CW: Explicit language, blood and gore, graphic violence.
Everyone is gathered in the courtyard around a spit roast – a few Hounds had brought back a common boar after chasing it down on Hunter’s Guild territory. While not illegal, it goes against social etiquette and risks retaliation from the powerful guild.
None complain however, as the pig tonight is especially succulent and delicious, and Rin goes back for two extra servings before being told to ‘fuck off and hunt your own pig’.
He sits with Jun on the uppermost step on the ridgeside. Their view overlooks the expanse of the junkyard and in the distance, the blinking lights of the Slums. Above their heads, the sky is inundated with stars, and the balmy summer breeze plays with loose strands of their hair.
Rin takes a big bite of hot, salty meat, juices dripping from his fingers as he sucks in a cooling breath with every chew. The umami of fat spreads across his tongue and he greedily takes another bite.
“So should I expect your new exciting career in selling vegetables?” Rin jests, licking the juices from his fingers. When he grins at Jun, his lips shine with oils. “Governor of Hanjuyang with a vegetable stall on the side?”
Jun huffs a laugh and sets down his empty plate. He’d only had one serving, but he was already feeling full. “That is not such a bad idea,” he says, pulling out a handkerchief to swipe Rin’s messy face clean. “Would you help me run the stall?”
Rin sputters and rears away from the handkerchief, wiping his own mouth clean with a sleeve. “I already have something else in mind.”
“Oh?” Slightly disappointed, Jun folds his soiled handkerchief and tucks it away.
“I’m gonna be the Emperor of the Four Territories.”
The lord stares at Rin, brows shooting up to his hairline. “Ah? Emperor? How so?”
“I dunno. I’ll figure it out along the way.”
“That is quite ambitious,” Jun says, breaking into a chuckle. “And it may be wise to keep quiet about your goal, lest you be charged with treason.”
“What’s so funny? Think I can’t do it?”
“Of course you can do it.” The little lord reaches out to brush hair from the raven’s eye. His goldens seem resplendent, even in the eclipse of night. “If anyone can achieve the impossible, it is you, Rinnie.”
“Who says it’s impossible?” the raven shoots back, flushing a tad. “I’ve seen it, you know. I’m standing in front of the Imperial Palace with thousands of people bowing to me, calling me Emperor. It’s gonna happen one day.”
“Seen it? In a dream?”
“…Something like that.” Rin wrinkles his nose and shoves the rest of the pork into his mouth. He chews furiously, trying to ignore the lord’s playful touches upon his hair.
“I apologise, Rinnie. For leaving you to cover for me. I know they have been working you rather hard in my absence.”
“It’s nothing I’m not used to.”
“Regardless. I am grateful.”
“If you’re grateful then don’t make any stupid promises again.”
“I will try not to.”
“…Thanks for the assurance.”
As they finish their meals and chat into the night, Vex comes to join them and share his precious bottle of Windroot wine.
“It’s good that you finished your treatment at the Clinic, Bijan,” Vex says, filling both Jun and Rin’s cup to the brim. He’s quite generous, this Hound. “We need every Hound and Milkfang we can get. Have you gotten over your itch?”
Jun stares blankly at the Hound. “My itch?”
“You know. Your crotch crickets.”
Rin buries his face into his cup, slurping loudly.
“Crotch…crickets…?” Jun glances at his lover, brows furrowed.
“Yeah,” Vex chirps. “Isn’t that why you’ve been away all week? Or did I mishear Rat when he said—”
“Why is the Marquis gathering everyone?” Rin asks quickly, cutting off the Hound. “Turf issues?”
Vex hums in affirmation. “Crow’s been testing the border between our territories. He’s trying to muscle his way deeper into the Slums.”
“Hm. I suppose that since the Marquis’ got rid of the competition, Crow thinks that this is the time to strike,” Rin muses, biting the rim of his cup. “But he’s forgetting that the other gangs have been taken over by the Marquis.”
