introductions

⸻ smoke signals & featherless birds ;
( triggers: blood, murder, death, gore )

memories – as fragile as butterfly wings, as breakable as lashes. those pieces we hold onto so dearly, those bittersweet smiles, the hollow cavity in our chests, the words we desperately burn onto empty pages. vital for our understanding of the world, crucial for our survival. he was lucky he remembered how to take a deep breath. he felt his chest collapsing, iron taste on his lips and liquid dripping down his arms.

“is he alive?” a distant voice, somewhat distorted. maybe he slipped and hit his head. he wished he could remember, but he didn’t. all he remembered was the now, the cold concrete ground, and the pool of wetness underneath.

“I don’t think so, let’s go now,” another voice, muffled by the pressure in his head. was it a headache? perhaps losing your memory came with a massive headache and chest pains. he turned his head to find something, anything that could help him remember. he saw two people nearby, one pulling at the other’s wrist, eager to escape. he parted his lips, he wanted to say something, but his words were drowned by the iron taste.

“wait, I think he moved.” “come on, don’t be stupid. we can’t save him.” “but what if he’ll tell people what happened?” “what are you saying, he’s out cold.” “but shouldn’t we make sure?” “you check then.” “don’t leave.”

a figure approached and looked down to inspect him. his eyes were only half-opened, and he felt weak. he heard the noise of the city in the background, but he couldn’t tell if he was on the street or somewhere else. the figure looked away, and he guessed they noticed he was still breathing.

“, he’s still alive,” they said, rushing to meet the other person. “what do we do?”

“we end it. nobody will be able to tell. he fell pretty hard, if we kill him now, they’ll just think the fall killed him,” the other suggested, and then there was silence.

there was something strange about wounded animals who knew they were about to die – they would go through a fit of madness thinking they’d survive even the deadliest of injuries. a faint memory of a dying bird in the backyard reminded him that even wingless birds could wiggle their way out of danger if they fought hard enough. and he still had fight left in him. so, he waited. waited until they got close enough.

“just do it, I can’t stand the look of him,” one of them said, it didn’t matter which one. he pressed his palm on the ground, letting the wetness cover his hand fully before it listened to his silent prayers. then, it shot up into the sky forming a spear, piercing through flesh and bone, hitting the most vital organ – the heart. the pulse wrapped around the sharp edge of his self-made blade until it couldn’t beat anymore. and when it didn’t beat, it became useless, much like its host. a scream, rushed footsteps in the distance. he extended an arm out, opened his blood-shot eyes, and pierced the second heart.

they found nothing but two bodies void of blood, and a healthy, but nearly hypothermic fifteen-year-old boy suffering of amnesia.

❛ a series of attacks attributed to a vampire mutant have shocked the small city of… ❜
❛ a fifteen-year-old boy suffering of amnesia was found at the scene. the authorities… ❜
❛ …no peace left in the city as the vampire mutant is a new fear for… ❜
❛ they call it the vampire virus. two teenagers found exsanguinated in… ❜
❛ pray for the souls of the departed as we’ll soon hope to find… ❜

† ┋ song in the dark.
( trigger warning | death, cannibalism, murder, religious themes. )

How long had it been since she had seen the sun?

Eve no longer had anything to count the days with, to see how many minutes had passed by with her back and wings pressed against the cold wall of this prison, the only place she had known for… at least the past week, or perhaps more. (She didn’t know; she couldn’t tell.) There was barely any light where she was, only candle lit lanterns lining up in the walls, providing little illuminance to the other cells. And if she strained her eyes hard enough, then she could make out the shadows of the guards that had stood by the doors on the other end of the hallway, both of which looked like mere dark figures in the distance.

She wondered what sunlight would feel like. Had sunlight ever touched her skin? Had it burnt her once, providing proof that she was warm? Had she simply forgotten?

(Or had she always been a bird in a cage, never to take flight?)

There was warmth beside her, at least. Barely a hint of it, but the weight was somewhat warm against her arm, a soft breath dancing against the skin of her shoulder. Dark locks tickled the base of her neck, but she didn’t move. Sin rested quietly against Eve, bodies pressed against one another in a futile attempt of sharing body heat. But there was barely any heat to share, not when Sin’s body had rarely ever felt warmth, and Eve couldn’t even tell if either of them had been alive ever since they had been locked up in this darkness.

Silence.

