Chapter Text
Beomgyu blows out a breath. His hands are still warm from the mug cup of tea, even if it had been more than half an hour since he had left Soobin and Yeonjun and Kai’s place. It was… strange, how they were giving him the blanket to warm him up and making him tea and everything. But it made his chest all fuzzy, and it wasn’t a bad feeling at all so… so he supposed it was alright, somewhat. He does regret getting too comfortable— his magic clearly had spilled out, even a little bit, but enough to affect that plant that Yeonjun had noticed. Stupid, stupid—
What am I even doing? Beomgyu grits his teeth. I need to be more careful! Stupid Beomgyu— get it together! Conceal it— don’t let it show that you’re a mage for forest’s sake.
His phone— the old, cracked thing— has a new message on it. He hadn’t even been sure his phone still worked, especially with the changing times and the rapidly evolving human technology.
UNKNOWN
Heyy it’s Kai!
Hope this is u Beomgyu hyung > - < hahaha
But here is my number too
Pls make sure u save it~! >3<
Beomgyu changes the contact name to KAI and then sets down his phone again. His eyes drift over to the small plastic box Soobin had handed him, labeled in bright blue: ANTI-ACHOO: COLD MEDICINE. It had a bright pink elephant on it, which Beomgyu wasn’t really sure why it was such an unnatural pink, or why there was an elephant in the first place. It was kinda cute though.
You’d think the medicine and Soobin’s quiet fussing would’ve made him feel better, but instead it leaves a strange weight in his chest— something warm he doesn’t know what to do with.
He leaves the box aside like that and tries to distract himself, going through his books, wandering into the kitchen, sitting, standing, sitting again. Nothing helps. The apartment feels too silent, too tight, too aware of him.
Hours stretch. He keeps pacing, pulling at his sleeves, rubbing at the back of his neck. The walls feel like they’re breathing with him, matching his restlessness.
Eventually, he gives up trying to stay still.
A few hours of him pacing back and forth his apartment ensues and eventually, Beomgyu decides he needs to go take a walk. He grabs a baggy hoodie that would surely block the cold— or at least some of it— and heads out. The sun was long set, but there are these artificial lights stationed across the streets in a straight line, and that creates enough light for Beomgyu to take a walk. He shoves his hands into his pockets, wincing as the cold bit into his skin. It’s colder than he thought it would be, and wistfully, he wonders how warm it would be inside Kai and Soobin and Yeonjun’s place— and then shoves the thought away because, no, he shouldn’t be thinking about nice things like that. He shouldn’t upset himself with the things he couldn’t have. It was common sense, wasn’t it?
The lights overhead flicker— and he hopes they won’t suddenly go out, since they are the only source of light he has right now. Beomgyu lets out a shiver, hissing at how cold it was. Maybe it was time he went back home now.
Then, he feels a burst of ice run down his back— and he stops. The lights flicker overhead and it seemed like everything had gone completely silent and still. Beomgyu concentrates, trying to figure out what was wrong without making it seem like he’d caught onto the fact that something was off.
A low hiss.
Beomgyu freezes, turns around and—
There. Inky black figures are crawling towards him; their bodies made out of murky shadows and their eyes an eerire yellowish-greenish-white glow, simply orbs on each side of what is supposed to be their heads. They jerk their limbs forward, making low hissing noises and garbled cries of bloodthirst.
Wraivens.
Panic bubbles inside him, but he can’t dare stay paralyzed in fear— he’s gotta do something. Beomgyu grits his teeth, swallowing down the heartbeat in his throat, and glances around. There are no trees around but maybe if he could lure these Wraivens to somewhere with some trees— didn’t human cities have parks?— maybe he could stand a chance.
One of the Wraivens jerks closer, letting out a shrill cry, its inky fingers morphing into razor-sharp claws. It jerks another step closer and Beomgyu takes a step backwards, just as another Wraiven pounces on him from behind, its clawed hands wrapping around Beomgyu’s throat. He gasps for air, trying to push at the Wraiven, who doesn’t even budge, only hissing into his ear.
Okay— Plan B then. Defend first, attack later.
Beomgyu clenches his teeth together, and wills his thorns to grow. Soon enough, the familiar pain of the thorns bursting out from his shoulders and his backsides throbs, as does the feeling of his own blood trickling down from the pierced skin where each of the brown thorns had extended themselves out from underneath his skin. It’s painful— but it also gives him a way to protect himself.
The Wraivens may look like they were made out of intangible shadows, but they weren’t— and Beomgyu’s thorns stab through the Wraiven behind him. It lets out a garbled moan, falling to the ground as it bleeds out black blood, its claws falling away from Beomgyu’s throat. Beomgyu winces at the black blood, but he doesn’t have the time to be stopping. He twists around so that his thorns would meet the approaching Wraiven on the other side— it gets stabbed too and falls, and then Beomgyu is running. He can hear the Wraivens chasing after him, jerking their limbs forward, eyes glowing in the dark, claws tapping against the pavements and breaths wheezy.
