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"Please, your Highness, don't cry. You're not as pretty when you cry."
Prince Khun Aguero Agnis had never been a crier. He was a gumiho, an immortal seducer condemned to consume souls to survive, an omen of death in his true nine-tailed fox form. He liked to think that he was desensitized to death - the only way he could feed and survive was to kill. Aguero was ruthless, selfish, intelligent to a fault. He knew how to keep himself alive while making sure there was as little blood on his hands as possible. Yet here he was, with fat droplets of water welling up in his eyes and rolling down his cheeks in the form of tears.
The death in question was that of his lover - their relation was not romantic despite his lover's wistful yearning, but it was most definitely physical. Aguero was not a hedonist like his father, but he could not deny that his desire for intimacy was a good way to keep one's mind away from the plague of guilt. The full moon hung high in the sky above them, illuminating the silvery-blue ears that flickered in distress above his head, the nine fluffy tails swishing behind him. "As your prince, I order you to stay with me. Stay alive."
It was a futile request. Death does not discriminate between the sinners and the saints, it takes and it takes and it takes. Aguero should've known, as one of its harbingers. He was young, but he knew he was a killer, not a healer. There was nothing he could do, with sheer want not being enough. His lover was a hwarang, his human protector and 'flower knight', gifted to him by his father as one of the few mortal souls who had seen his true fox form and had not scorned him for it. Over the years, Aguero learned to trust him with everything he had: his mind, body and soul wholeheartedly belonged to him; his best moments of playfulness and pouncing at chestnuts under snow as a lithe little fox had been forged into memories; Aguero had confided in him during his worst moments, times when he woke up screaming and kicking and unable to breathe, drowning in the darkness that was his mind.
The silver moonlight painted over the crimson stain spreading across his hwarang's blue and white hanbok, illuminating the red-tinted glare of blood. Aguero was trying not to breathe - the metallic tang was enticing, but disgusted him all at the same time. His lover hacked into a fist, and his hand came away bloody. Aguero's princely cerulean hanbok was turning dark at the edges, but the gumiho couldn't care less. There was blood spattered all around his room, even on the crown sitting on his bedside table. "It's my duty to protect you from harm, my prince."
His golden eyes were warm and kind like a fire in the hearth, but Aguero could not match it. "It's my fault." The words left a bitter taste in his mouth. He was used to being perfect, flawless, faultless. But had he not been a prince, an assassin would not have broken into his chambers, mere moments after he and his lover had lain together, barely clothed and still basking in comfortable skinship. If he were not a gumiho, the assassin would not have stained their blade with a poison potent enough for a slow, painful death.
Aguero's mortal lover reached up, grazed his cheek with a fingertip coated in blood. Mere moments ago, those calloused hands had touched him, held him, worshiped every inch of his body like Aguero was his god. "You couldn't possibly have seen it coming, my prince. I'm glad I was there to protect you." How could he possibly say that? It was Aguero's fault. If he hadn't fallen head over tail for a mortal he knew would leave him one day, neither of them would be here like this. "I may be your lover and I may be your favorite hwarang, but I'm expendable. When I die-"
"Don't talk about dying so casually, you reckless, stubborn idiot!"
"- you can choose another reckless, stubborn idiot to be your lover and favorite hwarang." Aguero could smell his lover's life force weakening, the bonds between his soul and his body weakening. He swallowed down on his fox, forcing aside his innate hunger at the scent of a soul ripe for the taking. "Just don't forget me, okay?"
How could I ever replace you?
Aguero wiped his watery eyes with the back of his hands, sniffing angrily. Even in the cold hands of death, his lover was brave, braver than he would ever be. He had never hated being an accursed gumiho so much in his life. "How could I ever forget you?"
His lover intertwined their fingers, squeezing gently. "Wait for me, love. If Yeonma is merciful, I'll be back before you know it."
Aguero screwed a smile onto his face, squeezing his lover's hand like a lifeline. "I'll wait for you. I'll wait however long it takes for you to come back to me."