It was the only constant, along with the weight that grew lighter each day by Eve’s side. Wings folded around them, almost covering them in a white, feathery shield. There was nothing else, other than the sound of their breathing—soft, slow, faint. Sometimes, there would be wailing in the other cells, but even that would be immediately silenced by the dark figures. Always watching, silent, as though waiting. (For what? For a moment to strike? But what was the worth of girls who knew nothing of the world outside?)

A sound broke the silence. Quiet, just as soft as their breathing. It took Eve a moment to realize that it was Sin’s voice. Had Sin always sounded this weak? Had she always sounded like this, so fragile, as though she would break if Eve so much as moved where they sat?

“∎∎ ∎∎∎∎∎.”

Sin had always sounded distant, but her breath danced against the skin of Eve’s ear. This was the closest Eve had heard Sin’s voice, even if not the clearest. Sin did not sound beautiful. Instead, Sin sounded haunting, frail, only capable of whispering.

Eve looked at Sin, for the first time since darkness fell upon them. Eve could barely see Sin, their skins dimly lit by the candles by the hall, but she knew that Sin was never this pale. It was almost as if Death had already visited, whispering in their ears, making Her presence known.

“∎∎ ∎∎∎∎∎. . .”

Sin sounded weaker. Her lips didn’t move, or perhaps she had spoken so weakly that Eve couldn’t catch the movement of her tiers. (Had that been a trick of the light? Had Sin not spoken at all?) Eve could only hum in reply, and she reached out to touch Sin’s hand.

Cold. Sin’s skin was cold, colder than she’d ever been.

Eve should’ve known.

“If I d∎∎, let’s be ∎∎∎, okay?”

But what did Eve know, really? Perhaps this darkness was the only world she had ever known. Perhaps she had never even seen the sunlight. She no longer remembered anything that was beyond the bars that kept her and Sin imprisoned; the only thing she truly knew was the feeling of Sin’s weight against her own, but Sin had never been this cold. Sin had never been this weak.

(How long had it been? How long since Eve stopped noticing the difference between life and death, between what was real and what wasn’t? Where did the line between life and death stop, and where did it begin?)

Sin didn’t move. Sin didn’t stir. Eve should’ve known by then that she was alone.

“I w∎∎t you to ∎∎∎ me. . .”

A whisper. A wish. A plea.

What was this heavy weight within Eve’s chest? What was this breathlessness? She didn’t know, didn’t try to understand. Sin fell to the floor with a light thud, laying on the cold floor with not a single fight. A purplish white painted over Sin’s skin, eyes closed as though graced with peace that one wouldn’t find in this hell. Eve reached to touch Sin, whose chest no longer raised in its usual steady manner. Sin no longer stirred upon Eve’s hand on her skin—

A sickening feeling laid heavy in her guts. Twisting, almost rising to .

(What did Eve know of Death? What did she know of Death, even if She stared at Eve in the face? What did Eve know of Sin, when Sin was not taught?)

“Please.”

The first bite of Sin, Eve tasted rustic metal. And almost immediately, she could feel bile rise up in , as though her body violently rejected Sin. But Eve remembered the plea, the whisper, the wish. Sin wished to be consumed, did she not? Eve did not understand why, no.

But perhaps, like this, the two of them would be together until the end. Perhaps, like this, they would finally merge into one, and Eve would not be without Sin as much as Sin would not exist without Eve. If Eve consumed Sin in her entirety, then Sin would still be with her. No matter where Eve was, Sin would follow, for Sin would be within her and nowhere else.

And so, Eve took another bite, and another. Blood trickled at the corners of , fully painting over her chin. It trailed down her neck, hands fully covered in Sin’s blood, the darkest scarlet Eve had ever seen. It ruined her dress, and crimson started pooling where Sin laid, reaching even the feathers on the edges of Eve’s wings. Slowly, slowly, Sin was becoming Eve. Slowly, slowly, Eve and Sin merged into one, with the promise of forever. Eternity.

Eve and Sin, until the day Eve died with Sin inside of her.

But Eve could not consume all of Sin. Her body rejected it, as if the very idea of consuming more of Sin sent to her a feeling that she would only relate to the times men would touch her skin. Disgust. A feeling she never thought she would relate to Sin—Sin, her life, the only color she had in this dark, dark world.

But Sin had turned white, almost like Death’s grace.

And now Sin was scarlet, the darkest Eve had ever seen.

Eve did not know how long she had stayed where she was. She did not know how long she had sat there, alone with not a single sound reaching her ears save for her own breath, slow, deep, almost barely there. Instead, she kept Sin’s mangled body in her embrace, holding onto her tightly.

