Playing God: Chapter 6
Pairing: Vampire!Lee Jeno x Archaeologist!Reader Genre: Vampire!AU, Enemies-to-Friends-to-Lovers, Slow Burn, Humor, Angst. Rating: M Word Count: 9.1k
Warnings: Mentions of blood, death, dark magic. Profanity.
Taglist: @sunbaekery, @kaja2016, @nominsgirl, @ncitylover, @thejeongjaehyun, @jungwooisms, @kkakkdugi, @m1ss-foodi3, @floweronacloud, @ryu-naa, @neomorning, @neoboyoftheweek, @lovejustlikemob, @peachie-bear @moonchele @itslilithhere (can't tag).
A/N: BACK WITH AN ACTION-PACKED CHAPTER BABYYYYY (also take a shot every time i typed "forgemaster" 🥴 his identity will be revealed eventually but i'd love to see yall guess which neo he is 😌)
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The world was ghost-quiet except for the whistles of the wind and the creaks from the swinging chandeliers on their rusty hinges. A strange veil settled over the hall, one that clung heavily into the atmosphere and raised the hairs at the back of Jeno’s neck. Underneath his palm, he felt you quiver against the calluses across his skin and hoped that if he closed his eyes for long enough, he could pretend that this was just another one of the castle’s apparitions. But they were as real as the fear that had Jeno planted in place.
They seemed like some mirage—mere silhouettes swallowed by the shadows, floating and dancing menacingly against the little moonlight that seeped through the cracks overhead. Jeno hadn’t seen a night creature since the end of the Immortal Wars. In consequence, seeing three of them and knowing they were a short distance away from a house full of clueless humans was enough to send his mind into overdrive.
He peeked from behind the corner, watching the five figures converse amongst themselves. Fledglings, he could tell. In dark clothing too small for their broad shoulders and a chaotic, homicidal energy that radiated off of them so staunchly Jeno could almost smell it.
Two stood out, both of their red eyes glowing like warning signs in the darkness. One, with dark hair until his shoulders and a stern, angular face. He seemed to be giving orders, directing the rest of the group with so much as a stern finger and firm voice. The second one, with a built frame and a bald head, stood to the side, keeping quiet but observant like a watchdog waiting to be released. A strap of throwing knives laid tight around his chest, the blades winking with his movement.
But a cloaked figure stood idly amongst them all. It towered over the rest, completely draped with a thick, dark cloth. Yellow hues flowed mystically by its side, swaying with even the slightest of movements and even from feet away, Jeno could feel it. The burning infernos of the underworld.
A Forgemaster.
Jeno reached to feel the dagger he'd tucked into his belt, silently thanking himself for going out with the least amount of gear. But that lone weapon eventually wouldn't be a match with you two outnumbered one to four. It didn’t help that he’d caught you lurking in the dark before making out the eight uninvited visitors mere feet away from the two of you. Fighting them off—or at least trying to—would’ve been much easier if he didn’t have to make sure you weren’t hurt too. Judging by the way your eyes widened upon realizing what exactly was sneaking through the corner, you weren’t the most equipped to deal with three night creatures, four vampires…and a Forgermaster.
Just his luck.
“What are they?” your jittery voice caught his attention.
“Night creatures.” A pathetic whimper slipped past your lips. “And…vampires.”
“How—what do we do?”
Jeno weighed his options. Going forward to the exit was definitely not an option. Unless the both of you wanted to play cat and mouse and risk a sweet escape. From his left, the hallway he’d come out of didn't lead to any exit. He’d risk crossing paths with them if he wanted to try and sneak the both of you out. There was a feeling of guilt that had started welling in Jeno’s stomach, almost cementing him into place.
“Shit,” he cursed under his breath.
“‘Shit’? What do you mean ‘shit’?” you whispered harshly. Jeno clamped his right hand back on your mouth, the other hand bracing you both on the wall. You shoved him away, pulling off the headlamp from your forehead. Your eyes were pointed, accusatory—searing into his own. As if overcome by a cloud of familiarity, Jeno paused, looking down at you with his head tilted to the side and the softest expression on his face. You blinked up at him, the skin between your forehead pinched even tighter.
Thunderous footsteps echoed through the floor, shaking the very foundations of the castle, and as quickly as it came, the air that floated between you wafted back into nothingness. Peeking back from the corner, Jeno saw the group move away from the opening of the castle, their rancid scent following them deep inside. A vampire, the one with the knives, strayed behind, walking towards the exit and guarding the doors.
“This is what you’ve been hiding from us?” you asked shakily.
He groaned. “I may have underestimated the severity of the situation.”
“May have?” you asked incredulously. Jeno rolled his eyes at you, contemplating if his conscience could live with throwing you out into the open as bait.
“Fine,” he said through clenched teeth. “I definitely underestimated the severity of the situation.”
“Well, I hope you have some plan to get us out of here.” Jeno didn’t react. “Unless…you don’t have a plan.”
Jeno could hear the disbelief in your voice and he almost scoffed. “I assure you, I have a plan.”
“I’d love to hear what it is anytime now,” you said.
Jeno looked down at you, gaze hooded. “Do you not trust me?”
“I’ll trust you when you get us out of here.” This time, Jeno really did scoff. “You can’t really expect me to trust someone who considers that,” you pointed behind you, “safe.”
He rolled his eyes. “It’s not like they’re harming anyone right now, are they?”
“That’s your excuse?!”
Jeno quickly shushed you. He snuck a look back at Knives, calling out to any god who damned him that their position wasn’t compromised. But it was too late. It came down like a cage the moment Knives' eyes zeroed in on Jeno: panic and dread mixed into a single instinct that screamed at him to survive.
“Run.”
Jeno grabbed hold of your jacket, detaching you from the wall and dragging you with him through the hallways, not a single clue where one corner would take you two. The only thing on his mind was to get as far as possible as quickly as possible.
