of you. Not just the one part.”
“I don’t think you can handle me, pet. Last time someone tried, I ripped his throat out.”
She reaches over her desk and slides the glass towards Rin. “Drink.”
“I’m not really thirsty–”
“Drink.” The word is like taut razorwire.
Rin’s silent golems force him towards the desk, jerking him along when he tries to struggle. He digs his heels into the carpeted floor, sweat stinging his eyes. “What is it? Poison? Do you really think killing me will clear my debt?”
The Madame hums through a glacial smile, reaching behind her desk to pull open a drawer. She places an object between them, within easy reach, the muzzle pointed in Rin’s direction.
It’s an ancient weapon from the Last Cycle, as rare as the electrical cars that number only in the hundreds throughout the Four Territories. Rin has only seen a gun once before in his life. When a trigger happy Minister had too much to drink and gave the patrons at Sweet Brier a live demonstration. All it took was a gentle squeeze of the trigger and the Slummer died on the spot.
Rin blanches when he sees the powerful weapon, dread gripping his heart and pulling it into the churning depths of his stomach. “So what. It’s either die by poison or by gunshot? That’s not much of a choice.”
“It’s not poison,” Kahin says, sliding the tip of her middle finger along the barrel of the gun. “How will you show your devotion if you are dead? But if you refuse to give me what I want, then I’ll have to dispose of you. I have little time and patience to waste on those who refuse my goodwill. So drink.” She picks up the gun and cocks the hammer, aiming directly at the boy’s head. “Or don’t.”
Her apathetic face is especially loathsome. Rin has to gnaw on the insides of his cheeks to stop himself from insulting her again. The tangy taste of blood coats his tongue and his pallid face twists in anger.
He glances at the glass. And then at the gun. He looks to the stony faced Roses on either side. Finally, he brings his gaze to Kahin’s inhuman, blood curdling stare.
If you want to save me, little lord, this is the time to do it.
But the only response he gets is the whitening finger on the trigger.
“Fuck.” He pants lightly, cold sweat soaking into his robes. “Fine. I’ll drink. Godsdamnit.”
With a flicker of Kahin’s glinting eyes, her Roses release the Rat and step back, giving him room to move. He scowls and rubs his arms, wincing when he sees the tender flesh already blooming with hand shaped bruises.
Anticipation crowds the Madame’s burning gaze when Rin grabs the glass, clear liquid sloshing against the sides in his unsteady hand. Raising his head, he’s met with her unhinged expression, and he’s unable to hear or feel anything but his own thunderous pulse.
And so, before his courage fails him, he quickly brings the glass to his lips and tosses the liquor down his throat.
***
Kahin stands before the Rat.
Pupils dilate and swallow green irises whole as she studies him intently, a strange look bordering on licentiousness sinking deep into her beautiful features. A pointy tongue flicks over her lips, moistening them.
“Describe how you feel,” she says, voice deep and hoarse. “Tell me what you see.”
“...I feel nothing.” He moves his lips, body distended, dissipated, delirious. Fragments of his cognisance disperse like wet paper, sick and starchy. The world sheds its colours, and the monotone impressions are his last tenuous hold to this reality before being cast into the drunken abyss.
“I see…”
Beyond this feeble corporeality, an apocalypse bursts forth, tidal and engulfing. The scorched lands of the Last Cycle flickers like a broken light. He’s bearing witness to their anticipated destruction, rejected from the megacosm for Daejimo’s next breath.
He’s the last standing on this heaving, toxic soil. Black rain sluices the flesh from his bones and he’s bleeding from all seven holes. Foul liquids trickle down his legs.
Do you see? The voice belongs to the owner of this body and it addresses its eidolic companion. We killed ourselves with the nuclear holocaust. Look at the scars we scoured into the earth. We poisoned the air, the soil, and the seas. Now, Izayoma consumes us, but he still starves. Do you see? This is what we are. The nothing. The septic. The wasted.
“Why did this happen?” He doesn’t need a mouth to speak.
This is the Cycle. In a thousand years, we will be reborn and populate Daejimo’s domain.
“So this will happen again.”
Yes. Such is the way of the Cycle.
“We will always fail. We will always be nothing.”
Yes. Such is our fate writ by the stars.
“How do we break from the Cycle?”
It answers with the voices of many: End the destruction of all by the destruction of one.
The body crumples, a desiccated husk stolen by the wind, flesh turned to bone turned to fine white sand cast into the oily black sky. An inferno licks at this charcoal mess, all jagged edges with no reprieve, devouring the landscape until a new one emerges.
He knows this place very well, those rotten walls and chipped paint the same since childhood. He sees her in the belly of the fire, petrified in the torrid element with not a single flaw upon her form.
Dasom stares at him, a mirage from the stars, one eye blue, the other red.
Long white fingers plunge into the socket and pluck out the blue eye. The cacophonic underworld keens through the thin membrane beneath her feet. She kisses the eye before wrapping her lips around it, a sickening pop, her teeth snap the sclera. She chews and swallows and only the red eye remains, a flat monument to what will be.
Someone sings Izayoma’s Call, the voice deep with a charming husk. Another voice joins in, light and clear. Their voices meld together intimately, without any hesitation nor waver. Goldens flash like twin suns. The warm scent of spice.
The phantasmal inferno fills his vision and whips around his form in a violent tempest, washing clear all traces of life. He’s standing in the Watchtower, standing on a platform within the shattered orb. Gusts of winter wind feed the flames, licking at his body yet causing no pain.
Hanjuyang sprawls below, the sky above filled with the thick plumes of black smoke. Something explodes in the High District, perhaps one of the mansions, and white fire splashes across the land like spilled paint. The sounds of battle reach the tower, howling winds delivering snatches of chaos – steel on steel, gunshots and cannons, deafening screams and cries.
He is the Watcher, observing the end of Hanjuyang. His beautiful, broken city. His beautiful, broken people. The end of his world and the beginning of another. Luna hangs above, serene and silent. The Watcher’s own observer, his eerie companion and friend.
And then he’s thrust from the roving terrene. He’s where he should be, with the frayed edges of reality clumsily knit together for Kahin’s purpose.
“I see…”
And he realises then, that only a second has passed. He had wandered for an eon that lasted a single breath. Within him, there’s a desolate void like Izayoma’s endless maw.
The face he sees has no end. He has no sense of his own edges. This person bleeds into him and he into her until they are the one and the same. Of his self, he has none, no name, no history, no presence, but this does not cause him distress. In fact, he feels nothing, nothing at all, but for whatever She feels, and in this moment, She feels elation, the perverted satisfaction of gorging Herself on the most decadent and forbidden. Another precious bloom to raise in Her image.
“I see…You.”
And then there is Kahin.
Only Kahin.
Just a quick disclaimer: In no way does anything in this story represent the realities of sex work and brothels. This is a fantasy novel set in a fantasy world with fictional characters. I take many creative liberties while writing this so please take everything here with a grain of salt.
Also, yes. Bellow left with his noblelady to have some fun~ ( ˘ ³˘)♥
Nooooo baby Riiin !!! Jun, come back to save him 😭😭
TTuTT <3333
keeps crying but no more because of cuteness
Thank you for the chapter!! ❤️❤️
TTuTT thank you for reading~~ <333
Aiyah!! Tht caught me off guard(゜o゜;
Rin needed a lesson. Thanks