Chapter Text
“You’ve saved me the trouble of finding you.”
The Little Ones retreat to the far corner of the cloisters, hissing and shaking violently, as Yoo Joonghyuk steps into the garden. With only lumenflowers inbetween, his finger twitches against the trigger.
“Now, will you receive your penance or shall I beat you first?”
A shot at this distance is surely fatal, yet even with his towering hostility, the Dokkaebi King sits lax in his wheelchair.
“Founder Mother and now Master of the Sunken. It’s a wonder whether your violence is of your own or the direction of your sponsor.”
‘Sponsor’?
His confusion must have shown on his face because the Dokkaebi King gives a smile full of teeth.
“Your mind is not as sharp as your sword. But no matter,” his leather glove caresses a small bundle of cloth on his lap. “The completion of our great noble cause is at hand.”
That damn fanaticism is just as he remembered. But though his anger burns hot, he reigns his seething contempt and speaks coldly.
“What is this ascension you strive for?”
He steps forward.
“For what cause could you hope to justify all these atrocities?”
Yoo Joonghyuk could not fathom any reason. Which is also why he could not help but pry. All because of a certain dreamer who is reluctant to share, he has to resort to this unsavory interaction to have even the slightest possibility of understanding Salvation and what has come to pass.
(Though to expect anything useful from this man was a mistake.)
“Wouldn’t you like to know, dear puppet,” his voice gravelly and condescending. “But true enlightenment need not be shared.”
If that’s how it’ll be, there’s no need for civility.
“Then die.”
With the black blade gleaming under the moonlight, the sharp tip parts the thick folds of the white ruffled collar.
“It’ll be the only good you’ll do as the culprit of all this suffering.”
A burst of wind rustles the lumenflowers, carrying loose petals and the Dokkaebi King’s dry cackling.
“End me as the culprit, is it… How amusing. Do you still believe such a thing?”
“Are your eyes painted on? Your ears for show?” Yoo Joonghyuk snarls. “Who if not you?”
It was he who founded the church. It was he who led the people to madness. It was he who profited off the lives of his comrades. His sins ran as deep as the sea, yet he stands as if above it all.
“All of this for some nonsensical crusade.” His hand clenches white, drawing a red line on pale flesh.
Yet despite the blood dripping down the Dokkaebi King’s neck, his smile grows sharper.
“Only the one who overcomes the story, the one who understands the trivial nature of everything, can escape from the suppression of mortality.”
Wood creaks as the Dokkaebi King stands from his wheelchair. And as if his life wasn’t under the mercy of Yoo Joonghyuk’s waning restraint, he hobbles deeper into the garden.
“There is no meaning in the things you treasure. This world is simply a story dedicated to the great, noble existence. Everything in this world is nothing more than a fleeting daydream to a Great One.”
He stops right beside the altair, his side leaning against the stone. A bundle of cloth under his other arm.
“Your constraints have made you ignorant. Still, you possess their favor. After all, did you not witness the birth of that infant Great One?”
“What?”
His brows furrow, but there’s an undeniable ache from those words.
“Oh, perhaps you do remember.”
And the Dokkaebi King leers over the altair, moonlight gleaming over his metal blindcap.
“Tell me, what did the Most Ancient Dream say?”
His mind instantly reels to the image of K■m D■■j■ holding his hand, a pale frail thing—
They’re alone.
On top of an abandoned lecture hall, he thinks. He can’t tell for sure. Too much has happened for him to recall how they got there. It must have been Uriel, but she…
(He tries not to think of her.)
“Joonghyuk-ah?”
■im D■kj■ is in his arms. Cold. Dying.
“Stop talking. You’re going to be okay.”
(‘You have to be.’)
Of course, Ki■ ■ok■a never listens.
“I have something I need you to do.”
“Do it yourself.”
He presses down on his chest, desperate to keep the viscous silver from dripping down his arms. It doesn’t stop.
(‘Please ■ok■a. Don’t leave me.’)
A faint touch brushes against his cheek. He holds ■i■ D■kj■’s hand in place, the cold soaking into his face.
“Won’t you make me a promise?” His voice barely above a hoarse whisper.
