Chapter Text
Folding his hands, a man kneels on the floor, bowing his head, murmuring to himself a prayer in Korean–the orange locks of hair standing out sorely in the dark church. His cassock is wrinkled, not even worn properly. Dirty bandages stick to his knuckles, flakes of dried blood falling off, and the rosary in his hands move with the soft wind from the open windows.
“ – 아멘.”
Hwoarang smirks when he finishes his prayer, smoothing back his hair, getting loose strands out of his face. “Devil this, devil that.” the man stretches, cracks his knuckles, standing on his feet– and puts his hand out, determined. "In the Lord's heavenly name, show yourself, fiend of Hell!"
As the wind circulating inside the building gets harsher and pricks whatever skin Hwoarang has exposed, he sucks in a breath and stretches his shoulder, assuming a basic Taekwondo stance.
The sound of chains hitting the marble floor makes him grip his fist tighter.
And when the evil has shown itself in front of him, Hwoarang almost falters.
Maybe referring to the devil with it isn't right anymore.
He's a man, a beautiful one, really, with a body sculpted by God. The markings run from his face down to his chest, and Hwoarang raises a brow at him.
“Fear my wrath, insignificant priest.” His voice booms throughout the empty church, and Hwoarang's heart beats faster, adrenaline rushing through his veins. Yes , this is what he was searching for all this time.
His adoptive father – Baek Doo San, had chosen to be priest ever since Hwoarang had been a small child. It was weird, seeing the man who kept yelling at him suddenly renounce all that and become a holy man. (He would yell again if he heard Hwoarang say that, though.) And it was even weirder when Baek asked him to join a youth ministry. Hwoarang almost said all the curse words available in the world’s languages, but Baek had zipped up his revealing biker jacket and gelled his hair to the side before he could get the chance.
But that wouldn’t stop him from ridding himself of his holy garbs and cracking his knuckles in the middle of empty streets, fighting punks who denounced religion and crazed maniacs praising the literal devils, sometimes even beating up devils himself. All in the name of the church. He had given Baek more than just a headache.
At first, winning over and over again was more than satisfactory for Hwoarang, and he relished in all those victories, priding himself in his hand-to-hand combat prowess. But after a while, it started to feel boring, and he felt empty. What was the point of all this again? He’s still not free from those annoying priestly duties. He’s thankful for the blessings he physically gets when fighting off the devils, but other than that, having to read a long passage from the bible makes him yawn out loud, much less the teens sitting in the church.
On another eventless day, word reached him that a powerful devil was harassing and even eating the devout followers of a small church off to the side of Busan. His blood stirs and he sets off to defeat this evil, all for the sake of “helping out my brothers and sisters”.
The sheer exhilaration running through his limbs at the sight of this new foe rivals that of when he first became the infamous Taekwondo- priest. He sucks in a quick breath, and when the devil swings his clawed hand at him, Hwoarang dodges with ease and parries with a strong kick to the side. The devil grunts, and their fight begins.
A smack to the face, then a kick to the knees, a dodge from an uppercut and a cut from a sharp claw. The devil is tired now, and so is Hwoarang, and he realizes no matter how resilient he is, he can’t compete with a being from Hell. He’s only human, after all–(and the power of the angel’s blessings are weakening with the amount of blasphemy he does) and humans can’t fight for hours on end.
But, he does see how injured the devil seems to be, his chest heaving and his hand gripping at his stomach–and a sense of fulfilled pride washes over Hwoarang. He shakes those thoughts away, focusing on exorcizing this devil, banishing him from the face of the Earth once and for all.
“In the name of the Lord, I call on the angel’s blessings!” he exclaims, pulling out his rosary, running close to the devil and binding his arms quickly. His speed shocks the being, and he writhes against his restraints, with Hwoarang folding his fingers together, looking down at the vile monster beneath him.
“I shall cleanse this filth!”
There it was. The magic words, if you will.
A light should shine down on this creature, and anything evil should be lifted from him.
…
But nothing happens, and Hwoarang panics.
“H-hey! Angels?! You haven’t abandoned me yet, right?!” he yells, up at the ceiling, and sweat drips down his forehead, only this time, it isn’t from exertion of the fight earlier. He looks down at the devil binded with his specially-made exorcism rosary, the beads made from the finest hardwood glazed with holy water–
“This is not over.” The devil speaks, and its golden eyes give one final glare to Hwoarang before the markings on his face and chest disappear, and his horns vanish with a sudden poof! Of black feathers.
What’s left is an unconscious, beautiful man, in his arms, still binded by his rosary. He looks almost identical to the devil he just fought, and whatever wounds Hwoarang had inflicted on the devil, had stayed on him.
