Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Let me tell you a story. A story of love and lust. Of war and bloodshed. Of Salvation, of acceptance.

Afterall, all is fair in love and war.

A bard croons in the corner, garbled words mixing in with the strums of a failing lute. Those sitting at the bar chattered animatedly, hearty words punctuating the heady silence, as jokes were pushed around, beers and drinks exchanged.

Backs keeping to themselves, as they pointedly made a point to ignore the worn down corners. Home to the real business, and like the people that have sat there, they’ve seen their fair share of trouble, dangerous trouble. The booths of tables, come night, when even the light dare not creep on it. With the scars and molds it bore, it laughed creakily at you. Tempting you with empty promises, of priceless treasure or inevitable death. Creaking seats and stained table, tis was no pretty sight.

The dark walnut wood grappled in souls with groaning creaks. Every soul being damned. Every soul looking for something they couldn’t ever find. Speak of the devil, he thought ‘and he shall come’ . A hooded figure burst through the door, rain water flapping in, intent on attacking the customers. The candles seemed to flicker. The door blew shut, and the figure was absorbing every detail, whipping his head back and forth, looking. The bar, the customers and finally the tarnished corners. Scanned the crowd, and locked eyes with Kim Dokja.

Whos eyes beckoned him forward.

‘Hook, line and sinker’.

Kim Dokja straightens up.

The figure made its way over, “Han Myungoh '' comes the clipped answer. Han Myungoh making his way to sit down, freezes a second of a moment, before re-animating, sliding back down the seat smoothly. “Salvation'' comes the slightly annoyed answer. The face hardens and his body tilts up, looming over him, locking eyes with Han Myungo, the air drops a few degrees. Seconds fly. Pupils dilating, Han Myungo’s face immediately settles to complacent, wisps of remaining defiance evaporating. Gray meeting black. Han Myungoh averts his eyes to the table, while Kim Dokja stares into them. Condescending eyes reflecting black ink.

“I do not tolerate disrespect”, he said, voice flat, “I thought you knew that Myungoh.”

Body trembling, Han Myungoh’s head lowers further, ‘such an obedient little dog, it’s quite cute’ he mused. Mirth sparks in Salvations eyes, “Do call me properly.” Han Myungohs faces snaps up, and quickly stutters “F-F-Forgive me, Demon King of Salvation, Ruler of 73rd Demon Realm, I beg for your forgiveness” satisfaction graces Salvations face, and he waves a hand in the air “Dispel effect” he announces. Tendrils previously unknown unfurl themselves from his body. Leaving shivers in its wake.

Han Hyungohs face immediately resurfaces, eyes clearing of gray haze. Face re-animating into life, indignation brimming on his face. Though his body shakes, he stays still, very still. Moments pass in tense silence before,

“You won’t stop me” Han Myungoh begins, before faltering into a whisper, eyes flicking erratically, unable to maintain eye contact. Salvation observes, and a maniacal grin starts up on his face, revealing eyes gleaming purple underneath the lantern. Shadows blanketing his face, as velvet purple smoke poured from his pores.

Before suddenly the door is abruptly slammed open. Han Myungohs face snaps to the intrusion, before quickly flickering back. Illusion being dispelled, the light cast his face into an innocent angel face, heavenly smile, twisting not with grace, but with barely contained insanity. Ready to raze and tear.

“No?” is all he says, cocks his head. His widening in amusement. Grin never faltering
“How foolish do you have to be, to believe in that?” his chuckles sound out choppily

“Don’t tell me you believe in that~”

Voidless eyes stare back at him, displacing his bleached skin. Han Myungoh stares, and stares and stares. It’s the only thing he can do. His brain finally catching up, he abruptly stands up, and adjusts his coat. Legs twitching with the urge to run, he offers him his still trembling hand, cautiously eyeing the man “I might see you, I might not. But the next time we meet we aren’t anything”. “Is that what Inho said?” “He truly thought me worthy of a pesky servant?” Han Myungohs face twitches, and as they find Salvations eyes they flinch. Salvation eyes fold downwards, and his lips twitch. Han Myungoh can’t move, and as Salvation regards his hand, the grin holds in place, he tilts his head up, his eyes sloping up, and as white becomes calculated black. He folds his arms, reclines in his seat and disregards the hand. And in a low and controlled tone “Tell Inho. Tell Inho. The deal’s off” Han Myungoh adam’s apple bobs, rapidly nodding his head. “Sure. Sure, whatever Salvation” “Inho will deal with you. Just you wait Salvation”

Salvations face nearly twitches. Nearly.