“No, D■k—”
“I only have you.”
“…”
(‘You’re all I have too.’)
He curses with hatred and betrayal in his heart. ■im D■■ja always knew he was weak to his whims, and now on his deathbed, he doesn’t shy away from utilizing that to the fullest.
“There’s a way to end all this suffering—”
“Enough.”
He grits his teeth. Why does he think of everyone but himself? What’s the point in saving others if he couldn’t save him?
(‘Just this once, be selfish. Stay with me.’)
Ki■ D■■j■ shifts his hand away from his cheek, twisting until their palms meet, and gives a gentle squeeze. It feels like nothing.
“Promise me you’ll fulfill my wish.”
He makes note of every scratch and bruise to even the slight stutter of his breath, looking anywhere but his eyes. Because he knows what stares back is the determination of a fleeting star, one so blindingly bright before it falls. It’s a sight he can’t bear.
“Joonghyuk-ah.”
The gentle coaxing of his name makes his resolve no stronger than dandelion fluff wavering in the wind.
(Even the most stubborn seedling blows away.)
“Yoo Joonghyuk.”
He can’t help but wince. All the affection and endearment overtaken by a somber tone, desperation in its edges.
“Please.”
■i■ ■o■ja breathes out, and he knows he has lost. He was never good at denying his own reader.
Letting out a breath of his own, he leans in until their foreheads meet, savoring the touch, before finally looking at ■im D■kj■.
“I will.”
His starry eyes shimmer with hope and crinkle in relief. The ghost of his lips press against the top of his brow then another down his cheek and another at his jawline. Long lashes leaving their own ticklish trail of kisses before his cold breath brushes against his ear.
“Thank you.”
(It felt like saying goodbye.)
“■o■ja—“
A weak hand pushes against his chest, and he chases after like a drowned man reaching for land. Their tender moment shatters when ■im ■ok■a calls out her name.
“Uriel.”
She falls from above, enshrouding them under her massive white wings. Dark hands wrap all over his body. Around his torso, his arms, another over his eyes. Her nails dig into his flesh as she pulls him away.
“Dokj■!”
It’s a futile struggle, and ■im D■kj■ watches his desperate attempts with an unfortunate smile plastered on his face.
“I’m sorry.”
(Please live.)
Time stalls to a still when K■m ■okj■ pulls out a long spindly cord. And it all comes crashing down when he crushes it into dust.
A suffocating presence bears down on him as the night sky becomes void of all light, and a purple mist enshrouds what once was the moon. The sound of a soft summer rain thunders around them along with the scent of a floral spring. One tremor shakes the rooftop, and soon, white splits the sky.
Something from behind pries through the fissure, forming cracks of light in the sky as it enters.
Parts of the being flickers, as if snuffed in and out of existence. Whisker-like tentacles swarm through the opening, hanging long from a cluster of purplish flowers that open to reveal a multitude of eyes. Above the little florets rests white veiny petals that flare like wings.
The sight makes his vision turn dark. Something warm drips from his nose and ears, the taste of iron filling his mouth. His head churns as if gouged from the inside, and his breath dies in his lungs.
His consciousness is waning, struggling against the immense presence, but he does not look away.
Black tendrils wrap around Ki■ Dok■a’s weak body, and the man welcomes it like a warm embrace. Entwined, the two look ethereal. A calm washes over him when K■m Do■ja meets his eyes, and the cacophony bleeding his ears becomes deafening silence as he speaks.
“My wish…”
The words that come out of his mouth are of a cruel salvation.
“■■ ■■■ ■■■ ■■■ ■■■■■ ■■■■ ■■■ ■■■ ■■ ■■■■ ■■■■■.”—
At the long silence, the Dokkaebi King straightens back in disappointment.
“What a lonely being, the Oldest Dream, that not even the puppet can understand.” He sighs. “Though, I suppose there's no merit in asking when I’ve surpassed even you.”
Yoo Joonghyuk tenses, and the hair on his nape prickles at the ominous mood.
“Hm, shall I grant this little Insight?”
And with lavish arrogance, the Dokkaebi King unveils the bundle of cloth.