When the bars to her prison opened, she didn’t stir. Her gaze stared at nothing, as though the world around her was a distant thought and nothing else came as important to the corpse that had long grown cold in her embrace. She could hear voices, distant, as though she was not there at all.

But then, they tried to pry Sin out of Eve’s hands. They tried to pull Sin away from Eve, grabbing onto Eve’s arms, so, so weak. They pried Sin out of Eve’s arms, as though Sin was meant to be discarded and forgotten. For the first time in Eve’s life, she fought back.

For the first time, she screamed.

The prison shook, and the men fell to their knees almost immediately. Eve crawled forward, pulling Sin back in her arms once more, cradling Sin’s bloodied face as though Sin was the most fragile thing in the world. The most precious. And she kept screaming, her voice a sharp, deadly song—

( —the Siren’s Song, the Lord of the Sanctuary would say later. It was the Siren’s Song.)

hurt, bled (or had it always been the blood of Sin?), but she didn’t dare stop. She didn’t stop until the world had turned silent, until the bodies of men laid upon the floor with blood spilling from their ears, pooling beneath them. She didn’t stop, couldn’t stop—only when she could no longer handle the pain that came with her song, that she stop.

Almost immediately, the world fell silent, save for her harsh coughing, blood filling . It was as if strength had left her being completely, and she fell to the floor, arms still loosely around Sin. Her wings didn’t even have the strength to fold into her body.

A pair of leather shoes entered her line of sight. It was too clean, as if it did not belong to this godforsaken prison.

She forced her gaze from Sin’s face to the man that stood before them. She could not read the man’s visage. ∎∎∎—this was her ∎∎∎.

“Am I making you feel sick?” Eve wanted to ask, but no voice came out of . Her lips barely moved. “Do I make you feel sick? Do you hate me now that I’ve become like this?”

And yet, the man only smiled. His lips spread into a manic grin. Eve immediately felt cold, colder than she already was.

“You’ve finally blossomed, my angel,” he said, his voice filling her world. “Come, dear. I have so many plans for you, now that you’ve awakened.”

With her consciousness slowly drifting away, as she was carried away in the man’s arms, she felt something for the first time.

Fear. This was the first time she’d felt fear.

❆ ┊ intro — yang sungjae ; snowstalker。
[ ! ] obsession, toxic relationships, blood & gore。

it all started with love.

it was love that fueled their very beginning—what had driven a young couple into reckless promises underneath a dying tree, that one day, they would take each other's hand and run far away from home.

love brought them into the city like how they've always wanted. finally bound together with a kiss and a golden ring, they walked down the brightly lit streets of seoul as if they've always lived there, hearts familiar where their footsteps were not.

it was love that brought the twins out into the world, love that nurtured them as they grew up, love that kept their family together even as work caused a rift to slowly grow in between them and their parents.

sungjae often wondered just how strong of a force love was, how far his feelings would push him if he let them—he had always been the more emotional twin, so empathetic, so soft-hearted, and so easily brought to tears. he had come to terms with the fact that this was a rather peculiar interest to have, but it was fueled by an inexplicable and overwhelming curiosity to experience a kind of love that went beyond what he shared with his family.

for him, it started off as an innocent highschool crush—he'd found a boy in his class that he liked very much. and at that time, they were already quite close, so sticking around him was rather easy. sungjae often stayed back at school while his brother headed home first, waiting for said boy by the gate so they could walk out of campus together, maybe grab a drink at the nearest convenience store, and if time permitted—they'd find themselves studying in a shaded spot underneath one of the trees in the park, pencils in hand and their textbooks messily spread out on their laps.

these assignments would soon be forgotten fifteen minutes later, as sungjae found himself leaning into the boy whose head now rested on his shoulder. it was a bit of an awkward interaction at first, and sungjae knew the warmth he felt in his cheeks was more of embarrassment than anything else. but in the midst of it all, the two manage to find a comfortable dynamic.

in the silence, they find themselves at peace. pressed shoulder to shoulder, fingers laced together underneath a textbook that had long flipped over into the grass. as the sun dipped lower into the horizon, the lights of the bustling city came to life beneath the creeping darkness. sungjae knew they had to part eventually—and as he watched the boy walk into the opposite direction of him, he realized, with great difficulty, how much it hurt him to let the boy go.

this emotion, he'd find out soon enough, would only grow sinister the more they spent in each other's company.

