Chapter Text
Deep in a forest, past the edge of the Earth, the crunch of a man’s feet on snow is followed by two pairs of hooves, drawing the ears of all the creatures that remain for the winter. A nasty draft blows snowflakes into his eyes as he marches on through the trees, leaning forward against the unyielding, invisible force of the wind. Sweat drips down the aching nape of his neck, the hilt of his sword pokes through from his coat. It's been sixteen days of travel so far, and he believes he’s making good time. He just has to reach the castle before the ice bridge melts.
Please, wait for me, he prays. It will be over soon.
/
In truth, this journey began thousands of years ago, when Lee Seo-eon was still human.
A powerful human he was, the first-born son of a king and blessed by the gods with reason, grace, strength, diligence and beauty. A diamond under the weight of the world.
At only fifteen, a terrible sickness struck down his people. Those infected would transform into violent monsters, unable to be controlled or cured. The death toll very quickly hit disastrous numbers. Lee Seo-eon was tasked by his father with leading the charge against these citizens-turned-beasts. Elsewhere in the Heavenly Realm, something nefarious was happening during what should have been a happy celebration: the birth of a heavenly princess, sabotaged in secret, a dormant curse woven into her fate by enemy hands.
Many years, many swords and many lives later, the prince was finally successful in saving his people. He found the source of the plague and terminated the last infected. This feat was so monumental, he became sanctified as the warrior Dawnbreaker, humanity’s defense against the dark night. Worshipped so by his people, he ascended to godhood before he could be named king.
Dressed in robes of deep blue and gleaming silver, he was carried along the long road to Heaven in an extravagant caravan as part of the grand parade thrown to celebrate his consecration. The common people wept at his serene visage and laid flowers along his path. He passed through the clouds and was welcomed into the divine with smiles and song. At the end of the road sat the Heavenly Queen in her throne, beside her King and their daughter, surrounded by countless other lower deities. As the prince approached, the princess stood to greet him.
“Dawnbreaker, you are blessed,” her voice rang through the plaza like a crystal bell.
“An honor, Your Grace.”
Transfixed, he knelt before her, gingerly taking her outstretched hand and pressing it to his lips. She smiled at him, and the moment seemed to stretch on forever. The scent of jasmines embraced him. Her skin was softer than silk – he really should have worn gloves, he scolded silently – and she had a healthy blush for him to admire as he stood.
Suddenly, the princess’ eyes fluttered shut, not to open again for a very long time, and she fell into his arms.
Everyone in the plaza moved closer in shock, but a sudden boom of thunder froze them all in their spots. They watched, horrified as dark black clouds rolled in. Green lightning cracked and split the sky into pieces, painting the princess’ skin a sickly, pale color. In the center of the pavilion, a figure materialized – the King of Demons, in all his terror. A hellish green portal opened to his side and swept the princess into it from Lee Seo-eon’s arms before disappearing. It was all over in just a few seconds.
The Heavenly Queen stood, furious, demanding to know what had been done to her daughter. Nobody else dared to get closer.
“For every child of mine taken from me by your glorious Dawnbreaker, she will sleep for one year.”
The curse placed upon the tiny princess as she lay in her crib all those years ago, the one that tied her fate to the beloved prince of the Lower Realm, had finally come to realization.
“This is a declaration of war,” the Heavenly Queen replied grimly.
“Not yet.” The Demon King smiled and shook his head, “I’ve simply evened the playing field. Enjoy the rest of your coronation ceremony.” He gestured at all the festivity and lavish ornaments, then looked Lee Seo-eon dead in the eye and paused, smugly. “The war begins when dawn has broken.”
Lee Seo-eon unsheathed his sword.
“No. It begins now,” he declared, and took the first strike in the Cardinal War.
/
Unfortunately, the princess’ curse remained, unbroken even when Dawnbreaker took the last strike and won the war for the Heavenly Realm; and even if it had, nobody would know. Her location remained a mystery, dying along with the Demon King.
Lee Seo-eon left the Heavenly Realm when it was all over, and exiled himself to his defeated enemies’ territory. He wallowed in his guilt. He let it seep into his flesh. He allowed it to guide him.