His breath hitches at the sight. It’s only a third of the size from his memories, but coiled no bigger than his palm is a leathery tendril. The skin is wrinkled deeply by the linings of closed eyes. An oppressive power lying in dormancy.
“Cord of the Eye. A precursor to every infant Great One.”
The Dokkaebi King lifts it to the sky, and under the moonlight, its multitude of eyes open wide and writhe.
“We were quite fortunate to stumble upon this one before the Wenny scholars did. They’re not fond of sharing.”
His brows furrow at the mention of the Wenny scholars. What did Byrgenwerth have to do with all this?
No, more importantly, that cord. Every memory he has of it being used has led to something tragic. So why would the Healing Church and Byrgenwerth, the two obsessed with ascension and evolution, be so desperate to use such a thing?
But then ■im ■ok■a’s words come to mind, and the pieces start to click.
(There are three commonalities…
One. They are sympathetic in nature and grant audience to those who call.
Two. Fulfilling their wish allows them to ascend.
Three. Every Great Ones loses a child and yearns for a surrogate.)
A precursor to every infant Great One, to the birth of any child, would be an umbilical cord. And what better way to call for them than using what they yearn for?
This unending Night is probably a fraction of what one can do. It should make him despair. Instead, an unknown conviction takes over.
“Whether or not they answer your call, it will be no different from before. You will fail.”
Or he will make it so.
The Dokkaebi King doesn’t take it as the promise it is, and instead smiles like a parent would to a slow witted child.
“Suppose I do. Do you truly believe it would end so simply?” He shakes his head. “Our fates are intertwined with the Great Ones, a relation long before the concept of time. The record of our lengthy history lies within the very chalice dungeons Byrgenwerth hoards.”
The chalice dungeons, a labyrinth of endless ruin underneath the forest floor.
Yoo Joonghyuk might not have played the role of a scholar like Han Sooyoung and the others did, but he is no stranger to such a place.
It was a tomb. A graveyard of civilizations and gods.
“The Great Ones aren’t bound to the logic of this world. They can’t truly die, perhaps forgotten for a time, but inevitably, the cycle repeats. Even the Church’s conception thirty years ago stemmed from a fortuitous happenstance by an undeserving woman.”
He pauses for a moment and hums a thought.
“Though, I cannot say she did not have her uses. Were it not for that woman, Founder Mother might be lingering till the next lifetime. And then, there was that child. She made quite the effort to hide him, even going as far as faking her miscarriage. In the end, it’s all for naught.”
Yoo Joonghyuk feels his chest tighten.
A woman connected to Founder Mother could be none other than Lee Sookyung. But the child he is referring to…
There’s only one person he knows of.
“How surprising it was to see my splitting image amongst you. Almost comparable to my immense disappointment with how none of those so-called scholars could utilize him to the fullest.”
The Dokkaebi King speaks a name. It comes out as a shrill ringing in his ears, yet Yoo Joonghyuk’s vision shakes violently.
“You—!”
“I came up with a splendid name for him, won’t you agree?”
He thrusts his blade, aiming for the man’s neck, only for the Dokkaebi King to tilt away. Steel strikes the metallic blind cap and, as it falls, reveals an aged wrinkly face of Salvation.
“Seems I’ve overstayed your courtesy, but the story must go on.”
“No.”
His blade pierces the man’s chest, staining the pristine robes a deep crimson.
“Your ending is here.”
A wet cough bleeds out of his mouth, but the Dokkaebi King doesn’t die. Instead, with a bloody grin, he laughs.
“Too late.”
Yoo Joonghyuk curses, flinging himself away just as the Dokkaebi King crushes the cord into dust.
An explosive glow surrounds the Dokkaebi King, the light growing brighter until it starts lifting the man. He cackles, high above the ground.
“I won’t be a simple kin like those failures. I’ll ascend, just like that child.”
But then the manic glint in the man’s eye turns into confusion and then pain.
Something is wrong.
It’s nothing like his memories. There is no overwhelming pressure, no world changing power, no Great One to greet at all.
「This can’t be.」
「No no no nO NO」
The Dokkaebi King’s voice fades in and out, and his body starts to distort. Parts of his body start to pop and crack, bones and flesh giving way to his new form.