The golden eyed hwarang smiled. His fingers were growing cold, his grip slackening. His eyes were slipping shut. "I'll see you soon, Aguero."
Aguero crumbled, a lifeless body in his hands, the cold midnight breeze blowing around them. It smells like death. "I'll see you soon, Bam."
Aguero wakes up with a gasp. The blankets are fisted tightly in his hands, his cheeks stained with tear tracks. The bed beneath him is cold and empty, just like the penthouse around him, just like his heart. The air conditioner blows icy wind at him, and he can taste tangible guilt on the tip of his tongue. The silver moon outside is clueless of his pain, as always.
He dials a friend with shaking hands with shaking hands. "I had another nightmare. About him."
"Good morning to you too, Khun."
Shibisu is a shaman, a magician with a longer lifespan than most. He's around a century or two younger than Aguero. Or is it four? The fox spirit can't remember anymore. After his lover's death, he'd spent decades asleep, the urge to feed drowned out by his sorrow and the desire to simply disappear from the world. It was good enough - Prince Khun Aguero Agnis and his hwarang protector had both died that night. Shibisu is old enough to feel the crushing weight of time, old enough to mourn the loss of short-lived relationships. Both of them bonded over witty intelligence and the curse of being ageless. Following the new age, Shibisu had decided to combine his brainpower with his medical knowledge and become what is now called a psychiatrist.
"Do you have meds to forget?" His voice is hoarse, throat rubbed raw after screaming cries of no, no, don't leave me, don't go. "Or to make it stop hurting?"
Shibisu sighs over the phone. "You need to let him go, Khun. It's been a thousand years already." A few days ago - or was it weeks? months? years? - the shaman had found himself a new friend in the form of a lonely samurai gwisin haunting an ancient katana nobody remembered how to wield.
Khun is not so lucky. "I promised him I'd wait for him to come back, Isu." His voice cracks. "Why is it taking him so long? I'm so tired of living."
The hungry fox inside him rears its head. Kill. Feed. Repeat. Murder is not easy in a world of technology that is always advancing and advancing. Aguero may be an actor now, 'beloved' ice prince of the big screen, but stealing virtual hearts does not sate his hunger. He can't afford to become like White, five albino gumiho siblings who had combined their fox forms and went on a serial killing rampage. Aguero's older half-sister Maschenny had been dispatched to disable the too-powerful gumiho before the mortals got suspicious. It had left the already sadistic Maschenny with a newfound taste for blood. Speaking of which, there seems to be a serial killer around...
"From what you've told me, Bam seems to be one of those genuinely good guys. He'd hate to see you in this state."
Aguero growls into the receiver. "Aren't you supposed to make me feel better and not worse?"
Shibisu laughs nervously. "Whoa, my man, chill! Remember those breathing exercises I taught you? Deep breaths. Control your fox. Remember to take care of yourself. If you're growling, you need to feed."
Inhale.
Exhale.
Repeat.
"Alright."
After over a thousand years of living as a gumiho, Aguero knows how to kill and leave as little evidence as possible, but becoming a celebrity has given him a brief escape from that. He is an excellent liar, hence an excellent actor. Pretending to be someone else makes life a little easier, even if it's only for what feels like a split second. Through a cinema screen, he can seduce mortals without feeling the guilt that follows, sap away fractions of their souls when they meet. He'd eaten one of his stalkers before, although the soul tasted bitter in his mouth. It's rather like dieting, in a way. Mortal food does not sustain his hunger, not when souls taste like an explosion of flavors and even the best cheeseburger tastes like cardboard.
Bam had spared him a fraction of soul once, when Aguero was on the brink of death by starvation. Bam's soul tasted buttery, sweet, perhaps something like the chestnuts he had been named after and the roasted snacks he liked to offer the gumiho. As terrible as it sounded, it was the best thing Aguero had ever tasted.
The doorbell rings seconds after the bluenette pulls on a new shirt. "Aguero, open up." The gumiho dives back under the covers. The man at the door is none other than his father, Khun Eduan, a fox spirit millennia older than Aguero. He stinks of grapes and mortal alcohol. "I have a surprise for you."