“Han Myungoh '' is all he states in a sickeningly sweet voice, sharp thrill, promising. Whispering its intentions. It’s so obviously an warning, his last warning, a warning to get the fuck out of his way or face the consequences. Han Myungohs trachea feels tender, as freezing invisible fingers wrap around his throat, tentatively flexing their strength. Han Myungohs breathing comes out in quick puffs as he stiffens and tries to shrug it off, a slight tremor so very obvious when he hastily retracts his hand. He knew what Salvation was doing. Knew his trickery, knew his power. But no one would defy Inho. “See you later Salvation” Salvation growls, low and sharp, eyes snapped to him, tracking Han Myungoh movement. His hairs rising up as his instincts scream silently at him to run.

filthy little dogs. With their mannerisms.

With his back scurrying away, Salvation turned his head back, lips pressed into a thin smile, widening, growing longer and longer, until they turned eerie with malice. And with eyes that sparked with madness, they emptied out into a voidless nothing. A black hole, sucking in space. He vowed that, to the gods, that today only one would be seen walking out the door.

Slim legs rose. Finding their place confidently on the ground, as it in return trembled. One step, two steps, three steps. A hand reached out to the retreating man's scuff. “Han Myungoh!~” “Why leave so soon? Stay will you?” grin growing, and growing “GET OFF ME!” the man screamed as he futilely scrambled away, backing into a corner, stress reducing him into the coward he truly was. No one at the bar batted an eye. But as his grin grew, the silence grew with it.

Indeed, only one walked out.

The other dragged. A complacent dog, shaking, and bruised. About to learn where he belonged. Begging for help as the oaken doors opened, until only the cobblestone stone roads bared witness. The door slammed shut and when the screams sounded up. The wind bit and howled. Chilling voices could be heard. Not of the screams that rung out like bells, but of the song words that rung out “Demon King of Salvation” voice merry, lilt pleasantly ringing out in the cobblestone alley, repelling the noises. And traveling through oaken doors, the bar goers all stopped dead, heads snapping to the door that would forebode indefinite hell. “Demon King of Salvation~” rang out cheerily, as guttural cries followed “Salvation comes for you!~” A sound of choking blood “On wings of black and feathers!” a gasping sob, “Bearing the blessing of angles”, mangled prayers sounded out, pleading, begging for the gods to intervene. “Cast to an eternal hell~” then silence. Silence that ran for a second, two, then three. Four. Numbers clicking by, a countdown to what would await. Then five seconds. Five. Five, five seconds had passed, they were safe for now. The rain quieted down from the sharp, shattering noises, to big fat drops that drowned the cobblestone, washing away grime, dirt and blood. Nothing came through the door, and yet heads stay fixed to the door. And only when hours passed did they dare turn their bodies back to their drinks. The atmosphere was chipped and silent. As bodies shook and hearts thumped. The sound never reached back up again. The silence a thick swaddling blanket.

Let me tell you a story, a story that doesn’t start with love, but with murder, ….

Chapter Text

A fist slams down on the table in the abandoned tavern.

“Dokja, don't you DARE. We are taking up the job!” fury flares across Inhos face, Kim Dokja sneers in anger, “NO, INHO NO! We don’t involve ourselves in politics! Inho understand that! DROP THE JOB”

Kim Dokja seethes in anger, passive facade cracking into barely restrained fire. The trembling turns into something more. As the weight on his shoulder bares down again.

“Please, Inho. Not again. Never again. Not like last time.” and just for a single second, you could hear the desperation sunk into his tone. It was pleading, begging. His arms trembled, and tears gathered in his wide eyes.

Inhos heart churns in disgust, before he sneers “We will be going, I will be going, with or without you” tone screaming coldness. Before indignation rose up once more “We won’t stop just because you’re too sensitive!”

Kim Dokjas eyes flash in betrayal, eyes widening. Disbelieving. Before his face morphs into a mask of calm, any signs of sadness, gone. Hardened into stone and hidden behind walls. “I'M JUST BEING LOGICAL INHO” He shoots upwards, standing up. Just as anger rears his head. “WHY CAN’T YOU UNDERSTAND THAT! YOU DIDN’T UNDERSTAND LAST TIME, AND GOT YOOSUNG AND GILYOUNG KILLED” His words dripped with vitriol and hate, while his eyes clogged with tears, heart thumping erratically in deep regret.

And a cold voice sliced the air “Those brat had it coming, they had it coming, they were too weak to survive!” he growled out.

Dokjas eyes widened, “Y-you, you.”

And suddenly a string snapped inside Dokja, the fire that had been burning in his eyes, suddenly froze over. He lunged forward with ferocious speed, and gripped Inhos' collar with both hands. Lifting him bodily into the air. Cutting off his airways Eyes shaking with crazed intent, unsheathed magic coming undone “You fucking dare.” he snarled “I dare you, mention them again and I'll cut out your tongue.” His tone was no longer holding back, on longer did they hold back words of vitriol, malice spilled into his tone, uncontrolled and furious. His aura curled around Inho, dominating and cold, begging to be used. The lights flickered, and candles tore into their wicks. While black ink pooled at his feet as they tried dragging him into the icy depths. Like hands from hell dragging down sinners. The air around them was freezing, as the pools of ink belonging to Salvation commanded Inho. “You fucking dare” ice froze his face, and he could no longer move.