Beomgyu’s heart thunders from inside his chest— he’s terrified. Never had he really encountered Wraivens before, only read about them. They were ravenous monsters made from the spirits of dead mages, of those who died an unfair death or died with anger in their hearts— monsters who hunted after pure magic in hopes of consuming it, of killing the magic bearer. These Wraivens were definitely after his pureblood magic— and they’d kill him, before consuming him bit by bit.
By the trees…
Beomgyu just has to reach some sort of park— with trees he could ask for help in fighting back against the Wraivens. Any tree nearby would be great by now— Beomgyu’s lungs are on fire, his legs too, but he can’t stop or else he’ll literally be dead.
Beomgyu stumbles around a corner— and nearly sobs in relief. A cluster of trees lines the edge of a small neighborhood park, their branches shivering faintly in the wind. It’s not a lot, but it’s enough for him.
He sprints toward them, the Wraivens shrieking and jerking forwards behind him, their claws scraping against pavement like metal. Beomgyu glances over his shoulder— fuck, they’re close. One of them lunges, swiping at him, and its claws slash across his jacket, tearing through fabric and skin. Beomgyu bites down on a cry, almost tripping over himself from the burst of pain.
This is bad. This is very bad.
He reaches the nearest tree and slams a hand against its trunk, panting.
Help me. Please. Protect. Protect me, help, please.
His magic pulses through his palm, a desperate flare— and the tree answers. Trees always do. Leaves rustle though there is no wind. Branches twist slightly toward him, like they’re listening.
The Wraivens close in around him, creating a circling with him in the center.
Beomgyu pushes more magic out, feeling the thrum of his magic (oh how he missed it) in his chest, felt it burst out his ribcage with a grand pulse. With that, another thorn grows out from him without meaning to, and his blood drips onto the roots of the tree beside him.
The response is immediate.
The tree’s branches lash outward without warning, whipping across the closest Wraiven’s chest. The creature shrieks, stumbling as the branch carves through its inky body like it’s slicing wet clay. Another branch slams into another Wraiven, hurling it into the grass with a sickening crunch.
But there are more— three, four, five— closing in through the shadows of the night. There’s not much light around here either.
Beomgyu braces himself against the trunk. His knees tremble. His skin burns where thorns have forced their way out, though his thorns have sunken back into himself now. He can barely breathe, lungs heaving but not enough air getting in. His head spins with the lack of oxygen— and the electric panic and bright fear of his current situation.
The next Wraiven leaps towards him.
Beomgyu forces his thorns to flare outward again. The movement rips through already torn skin— he gasps, vision going white for a split second— but the spike of pain launches his magic into the ground. The tree roots nearby, beneath the grass, surge upward like coiled snakes, ensnaring the Wraiven midair and slamming it down so hard its body splits into dissolving black mist.
But then another claws Beomgyu’s leg from behind. Beomgyu audibly cries out this time, collapsing to one knee, and swings himself blindly. His thorned shoulder catches the creature full-force. It screeches as it’s impaled, thrashing until it falls limp.
His breaths come fast and shallow. There’s still one more— he can hear it, dragging itself closer.
He doesn’t have enough magic left right now to command the trees, not properly. Even standing hurts. If he pushes more out, he might really just pass out. But passing out meant dying. And… he couldn’t die yet. He didn’t even know if he could die in his immortal state— maybe he’d be left bleeding out, but not able to actually die.
And it would only make more trouble for him that way. Fuck.
Beomgyu grits his teeth, digs his bloody fingers into the grass, and summons whatever scrap of magic is left buzzing in his chest. The roots near him shiver— slow, weak, barely moving— but it’s enough.
The final Wraiven lunges. The roots lash upward, catching its arm. Not enough to restrain it completely, but enough to slow it for a fraction of a second— Beomgyu drives his shoulder forward, forcing one last thorn to burst out from the bone-deep ache along his back. It pierces through the creature’s chest. The Wraiven lets out one final, distorted scream, then collapses into black dust that scatters across the grass.
Then… silence.
Beomgyu’s legs give out entirely. He falls back against the tree trunk, trembling so hard he can’t keep his hands steady. Blood— his blood— soaks through his hoodie and drips onto the roots below. Every inch of him throbs, and he’s dizzy, nauseous, and cold. Everything awful, all in one.
But the park is quiet. The Wraivens are gone.
He won. Well… barely.
He pulls in a shaky breath, pressing a hand weakly against one of his bleeding sides.
“Okay…” he whispers to himself, voice thin. “Okay. Still alive. You’re okay Beomgyu-yah… you’re—” his voice cracks without his permission, and he holds his breath, willing himself not to burst into tears.
He’s… alive— but he’s also hurting, alone, and far too drained for comfort.