what used to be just a simple crush had quickly turned into an obsession—sungjae finds himself unable to end his day without seeing the boy at least once, constantly driven with an inexplicable longing. he had tried to be subtle at first, not wanting his actions to come off wrong, because the last thing he wanted was to scare the other away.

but unfortunately, try as he may, his love for him had quickly become suffocating.

so when the boy started avoiding him, sungjae was devastated.

unable to cope with the loss, sungjae followed him one day after they had all been dismissed.

against his better judgment, he remembers cornering the poor boy in a dark alley, past overfilled dumpsters and abandoned crates. he remembers shoving him against the wall of some random office building with a little more strength than usual, all the muscle in his shoulders going stiff with stress. he remembers his eyes watering with tears as he fell to his knees, running down his cheeks and wetting his hands as he begged him for forgiveness. never in his life had he felt so incredibly desperate.

but no matter how hard he cried, he was given no answer.

instead of a reply, he heard a slight shift in the boy's sneakers, like the sound of cement pieces being crushed underfoot. the silence was killing him, so he'd opened his mouth to speak. but before he could, the boy had shoved him back by the shoulder, immediately bolting for the only exit at the other end of the alleyway. at that very moment, as sungjae stared at his retreating silhouette, he felt something snap within him.

the speed at which he'd gotten up was almost dizzying, but he managed to reach out to the boy before he could get too far, pulling back with a strength that felt so incredibly foreign to him. in the quiet of the night, the boy's pained wails echoed throughout the alley as he was dragged backwards, sungjae's arms locking around him in a crushing grip. around them the air had gotten colder—freezing, even.

"sungie, you're hurting me—" he'd heard the other whimper, and once more he opened his mouth to answer, all the more desperate to explain himself. but instead of words, a low growl came from his throat instead. sungjae himself was surprised at the sound, the other boy even moreso as he began to writhe in his grip, suddenly driven by pure survival instinct—because whatever it was that was holding him right now—it wasn't sungjae.

despite this, sungjae remained very, very still. formidable even as the other struggled. how cute, he'd thought to himself then, as the boy kicked at his legs like some kind of helpless prey.

what little remained of his sanity offered him a brief moment of sense—what on earth was he even thinking? prey? what was he, an animal?

when the boy spoke again, presumably pleading for his life, sungjae couldn't understand him. and no matter how hard he strained to hear him, none of the words leaving the boy's mouth sounded coherent to him, as though he'd started speaking another language.

perhaps sungjae really was going mad.

but oh, how he wished he could have heard those words, because he would later realize that they would be the poor boy's last.

all humanity had completely drained from sungjae's eyes as he narrowed in on the now exposed skin of the other's shoulder, mind plagued with terrifying thoughts of unfamiliar hunger. he was suddenly made aware of how loud the boy's heartbeat was as he leaned closer and closer, could've sworn he could hear the blood coursing through his veins. sungjae was overwhelmed, stuck in an internal battle against the new instinct trying to force itself into his skull. he could hear a voice calling out to him from the very depths of his mind. it was undoubtedly his, but he didn't recognize it at all.

it screamed at him, echoing painfully in his eardrums. it urged him to bite down—to devour him whole—that if he loved the boy so much, this would be the only way to make him stay—and that if the boy's response meant he couldn't have him, then no one else could.

so he gave in, and the regret would not come until a few minutes later.

when sungjae had finally come to his senses, he thinks it had all just been a horrible, horrible dream—that he'd be able to wake up in the comfort of his bed, go to school like usual, and try apologizing again.

but the world around him did not dissipate like a dream usually would—because it wasn't.

the aftermath lay before him in the form of a mangled corpse—nothing but a gruesome display of shredded flesh and exposed bone. reality was an ugly truth that painted the entire scene in blood—it was everywhere—on his hands, in his mouth, caked in his hair, and soaking into his clothes.

it should have been a nauseating sight, but sungjae felt that terrifying hunger crawling its way up his throat again.

nothing mattered anymore, suppressing it was futile.

he had crawled onto all fours like some kind of animal, looming over the fleshy mass on the ground that used to be a living human being. sungjae remembers the intial disgust he'd felt as he brought pieces of it up to his lips, rows of sharp teeth he never knew he had ripping into the flesh, so ravenous that he'd scraped the delicate skin of his own fingers in the process of indulging the beast that had finally set itself free.

sungjae gorged until there was nothing left for his newly unsheathed claws to tear into, still left with a horrifying mess of leftovers lying in a pool of blood.