He makes sure his father can smell the irritation in his pheromones. The last time Eduan visited, it had been to goad Aguero into feeding. With a lot of persuasion and trickery, he had gotten Aguero signed with Tower Entertainment, a company of actors and actresses all immortal or inhuman like the gumihos. There's Endorsi, a courtesan from centuries ago who had struck a deal with Yeonma the god of death to become a jeosung saja; Hwaryun, a daughter of Gameunjang-agi, the goddess of fate and luck; a older dokkaebi formed from an alligator charm who called himself Rak. Aguero had formed a strange kinship with the few of them, especially the gator, whom he had offered a banana as a peace treaty. Deep inside, the gumiho knows he'd never be able to replace Bam, to move on from the hwarang who had stolen his heart, to forget the marks his lover had branded onto his very soul.
"Come on," his father barks impatiently, "I know you're in there. Stop being such a whiny pup."
Aguero slides out of bed, opens the door just a crack. He hisses at his father. "What do you want?"
Eduan pulls a crown out of his bag. "I just thought you might want this-"
Aguero pulls his lips back in a guttural snarl. "Why do you have that?" A thousand years ago, that crown had sat upon his head, glimmering gold under the moonlight. After Bam's death, he'd faked his own, burned everything he owned that had an attachment to Prince Khun Aguero Agnis. The crown had followed his cerulean hanbok in a beautiful blaze of orange. He hadn't stayed to watch it burn, just like he hadn't stayed for his lover's burial. Deep inside, he knew his father blamed him for allowing trust to take root and the other hwarang blamed the strange inhuman prince for allowing their youngest brother to die. "Where did you get that from?"
"I have connections," Eduan says with an airy wave. "Besides, take a sniff."
He holds it up to his son's nose, forcing Aguero to inhale the metallic stink of old blood and-
Roasted chestnuts?
Aguero swipes the crown from his father's hand and proceeds to slam the door shut. "Oi!" Eduan yelps. "Watch the face!"
The crown is strangely warm in his hands. Aguero runs cold, and so does his father. So where does the warmth come from?
He sniffs it carefully. His crown should not have survived the fire, and it most certainly should not be so warm. Worse yet, it makes his inner fox hiss in disapproval the same way Rak does. It vibrates in his already shaking hands, and he rears back, throwing it onto the bed like he'd been burnt. "Stay there," he snaps.
Aguero locks himself in the bathroom, his heart pounding in his chest. His crown reeks of goblin, and his inner fox is still snarling at the scent. He washes his hands, once, twice, the first time to get rid of the scent and the second to get rid of the vision of blood under his nails. It's impossible.
Or is it?
Gingerly, he pulls the bathroom door open and peers out into his bedroom. There's a young man lying on his bed in a mock-seductive pose, Aguero's crown perched on his head. The gumiho is on the verge of blacking out at the sheer stink of dokkaebi from the green smoke that surrounds the young man and the crown, but he latches on to the scent of roasted chestnuts to keep himself awake. The young man happens to have eyes like molten gold and brown hair cut short, just like Aguero's lover from a millennia ago. The young man is also buck naked.
Aguero pushes the door shut, heart slamming against his chest like wild animal against its cage. Instead of butterflies, there's an entire stampede in his stomach. Is it the stench? Is it the young man outside? The gumiho can't tell. He fishes his phone out of his pocket with trembling hands. "Father," he hisses, "what is the meaning of this?"
"His mortal name is Jyu Viole Grace," his father says over the phone far too gleefully, "he'll be your new bodyguard. I just found out he's my godson. It's great, isn't it?"
"Bodyguard? Godson? What?"
"He's the son of two of my old mortal friends," Eduan's father explains, "they've both been dead for a while now. His father was an odd one, always near the ocean." Aguero can almost feel him waving a hand dismissively. "Speaking of the dead, you have a lot of angry spirits attached to you, Aguero." He sounds more serious now, and it piques Aguero's interest. If he has a lot of angry spirits attached to him, how many does his father have? His father has eaten the souls of women and men he seduces (then kills) for centuries longer than he has. "You're still too young to see them, but they cling to you like smoke. Your shoulders feel lighter now, don't they?"