Your feet scuffed below you as you hurried to match his pace, constantly looking back to find nothing but spinning darkness in your wake, until a shadow grew taller onto the walls. Jeno could’ve sworn he’d never heard a heartbeat as loud as yours at that moment.
If Jeno remembered correctly, there was a room nearby with a door leading straight out to the open courts. As long as there wasn’t something waiting ahead of him, he could get out. If he can make it, he can get out.
Suddenly, something was wrenched away from his hand—you.
“Lee!” he heard you scream, your call a sharp cut into the silence.
Jeno whipped his head around, eyes going straight to the complete look of terror painted across your features. From behind you, the fledgling held you into a tight chokehold. Jeno froze, knowing well that if he so much as moved a finger, he could easily snap your neck.
“I wasn’t expecting company,” the fledgling said, smirking cunningly at Jeno. “If I’d known, I would’ve prepared a welcoming gift.” He leaned down, burying his nose into your hair before taking a deep inhale. “You brought such a lovely snack.”
He made a mock of Jeno, his accent thick with malice. You whimpered, eyes pleading for help. “Leave her alone.”
“Or what?” he laughed, his fangs on display.
“Jakob, we heard—oh. Hello there,” a voice said. The long-haired vampire had joined their rendezvous, coming from behind Jeno and circling around him like a vulture. “I did not know we were not alone.”
“Me neither, Niklas. And what a lovely treat we have.”
Niklas joined Jakob’s side, a sharp nail coming to raise your chin just as he nicked the skin. You hissed, blood flowing on your jaw in a steady stream. Niklas swiped his fingers across your jaw, bringing his finger to his lips and moaning in satisfaction. Jeno grimaced, though he couldn’t deny the insanely addictive smell of fear that poured out of you.
“Who are you?” Jeno demanded.
“Uh-uh,” Jakob tutted. “You’re not exactly in the best position to be demanding anything from us are you?”
Jeno took a step forward, very deliberately, which only made the grip around your neck tighten. Strange carvings were found in Carmilla’s castle, rogue vampires and night creatures were nearby, and now he had to worry about you. His entire body was thrumming with an energy to do something to fix it all.
“But for a price, we might let something slip. What do you think, Niklas?” Jakob took a hand up to your cheek, smoothing away your hair and slipping it behind your neck. “I haven’t fed in forever.”
Against your better judgment, you sunk your teeth into Jakob’s arm. He lashed out in pain, loosening his grip enough for you to momentarily slip from his hold. But he was quick to get a hold of your neck, pulling you flush against him and restricting your air flow until you went lightheaded. Before Jeno could reach out to you, Niklas had him slammed up against the wall.
“Wasn’t expecting that?” Niklas teasingly asked, side-eyeing Jakob, who was struggling to keep you still.
“Get off of me!” you protested. “Get the fuck off of me or I will—”
“What?” Jakob seethed, his grip vice-like around your neck, your eyes starting to roll to the back of your head. “You better relax if you want me to loosen my grip.”
“We don't need extra baggage,” Niklas scolded, turning away from Jeno. “Drain her so we can get back to the others.”
The look of terror in your eyes was as clear as daylight. Something flicked inside of Jeno. A primal inclination to attack that burned through his entire being. With Niklas distracted, Jeno lifted his hands, grasping his arm and twisting it at a mangled angle.
In all his years fighting, one rule remained consistently true: never turn your back on your opponent.
Niklas groaned in pain, face twisting as Jeno lifted up a heavy booted foot and forcefully stomped down on his leg. Ever since the signing of the Treaty, violence hadn't been as rampant as the times of the Immortal War. So, when Niklas’s leg crunched underneath Jeno’s heel, jagged bone protruding through Niklas’ shin—ripping through tendon, muscle, and skin—it awakened something visceral Jeno didn't know had been hiding him.
Niklas crumpled to the ground in a heap of curses. Jeno took hold of his head, lifted a foot to the space between his shoulders, and pushed down. The fledgling’s head ripped clean off his shoulders, his body slumping down, a puddle of blood forming as Jeno threw the severed head off to the side.
Jakob’s grip loosened around your neck, dropping your body to the ground. He lurched forward, hands outstretched.
Another lesson Jeno had learned was that fledglings were always careless. Too reckless.
Jeno side-stepped away, grabbing onto Jakob’s arm and pinning him against the rocky surface of the wall, rugged edges digging into his cheek and staining his pale skin red. “What are you doing here?” Jeno asked through gritted teeth.
Jakob laughed. “Wouldn't you like to know?”
“Are you here for the carvings? Carmilla?”
“Carvings. Carmilla.” Jakob twisted in Jeno’s hold, toppling them both to the ground and digging a clawed hand into Jeno’s shoulder. “It is near…and you cannot stop us.”
Jakob dug his hand deeper into the flesh of Jeno’s shoulder, the sound of squelching muscle and blood barely overpowering the burning pain that traveled across his chest and arm. Quickly, Jeno grabbed at his knife, diving down in a flash of light before lodging it into Jakob’s side. It wasn’t enough. Save for a pained groan, Jakob’s taller frame remained atop Jeno’s squirming one.
A flicker rose in Jeno’s periphery. You appeared behind Jakob, a shovel in your hands and drove down. The shovel’s edge pierced straight through Jakob’s chest. Blood sprayed from his mouth and onto Jeno’s face as he tipped sideways, spasming.
Getting up, Jeno’s hand went towards the shovel, ripping it clean off the fledgling’s body with a soggy schwing. Lifting the shovel back in the air, Jeno jammed the edge into Jakob’s thorax, separating his head from its body. Jeno staggered backwards, bringing a hand to wipe his face clean. He hated the heavy feeling of grime and ichor coating his face. It made him feel stained, tainted.