Hwoarang feels his throat run dry.
“W…what?”
Hwoarang had carried him all the way back to his raggedy flat (well, more like dragged, since he was much heavier than he was,) and when the unconscious man was finally laying down on his cluttered couch, he heaves a great sigh, wiping the salty sweat on his forehead.
As much as he wanted to ogle at his defined muscles, Hwoarang had no time for that, since he couldn’t risk anyone seeing him carrying a knocked out half-naked guy back to his place. What defense would he have then? How can he explain whatever had just transpired inside the dreary old church? The locals had seen devils before, that’s easy to clarify, but he doubts they’ve ever seen a case such as this–where a man seems to be the devil, and the devil seems to be a man.
Now that they’re definitely alone, he leans in to take a closer look at this man, and mutters a small ‘ 미안해’ before patting around his slacks for something, anything that could allude to this mystery man’s identity, to help him get back home, or help exorcize that damn devil once and for all–
A wallet! “Thank the damn heavens,” Hwoarang sighs, pulling it out and turning it around to inspect it, tattered old leather that’s cracking at the seams, before he opens it, pulling out the first hint of identification. A driver’s license…for large two wheeled vehicles. “You’re a biker?” he murmurs under his breath, smirking just a little bit. For once, he’s allowed himself to be a rowdy teenager again, and he feels curious as to what sort of bike he owns and drives. But he washes those thoughts away and reads the name on the license.
風間 仁
Kazama Jin
Jin Kazama.
Hwoarang raises a brow. A Japanese man, all the way in the outskirts of Busan, near a church, has the devil’s curse on him. Hwoarang now understands Baek’s headaches. How was he going to solve this problem…?
He put the license back in his wallet and stuffed it in his own pocket, wary of what might happen when he woke up. He doesn’t know this guy’s actual temperament, how he would act in this situation. If he’s actually one with the aggressive devil from earlier or not. Before he could think too long, he sits on the floor, leaning on the couch, and sighs.
Slowly, his eyes droop, a victim to fatigue–and Hwoarang succumbs to a deep slumber, just like his earlier assailant.
It doesn’t take long for the man to stir awake, getting up slowly, and his groans quickly wake Hwoarang up, being a light sleeper. He’s alert immediately, getting up and grabbing the rosary in his pocket, ready to pull it out anytime, if necessary.
But ‘Jin’ doesn’t move a muscle seeing the scene, still looking like an innocent young man (albeit very bulky). His elbows hold his entire upper body weight on the couch, and his mouth opens just slightly to say something, but words seem to fail him, utterly confused by the current situation.
“Are you…still a devil?” Hwoarang asks, cautious–grip tightening, but ‘Jin’ only slightly tilts his head, thick eyebrows furrowed, looking more lost than before, and his voice finally pours out in a simple word.
“... Huh?”
And Hwoarang assesses if he’s really good at acting dumb, or if he really is dumbfounded. “What’s your name?” he interrogates all of a sudden, and the other man shifts a bit, wincing, most likely due to the wounds scattered all throughout his light skin. “Jin. Jin Kazama.” he manages to respond, though, and Hwoarang drops his defensive stance for now, still keeping awareness just in case he goes berserk and attacks him.
He sat down beside him, heaving out a sigh of relief (and exasperation) before poking Jin’s defined arm. “God, you gave me a heart attack.” he shakes his head, pulling out a pack of cheap cigarettes from his cassock’s hidden pocket, and a pack of matches. Jin is even more bewildered.
“Are…you a priest? I’m sorry, what is happening right now?” he asks, holding his head, massaging his own temples gently, as Hwoarang lights a cigarette with a bent match. “Yeah, I’m a priest. Thought that part was obvious enough that I didn’t need to spell it out for you.” he takes a long drag, and he sees Jin scrunch up his nose when he blows out the smoke from his lungs. He laughs, a loud one, holding the stick of tobacco between two of his calloused fingers. “Look, Mister Kazama. You were wreaking havoc in Busan, endangering my brothers and sisters of the same religion–” another puff, “I, for one, could not simply leave that be.”
Jin shifts, and he pulls up a blanket from the couch, covering his shirtless body. He’s not buying this story, and no one in their right mind would, considering how casual this priest is, smoking inside an apartment and wearing–are those sneakers?
Hwoarang sees Jin inspecting his own body, checking the wounds and pressing against some of them, and the dark, half-dry blood oozes out through still-open cracks in his skin, making him frown. “You…beat me up?” he asks, and Hwoarang laughs. “Yeah. Definitely did. I kicked your ass back there.” Jin wipes the blood away and glares, but his gaze falters after he realizes that, no, this man doesn’t want to harm him.