“And you’ll wish we never met,” he spat out venomously.

“I already do,” Inho choked out. Devoid of any wisp of emotion. Eyes condescending as they gazed back at him

Something cracked one final time. He stared at Inho, wide teary eyes reflecting merciless black ones. He stared at the person who helped kill his kids. He stared at the person he hated. He stared at the man he had once loved. And he broke.

Kim Dokjas face extinguished, dropping into a shell. The aura retreated, and his eyes and grip fell back. He dropped Inho, and wrapped his arms around himself, clutching at his own waist, nails digging into the boney back. And in an even softer voice whispered.

“I know”

Dead eyes bored holes into the cobblestone clad floor. And they stayed there. As he stood rigid as a stick. As tears slid down his face, and as they in return dripped onto the floor.

As the dark vat of emotion that sat there unfilled. Stirred and turned.

It wasn’t the day where Kim Dokjas children fell that broke him, and it wasn’t the never ending numbness that followed, it was that day, this day, when he realized the only people who cared about him were already gone.

The only people who Kim Dokja loved, had left the world, had left him, had left Kim Dokja.

…
Why did it seem like everyone always left Kim Dokja? Why did they always leave him? Left him like he was just dirt below their feet, or left him because he wasn’t strong enough? Strong enough to protect them, nor strong enough to endure this pain.
It didn’t matter why, they all left anyway. His kids, his friends, his lover, even his fucking parents. Left on the curb of an orphanage like he meaned fucking nothing, left in a abandoned tavern after he lost his interest, left sobbing on the cold floor of the throne room as his kids were executed. Left there, as the gods watched and pitied him for his incompetence.

…And maybe Kim Dokja was. Maybe he was weak, was useless, was unloved and alone. But Salvation wasn’t. Salvation didn’t love anybody, couldn’t love anybody. Salvation wasn’t heartbroken and hurting. Salvation wasn’t abandoned.

No one could leave him, if he killed them first.
No one could love a cold hearted madman.

… And a bleeding heart.

And so to save him from his pain, he got his Salvation.

***
So, this was the story of Salvation, of Kim Dokja and salvation, found in the comfort of another lost soul. Found years after the bottle had already popped.

He stared down at the pitiful thing in front of him. Decided, and cast out a silencing spell.

He had a reputation to uphold. His interrogation remained silent, the world would be ignorant of what was going to happen. And as a golden dome formed around them, sharing luminous glow and touching too white skin, he started up again.

His fists beat into the softening flesh. Again, again and again. The wails were deafening as he screamed, before finally eroding into warbled pleas, pleas for the gods to save him. He scoffed. “Oh, Myungoh~, naive Myungoh” he chuckled sweetly “ How pitiful. Let me give you a word of advice! The gods you're calling to, don’t care! They don’t care. Nope, never did! So quit it will you? I’m staring to get annoyed. All they do is watch!”

“So who am I to deny them their entertainment!” Teetring on maniacal, he giggled. Flicking out a toolbag.

His fists stopped as he looked him dead in the eyes. And in a bout of unpredictable sanity said “They won’t save any of us Myungoh, none of us”, before the madness crept in “So stop resisting.” His eyes furled upwards, and lips crinkled into a smile, he stopped to admire his handiwork.

Myungoh was trembling, covered in snot and tears as he weakly tried to work his mutilated fingers to do something. He desperately sobbed out loud, dragging his last bout of courage

“Inho will get you for this! He get you for all of this! We should've never helped a weakling like you!” he screeched out, his last breath of courage fading, eyes accusing and fearful.

Kim Dokjas smile faltered. They twisted and turned into a frown. And at that gods seemed to sorrow, as the rain started up again. That sorrow that somehow rivaled even his most maniacal grin. It was biting, it spelled out pain, for him, for both of them. They tilted downwards mocking, unhappy, demanding retribution, justice. He would pay for that. He would pay. For all of it.

“I was in a good mood today, I was going to be merciful, end it quickly. But, it seems as if you don’t want that.” The tone was disappointed, questioning, he tilted his head, eyes turning considerate “If that’s the case; How should we go about this”' he said, voice accenting up into a lovely high. His grin broke out again. As giggles erupted out of his mouth, singsong voice following “Should it be a knife or scalpel or something different. Hmmm, what do you think Myungoh?” Gleaming eyes snapped back to Myungoh, almost catlike underneath the sheath of moonlight.

“Make a choice Myungoh!”
“Wonderful.”

Giggles erupted out full force, cracking with each note, symphonizing with the wet, guttural cries of one lovely victim.