Jeno looked up to find you wide-eyed, mouth agape, looking down at your hands as if you couldn’t believe you just barbecue-sticked a vampire. “You okay?”
You glared at the lifeless vampire, and gulped. “Did that just happen?”
“Yes, I believe you did just stab a vampire,” he laughed and in some sick way to cope with the situation, you did too. Suddenly, chittering came from behind you. Whirling to the source of the sound, you found one of the smaller night creatures standing in the hall, gray slobber dripping from its mouth.
“You don’t think I could stab that one too?” you asked.
“I got this,” Jeno muttered, securing his grip on the shovel and running towards the night creature at full force. Jeno leaped into the air with a cry, and dove straight for the creature’s head, impaling its eye. Milky fluid flowed down its face; the popped eyeball akin to runny eggs. The creature cried out, swinging its arms aimlessly. Jeno jerked the shovel off and struck again, diving even deeper, puncturing cartilage, muscle, and brain matter.
With a pathetic whimper, the night creature fell backwards, Jeno jumping off before it hit the ground with a hollow thud. Jeno pulled the shovel off, handing it back over to you, and you took it despite the jelly-like mixture of ichor and eyeball coating it. Just when you thought you’d escaped the worst of the night, another cry echoed nearby. Jeno grabbed your hard and tugged you with him.
Wordlessly, Jeno led you through the mess of corridors. A shriek flew in the air and Jeno forced himself to run faster. You weaved through the hallways, Jeno pushing you from side-to-side, directing your escape even when you both heard the piling voices behind you.
Reaching a flight of stairs, Jeno sprinted up, skipping steps at a time. Gravel and wood shook beneath your feet, barely holding on under your weight as you dashed upwards, towards a long, dark hall. Light casted from the singular door at the very end of the hall. Jeno looked down below him, finding shadows right behind your trail.
“In there,” Jeno instructed, using all his weight to push you through the hall and inside before closing the door shut behind him.
Hoping to buy some time, Jeno pushed at the large dresser against the wall, blocking the door. He only turned back when the sound of your panicked breathing was too loud for him to ignore. Jeno could hear your heart thumping against your rib cage. He approached you, still clinging onto his injured arm. “Are you okay?”
Dazed as you were, your eyes shot to him, a mixture of shock and disbelief behind them. “What—who are they?”
Jeno looked grimly at you, regret already washing over him. He brought a hand to squeeze your arm, hoping it would provide some reassurance that you were going to survive the night. “Vampires.”
In a sudden change of emotions, you shoved him away. Jeno staggered back, nearly falling onto a chair behind him. “I know that. I mean what were they doing here?”
“I don't know,” he replied, pushing himself upwards and towards the window. Its grills, oxidized from years of neglect, swung open with a chilling creak. Jeno looked down to an endless chasm of darkness beneath him, the wind folding through the spaces between the rocky cliffs of the mountains and sending spine-chilling whistles. “Shit.”
Footsteps stomped behind the door that separated you two from a morbid encounter with the consequences of sneaking out at night. You joined Jeno, pointing to the open window above you. “There!”
The shrieking neared, mere seconds away from where you two were. “I'll lift you up,” Jeno said.
Nodding, you secured your footing on the grills, holding on to whatever nook you can slot your fingers into and lifted yourself up. Using all the strength his injury could muster, Jeno gripped onto your legs and held you up. Jeno waited until you got your footing into the room above him before reaching up to grab ahold of your own outreached arms and jumped upwards to join you.
You struggled to lift him up, a whole body of muscle a struggle for you to pull. The door banged against the wall, the dresser rattling violently until it eventually fell with an explosive bang. Under its arc, Jeno could see the silhouette of the second night creature standing by the doorway.
Jeno clung even tighter onto your arms. “Lift!” he called.
“I’m trying!” you yelled back. Bracing your feet against the wall, you pulled with all your might as the night creature surged forward. With a jerk, you pulled Jeno up just as the creature broke through the grills and free fell into the cliff below you, its cries nightmarish echoes that drifted off before the resounding drop. Jeno elbowed himself up on the ledge, groaning as he finally lifted himself up, falling forward and onto you.
Grunting, you fell gracelessly onto your back, hugging Jeno into your chest. Jeno’s head rose and fell with your rapid breathing, your racing heart a drum against his ear. As vicious and slaughterous as they were, night creatures were also stupid—for lack of a better term. Regardless, it was dead in a ditch and Jeno was not. That was good enough.
Jeno rolled himself off of you, groaning in pain. You got up and helped him to his feet, leading him deeper into the room. Despite the adrenaline coursing through his body and the pain by his side, Jeno paused in the middle of the room, realizing he was inside his old chambers.
Not a single thing had changed. From the four-poster, wooden bedroom with dark, silk beddings. The vanity he rarely used was empty except for spare knives. Jeno could see the liquid-like sheen of his favorite dress shirts glistening behind the half-open door of his wardrobe. He never really did come to find the place as his home. Despite the years, the people, the memories, it always came to feel like a confinement. Some place he would be locked up in at the end of the day because of who he was.
Of course, there were some forms of solace. Doyoung, Joan, an occasional trip around the castle grounds when the snow wasn’t up to his knees and the sun was not out to burn him. Centuries ago, Jeno liked to spend his time exploring the castle when he found out one bored night that his room had a narrow trap door that led to secret passages.
If everything was still in place, that meant his trap door was still there.
“So, we’re just gonna act like we weren’t just attacked?” you asked Jeno breathlessly. Jeno remained silent, walking to his closet and forcefully shoving it to the side to reveal the familiar chipped wooden door still attached to its hinges. He wretched the door open, revealing an endless darkness.
“It seems like you know exactly what happened, I don't see the need to fill in any more details.” Walking into the space, Jeno felt around for the oil lamp, its handle clanking with the contact of his fingers.
“I’m serious, what is going on?” you demanded.