he loathed to admit it, the mere thought making him want to throw up everything he had just shoved down his throat—but he couldn't deny the taste that lingered on his tongue—it was just too good.

god, he was a ing monster.

that night, when the beast had gone and he felt somewhat human again, sungjae had tried to rid all evidence of the kill the best he could. it wasn't a perfect cleanup and his hands were shaky by the time he had finished, and he could only hope he wouldn't end up on the news the following day.

he left the alley mildly dazed with his clothes still bloody, and somehow managed to drag himself back to their apartment without running into anyone. fortunately for him, his parents were not yet home.

however, he'd made eye contact with jinsung as he walked past him in the living room. the silence between them was tense, as if his brother could read him like an open book.

he noticed the way his brother's mouth twitched with curiosity. but in the end, he said nothing.

and for that, sungjae was grateful.

because even if he wanted to, he knew he could never bring himself to answer. not when he could barely comprehend what exactly had become of him.

and that night, sungjae huddled into the farthest corner of his bed, tears once again falling from his eyes as he dug his nails into his own scalp.

he'd come to the conclusion that love was absolutely terrifying—or at least it was when it came from him. he still believed that the monster he had become was a direct result of it.

when his mother had asked him what was wrong the next day, sungjae had forced a smile and waved off her concern.

he would head to school that day and stare at the now empty seat beside him, feeling the guilt eat away at his heart.

╳——— introduction : the puppeteer. | summer, thirteen years ago.
 （　trigger warning | harsh language, violence, blood.　）

They were going to die.

In the deep end of the alley, Dalbit could only watch helplessly as one of the “guards” grabbed Haneul by his bloodied collar and slammed him against the brick walls. His brother fell with a thud, his body limping like a ragged doll, and his bruised eye twitched in a vain attempt to glare intimidatingly at those men—but they’d only taken turns to beat him to a pulp. “in’ mutant freak!” they spat at him, one blow after another, and Dalbit wasn’t even sure if Haneul was still breathing at that point. Fresh blood was trailing down his temple. Haneul had never looked so battered before, and it was all Dalbit’s fault.

They—no, *Haneul* knew the risks coming to this side of town. The merchants here were far more ruthless than any of the places they’ve ever stolen from, trading not only goods but a fair share of profit to local thugs in exchange for protection against petty thieves like them. It did not matter that they were kids: stealing *is* stealing, and his twin had put up a decent fight before he became outnumbered. And now that they knew Haneul had mutant powers, whatever lenience they would’ve given to an eleven-year-old kid was completely gone now.

All Dalbit wanted was an ice cream to cool themselves down amidst the heat wave. They were long gone by now, melted into a colourful puddle somewhere on the main street, cones squashed and crushed into tiny bits with the amount of foot traffic out there. He didn’t even have the chance to let his brother have a taste of the mint chocolate chip ice cream he got out of curiosity. He never got to know if it was just him who didn’t understand the appeal of the flavour.

Haneul had risked it all for those stupid ice cream cones, and look where that got them. Look where it got *him*.

“Stop…” Dalbit whimpered, dragging himself towards the men with his elbows. He’d sprained his ankle on the chase, and Haneul had stopped in his tracks to give him a piggyback, which effectively slowed him down and allowed the so-called guards to catch up to them. He felt pathetic. His brother was on the other end, courageously giving the men a stink glare before he presumably passed out after being beaten up, and here he was, unable to even pull himself up because of a sprained ing ankle. “Please… stop…”

The muscly man who slammed Haneul gave Dalbit a quick glance. He pointed at Dalbit with his thumb as he turned his attention towards another man in the group. “Hey, Boss,” he said. “What do we do with the other one?”

Now two pairs of eyes were on him. The other man—Boss—shrugged. “Oh, that one’s as harmless as a pea. Still a thief though.”

“Want me to rough him up?”

“Sure. Do whatever the hell ya want.”

A manic, gold-plated grin met Dalbit’s teary, terrified eyes. The man’s approach with him differed from how he knocked Haneul out—he took slow, deliberate steps as Dalbit scrambled backwards until he hit a dead end, akin to a predator toying with its prey in hopes that they’d taste delicious with fear oozing out of its body, and a part of him just wanted it to be over. If he had to meet his demise, so be it.

“Can’t let kids off the hook anymore, can ya?” The man’s shadow began to overtake Dalbit’s figure. “Can’t let ‘em grow up and go on a revenge crusade against us.”

Dalbit closed his eyes as tight as he could and curled up into a ball, arms raised defensively in preparation of the beating he was about to get. *I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry—*

“Hey, what the ?”