—
Beomgyu forces himself to get up after a while— partly because he wants to get back to his temporary apartment to tend his wounds, partly because he’s still freezing cold, and partly (most importantly) because some human might pass by and call the authorities. What a sight he must be right now, shivering in his blood-soaked hoodie and jeans, leaning against a tree, hands trembling and tear tracks on his cheeks.
He trudges back to his apartment, then uses a nearby tree to get himself onto his window. Thankfully, he hadn’t locked it and he wiggles himself into the apartment again. He thanks the tree, and then locks the window shut. Beomgyu’s hands are shaking and for a split second— just a split second— he wishes there were someone around to help him. Someone he could lean on, someone who would murmur sweet, reassuring words to him and tend his wounds for him, someone who genuinely cared about him and worried over his wounds.
But there was no one. Beomgyu was on his own— he’d have to be tending his own, bleeding wounds.
Beomgyu misses his mother. He misses his father and older brother, and his aunts and uncles, his grandmother, and his great-grandfather. He misses everyone, but he really… really… misses his mother, especially right now.
Shuddering in a breath, Beomgyu collapses to the ground again. He swallows, before raising his trembling hands as he takes off his hoodie and shirt. He doesn’t need to see it for him to know how bad it is— the dots of punctured skin, the blood dripping on his back…
Beomgyu finally lets a sob escape past his mouth, a cry amongst the silence of the night. Then he presses his hands on his wounds, hissing at the pain of the contact, and pushes out his healing magic out. Warmth flutters over his wounds— but it’s not enough. He’s too weak right now to properly heal himself— he’s gonna have to wait until his body and magic recharges, but that would mean he’d be left here bleeding out little by little.
He crawls over to the couch and grabs a cushion, before lying down on the ground— on his side so not to hurt his back any further— and curls into a ball. Beomgyu lies there for a long while, swallowing in his tears. He just hopes no Wraivens come visiting this apartment.
After a while (which turns out to be nearly nine in the morning— for how long had he basically passed out for? It had been the dead of night when he stumbled back into the apartment) he figures he should grab some bandages to use while he heals himself— he has a little more energy now. Beomgyu crawls into his bathroom, opening the bottom cabinet, searching for some bandages…
“Shit.”
Of course. He hadn’t really been out much— he hadn’t even had the chance to buy those groceries earlier. There was basically nothing in this apartment— no food, no bandages, nothing. Beomgyu half considers knocking on Kai and Soobin and Yeonjun’s door, but he scoffs at the idea; they would either be mad at him for coming to them for bandages, or mock him for not having any, or be busy they wouldn’t even answer. None of those options sounded very appealing.
Beomgyu sucks in a breath, then moves. He uses the energy he has take a wet cloth and wipe off the blood on himself and change his hoodie at least. He makes himself some ramen— how sad, that all he has is ramen— and then, after a split second of hesitation, pops one of the cold meds that Soobin had given him earlier (yesterday?) in his mouth, before throwing his bloodied clothes into the tub to wash later. And there goes his morning, just like that. Then he lies around in bed, gasping at the pain as he shifts even the tiniest bit, trying to gain enough energy. His afternoon passes as he gathers his energy to then heal himself, closing up the wounds. He takes a quick shower to wash off all the blood (the water was freezing— life hated him, didn’t it?), and then changes into cleaner clothes. It’s not much— he only has a few pairs of clothes to wear, really— but it’s better than wearing the wet, blood-soaked ones.
As the sun starts to set, he makes up his mind to really get things done. Beomgyu takes a deep breath, before heading out again. This time, he’d get those groceries. He just hopes things were more or less the same since he last was in a human city. How hard could it be to get some groceries? Though not much, because of course, life was intent on making him miserable, and he had no money left, really. He wasn’t even sure if he could continue paying the rent for this apartment.
He manages to get to the store this time without fainting. He grabs some apples, a jug of milk, and more ramen (forget rice, he could survive off ramen), and some crackers; that’s about it for him and his money. He would have to find a job in this human city, somehow. If he was going to survive in a city, he’d need money. Preferably before he was left on the streets.
Beomgyu makes his way back to the apartment— the sun is nearly down and things are getting darker (he wants to be back in his apartment)— and he’s nearly there, when he senses something strange. There’s this… tugging feeling, urging him towards this dark alleyway. Beomgyu pauses— the memory of the Wraivens flashing through his brain— and then he carefully walks over into the alleyway. It’s stupid of him, but… something is telling him he needs to.
And… there! Beomgyu frowns. There’s… something slumped on the ground… Beomgyu walks closer and then freezes, his mouth parting in shock. It’s the tall guy from yesterday— Soobin— and he’s passed out on the ground and there’s blood on his head and soaking one side of his coat.
Beomgyu nearly crashes to the ground in front of Soobin, head spinning.
What on earth…? What happened to him?