fic; The Lion and the Lamb {part vii}
First frost.
The rooster crowed twice. In the bright grey light of morning, Minho sent a secret signal to the man hiding behind a tree a few yards away. The command was sent to the rest of the hiding, crudely armored participants that were spread around the perimeter of the entire village. The beginning of a series of orders that would lead to, they all hoped, victory.
But what a stranger fray than they’d expected.
The guards and imperial soldiers were waiting for them; definitely what the Commanders and the ever tenacious Minho had considered to be a possibility. Amidst all the screaming, running, and blind confusion, Kibum’s men, that fought against the rebellious pack, didn’t seem quite enthusiastic about throwing swords with their respected leader and fellow warriors. There was the slight hesitation of their swings, questionable looks in their eyes behind the masks that struggled with where their loyalties lie. When it became all too clear that they’d be fighting and killing their brothers senselessly, Kibum shouted the order that the rebelling lot not kill the others unless it were necessary. Even the King’s army.
And while the would-be heroes fought the good fight, a swift Jinki carried Taemin on his back, feet picking up behind a once-more savage Jonghyun who ran on all fours, his clothes tattered and hanging from his body by threads. Taemin continuously and dutifully called out to his mate to let him know he was there, to curb the disastrous psyche of Jonghyun’s current state of mind, to guide him along the way. They leapt over hemorrhaging bodies and ignored the carnage around them. On their way to the elder’s quarters before the old men could be led away to safety.
The head elder was still snapping for one of the guards to hurry with his precious coin collection (the minor portion of tax money the geriatric hoarded for himself) when the tall doors were dislodged from their hinges as if they were mere match sticks. They fell in, revealing a heaving, black eyed demon, his nails sharp, wet muscles flexing, shoulders in that familiar wild, leviathan sag. The gruesome, fangy expression on his face could only be described as villainously triumphant.
Taemin stared blankly into the arctic blue eyes of the head elder, his gaze short of remorse, fear, or anything like either one. “Finish them, Jonghyun.”
The horrified screams rose above the battle that waged outside. Jonghyun attacked, and there were great snarls and roars as blood began to paint the drawn, yellow-aged shades of the elder’s quarters-to which many of the outside audience viewed like it was some wicked, shadow puppet show, the wails of the men a morbid requiem. One by one, each and every elder and guard that got in the way was quickly decapitated and de-limbed in a way that some might call graceful, an art ahead of its time; all save for one servant boy who escaped moments earlier. As Jonghyun put a nasty end to them all, Jinki let Taemin to his feet. And they just watched. Faces straight even though stray droplets of blood landed on their cheeks and noses.
Lost in the glorious sight, Jinki smirked and a tongue went to lick some of the warm fluid from the side of his mouth. The taste was as vile as it was rich, but to have tasted it was in the worthiest honor any gladiator could receive; the elixir of kings. With a lineage like his, to have the luxury of tasting the blood of one’s enemy, no matter how great or small, was the truest meaning of life.
To taste the substance of justice.
In a way, Jinki wasn’t too far off from Jonghyun in that moment.
Soon Jonghyun was smeared red and huffing in the axis of the desecrated chambers. Yet among the strong, metallic scents of corpses and entrails, Jonghyun still picked out that overwhelmingly sweet scent of his beloved. His head whipped to Taemin, and suddenly, he was shrinking back into the species he’d born as.
Nearly naked, he started to tremble. His posture was erect again. Dark fluid dripped from his chin.
“T-Taemin…” His eyes were wide. Glossy.
But the slight figure in the woolen cloak was embracing him tightly before he could utter another word.
It was over. The hardest part was over.
part vi | part viii