“I’m originally a Southern Jackal, but most of us are now Hounds. Better to be a Hound than nothing at all, right?”
“What’s the Marquis planning, Vex?” Jun raises, worriedly.
“What else could he be planning?” the Hound snorts. “We’ll be heading out at midnight, so you should prepare yourselves. Got any weapons?”
“I do,” Rin nods, “but Bijan will probably need a sword.”
“No sword,” Jun says, sharply. Cold sweat beads his brow and Luna’s argent light saps the colour from his face, making him appear deathly afraid. Rin knows that the lord’s only apprehensive at the prospect of more violence. But there’s little he can do to reassure him. “I will not draw blood.”
“Well, you ain’t gonna be drawing anything else,” Vex chortles. “And we don’t have any use for artists either. So you fight or you don’t, and you can say goodbye to becoming a Hound if you choose the latter.”
“We’ll fight,” Rin says, ignoring Jun’s penetrating stare. “At least I will. Bijan here is a trained Healer, so I recommend keeping him in the rear.”
“A Healer?” Vex peers at the lord with keen interest. “That’s pretty useful. I’ll let the boss know, then.” He grins and hops to his feet, swaying dangerously close to the edge of the ridge. “Crow and his Flock don’t fight nice, so be prepared for anything.”
As Vex saunters into the courtyard, Jun gives Rin a reproachful stare. “We should have refused. I do not wish to be a part of a petty turf war.”
“Crow’s no better than the Marquis,” Rin says, dryly. “If he and his Flock take over, it’ll be even harder to get rid of them. It’s better to stick with the enemy you know, don’t you think?”
The lord grimaces but gives a short nod. “If I am in the rear, then you will be too.”
“Don’t worry,” Rin hums, propping his chin upon Jun’s shoulder. “I’m the Marchioness. Korain would never let me be on the frontline.”
Jun sighs and rubs his brow, as if he were sporting a bad headache.
“Little lord~” Rin lilts, pushing his face closer to the man. He blows hotly on the sensitive spot beneath Jun’s ear, causing the latter to flinch. “Don’t be scared. I know this is your first proper fight, but it’s not really a big deal. Just a bunch of stupid kids swinging sticks around.”
“…Perhaps, I could treat this as practice,” Jun says, slowly, rubbing the tingling spot on his neck. He catches that big, hellebore eye gazing up at him and he blushes. “If I am to ride with the Crown Prince to Reshun, then I must acclimate to battle.”
The Rat’s expression falls at the sudden reminder. His eye darkens and loses light as he draws away. How could he have forgotten about that? Or rather, he had shoved it to the back of his mind, and hoped that everyone else had forgotten.
But the inevitable encroaches. Jun will soon have to ride with Erie into the belly of war. And there’s a chance that he may never return.
Helpless anger rises up like bile, burning him from the inside out. He draws his knees up and hugs them tightly, staring blankly at the quivering lights sprawled before him.
–like a sprawl of restless stars, are thousands of people bowing their heads to the blue sands…bowing to him…the Emperor of the Four Territories…the Mother…the Father…and their Immortal God–
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.
“Rinnie.” Jun’s arms descend around his form and pull him into a secure embrace. He’s forced sideways into the man’s chest and he unconsciously snuggles into his warmth. “I will return to you. I have made a promise, have I not?”
“Tfjt, ab cfnfg ifjnf ws rlvf,” Elc wewyifr, yegslcu tlr ojmf lcab Aec’r rtlga. “Ccv atfgf sbe ub, qlrrlcu boo jujlc jcv ygfjxlcu sbeg qgbwlrf.” Lf qeiir lc tlr rkffais rqlmfv rmfca, ybat ajcajilrlcu jcv mbwobgalcu. Lf rwfiir ilxf ktja Elc lwjulcfr j tbwf kbeiv.
Aec lr tbwf.