Grabbing a knife from the vanity, Jeno brought the tip to the wall. He forced the tip of the knife down against the wall, creating a spark that lit the oil lamp. He let out a sigh of relief. “Come on.”
Jeno didn’t wait for your reply, already moving ahead. As long as you two were still inside the castle, you two weren’t out of the dark yet. Although he found it funny he had a human to thank for getting him out of trouble in the meantime.
Jeno heard it before he felt it: metal cutting through the air just as the blade of the shovel landed square on his head.
“Who are you?” you demanded, voice echoing through the tunnel. He gaze zeroed in on you as he clutched onto his head, eyebrows raised. You looked comical: shovel held in the air like a sword, a stern pout on your lips.
“I’m an investigator,” he answered sardonically through a fake smile.
You scoffed. “Investigators walk around with obnoxious hats and little moleskine notebooks in their hands where they scribble and doodle so they can pretend to be better and smarter than everyone else.”
Jeno didn’t move, not even when your voice brought an ache to his temples.
Your eyes narrowed, grip tightening around the shovel, and pointed the edge towards him. “They don’t go around jumping off walls, ripping heads of vampires clean off their shoulders, and killing night creatures as if they do it every other week. So, fess up before I drive this shovel into your chest.”
Jeno remained stoic. You gulped, breathing tremulously.
“I don’t have time for this,” Jeno said thickly, batting the shovel aside.
“Tell me!” you demanded. “I’m tired of you keeping these secrets from my team and I.” The coldness of a thrilling run was starting to fade, replaced by a rationality to wonder how you ended up in your position in the first place.
Jeno turned on his heel and walked away.
“Hey, come back here! I’m not done talking to you!” you called out.
“I am,” Jeno grumbled.
“What was that back there? What aren’t you telling us?”
Jeno’s eyes fluttered close. “I am walking away.”
“What investigation is this? Since when were night creatures part of the conversation?”
“Still walking away.”
“I saved your life and you won’t even talk to me?”
Jeno learned many languages, as you would suspect from someone with his unique pedigree. Korean, English, and German on top of some fay and demon dialects. There was one summer, years ago in France, when he met an attractive tutor and learned their tongue fairly quickly. But there was absolutely no word or phrase that he could use to express just how much you annoyed him at that very moment.
“This is my project. I have the right to—”
Having the littlest drop of patience left, Jeno whirled around, coming face-to-face with you. You clashed into his chest, steadying yourself by clasping onto his forearms, his hand on the small of your back. At the close proximity, you cleared your throat, pushing him off and stepping back. “I have the right to know.”
Jeno looked at you with a strange calm, your gasps light in the air. It was a strange sight to see: you standing there looking mangled with a bloody gardening tool in your hands. The jacket you had on was soaked in vampire blood, your face stained with ichor and dirt, hair disheveled. And your eyes—he didn’t want to meet your eyes.
It was obvious on your face: the fear that the night had promised, the morning that you were not sure you would see. All because of his insistent denial to emit the truth. Surely, it couldn’t have been too hard to ease some of your worries and procure some white lie to keep you satisfied. Then again, Jeno had a feeling you were too smart for your own good. Even he couldn’t shield you from your own curiosity.
Suddenly, the walls shook as if they were made of silk and cotton instead of sturdy rock. Jeno outstretched his hand, eyebrows furrowed. “Just…trust me for now.”
Reluctantly, you placed your smaller hand in his and followed him through the tunnel.
Fortunately, his sharp memory afforded him the skill to cut through corners with ease. You trailed behind him, matching his footsteps, looking back ever so often in fear that something was creeping up behind you, hiding in the darkness that filled the space. The oil lamp was dimming with every passing second, and when Jeno finally reached his destination, he knocked the door open with his foot and ducked inside.
The training room was connected to a vast network of underground tunnels. Jeno liked it that way and always used it as an opportunity to sneak in to train on his own. Not many people who lived in that castle knew, save for himself and Joan. They often used those passages to rendezvous away from prying eyes, whether for the sake of entertaining themselves with each other’s company or something much more.
You followed him wordlessly, heaving out staggered breaths. Jeno didn't pay you much mind, attention already on the wall of daggers in front of him, the relief of an escape close enough for him to touch. He figured the night could've gone worse. You may have ended up alone in the castle in the midst of predators who wouldn't spare you a lick of mercy if his own inability to rest that night didn't drag him out of bed.
Jeno quickly shoved the thought away, not wanting to entertain the idea. He set down the oil lamp, removed his jacket and checked for the sharpest throwing knives on the mount.
Once your eyes had adjusted to the darkness, you looked over at Jeno and gasped. “You're bleeding.”
He impishly looked down at his shoulder and smiled. “I am.”
“Are you not gonna do anything about it?” you asked lamely. Was that concern he heard in your voice?
“Like I said the other night, if you know the right methods to kill me, I would die.” He tucked a few knives into his belt before walking over to the swords. “This is obviously not a way to kill me.”
You huffed, setting down the shovel to grab your own weapons. He looked at you, raising an eyebrow in question. You shrugged. “Just in case.”
Jeno nodded humorously. “There's an exit nearby. If we're quick, we can make it out. If we're not, we have me.”
“Glad to know you're itching for my help,” you grumbled, looking over at a weirdly shaped sword with appall.
Sheathing a broadsword sword, he walked back over to the lamp, grabbed the handle and headed for the tunnel that led to the larger training room, then paused by the steps.
Just when he thought he'd finally caught a break.
In front of him, the biggest night creature stood square in the middle. The Forgemaster was by its side.
The night creature groaned at the appearance of Jeno, its heavy breathing sending warm, moist air flooding into the room. The Forgemaster stood still, the yellow beams under the sleeves of his coat pulsating. It raised a hand, the cloth slipping down to reveal a glowing butterfly sword. With a flick of a hand, the oil lamps mounted on the walls lit up with a sinister dark orange hue.