It doesn’t take a genius to figure that a place called the Demonic Realm, Hell, is terrible, but one can never know the extent of the horror until they wind up there by some great sin or misfortune.
There is no peace there. Souls and spirits fall from the skies and coagulate in the smoke and dirt and rotten flesh as they roll and struggle amongst each other, none with the strength to stand and try to save themselves or even to kneel and beg for mercy. Their cries of suffering never stop, their collective haunting chant eternal. A blue sun hangs in the sky during the day, but it casts no warmth. There is no rain, no water. Only bodies and blood.
But there is information to be found there. Hidden libraries scattered about on islands and carved into mountains of bone.
Temple by temple, Lee Seo-eon toured Hell, slaying whatever keeper may guard each doorway or gate, and reading every word in every book, tablet, scroll and paper scrap he found there. As he learned countless secrets of the universe and discovered treasures previously thought to be forever lost, each passing day spent in the Demonic Realm took its toll.
The longer he spent there, in that place, breathing that foul air and subsisting on nothing but dark energy, the colder he became. He rejected anyone who sought him out, and took whatever he needed or wanted by force. In the Mortal and Heavenly Realms, opinions about him began to evolve, changing from love to fear. His former bravery warped to bloodlust, his intelligence to cunning. What the humans call him changed, once known as Dawnbreaker now called the Foreseer .
It’s a ridiculous designation and he scorns it- The Foreseer . Lee Seo-eon couldn’t foresee anything. The Unholy Texts enlightened him to plenty of forbidden knowledge, hidden secrets, and forgotten truths, but never had he received any visions from fate concerning anyone but himself, and even those stopped when he descended to the Demonic Realm.
Hundreds of years passed before he had collected and accomplished all he needed to make his rescue mission, and by then, there wasn’t anyone willing to listen.
He was turned away from the Heavenly Realm’s gates like a leper. A devil.
/
The smell finds him before the view. From miles away, in the middle of a snow storm, that familiar, sweet scent of jasmine fills the air around him. A latch in his chest seems to release and his face shifts, not to a smile- but for the first time in a thousand years, he’s not scowling. His steady pace quickens, but slows again when the horse breys in protest. His shoulders slump in frustration, but he doesn’t push her. After all, Nunsongi worked hard to save his princess too, carrying all of their supplies, and they will surely arrive by nightfall. They tread onward, finally reaching the end of the ice bridge, and pressing through the forest following.
All those years of preparation, and he still is not ready for what awaits him.
He first comes upon a perfectly manicured field, a rare clearing in the thick forest of trees thus far; most certainly made possible through magic. Whatever spell has been used to keep the grass trimmed must have a sister, one that makes things grow wildly, cast upon the large dark manor in the center of the field. Upon closer inspection, white marble is revealed, laced in dusky brown barbed vines and brambles. As a test, he touches the edge of a twisted vine and watches as blood falls in fat drops from his finger onto the snow. He frowns- it even sort of stings. He’s unable to heal himself, too.
He examines the structure from one end to the other. There are no gaps in the growth. He tries to cut one of the vines using ice, but only his sword is strong enough to get through it, his magic seemingly stunted here. The only comfort he can find is that once the plant has been cut from the living vine, it seems to no longer injure upon touch. It never occurred to him that getting here and awakening her would not be the end of his struggles.
When his hands are too bloodied to continue clearing the vines, he decides to explore the surrounding lands. He finds that the island is quite large. Deer, bunnies, snow leopards and all sorts of small creatures inhabit the forest, despite the arctic temperatures. He finds a river not too far from the manor, and follows it to a set of natural hot springs. He dips his hands in the water, to wash his wounds, and they are completely healed when he removes them. Not the most shocking thing to happen to him today, but it begs the question...
Perhaps the legends about this place are true. Maybe this isolated bit of land was in fact the very first demon king’s chosen prison– or home, depending on who you ask, built for his beloved. There’s no doubt that anyone here could stay hidden from the rest of the world indefinitely. He tries not to dwell on this thought too long.