Lf offir atf ibgv’r tjcv ragbxlcu atf yjmx bo tlr tfjv, tlr abemt fnfg ufcaif jcv iluta. “Ktlr lr ws byilujalbc,” Aec rjsr, tlr vffq nblmf gewyilcu atgbeutbea tlr klvf mtfra. “P vb atlr ab qgbafma sbe, Elcclf. P vb atlr obg er. Ccv P klii gfaegc ab sbeg rlvf ab oeiolii ws qgbwlrf. Tbe xcbk P klii.”
…and he does. Rin knows that Jun will do anything and everything in his power to keep his word. Because that’s the kind of man his little lord is.
“You’re a moron,” he grumbles, punching Jun’s chest weakly. “The stupidest person I ever met.”
“I know,” Jun says, tenderly. He kisses Rin’s forehead chastely, goldens swimming with emotion. “And yet, I cannot change my nature.”
“…I don’t want you to.” The raven burns under his lover’s roiling gaze, his heart thrumming a mile a minute. “I prefer you the way you are. Don’t ever change.” Not like Korain did. Don’t change and make me regret ever meeting you.
Their moment of peace is shattered by a rising swell of noise from the courtyard.
The rumble of stomping feet; howls and hollers and frenzied barks; the jangle and clang of iron and steel. Before battle comes volatility. Acute anticipation. The Hounds are on the move and at their rear, the Marquis in his junkyard palanquin.
By the way the moonlight strikes his figure, Korain is a glowing spectre, his white hair and milky skin stark and resplendent. He appears like a priceless pearl, set upon a velvet seat and carried with veneration through the sea of hard trash.
The theatrics truly never end with the Marquis, but seem to ever increase with age.
Rin and Jun, the Milkfangs, join at the rear along with Vex and several other Hounds who are carrying the Marquis’ palanquin. Princess lumbers beside, serving as Korain’s personal bodyguard and Pug’s lackeys had been thrust to the frontline, forced to become human shields to the rest of the pack.
Rin feels a twist of sadistic satisfaction at this arrangement, but he says nothing to his little lord to indicate his pleasure.
Their rabid procession winds its way through the Slums until they reach an arid field between the treeline of the Black Forest and Hanjuyang River.
The cemetery isn’t too far away and Rin can just about make out the countless spirits shambling about in the distance. He shivers and steps closer to Jun, slipping his hand into the other’s.
From the Black Forest slowly emerges an army of silent figures, donned in black robes of various qualities and cut. They bear a striking resemblance to the Lost Prince’s shadow soldiers, and for a disorientating moment, Rin thinks himself trapped in a dream or illusion.
The Crow’s Flock come to a standstill, effortlessly blending into the darkness. Only their faces stand out from the murk and they appear like a collection of disembodied heads, eerily floating before them.
Crow himself splits off from his Flock and stands at the front. He’s an exceptionally tall man with hawkish eyes and sharp, hooked features. His unnatural height serves him well in his silent intimidation, majestic black robes falling from his towering form in luscious, velveteen folds. He seems to exude darkness itself, as if it were a tangible thing.
Though the expansive field stretches out between them, the Hounds can clearly see the indomitable Crow and his chilling visage.
“Why are they so godsdamned creepy?” Rin hisses, cold sweat soaking into the back of his shirt.
“They do have an impressive aura,” Jun agrees quietly, though he seems more calculating than afraid. “However, compared to our side, they seem to only have half the people.”
“Less than half but twice more zeal,” Vex quips, adjusting his grip on his nail studded bat. The lad seems quite nervous, but he covers it up well behind a sunny smile. “I dunno what Crow gives them, but his Flock can be…intense.”
“Intense?” Jun says, giving the lad a comforting pat on the shoulder. “How so?”
“Have you ever met anyone from a disparition cult? Fledgelings are far worse than any cultist you’ve ever met, trust me. They think Crow is their god.”
“That is…troubling.”
Rin scans the Flock, scrutinising each figure closely. None seem fearsome but he knows better than to gauge their abilities from first glance. He’s heard the stories from others – about how the Fledgelings fight in an uncanny and primal style.