“You didn't think we would let you leave so easily, did you?” A deep, masculine voice said.
Jeno stepped forward, hand itching to lodge a dagger into the Forgemaster’s chest. “Your presence here violates several of the Courts’ laws.” Another step. “Your existence violates the Treaty and I will make sure you will answer to this.”
The Forgemaster laughed darkly, as if Jeno had just told the best joke he'd ever heard.
“Lee?” you asked from behind him, stepping into the Forgemaster’s line of vision. “What now?”
Without taking his eyes off of the night creature, Jeno whispered to you, “I'll handle this.”
He unsheathed his sword, the metal glinting and reflecting a thousand flames in its silver blade. The black of Jeno’s irises morphed at once, amber pooling around his pupil like molten lava. Jaw set, Jeno narrowed his eyes towards the Forgemaster, the hollows of his cheeks casting a dark shadow across his face. His expression contorted into one full of violent intent.
The Forgemaster shrugged off his heavy coat, revealing a man who looked no older than 25 with mint green hair and dark eyes. He had a pair of glowing butterfly swords by his side. Jeno’s grip tightened around his sword, feet coming to a stance.
“I never knew I would one day meet Lee Jeno,” he said and Jeno felt you freeze behind him. “Your betrayal still remains fresh in the memories of my brothers.” He stepped forward and swung the swords in a theatrical show of skill. Jeno hoped that was all it was.
“Lee, what is he talking about?” you asked, eyes shifting between Jeno and the Forgemaster.
“Nothing,” Jeno said.
“I wouldn’t call it nothing,” the Forgemaster said. His icy glare moved squarely on you. “Did he not tell you?”
You gulped. “What?”
At the cluelessness in your tone, he chuckled darkly. “After all these years, you still have a knack for lying.”
Jeno knew you weren't stupid. A handful, yes. But far from stupid. And like anyone who had some sensibility to them, you were more than capable of putting two and two together.
“Tell me, Jeno. How long did you plan on keeping this secret?” the Forgemaster taunted. “Or are you simply ashamed by the infamous reputation your name carries?”
You looked at him in disbelief, short breaths leaving your lungs. “Is this true?” you asked.
“Don’t believe him,” Jeno warned you, the anger pulsating through his veins. “He doesn’t know the full story.”
“History begs to differ,” said the Forgemaster.
“History has given us all half truths.”
“History remembers you as General Lee Jeno.” The Forgemaster raised an eyebrow, the amber fires hugging his butterfly swords blazing hot in the air. “But history will remember tonight as the day you die.”
The night creature shrieked, the spikes along its back rising and rattling in the air, producing a sound akin to a battle horn.
There's this paradoxical thing that happens right before a fight. It's a serene feeling that overcomes Jeno, that becomes Jeno. Almost as if it's meant to wash away everything else that doesn't matter, that shouldn't matter during that blip in time when all the only things that were significant were the tip of Jeno’s sword and the enemy right in front of him. Jeno hadn't felt that in so long and, weirdly enough, welcomed back the feeling with acceptance where dread should have stood.
“Hey,” Jeno whispered, “you're gonna have to do something for me.”
Your gaze shifted back to him, unsure. “What?”
“You're gonna have to listen to me,” he looked back at you momentarily, almost pleading. “No matter what, save yourself and warn the others.”
Unsure, you nodded.
Jeno looked back at the Forgemaster, his face anticipating the unfolding of tonight. Hellfire was hot and putrid in Jeno’s nostrils. “I've always dreamt of being the one to take care of you myself.”
Jeno’s fingers gripped the hilt of his sword even tighter. “Keep dreaming.”
It happened quicker than you could comprehend.
Jeno lurched forward. Like a caged animal set free, his feet dashed across the dusted floor, the sword in his hand an extension of what he was: a warrior, a soldier. He saw the night creature move forward, puffs of dust rising by its feet with every weighted step. It was as if time had zeroed in on him, the cold and slow warping of space with Jeno and the night creature the only existing beings.
For years, Jeno had distanced himself from the vampire he once was, but his body and mind could never quite forget the feel of steel in his hands, the adrenaline to keep fighting, the morbid satisfaction of blood and ichor spraying across his face. This was what all those years of training meant to him: the blade of a sword, a clenched fist, the anticipation of death. This was what he was reduced to. This was what made Jeno, Jeno.
This was how he was designed to kill.
You ducked into the armory, out of sight, and the Forgemaster rushed to the side, watching carefully for an opportunity to step in.
Groaning, the night creature swung a taloned hand down on Jeno. He quickly ducked, side-stepping and gaining foot on the wall before launching himself into the air and onto the creature’s neck.
Jeno lodged his sword deep into the base of its neck, twisting the metal against rotten skin. Blood squirted from the opening, and the night creature groaned in pain. It struggled to reach behind its muscled shoulders, blindly reaching back to get Jeno off to no avail.
Jeno swerved sideways, narrowly avoiding its talons before the creature could pierce right through Jeno’s torso. One small miscalculation and the fight would end just as quick as it started. Frustrated, the night creature groaned and twisted sideways, spinning on its heel at full force and sending Jeno flying into the wall in a blur of white.
A crater formed where Jeno collided with the wall, the room seemingly swaying with the collision. Clouds of dust puffed all around while the wall crumbled like sand. Tears formed in Jeno’s eyes as he fell face-first into the ground with a thud. The chains fastened onto the walls swung with the impact, clinking with the movement.
“Fucking hell,” he groaned, forcing his arms below him, pushing off the ground and getting to his feet. Getting up, Jeno grabbed one of the chains, swinging it in circular motions like a lasso. “Okay, you need to die.”