「IWasSUpPOseDToaScEND」
「ASceNdaScENdAsCEnd」
The last of his humanity melts away into an echo of pained screams.
Standing in his place is a massive creature. Pale skin now a leathery murky blue, and arms hanging long enough to drag onto the floor. What once was a face has melted and folded into its shoulders, leaving a misshapen bulge on top of its torso. Reminiscent of the experiment in the vestibule at the Upper Cathedral, though a poor imitation.
It has no mouth, yet a few bellows resound from within. And as if sensing him, the creature charges to attack.
Flailing its arms, its fingers create divots in the garden floor, uprooting the flowers and flinging debris in a wavering arc. And when a simple sidestep renders all that useless, it clumsily tries to pin him to the ground with its head which is also easily avoided.
Was this what it means to ascend?
No, that couldn’t be. Uriel had used one and so did ■im D■kja, but the differences between them were like a tadpole to a frog. The Dokkaebi King was less than that.
This is a failed ascension, if even that.
Yoo Joonghyuk watches as it stands and raises its arms up, conjuring up a cosmos of floating stars. Though thanks to Lee Jihye, not even this mockery of celestial power poses any trouble at all.
Dodging the flurry of stars, he ends up behind the creature. A shot from his gun does nothing in face of its leathery skin, but a well aimed charged thrust brings it to its knees.
What a fitting end, the Dokkaebi King failing to become what he wanted to be most. But this retribution does not balance the karma of his sins.
“Death is wasted on you.”
And with a heavy blow to its blob of a head, the living failure soon falls after.
The emptiness of his win is overtaken by pain.
With the death of the Dokkaebi King comes an intense amount of Insight, leaving him doubled over and heaving. His insides churning to mush. Brain bleeding through his eyes. Skin prickling under a flame.
But the disgusting feelings ease when he feels tiny hands on his body.
[ you did it ]
[ are you okay ]
[ pain pain go away ]
The Little Ones, who have been observing from the safety of the corner, join him. Their voices are clearer and sound even more like children than the simplicity of their speech suggested.
“I’m fine.”
Even though his head feels like it’s being stitched together piece by piece, Yoo Joonghyuk wills himself to stand.
[ here here look ]
One of the little messengers peeks from behind a flower and motions to the dissipating corpse of the Dokkaebi King.
[ important keep safe ]
[ take this need it ]
The body disappears like a fever dream, and in its place is a third of an umbilical cord.
It would be best to get rid of something like this, yet now that it’s in his possession, he can’t stop mulling over the memory of K■m D■kja using it.
And his wish…
His head throbs as the fog slowly clears, and his mood worsens for another reason entirely.
‘■o ■nd ■■l th■ ■re■t ■ne■ an■ k■■ ■n t■■s p■■ne.’
It may take a few more moments before his addled mind deciphers the rest, but what he can interpret is enough for his blood to run hot.
There’s a certain fool who has much to answer to.
---
The moment Yoo Joonghyuk enters the Dream, the Little Ones clinging to his coat scatter. Sensitive to his simmering fury unlike the star who greets him with an obnoxious grin.
“Joonghyuk-ah, I see you have a souvenir! Why don’t you let me take a look at it?”
He bounds close, wrapping his arms around his neck, and on instinct, Yoo Joonghyuk almost accepts the embrace. Instead, he stays quiet.
“You’ll get wrinkles frowning like that. What’s wrong?”
He tilts his head in thought.
“Is it because I didn’t say hello? Ah, I didn’t realize you were so petty.”
He gives a teasing grin before leaning in to peck his cheek.
“Welcome back, Joonghyuk-ah. Did you miss me?”
“…”
Yoo Joonghyuk’s jaw clenches.
It isn’t as if those words and honeyed expressions were necessarily untrue. But hidden in the affection, he could see those starry eyes noting the bulge in his pocket. The one holding the umbilical cord.
“Are you going to make me beg? You know that’s not a good habit to have—“
Salvation. No, that’s not his name.
“Kim Dokja.”
The air drops to a chilling degree, and the light in his dreamer’s eyes shifts to black.
“Is there anything else I should know?”