“Marquis wants to get rid of them, then,” he murmurs, trying to calm his anxious heart. “Why now? What’s taken him so long?”
“He’s tried before,” Vex says, shifting restlessly from one foot to the other. “We barely won but it was pretty much a stalemate. Crow had some kind of advantage over the boss back then. Rumour has it they were intimate.”
“Intimate?” Rin snaps his focus to the lad, gaze piercing. “Crow and the Marquis…?”
Vex hums in affirmation.
“So what’s changed?”
“Crow’s been getting bolder. It’s clear he’s trying to snatch the Slums from under the boss’ feet. I reckon the Marquis’ fed up. And a good call too – the Flock have been causing endless trouble for us lately. Once we get rid of them, there’ll be no-one to bother us no more. We’ll have the Slums completely uncontested.”
Around them are ashen faces full of anger. Trepidation and fear coalesce. The trees rustle in the passing wind. Somewhere, an owl shrieks as it hunts its prey.
The night twists those floating heads, distorts and contorts them until they become distended, misshapen, inhuman. These blood-chilling visages have hollows for eyes, and yet, their stares seem to penetrate their very souls.
Rin silently curls his pinky finger around Jun’s. They take what little comfort they can from the other’s touch. A quiet refuge.
The Marquis rises atop the palanquin, arms spreading out to his sides. Dressed in his favourite white suit, the man is winter incarnate, his very visage dazzling against the black landscape of the night. He smiles widely at Crow and when their eyes meet, there’s a palpable surge of electricity in the air.
“Mon cher Crow~” he sings, theatrically. “How wonderful of you to show up to our little soiree! Tu es très beau, you look very handsome as you always do~”
Crow stares impassively, his black hawkish eyes never once wavering. “Marquis,” he returns, voice surprisingly deep. “We have answered your call.”
“And so you have, and so you have, mon cheri!” Korain laughs happily and claps his white gloved hands, unlit pipe slung between two fingers. “Although I do wish we could have met during the day, non? This is such a dreary hour for a chit-chat!”
“We are nocturnal.”
“Funny that, seeing how crows are diurnal.”
This Crow narrows his eyes at that, his thin lips pursing together in silent anger.
Korain laughs and waves his hand at the man, trying to calm him. “Never mind that. I know your terms and I have met them. No need to get your feathers in a ruffle! But before we throw ourselves into revelry, I wish to speak to you about a tiny matter of inconvenience.”
Crow dips his head and gives an elegant wave of the hand, gesturing for the man to continue.
The corner of Korain’s lips twitch in annoyance, but he maintains his faux smile. “Ah…it is a matter of territory, mon cher Crow. You know that my Hounds can be quite stringent when it comes to intruders and it seems as though they have been seeing an uptick in recent days. You wouldn’t know anything about this, would you?”
“Intruders?” Crow angles his head, bringing his hand to tap beneath his pointed chin. A handsome smile touches his thin lips. “What use does my Flock have for land when they own the sky?”
“Oh come now, Crow,” Korain chides, playfully. “Must we resort to wordplay? Let us be candid for once.”
“I know not of anyone who has acknowledged this district as your territory, Marquis. Rightful claim is not legitimised when the only acknowledgement comes from yourself.”
“Since when have we engaged in such a protocol? Legitimacy is validated through strength. I have assimilated the five other factions of the Slums. What you see before you is all the acknowledgement I need.”
“And the five factions you have devoured do not come close to the power of my Flock,” Crow says, his voice as dark and smooth as the shadows that shroud his form. “If there is anyone who must acknowledge your claim, it is I.”
“And yet, I do not seek it nor do I have need for it.” Korain languidly lights his pipe and takes an indulgent puff. “No, I am not here to debate territorial ownership. The Slums is mine.That is how it has been for the past few months and that is what it will be forevermore. I am here because your Flock has been quite naughty, mon cheri. And if they do not stop pecking away at my district like the dreadful little scavengers they are, I will have to take action.”