Even with the healing spring, freeing the princess feels Sisyphean. He cannot simply go in sword blazing and destroy the place, for he has no idea where exactly she is. Instead, he has to move painstakingly slow, clearing bunch by bunch, room by room. He finds furniture and various personal belongings buried throughout, ancient yet preserved by some type of very old magic. Once upon a time, someone lived here and took very good care of it.
It occurs to him after days of work that he might not make it in time. The ice bridge will melt any day now, and then they will be stuck there together for an entire year.
His stomach curls in on itself like a sick dog.
He’s lived a thousand years, but this one could be the straw that breaks his corroded, brittle spine.
For she will surely hate him, just like the others– no, she will loathe him. She will despise him even more than the others, for what he’d done to her; and he will deserve it for what he still must do. She won’t care about his unwitting innocence, or the lengths he went to find her, more vast than the cosmos and just as harsh. She won’t care that he never wanted any of this.
Except that’s not exactly true, is it?
His nightmares and shortcomings haunt him, like the black ice creeping through his veins. Innumerable times he’s dreamt of her, in all manner of ways; beneath him, in his arms, on his lap, in his bed, in his robes, and in all of those dreams, he wants her. Desperately. Carnally. Possessively. In them, he drags her down to the Demonic Realm, kicking and screaming if he has to, and makes her his bride.
Outside those dreams he reveres, he praises, he longs for her – but he never lets himself want. What right could he have? This monster he’s allowed himself to become, with claws and fangs and lifeless eyes, is easy to punish each time he loses focus. This monster picks fights with undead mobs and devils. This monster has self-inflicted scars marking every part of its body. It drinks poison and sleeps on the floor. This monster knows its place.
Lee Seo-eon's sins became her prison; his sins would rob her innocence.
After it's done, all he can do to atone is to leave her be. Perhaps then he can rest.
/
Finally, he unearths a small piece of flesh deep into the second floor. Her little pinky toe. There’s no time for relief or happiness in the discovery, though, because she’s lukewarm to the touch, which means she’s actually freezing. He can hardly see the rest of her through the leafy brambles but by the looks of it, the vines have grown into her.
He quickly clears enough space at her side to work, and diligently begins removing the plants. The damage is severe. They’ve grown into her mouth, and down her throat, and into her ears. Massive thorns have embedded themselves into her flesh, some piercing all the way through to the other side. There are places where the vines have wound themselves around her particularly tight; her neck, wrists, waist and ankles. He fears the internal injury that removing them will do, plus they grow back very quickly if he doesn’t get them at the root. Surely the hot spring has its limits.
It doesn't matter. There are no other options in this strange landscape.
He can’t help but be grateful she’s been asleep all this time. To experience this torture fully conscious would have driven anyone to madness.
The princess’ chest periodically shifts ever so slightly, taking the most pitiful of breaths. Blood flows freely from her mouth after he removes the vine. Pure cherry red. He tilts her head to the side so she doesn’t choke on it and continues on to her ears and neck. Tears leak from her closed eyes and freeze to her skin. Next comes her arms and legs. A very large thorn has fully punctured her left thigh, and another one is lodged deep into her ribcage. He decides it best to remove those close to the springs.
His job becomes more difficult as she becomes more and more aware of the pain, her body twitching and flinching. His hands take cut after cut, until his fingertips are shredded, but he doesn’t stop until she’s free.
The final state of her makes his heart pound. He hasn't been away from the Demonic Realm for long, but in that moment he realizes he never wants to return. Every inch of her is covered in raw flesh, blood or dirt. Her dress in tatters, she whines as he slowly wraps her in a blanket. He has to be very mindful of what’s still in her. He starts off toward the healing springs, as fast as he can without disturbing her, freezing winds burning his skin. He forms a moonlight lantern to guide their way so he doesn’t trip or stumble on the same muddy trails he’s created trekking through the snow on his many trips. He wishes he could comfort her… He doesn’t know how. He’s not sure he ever would have. It’s not in his nature. But right now he wants nothing more than to find that source of tenderness inside of him, take a tapper to it and force it to come pouring out. He knows if he tries, he’ll only hit cold, dark ice.