Aguero rolls his shoulders thoughtfully. There was that myth that vengeful spirits clung to people's shoulders, weighing them down. The young gumiho's shoulders do feel lighter than they had been before. "I guess?"
"Dokkaebi keep bad spirits away, have you forgotten?" Ah, yes. That. Aguero tended to stay far away from goblins, unless they were Rak, who was old enough to know how to dampen his scent. "Your darling chestnut is a go dokkaebi now. He's specialized in fighting and weaponry. He'll be able to keep you safe from mortals and spirits!"
Aguero hangs up on his father, breathing heavily. Dokkaebi, huh. He hears the sound of near-inaudible footsteps before a knuckle raps on the door. "Aguero?" The voice sounds the same as the one he'd gone a thousand years without hearing, the way he calls Aguero's name identical although slightly deeper, slightly huskier. "Can you please let me in?"
Aguero reaches for the doorknob with shaky hands, pulling the bathroom door open. Bam - apparently Jyu Viole Grace now - bats his eyelashes innocently. He's wearing pants now, Aguero's pants, to be exact, but there's still no shirt in sight. Aguero takes one look at those earnest golden eyes and thinks oh shït, not again.
The gumiho swallows past the lump of disbelief lodged in his throat. He stays a respectful distance away. What if his lover doesn't recognize him anymore? "Viole... Bam? Do you recognize me?"
The brunette gives him that sun-bright smile he had fallen in love with a thousand years ago. "I would recognize you anywhere, love."
Aguero rubs his eyes. "Tell me I'm not dreaming."
Bam steps forward, cupping his cheek in a hand. His eyes are warm, pools of molten gold so deep Aguero could drown and be happy like that. "Would you like me to show you instead?"
"Please."
The brunette kisses him with lips just as soft as he remembers, plush and full and everything he could ever want. Aguero puts down his desire for control, hands over his trust, and simply lets himself be kissed.
"Ah!"
Bam grins at him impishly. "I only did what you asked, love."
Aguero pouts at his lover with a wounded expression. "You bit me!"
True enough, his lower lip is swelling and flushed red. It's a nice kind of pain, though. It keeps him grounded to reality, reminding him that Bam is right in front of him. His lip throbs. "It worked, didn't it?"
The gumiho lifts his hand to Bam's face, nimble fingers tracing the bridge of his nose, the dip in his upper lip, the curve of his jaw. He hums, lips quirking up in a smirk. "Hmm, I'm still not sure. Kiss me again."
Bam's warm breath fans across his cheeks. "Demanding as always, Your Highness." When their lips meet again, Bam kisses him like a starved man, mouth slanted over mouth. Aguero could've sworn Bam was shorter than him, but something must've happened in that thousand years where the brunette had simply disappeared. If he became dokkaebi, his essence could've been absorbed into the crown, but wouldn't the crown have been melted when Aguero threw it into the fire?
Bam pulls away with a pout. "Stop thinking and start kissing, Aguero."
Aguero laughs, giving his lover a peck on the nose. "Now who's the demanding one?"
That night, Bam refuses to learn how buttons work and destroys one of Aguero's nicer shirts. It doesn't matter, not when the two lovers fall asleep sore but more sated than they've ever been, wrapped up in each other. Aguero falls asleep with the night's warm embrace around him.
Over the next few days, Aguero teaches Bam how to act like a human. The hwarang dokkaebi is increasingly fascinated by the bathroom - the faucet, the shower-head, even the toilet, are all totally new to him, and the hwarang is unused to how clean everything is. Bam has, after all, been asleep for a thousand years, his life essence and his body healing and strengthening to become a dokkaebi.
A month passes with the dokkaebi adapting well to the modernity of the mortal realm. Much to Shibisu's amazement, Bam manages to convince Aguero to feed. Shibisu's samurai ghost friend Hatz takes well to the hwarang dokkaebi, with both of them being extinct warriors of the realm. However, he despises Aguero, or his earrings in particular. What's wrong with his earrings? Bam likes them.