Jeno ran towards the creature, the chains circling rapidly by his side and flung it upwards. It encircled around the night creature’s neck and Jeno pulled, tightening his hold. The beast moved lamely, confused by the metal links wrapped around its thick neck. Bracing himself, Jeno moved backwards to tighten the chain’s grip even more, then ran forward, stepping onto the creature’s leg and flying upwards back on top of its head.
Gripping the ends of the chain, Jeno tugged with all his might, cutting off the creature’s circulation. Sluggish, it swayed, nearly toppling over. Jeno dislodged the sword from the back of its neck and, with a loud grunt, moved downwards once more. This time impaling its brain.
Jeno felt it pause beneath him, the muscles of its neck and back spasming before it was falling forward. He braced himself on the chains, jumping off as the monstrosity fell with an echoing thump. The Forgemaster staggered on his toes with the shaking of the ground. Jeno landed on his feet like a cat, stomping into a pool of oil-like liquid that oozed out of the creature's head. He wiped the blood that had trickled out of his nose, and raised his head to find the Forgemaster already waiting in front of him.
He smiled, swinging his swords and Jeno could've sworn he saw the infernos reflected in the blades. “My turn.”
Jeno leant down, pulling out his sword covered in violet bits of brain matter. He looked down at his weapon, then back at the Forgemaster’s with a troubled frown on his face and sighed. “Fuck me.”
Swift as the wind, the Forgemaster lurched forward, his swords blazing behind him. Jeno’s hand tightened around his handle, lifting the slick sword and running to meet the Forgemaster halfway. Jeno lifted the blade, carving a steely arc into the sky and reigned down against the Forgemaster. The Forgemaster’s two butterfly swords crossed above his head and blocked the blow, the fires twisting as he threw Jeno off.
Jeno could feel a ringing between his ears, he felt as if he was out of his own body. Like he was watching from afar a body of muscle and a buzz to fight moving forward with stealth and the determination to kill. He missed this: the thrill of combat. There was nothing like it and though it was a morbid idea, Jeno enjoyed walking the fine line between life and death.
Jeno swung his sword, circling the Forgemaster before delivering another blow. The Forgemaster followed suit, his swords lighting up the dim room in embers of red and orange. Their swords met in a clash of bright light. Jeno bent his knees and pushed upward, the Forgemaster tumbling back. Jeno veered his blade forward, aiming for the head.
Suddenly, the Forgemaster spun to the side, landing a blow square on Jeno’s rib cage with his elbow.
Jeno staggered backward, his sword dropping to the floor. Out of nowhere, a flash of yellow light sung into the air and before Jeno could comprehend what it was, the Forgemaster’s blade sliced a deep gash on his chest.
The sharp point of the blade tore at the pristine cloth of his pearly dress shirt, drawing blood to the surface in a steady flow. Jeno’s eyes widened as brought a hand up to clamp down against the gash, but as he watched red trickle across the pale expanse of his skin, his expression hardened into something monstrous.
The Forgemaster looked up at Jeno smugly. “Losing your touch?”
Jeno regained his footing, looking up at the Forgemaster with a smile as sharp as a razor. He leaned down, unraveling the bloodied chains around the creature’s neck and exhaled heavily. Jeno whirled the chain by his side, bits of flesh spraying around him, and launched the chain forward, encircling the Forgemaster’s wrists and pulling him down.
The Forgemaster tumbled to the ground with grunt, his swords skittering off to the side, its embers dimming. Jeno ran forward, raining down and pinning him to the concrete. The Forgemaster grit his teeth, dust and sweat coating his forehead. Jeno raised a fist in the air and delivered a blow hard enough against the Forgemaster’s jaw that he let out a pathetic moan.
“Who sent you?” Jeno demanded, fist raised.
The Forgemaster, still smiling, looked up and spat in Jeno’s face. “You’re too late.”
Angered, Jeno clenched his fist, his nails digging into his skin and breaking creamy skin. His clenched fist made contact with the Forgemaster’s jaw; pound after pound until blood collected in his mouth and spilled down his face.
Jeno could smell the fear that emanated off of the Forgemaster. It flowed off of him like a rushing river. He’s scared, but won’t show it. Whether through an indignant show of stubbornness or fueled by the refusal to speak. He’s in pain, hurting because of Jeno. Jeno doesn’t stop.
The Forgemaster still had a smile on his face, lazy and forced as it was. It irked Jeno beyond comprehension. He felt taunted, teased. As if he was a fool in a play and everyone was laughing at him. But soon enough, the smile disappeared, fading with every jab. The Forgemaster whimpered in pain and looked up at Jeno. In his eyes, Jeno saw his reflection and paused, bruised knuckles in the air.
It was as if Jeno was looking right at a monster. It wasn’t the dead demon he slayed or the Devil Forgemaster, but his own face that reflected in the pained eyes of the boy below him. That was what the mortal Forgemaster was: a boy, who looked no older than Haechan or Minhyung, no younger than himself.
The world had slowed. He was no longer Jeno the fighting warrior. Or Jeno the Eternal Courts’ investigator. He was Jeno, the general—the reason for this mess in the first place.
Suddenly, he was moving sideways, falling flat on his back with a huff, the Forgemaster looking down at him with a murderous look in his eyes right before unsheathing a golden dagger from behind him and impaling Jeno’s side, twisting its blade into his ribs. Jeno cried out in agony.
The dagger—it was burning. Burning him.
The Forgemaster jerked the dagger up and landed another jab. Jeno cried out even louder. He could feel the blood leaking from out of him, a steady trickle of warm liquid he was now laying in. The Forgemaster got up, unraveled the metal chain around his wrists, and looked down at Jeno.
“The world is changing,” he said, wiping the blood from his jaw, and took hold of his forgotten swords. No matter how much Jeno fought, he couldn’t fight the white flames that ran through his entire body, even the slightest of movements setting his muscles aflame. Jeno’s vision blurred, black dots appearing before him, and the world went into slow motion.