“And what proof do you have of this accusation?” Crow stands firm, completely unruffled.
“Eye-witness testimonies.”
“From your Hounds, no doubt?”
“No doubt~”
“Then I must deny your accusation. The evidence is subpar at best. My Flock do not need to live off your dying lands for sustenance.”
“Ah, if you deny and do not vow to keep out of my district, then you will be forcing my hand.”
“What action will you take?”
“How much blood do you think has been spilled in his field?”
Both sides look down at the field between. The ground is a tarry black, as if there had indeed been a tonne of blood spilt upon the grassless soil.
Crow raises himself higher, his chest swelling with indignation and pride. “My Flock and I will never be cowed by a pack of mangy mutts. If it is a battle you seek, then a battle you shall have.”
Korain smiles, as if these words were the ones he’d been yearning for all this time.
He brings his finger and thumb to his lips. There’s an ear piercing whistle.
Two great artificial lights flood the field. A generator roars beneath powerful howls as Hounds surge forth in a frothing wave of churning bodies and flashing weapons. They thunder towards the forest, keening for blood as they outrun their fear.
Submerged in light, the startled Flock scatter and disappear into the forest. A few splinter off at Crow’s order and zip along the border, heading straight for the two giant floodlights. Before they can reach the left and right flanks, however, they are quickly intercepted.
Like starving wolves, the encroaching Pack snap and capture their fleeing prey, tearing into them with primordial relish. The Fledgelings’ armour has been so suddenly stripped away, leaving them exposed and vulnerable. Quivering flesh, bared for the strike of steel.
But as the Pack gains confidence of their victory, the floodlights explode in a fantastic shower of sparks. One by one, they erupt, and the ghastly night descends upon the field.
Like all battles, the tide turns in but a second.
Crow bows his head and sinks into the shadows of the forest, disappearing like an asomatous ghoul, the nightmare remnant in the seconds after awakening. Fledgelings follow, melting into the obsidian brume, leaving behind an empty space – a nothing that hangs between the Hounds and the Black Forest.
““What happened to the lights?” A terrified whisper from Rin’s left.
“We had it! We just had it!” Another, not too far away.
“Someone’s sabotaged them!”
Confusion and anger abounds. Teeth gnash. Bloodied swords swing into trees. Restless barks and growls ripple through the scattered chargers.
Silence shrouds the entire field like a thick blanket of snow. The very air seems to swallow sound. It’s stifling, suffocating. One Hound shrieks to pierce the veil – but the darkness greedily swallows her voice.
“We’re dead. Oh gods, we’re dead.”
“Can you see ’em?”
“Keep your eyes peeled, lads.”
“We gotta fix the godsdamned lights!”
Rin pants lightly, keeping a tight hold of Jun’s arm. He peers through the murk. Goosebumps rise over his skin. A general sense of unease prickles at the back of his neck.
They are being watched. Every single one of them. Watched by unseen eyes from all directions at once.
And yet, there is nothing.
“Jun,” Rin whispers, side-glancing the perplexed lord, “I think we should run–“
A scream shatters the silence like hammer to glass. A second scream joins in duet. And then another, and another, and soon, countless voices coalesce into an audible fray. Hounds are being snatched by invisible hands, their bodies flailing before sickening cracks ensue. POP POP CRACK SNAP, breaking bones serve as the gruesome accompaniment to agonised vocalisations.
The Pack scramble and stagger across the black field in terror, chased by inhuman shadows that flit through their ranks. They move at unnatural speeds, figures snapped back as if their legs had been broken at a ninety degree angle. Such an irrational sight drives several Hounds insane upon first glance, their sense of reality disjointed from the creatures chasing them down.
The tide of Fledgelings sweeps through the retreating figures. In their wake, bodies are cut down, legs entirely dismembered. Vibrant arterial blood erupts across the field, showering every writhing body below.
The Flock reaches the thick of the pack and seeps to the rear like a deluge of brackish water. Rin drags Jun back and a vicious sweep of steel barely misses their legs.