With haste he sets her down at the edge of the closest spring, and with surgical precision cuts out the remaining fibrous wood. His throat pinches at the sight of the wounds when he's done, the holes in her precious body.
She goes slack in his arms as they enter the warm water, and her head falls against his chest. Wisps of blood follow them in before fading out. He keeps still as he holds her and watches her wounds glow with magic from the spring. He hardly even breathes. For the first time since he arrived, her eyebrows loosen from their permanent pinched position. When the hole in her leg seems sufficiently sealed, he reaches over to the box prepared for soap and a cloth to clean her.
With trembling hands, he carefully removes her ruined garments and inspects her injuries. She’s adjusting to the water very well, being of much higher power than he. Interestingly, after so long in captivity her body doesn’t appear any slighter, nor does she appear any older. Such strange magic, he thinks, as he lathers her hair with the soap. It’s awkward. He’s never washed anyone’s hair but his own and he can’t quite figure out how to angle his hands. Her head is nearly submerged a few times.
Next, he works some soap into the washcloth and places it softly to her cheeks and plush lips, then uses his hands to rinse away the suds. She looks so innocent without the dirt and blood smeared over her face. He swallows thickly and moves on to her arms. Every little movement shifts her breasts, making it increasingly difficult to ignore his arousal. He finally makes to clean her chest, and a startled gasp escapes him when her nipples become stiff and flushed.
His entire body tenses. These hands have taken countless lives, but they’ve never pleasured a woman. They likely never will.
Because his first time making love won’t be making love at all.
It will be rape.
He’s pondered what he’s about to do at length.
He originally concluded that the most moral thing to do would be to find the princess, and bring her sleeping body back to the Heavenly Realm for her betrothed to break the curse.
But the questions began to nip at him incessantly, like gnats in the heat of summer. Was that what she would want? Was their union still promised? If so, why was Lee Seo-eon the one making this journey instead of her betrothed? Where was everyone else, while he spent the last millennia searching for her? Who of them would hear him when the time came? Why was he the last one to hold her in his arms? What made her smile at him so brightly just before? How did she capture his mind, body, and spirit with just one look? Has anyone else ever done so much for another soul? A thousand years of devotion.
Of course, he swatted at the questions like he did the gnats. But deep down he knew. No one else could do this. It had to be him.
And so, it would be.
He wishes he could make the circumstances even just a little bit better, but he doesn’t have time. In a perfect world, he would build her a bed, in a suite, in a mansion. He would take all the time in the world seducing her, holding her, laying her down. He would not leave an inch of her untouched by his lips, not a place on her body that he wouldn't commit to memory. There would be marks on her body for days and days after. She would long for him the same as he does for her, and he would taste it on his tongue. He would learn what she likes, and teach her what he likes. She would fit around him like a glove.
He looks up at the moon, sinking in the sky. The center of the ice bridge could collapse at any moment, and her highness has been half-dead for eons.
After washing the rest of her body with a forced sterile detachment, he sets her down in his tent and relights the firepit at the makeshift camp where he'd been resting. He dresses her in loose white robes (he will give her that dignity at least) and rubs ointment on her hands and feet so they don’t dry out in the cold. Then he oils her hair, untangles all the knots with a comb and fastens it in a bun.
It feels natural, taking care of her like this, even as she sleeps. He wonders– if he were her husband, would she let him do this? Could he be her butler as well as husband? When she's ill would he nurse her back to health?
All that’s left to do now is place the sleep needle. If this does work, if his seed really does break her curse, well, it just wouldn't do to have her wake up that way.
He presses the back of his hand to her forehead first, then her cheek, and stares longingly at the lines of her open palm. He touches the center of her palm before slotting his fingers between her small ones slowly. The girl instinctively clasps his hand in response to the touch and he freezes, heart clenching as if he’s reached the betrayal that marks the peak of a romantic tragedy – and hasn’t he? There is no happy ending for either of them. Her lips fall open when he gently presses his own to them, and his face pinches.
Oh, my love, couldn’t you have made this harder for me?