Aguero decides to bring his hwarang to his newest film premiere. Ironically, the film is comedy about a gumiho sharing a room with a dokkaebi, and both of them pretending to be humans. It's not hard to guess who the main two stars are, and it had been incredibly easy to slip into their characters' role. The most difficult part of it was pretending to fall in love with his co-star Endorsi. They both were completely disinterested in each other romance-wise.
Bam lingers near the back when Aguero poses for the cameras with his co-stars, all of them in suits and dresses, illuminated by the flashing lights and the moon above them. The gumiho isn't sure who had the misfortune of stuffing Rak into a suit - the gator only ever wears horrendous Hawaiian shirts. "Oi, Blue Turtle!" Aguero grits his teeth when Rak grabs his shoulders with a grip strong enough to crush them. "Who's the Black Turtle over there? He keeps staring at you. I want to challenge him to a wrestling match. He looks like strong prey."
"That's his new bodyguard," Hwaryun tells him airily. "You know, the hwarang he's been mooning over for centuries. Don't try to eat him."
"Wasn't he dead?" Endorsi chirps. A camera flashes, and she winks for it. "He is cute, though. You've got a good eye for cute boys, Khun."
"He's mine," Aguero growls. After that first night, his inner fox had pushed aside the distaste for the stench of dokkaebi and rekindled its liking for Bam, and had even started to be strangely possessive. Aguero hadn't done so much scent-marking in a long time, but his hwarang didn't seem to mind the gumiho clinging to his side like a pup with separation anxiety, nuzzling and demanding for head scratches. "If you touch him I'll claw your eyes out."
Endorsi raises her hands in surrender. Even though she's a jeosung saja with an extended lifespan, she's still ultimately mortal. "Alright, alright. He's yours. I'm not going to do anything, but I can't say the same about Yuri."
Aguero wrinkles his nose. If Endorsi is forward, Yuri is bold on a whole other level. What Yuri wants, Yuri usually gets, but Aguero would rather eat his own liver before letting Yuri have Bam. He sniffs haughtily, freezing when an acrid scent wafts through the air, sharp and metallic enough to make his eyes water.
"Something smells bad," Rak announces.
Endorsi shrugs. "I can't smell anything."
The gumiho glares at her balefully. Of course she can't. Her sense of smell isn't that pronounced. He tries to inhale, doubling over with a sleeve pressed to his nose. The smell is too strong. "Khun, call your hwarang away," murmurs Hwaryun. "White is coming and he's on the hunt. He wants the chestnut." Aguero snarls. Isn't White supposed to be dead? Maschenny killed him. "A shaman brought him back to try to revive his girlfriend, but he failed and now he's dead too."
"I won't leave him. Protecting Aguero is my duty." Bam pushes Aguero behind him. There's a pistol in his hand, but the gumiho knows that his hwarang knows how to fight with his fists too. "I won't fail like I did last time. I'm strong enough to protect him now."
"White isn't like any other," Hwaryun warns, "be careful, hwarang."
Bam doesn't have any time to reply before something white and glowing strikes down on them. Aguero doesn't even have time to blink before Bam knocks him to the ground, shielding him with his own body. Endorsi, Hwaryun and Rak all jump and duck out of the way, instantly on their guards. An unholy figure dressed in white robes grins down at them.
"I've never eaten dokkaebi, but chestnuts smell tasty." White licks his lips. "You smell better than your sister, son of Khun."
It's a full moon, and they're all at their most powerful. Po Bidau Gustang, son of Seokga the god of tricks and creation, is doing damage control by creating illusions for the mortals to see. White's tails are flickering behind him, swishing lazily. Aguero's ones are swishing in agitation. White is centuries older than he is. If he were to challenge the fox to a fight, he would be killed in an instant. But he's smarter than that. He won't walk into a fight without planning. He knows enough about White from his siblings - Maschenny's story of defeating the other gumiho had been told countless times.
Don't die on me, Bam. Not again.