“Fuck!”
Rin pulls out his tanto daggers and drops low, arcing his blades at the Fledgeling. She snaps upright and deftly leaps above his blades, robes billowing out behind her like a pair of black wings.
Jun is fighting beside him, using only his body to defend against another Fledgling’s attack. He’s holding his own, but the lord is already soaked in sweat and he’s been splattered with blood that may or may not be his own.
Rin’s Fledgeling whips out her dagger, aiming for his wrists. He parries with a twist of his blades and slashes at her fingers. She keeps her hold, expression never once shifting from its default impassivity.
“You guys are really creepy, you know that?” Rin pants, blinking the stinging sweat from his eyes. He uses the movements of wind style to counter her attacks, his body slack and unstable as if he were fighting upon a storm tossed ship. “Are you even human? Or are you some kinda low-level demon crawled out from the underworld?”
Finally, a spark of life enters the Fledgeling’s face in a half-smile. A glint of white teeth can be seen before she launches herself into another bout of attack, double the intensity.
No more words are exchanged. Both combatants purely focused on survival and assault.
Upon the palanquin, Crow himself had stepped out from the shadows to dispatch Princess with a brutal blow. His towering figure ascends the platform to greet his foe.
The Marquis casually smokes his pipe as he wields his sword – a rather garishly decorated bauble. As the battle rages on around them, the two men stare at each other with a mixture of emotions. One grimly amused and cavalier. The other exuding a gloomy intensity.
Already, the battle seems half-lost. The Hounds have been cut down by almost a quarter, their numbers swindling fast. From where the Marquis stands, the situation seems dire.
“You can glower all you want, mon cher Crow,” Korain sings, “but I’m not throwing down my sword until I’m the last one standing.”
Crow’s eyes glitter at his foe like polished obsidian, thin lips upturned in a silent sneer. “You have lost your light.”
“They were very difficult and expensive to repair.”
“You should have had better defense.”
“I thought I did,” Korain sighs dramatically, palming the side of his face. “Alas, it appears I have rotten little Fledgelings hiding amongst my Pack.”
Sharp teeth peek out between Crow’s dark smile. “Not even your Pack belongs to you.”
“How long has this taken you?”
“Ever since our last dance, Marquis.”
Korain titters, musically. “How romantic.”
“Your Hounds are dying. You know that we have won this battle.”
“Do I? It doesn’t seem that way to me.” The Marquis makes an idle stab at the taller man and the latter doesn’t move. His ribs are nicked with the point of the polished blade, drawing blood.
Korain seems moreso startled than Crow as he stares blankly at his bloodied blade.
“That is for allowing me to enjoy your company for the past three years,” Crow says, his rich baritone betraying none of his disdain. “Now that you have drawn blood, I will not hesitate to draw yours.”
The Marquis barely has a second to react, jerking up his sword in an instinctive motion as the other’s blade swings down upon his head. If he’d not blocked the blow, his skull would have been crushed.
Korain’s thin legs quake as he tries to hold his defense, Crow’s heavy hand bearing down on him with exponential power. With nary a drop of sweat, the taller man brings down his entire strength. Korain shouts in pain as his own blade bites into his shoulder. The hot gush of blood soaks into his pristine white suit.
Rin slides his tanto from the Fledgeling’s chest. Her eyes are round in disbelief as blood gurgles from her lips and she crumples to the ground.
He stares down at her coldly, unfeeling.
A shout draws his attention to the palanquin. Korain.
The man’s white suit is drenched in a crimson dye. He’s fighting desperately with Crow himself, their swords flashing against the midnight sky like manic lightning.
Rin’s heart lurches. He grabs the nearest Hound who’s not engaged in a fight – Happy, who seems anything but with his grey complexion. The raven shoves him towards the palanquin and yells, “Help him, you idiot! Your boss is dying!”
It’s more likely that he’s automatically following orders than from any sense of loyalty – but Happy instantly lurches into action, obediently leaping onto the palanquin with his axe and swinging it at Crow’s back.