The Forgemaster appeared back in his line of sight in a blur of yellow and green. “It is changing, and you cannot stop it.” He raised the butterfly sword, but before he could deliver the final blow, Jeno’s vision exploded with a flash of silver. The Forgemaster staggered forward as a warm liquid pelted against Jeno’s face and lips. It tasted salty—blood.
“Get up,” he heard you call before feeling you tuck your arms underneath his arms and bringing him to his feet.
Staggering, Jeno moved with you, watching the Forgemaster cower in pain, clutching onto a bloodied stump where his hand should have been. Did you…cut off his hand?
Jeno turned to you, a bloody longsword in the hand that wasn’t helping him. He wasn’t sure what was more unbelievable: that he was still alive or that you had the gall to amputate someone. Something swelled in his chest. Gratitude or relief, he wasn’t sure. He just wanted to get out as fast as possible.
Seconds before slipping out of the training, Jeno looked back and found the Forgemaster standing in front of glossy shards that floated into the air. A Transmission Mirror. The mirror’s glass shifted, revealing a location Jeno could not pinpoint in its reflection before the Forgemaster stepped in and disappeared along with the image. Though Jeno was sure that wasn’t the last time he would be meeting with the Devil Forgemaster.
Outside, you’re greeted with the ceaseless mountain gale pummeling against your bodies like a great, invincible wall. Jeno clung onto your side. His legs were twigs on the brink of snapping, head a great, hazy cloud.
A wildfire was spreading in his torso, beginning from where the hilt of golden dagger still protruded from his side and traveling to the rest of his body. It was as if Jeno could smell its flames charing him from the inside out. He had a hand against the gushing wound on his side, but he could still feel the trickle of blood no matter how much he pressed against the opening.
He looked up, and the stars and moon above him were swirling into a singular canvas of flickers and tenebrosity.
“Come on,” you urged. “We’re not safe—Lee?”
“It’s okay,” he whispered, drawing his hand from his side. He looked sickly gray under the moonlight. He pushed himself off of you, steadied himself against the walls of the castle, took a step forward—then stumbled. “I’m okay.”
You held your breath. Jeno clutched something in his bloody hand, a welter of black against the light that reflected off the mountains. He raised the curved blade in the air, his blood evaporating off of its edges. Between his lethargy and the cold biting into his bones, Jeno hadn’t realized he had pulled out the dagger.
Immortals like him were lucky enough not to need to depend on human bodily functions as much as they used to. However, one thing remained true for vampires and humans: bleeding out could kill them. Jeno knew that. And he also knew you were never supposed to remove a dagger from your body.
“Why did you do that?” you asked, voice a small shadow.
Blood continued to leak from his side, dripping onto the concrete below him. Jeno dropped to his knees, the dagger clanking to the ground. “I don’t—it was burning.”
Jeno’s voice cracked and he fell forward. You moved faster than he’d ever seen, a flicker of black and gray in his clouded vision, but you still weren’t there in time to catch him before his head hit the ground.
If Wendy had told you an occupational hazard that may have taken place during this excavation was an encounter with a night hoard, you would have never signed the waiver to go in the first place. Then again, perhaps adding “able to save ancient vampire from demons and a necromancer” to your resume would’ve brought in as many questions as it did praise.
In the past few moments that had passed, you would’ve made yourself believe the night was all just a dream if it weren’t for the heaviness at your side. Jeno could barely walk on his own, staggering with even the smallest of movements on your end. It was difficult enough having to be weighed down by a longsword, so foreign in your grip. Adding Jeno to the list of things you needed to escape with should have slowed you eventually. Except it didn’t. Adrenaline was still buzzing in your veins like a live wire, making you lift foot after foot until you reached the opening of a small, cramped cave.
Jeno fell to the ground in a pained heap before you could even settle in, his pained moans echoing against the walls as you dropped to your knees in front of him. You scrubbed your eyes. Dust, blood, ichor, and the droughty air had them misty. When your sight finally cleared, all you could see was the red, red, red. It bathed Jeno, soaking his white dress shirt, painting his forehead. Even his hooded eyes were a haunting shade of crimson.
"You're hurt," you said, concern deep in your eyes. Jeno groaned in pain, back leaning against a wall for support, his hand held tightly onto his side.
"I'm fine," he argued, shuffling away when he noticed you come closer. "It's okay, I'll be fine. Are you okay?"
Immediately, you dismissed him. "You're not." Despite his protest, you scooted closer with hands outstretched.
"I said I'm fine." Always so stubborn.
"Last time I checked when someone is bleeding within an inch of their life they are not fine. Quite the opposite, really."
"Trust me, I will be okay," he mumbled. Even at a mangled state, he still refused to admit vulnerability.
“God damn it, stop being so stubborn and let me help you,” you scolded.
The next seconds were a blur of Jeno’s blood on your hands and his pained moans as you maneuvered Jeno in the tight space, sitting him up against the wall at an angle that would help you tend to his wounds. Unzipping your jacket, you took a dagger from behind you and cut the sleeves into strips big enough to act as a bandage.
Jeno tried his best to suppress his pained expression, biting down on his lip hard enough to draw blood. Once your gaze had set back on him, your pulse jumped at the realization that his shirt was completely torn into thin pieces and that it was in the way of his wounds.
“I'm gonna have to cut off your shirt,” you stammered, feeling the heat rise up your neck. “If—if that's okay.”
“Go ahead,” he nodded impatiently. Taking the dagger in your hands, you pushed it against the fabric of his clothing, the blade slipping through as if his shirt was made of butter. Bundling up the bloodied cloth, you threw it to the side, and used one of the sleeves from your jacket to wipe away his blood.
Jeno’s body convulsed in pain below you, his stomach contracting no matter how much you tried to be gentle in wiping the blood from his wounds. Under the soft glow of the moon, his skin glowed, his blood slipping into the deep lines of his toned stomach. There was blood everywhere now: on your hands, your face, your shirt, your pants. But Jeno was still bleeding, a mangled tear still open on his side.