Groans pour from him as he drags himself away from her soft, pliant tongue and shifts her on her side, facing away from him. He presses his nose into the nape of her neck and takes a breath in, his mind going numb. He could so easily get addicted to her scent. His arms wrap around her and he imagines for a moment that this is normal. It could be the heat of their bodies or the winter softening, but the tent feels too hot all of a sudden.
He shakes his head, scolds himself for messing about, reminds himself to hurry before it's too late, before everything is ruined. What he lacks in experience, he makes up for in imagination and the secondhand information he'd learned in all his years. It was decades of frustration when he realized how much knowledge is hidden between chapters of pornography. Just another way all of his perversions all come back to her.
He sits up and reaches for the hem of her robe and slips it up over her hip. His hands linger on the fleshy parts of her body as he arranges her half on her stomach with one knee pulled up to the side, putting her on full display for him. Little twitches wrack her body as he delicately places a fingertip to her entrance, just testing the waters. He knows it has nothing to do with him, but he can’t help but feel proud, and delirious with desire, at her natural wetness. Small gasps slip out of him as he uses some of it to wet his length.
Just the tip.
He reminds himself that he cannot hurt her, cannot leave any traces of himself. If he’s going to take this from her, he must make sure she never knows.
She lies still, and he imagines that she’s doing it because he told her so. It’s just a game; he told her to play dead, and she’s just being a good little girl to make him happy.
Teeth dig deep into his bottom lip as he lines himself up with her slick folds and starts moving his hand back and forth on his cock. Of course, when one has lived as long as he has, they become quite well acquainted with their own pleasure. In a single moment he learns that he has been blind. Soft heat catches against the most sensitive part of him, and it takes everything in him not to push all the way in and take her like he had in his dreams, again and again. He could pull the needle out and let her wake up on his cock. Watch her try to run away from him while she carries his child, her stomach round with pregnancy, unable to struggle.
Sunlight peeks through an opening in the tent, a kind of warning sign that reaches out and illuminates her angel face. He chases it with his lips, traces it down her temple and her cheek. A rosy pink tints her skin now, and she looks so healthy and full of life compared to before. How he remembers her from before, the first time they'd met– like she’s supposed to be.
“You should have been mine,” he says out loud and his voice cracks. She will be, now. A small part of her. Forever. No one can take this moment from him. His climax approaches, hauling a deep sense of dread with it. This will be over soon. The shame and the guilt will come crashing down, but he will bear it. He would bear it a thousand times, he thinks. Just for another minute of this shallow warmth. He pulls her knee up, fully twisting her body at the waist as he continues to pleasure himself.
Up until this point, he has been careful not to sink any deeper into her than the tip. But the building wetness nearly forces his cock to slip further in, and he can’t help but thrust in and out a little. She jerks, clenching down on him ever so slightly and it sends him flying over the edge. His essence spills inside and his vision goes white. In the same moment, her body stiffens, her back arches, then she settles again, an orgasm pulled from her body despite his efforts to preserve her dignity in whatever small way he could.
Chest heaving, he wretches himself away from her body and stands on unsteady legs, looks in shame at what he’s done. Her bottom half is exposed, vulgar, and his release leaks out of her, tinged pink with the evidence of her stolen virginity. More of her priceless blood shed, this time truly by his own hand. White hot shame stabs him in the gut. The kind that only occurs when one becomes aware they’ve crossed a terrible line with no path to redemption. A thousand invisible eyes drill into a spot on his back. Head spinning, he staggers out of the tent, shirtless and barefoot, exposed. He doesn’t even feel the cold air biting at him as he takes five steps and bends over. He vomits, expelling disgusting dark energy and stomach acid into a black puddle in the snow before stumbling away.
Knees hit the cold ground and his tormented scream disturbs the birds from their morning song. When the commotion stops, one lands right in front of him. A tiny, pathetic thing. So fragile. It looks up at him with concern in its beady black eyes and chirps.
Spiteful, and revoltingly bitter, he spits at it; and feels immediate regret.
It flies away unscathed.
Shame the little bird in his tent can’t do the same.