When Jin seems to be more calm, Hwoarang turns to face him, leaving the cigarette in between his bruised fingers. “What’s your story, Jin? Lucky for you, I don’t like the cops, so I didn’t just turn you in and call it a night.” he tilts his head, curious to hear this man speak more than just short, curt sentences, but Jin seems to struggle answering. “I…don’t know. I don’t know why I’m here, I…” he takes a deep breath. Perhaps to sort out his thoughts first. “I was looking for my mother. Jun Kazama, if you know her. I got a clue about her being somewhere…but I can’t really remember anything past that.” he stops there.
Hwoarang nods along to his story, then follows up; “Do you know you’re possessed by a devil?” and Jin shakes his head. “No. I didn’t really believe in those things…” And Hwoarang laughs a bit at that, and puts out the cigarette in his hand with the ceramic ashtray on the coffee table. “Your devil had a lot of markings on your body. They all disappeared when he seemed to leave, but there should be some remnant…” he trails off, pulling away the blanket covering his body, much to Jin’s protest–
“Hah!” he grabbed his left arm, squeezing the man’s bicep, causing a soft red to flush on Jin’s cheeks. “There, that’s the devil’s mark on you alright.” Hwoarang grins triumphantly, much to Jin’s horror. “A devil marked me?” he asks, and reaches with his free hand to touch the tattoo-looking mark on his left arm. Bold and clear. “Yeah. It’s unique. I’ve never seen one like that before.” Hwoarang hums and looks at the confused man. “And I’ve never seen a human marked by a devil like you before, Jin. How are you still conscious and okay, like a normal human being? Or is this devil’s acting skill just too good?”
Jin shakes his head. “I can assure you I’m the one talking.” Hwoarang scratches his head.
“Well… I don’t really wanna get yelled at by my master…” he starts. “So you’re gonna have to stay with me from now on.”
…
“Huh?”
After holding back a huffing, leaving Jin for a few minutes, Hwoarang flops down on the couch that still had Jin's body warmth on it; and he breathes in, exhausted.
“You're a goddamn brick wall of a person, you know that?!” He yells, pointing at the standing man, who folded his arms and looked down at him on the couch. “I don't see any reason why I should agree to stay with you. You look like a scam of a priest.” Jin insults, and Hwoarang clutches his chest and feigns sadness.
“Scam?! Do you not see my garbs, my rosary and the bible on my coffee table?” Hwoarang sighs, unnecessarily loudly, and raises a leg as if to point at Jin. “If I'm such a scam, that devil would still be possessing you right now, Kazama .” he draws out the letters in his surname, almost mockingly.
That seemed to strike a nerve. “Jin. Just call me that, like you did earlier.” He glares, his sharp eyes piercing through Hwoarang's own–and he shrugs. “Sure then, Jin. Anyway, look, it's a miracle you're back as a human now! Amen.”
Jin is still. Hwoarang tilts his head. “I can't let you go anywhere you please, not when that devil is still in you,” he sighs, scratching his head and ruffling up his hair in the process. “You could go crazy and all monster-like any time. More casualties will appear. I can't let anyone get eaten again, dear Lord. How many push-ups would I have to do then…?” He says that last sentence in a whisper, and Jin furrows his eyebrows, (probably) thinking deeply. Hwoarang looked at him.
If not for that devil, he's really fi-
“-ne. I'll stay with you.” he cuts away Hwoarang's thoughts, and the man shakes his head as if to fully clear them out. “Under one condition,” Jin interrupts before Hwoarang even starts talking. When Jin takes another pause, trying to form a sentence in his head, he crosses his legs and props them up on the coffee table, leaning back on the creaky sofa. “You’ll help me find my mother.”
The request isn’t really unreasonable, Hwoarang thinks. He brings his hands to his face, scratching his chin, as if he’s really contemplating it…only to smile wide when Jin’s face scrunched up in annoyance. “Oh, but of course, Jin. But don’t expect much, yeah? I have no idea who she is and where she could be.” Jin nods, a hand now outstretched at Hwoarang–and before he tries to shake it, he holds his pinky finger out, frowning seriously. “It’s a promise, then.”
Hwoarang laughs and intertwines the smaller fingers of their large hands, a warmth threatening to travel up his neck. Oh, Lord. He’s so goddamn cute. “It’s a damn promise, alright.” Jin huffs as an acknowledgement, and retracts his hand. “Oh, and one more thing.” he adds.
“Yeah? Hit me.”
“Please don’t tie me up with that rosary of yours anymore.”
“...sure.”