Reaching out for the other sleeve, you tied it end-to-end with the cloth you had used and moved against him carefully. Your cheek was pressed onto Jeno’s shoulder as you reached behind him to wrap the cloth around his torso, his pained sighs hot against the shell of your ear.
Once you secured the bandage around him, you shifted back and he gasped. It was only at that moment that you realized you were sitting square on his hips with his hand wrapped tight around your hip.
“Are you—am I hurting you?” you asked. He shook his head. “Are you okay?”
Jeno nodded, his hand digging into your thigh.
His wound pulsed again; sending blood sliding down his rib cage, saturating the waistband of his pants. Your hand had slipped against the skin surrounding the wound and panic leapt into your chest. It was hot to the touch.
“You're lying,” you said. Your eyes dilated in the dark as you stared at him, adjusting to the shadows on his face and body, the wash of a dark blue that faded into the rocky wall behind him and onto his own eyes. You were close enough to him that he could feel your quick, short gasp despite your efforts to hide your reaction at the realization that one thing and one thing only could possibly help him at this point.
Shifting above him, you rolled your sleeve up hastily and pushed your arm forward. “Drink.”
With a scoff, Jeno pushed your arm away. “Are you crazy?” He shifted against the wall, your weight moving with him. “I’m not drinking from you when I just saved you from someone who was about to drain you dry.”
“You're injured and you know you need it,” you insisted stubbornly, shoving your wrist to his lips.
He looked at you, then at the smooth expanse of your arm. Trouble plagued his face and you wondered what was stopping him from giving into an instinct that should’ve come as naturally to him as breathing in air. You nodded encouragingly, as if to ease his clashing thoughts. Hesitantly, he moved forward, his fangs snapping out and winking at you before he sunk his teeth into your skin.
No one ever talked about being bitten by a vampire in your day and age. Some thrillseekers entertained the idea, but it was generally accepted as something taboo, too close to the realities of the war that had caused the separation in the first place.
But God, did it feel wonderful.
It was a quick prick against your wrist before flowers blossomed in your chest and honey flowed into your bloodstream. Your eyes fluttered closed and a sudden kaleidoscope of colors bursted into your vision, hypnotizing you with its tantalizing dances. It was the strangest thing: a sudden feeling of being so close to Jeno, so one with him. As if that past and present had merged into a singular moment and defied all laws of physics.
Regardless of the fact that you knew he could drain you if he wanted to, you didn’t want him to stop even when your breathing had gone heavy. Suddenly, Jeno forced himself off of you and you were brought back to the cave, the air shrill on your cheeks.
Some time in between him feeding, his hand had snaked to the small of your back and when he pushed you into him, you tried your best to hide a surprised gasp. You looked down at him and a chill traveled down your spine. His eyes were already on you, his lips were cherry red with your blood. He poked his tongue out, licking languidly at the last beads of blood that trickled out of your wrist, his own saliva healing the two punctures indented into your skin. Jeno sighed, leaning back, his body void of any injuries. Tension drained out of you.
A smile spread across his face. “Thank you,” he said. His voice was hushed, soft, intimate. His grip tightened around your back and you were made very aware by the little space between your bodies.
Letting out sharp gasp, you clumsily rolled off his lap and onto the space beside him, your shoulders squished against one another. In the dead silence, it was only your heavy breathing that could be heard. Thick clouds of condensation formed with your every exhale. You felt hot everywhere.
Clearing your throat, you snuck once more glance at Jeno to find him looking at you. “What?”
Jeno reached down to your fingers. “You’re shaking.”
You pulled back from him as if his touch was poison. “Yeah, that’s what happens when humans get cold.”
His face went somber and you scolded yourself for not being much kinder with your words. “I’m truly sorry I didn’t tell you—”
“That you’re a vampire? That you’re Lee Jeno?” If you tried to tame the accusation in your voice before, it definitely showed now.
“I thought it safer if no one knew,” he explained. “If no one knew my real name, suspicion wouldn’t be raised about this excavation. It would have been easier to keep you all safe.”
As much as you felt like a child being scolded, you knew he was right. Not that it mattered anymore, the events from the last hour were more than enough to raise a few eyebrows where he came from.
“I hope I can trust you…that my identity remains only to your knowledge and no one else’s,” he whispered, almost pleading.
“Of course,” you said. “You just drank from me, so I don’t think keeping your name secret is a problem.” Jeno paused, a look in his eyes you couldn’t quite read. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then thought against it.
“At least this means you won’t pester me about what I’m doing here anymore,” he joked, and you laughed back. It must’ve looked like a peculiar sight: two people hidden away in the shadows, laughter light in the air despite being battered and bloody.
You tilted your head to the clouds, to the mountain breeze blowing through the alps and filling your nostrils with the scent of lichen and moss.
“I just impaled a vampire,” you thought out loud. “And cut off that one guy’s hand.”
Jeno laughed again, shoving you playfully. “Yeah, you did.”
You shoved him back, running a hand through your messy hair. “And I saved your ass in the process.”
© NCITYRAVE. All rights reserved.
A/N: Thank you for making it all the way to the end! WAAAAH we're at 40k words how why when where who???? also, i had so much fun writing this chapter idk if it's the ✨action✨ or the budding ✨tension✨ but it was a delight. it may be because 1. i was reading cassandra clare's lady midnight alongside this so i had a lot of inspo for the fighting scenes and 2. i just started watching bridgerton so i thought of a lot of dialogue on jeno's part (esp whenever anthony bridgerton would open his mouth) but ANYWAY
This is now officially the longest fic I have ever written (and it's still a WIP :0), and I would highly appreciate it if you left some comments through the reblogs or as anon asks to know your thoughts of the story so far :'))