Crow ducks out of the way and staggers to the side, now having to defend against two opponents. And yet, he seems unconcerned, if not energised by the challenge.
Rin spins around in time to see a stout Fledgeling catch Jun in the side with their blade. Though it’s but a graze, Rin’s reality instantly shrinks, tunnelling on this one attacker who dared injure his lord.
“Don’t you fucking touch him!” he barks, launching himself at the Fledgeling.
They both tumble to the ground, soil muddied from spilled blood.
Rin straddles the stout man as he tries to strike him with his tantos, but the other is proficient with his own daggers. Razor sharp movements ensue as they engage – in the small space between their bodies, their blades clang and skitter and grind against each other. Some strikes land, in the shoulder, in the chest, in the ribs, in the face, but the cuts are too shallow to be profound.
Rin has the positional advantage however, and he uses this to slip past the man’s defense and sink his blades into the exposed throat. The Fledgeling judders and convulses, eyes turning glassy as he suffocates on his own blood. Rin doesn’t stay to watch him die. He can’t afford the kindness.
A shadow casts upon him from behind.
He twists around, blades raised to defend against a potential blow – when Vex thrusts himself before Rin. The blow intended for the raven, instead lands on the Hound, and Vex is cut down with nary a sound.
The Fledgeling bares her bloody teeth and pulls her dagger free from Vex’s chest, wasting no time before launching another attack at Rin.
But Jun sends a brutal kick into her side. Her ribs snap with a sickening crack and she lands in the mud in a writhing, gasping heap.
“Rinnie!” Jun pants, falling to his knees before Rin and Vex. His eyes are wide in shock, pallour stark beneath the blood splatters. He’s shaking. Badly. “A-are you alright? Are you injured?”
“No,” Rin gasps, hauling himself up to his knees. “Vex. Help Vex!”
Jun hunches over the stunned Hound, ripping open his shirt to expose his chest. The stab wound is deep and too close to his heart. Bright red blood flows in pulses and the space between each grows wider and wider.
Vex’s chest pumps as he weakly gulps for air. His eyes roll wildly, glazed in terror. His hands scrabble at the two Milkfangs on either side of himself, as if silently imploring, pleading, for them to save him.
“Put your hands here,” Jun pants, indicating the leaking wound. “We need to stop the bleeding.”
Rin hastily does as he’s told, pressing down on the wound with both hands.
A primal keen escapes from Vex’s bloodless lips, his face contorting in agony.
“Push down harder!” Jun shouts, ripping the hem of his own shirt into a long strip. “Vex, I know it hurts, but we need to stop the bleeding. Do you understand? Please, please bear it!”
Rin grits his teeth and pushes harder, hot blood bubbling between his fingers as he desperately attempts to block the flow.
“Harder, Rinnie! He’s losing too much blood!”
“I’m trying, godsdamnit!” Rin yells, on the edge of hysteria. “I’m fucking trying!”
“It hurts!” Vex screams, eyes bulging. He clutches onto Rin with blind desperation, mouth hung wide open as blood trickles from the corners. His screams quickly descend into raw wailing, his terror palpable and infectious. “Oh, gods! It hurts! Help me…please…please–!”
Without thinking, Rin draws mana through his hands, pouring as much as he can into the dying Hound. But his magic can only heal souls – not corporeal flesh. No matter how much he pushes into Vex, it’s like pouring light into a basin – it has no effect whatsoever.
A Fledgeling lunges at the trio from the chaos of battle. Jun reluctantly abandons his task to defend the others, grabbing Vex’s discarded bat. He fights his ghoulish foe, aura effusing a steel fury.
Rin knows it’s too late for Vex. The Hound’s wails have become incoherent babbling and his glazed eyes are unfocused, seeing things that only the dying can.
The blood flow has slowed drastically – a symptom of death.