The heavy footsteps ceased. Behind his eyelids, it was as if the sun had returned above him. It was as if the shadows had somehow disappeared, but that was impossible, because he could still feel the man’s presence right where he stopped moving, no more than a yard in front of him—

Dalbit dared himself to look.

The man’s shadow no longer loomed above him. Instead there was a strange black outline resting against his arms—one that oddly resembled the man’s physique. It felt no heavier than a piece of paper, but the texture was unlike anything he’d ever touched before. If smoke trails could lightly brush against your fingertips as it rose up in the air, this would be the closest estimate to what it would feel like. It was ticklish, but only to serve the purpose of letting Dalbit know that he was not hallucinating things, if he hadn’t already figured it out from the man’s reaction. From the corner of his vision, he noticed that the wall had returned to its original orange-red. Bright. *Shadowless*.

He hurled the silhouette towards the man as a final resort.

Dalbit didn’t know what he expected, but it was certainly not a six foot man with muscles protruding from his limbs being thrown to the mouth of the alley, knocking a few other thugs to the ground in the process. A panicked gasp escaped his mouth, eyes widened in horror as the men struggled to get themselves up. The shadow hovered above them, blankly still as though awaiting for its next command. Dalbit’s arms trembled far behind it.

The muscly man was the first to straighten himself up. Only rage burned in his dirt-smeared face. “Why you—”

He swung his arms left without thinking twice, and surely enough, the shadow tackled its entire shape against the man, slamming him against the wall—the same way he’d knocked Haneul out. Dalbit pushed it harder with a cry. Haneul was still laying limp on the opposite side. He would never forgive himself if anything were to happen to his brother. He would never forgive *any of them* if anything were to happen to Haneul. He wanted them all to die. *Die die die die die—*

Crimson spurted out of the man’s mouth. When Dalbit finally came to his senses, the man’s skin had almost turned purple, and he was somewhere between gasping for air and suffocating on his own blood as the force continued to crush him. He pulled the shadow away, leaving just enough room for the man to collapse onto the ground almost lifelessly.

Fear seemed to have made its way to the men’s eyes as they gaped at Dalbit. Or not. He didn’t know either. All he knew was that tears were now streaming down his face, and the exhaustion coursing through his body was nothing he’d ever felt before. He too, was on the verge of passing out. The shadow still stood between them. Dalbit lifted his arms as a threat.

“Leave,” Dalbit warned. He didn’t care if he was visibly crying, or if his voice was so obviously trembling that it wouldn’t have even worked as a warning under different circumstances. “Take your friend and leave.” Then, with less hesitation than he thought he would’ve had, “Please. Before I kill you all.”

They complied without a second thought, leaving Dalbit and Haneul (and the shadow he didn’t know what to do with now, or get rid of) alone in the alleyway. Once the coast was clear, Dalbit scooted his way towards his twin, who surprisingly had his good eye open—and his mouth stretched into a proud, lopsided grin.

“Haneul,” Dalbit whispered, “Haneul, are you alright?”

“Dalbie…” Haneul croaked out. The smile on his face had only widened despite the struggle. Then, he raised a closed, scraped fist towards Dalbit. “Fist bump.”

“What?”

“Gimme a fist bump.”

Dalbit blinked in confusion, but he complied anyway, bumping his knuckles lightly against Haneul’s.

“T’was hella sick,” he heard Haneul say, his words becoming increasingly slurred. “We’re both cool now.” And with that, his eyes were shut, and his body fell towards the side as he passed out for good. Dalbit barely managed to catch his head before it hit another surface; he propped it against his shoulders, and Dalbit, in turn, rested his own temple against the top of Haneul’s head.

He stared down at his hands, trying to process what had just happened. He… somehow extracted someone else’s shadow and used it to… almost asphyxiate them to death? The people back in the orphanage did suspect Dalbit of being a late-blooming mutant (thus why he was punished all the same), but it was all mere speculation—up until today.

He had powers. He could fight now. He was no longer a useless burden to his brother.

Still—he didn’t know how to feel about it. Perhaps he’d save it for when he was no longer slipping out of the conscious realm. Would it be safe for the two of them to pass out here? They had Shadow Man, but that thing seemed useless if Dalbit wasn’t there to pull the strings. It kind of resembled a puppet, come to think of it. Would it make him a puppeteer in that case?

Not that it mattered.

All he could think of before also passing out was this: Haneul will no longer be alone.