Bam stands, gun gripped firmly in his hand. "Back off, gumiho. Don't touch Aguero."
White's grin widens. "My, my, a dokkaebi protecting a gumiho from another gumiho?" The white glowing thing in his hand is a sword, specifically one made of the souls he has devoured. Even Aguero can't make one of those - it takes centuries of experience and mindless murder of shamans. "You're so cute. I just want to eat you up, little chestnut." His eyes flicker lazily to the bluenette stumbling to his feet. "I'm not one for cannibalism, but maybe I devour him."
Bam's lips peel back in a snarl, and a crown of flame flickers blue above his head. He's shaking. Something smells strange about him, and it's not dokkaebi. "Didn't you hear me? I said don't touch him." White whispers something else, and Bam goes stock still.
"Oi, Blue Turtle, what happened to your Black Turtle?" Rak bellows. "Oi, Black Turtle! Wrestle him!"
"No, don't wrestle him!" Endorsi screeches. "Khun, is it just me or is he growing horns?"
Bam screams and doubles over, clutching his head. Something shiny and ivory is sprouting from between his fingers. "Bam!" Aguero charges forwards, throwing caution to the wind. He's not going to let Bam die for him again. "Stop doing your stupid mind tricks, you bastard!"
White shrugs. "I'm not doing that thing with his head. I think your dokkaebi isn't really a dokkaebi."
"I'm not going to listen to you," Aguero snaps. White may not be wrong, though. That something off about Bam's scent is increasing, and the stink of dokkaebi is being overwhelmed with sea salt. He grabs Bam's cold and clammy hands, and Aguero can't help but think of that murder a thousand years ago. He won't let history repeat itself. "Bam? Come on. Look at me. Deep breaths, love. Don't die on me. That's an order."
Bam groans, leaning into Aguero. "It hurts, Aguero," he whines, "I don't know what's happening." The gumiho flinches back when something cuts into his hands. Claws? Dokkaebi don't have claws. The scent of sea salt keeps him focused and anchored to the spot, pushing his thoughts into action. "Everything hurts. I don't want to leave you again."
"You're not going to leave me," Aguero reassures him. He has a theory, but he'll have to stall the serial killing gumiho in order to prove himself right. Bam's eyes are distant, and when another wave of pain hits he grips Aguero's hands hard enough to draw blood. Something black flickers over his skin under the moonlight. "I won't let you. Hang in there for a little longer, Bam."
"Oh, save your sappy love story for another time. I'm hungry." White yawns, raises his sword. His silvery eyes glow with murderous intent. "Just die, son of Khun."
This time, Aguero is the one shielding Bam with his body. Bam shudders. "Aguero, no," he mumbles weakly.
"Shh," Aguero responds. He has faith in his theory, but most of all, he has faith in Bam. He closes his eyes when White brings the sword down on his body.
The blow that should've killed Aguero doesn't come.
"Blue Turtle," bellows Rak distantly, "Black Turtle turned into a Black Dragon!"
Aguero forces his eyes open. White is trapped in a ball of water, fruitlessly struggling for air a few metres from the ground, but Aguero can't see much of the other gumiho beyond that black thing covering his vision. Protectively coiled around him is a dragon with scales as black as the night, with ivory horns protruding from his forehead. Instead of spines, there is a ridge of fur over his back, red like blood. His eyes are golden and gleaming with rage and power. It's an awesome sight, even for the thousand-year-old gumiho. When he was younger, dragons still existed, but most of them had gone extinct as time passed by.
In the bluenette's peripheral vision, he can Hwaryun kneel behind them. "All hail Jyu Viole Grace," she murmurs, "last remaining descendant of Yongwang, dragon god of the sea."
Aguero was right, as he always is. The scent of sea salt had given it away.
Dragon Bam glares at White, throwing him as far as he can with his mind. The white gumiho screams as he sails away into the distance, disappearing in an explosion of water.
Well, that's certainly one way to solve a problem.
Aguero?
Aguero flinches. He hadn't realized dragons were telepathic, let alone sound sheepish. "Yes, Bam?"
I don't know how to change back.