Gathering up the dying lad into his arms, Rin hums mindlessly, a song to soothe and calm. There’s a sense of morbid fascination as he watches the life slowly drain from Vex’s body. Death is not instant, he realises. It’s a process. A process that seems to take an eon.
The lad’s breaths grow few and far between, short and machinated. His skin takes on a waxiness as his body releases various fluids. The light in his eyes dim. Consciousness flees, taking with it each of his senses. One by one. Until all Vex can hear is a gentle voice, humming an unfamiliar melody.
Rin watches as the person in his arms transforms into an object. It’s a strange and disturbing process, and he witnesses it with an increasing sense of detachment. He’s known death before. Caused death before. But he’s never been as intimate with death as he is at this very moment.
When Vex ceases to be Vex, Rin sets him down and rises to his feet.
He sways in the pandemonium. It’s almost like he’s dancing, a delicate, drunken motion like a lily quivering in the wind.
Though one could not deny his terrifying visage. His one eye sanguine red. Pupil needlepoint. And as expressionless as the body at his feet.
And his pale skin begins to glow as if all the absent light were borne from his very core. Every exposed inch of his skin lumines. His veins swell and hum with mana.
Half the number of Hounds remain standing, the rest either dead or injured. The Flock are relentless in their offense, their strange forms and cruel sadistic lust much too fierce to contend with for the ailing Hounds. Darkness is their mortal enemy, obscuring those lethal talons. The beaten soldiers are but prey to be plucked. Prime morsels for the carrion birds.
But just as despair descends over the Hounds, a resplendent white light bursts from a source unknown, flooding the entire landscape. Against this dazzling beacon, every Fledgeling is stark and easily discernible, their black robes betraying their positions. They are like scattered black dirt upon virgin snow.
Like all battles, the tide turns in but a second.
The darkness flees. The Hounds can see. And they attack with renewed fervour, injected courage from their radiant ally.
Fueled by hatred, by anger, by their grief for their fallen comrades, the Pack tears into the Flock, ripping them from limb to limb. They are but rabid beasts, seeking pure revenge. In but a blink of an eye, the field is scattered with broken wings and talons, tattered feathers strewn and trampled into the bloody mud.
Seeing his Fledgelings fall, Crow falters. His will shakens. The Marquis seizes this opening and runs the man through, skewering him onto his blade. Shock barely registers upon Crow’s sharp features as Korain laughs uproariously.
“Va et meurs putain, salaud!” The Marquis kicks Crow in the stomach as he pulls his sword free, sending his opponent into the mud.
Somehow, Crow has enough strength to pick himself off the ground. He hastily retreats into the Black Forest, limping as he clutches his wound. The remaining Fledgelings flee with him and soon, their figures melt into the viscous pitch.
A ringing silence hangs in the air. The shivering aftermath of battle.
The Luna light dims and flickers out.
Rin rises, head bowed, the abyssal ghoul in the descent of darkness. This time it’s as it should be. The natural gloom of the night affords them space to breathe and be.
In the seconds that follow, a single voice erupts into a maniacal cheer. And so others join, until the entire field is filled with the thunderous, triumphant cries of the Hounds, rousing every soul from their sleep in all three Districts.
Under the thin cover of night, Rin finds his little lord and falls into his arms. They share a desperate kiss that aches more than their exposed wounds, and it’s in this way that they gently return to their bodies.
So many things T_T
Thank you for the chapter!! ❤️❤️
Yeaaah there’s a lot happening in this one!! Hope it wasn’t too much 😭 Thank you for reading!! <333
Just something i’ve been wondering for a while already… but why the french? Is it because of the bastard’s origin? Or just a special touch to his speach? 😂
And please if you ever need some help with these bits think about me i’ll never say no to translating some insults in french lmao
Always nice to learn a little more about the world where the characters live!! ☺ and i’m always happy to help ehe~
Damn, we lost Vex. RIP to one of the good ones.
RIP vex TT3TT <33
Wth😭I liked Vex.
Wahh Im sorry!!! TT–TT <333