Darkness surrounds him; cold, humid, oppressive.
It clings to him like liquid, just short of suffocating as he lies there, trying to get his lungs to work. It isn’t easy though – it isn’t easy at all – and as time passes, it grows even harder. He’s cold, so cold, and yet, he’s sweating too.
How long has it been? How long? Hours? Days? Weeks? Too long for it to matter?
And what does it matter, honestly? He’s deep underground in some sort of cave, and he can’t move, because he’s bound up with silk and⸺
No, it’s too hot. It’s too cold. One way or another, it’s simply unbearable, and what keeps him in place is not silk but⸺
The heavy covers part momentarily to let in an influx of cool air, and Yue shivers, an inarticulate protest escaping him. He’s too muddleheaded to voice his dissent more coherently than that, and he himself is strangely aware of it too, much like he’s aware of the warm body nestled against his.
The body is akin to a furnace, and Yue finds himself plagued with contradictory impulses.
He wants to get away from it.
At the same time though, he’s perfectly fine with staying right where he is.
Actually no, not ‘fine’. Yue is not fine. Yue is delirious.
How can he tell though? Simple.
There’s a former future demon lord bastard hugging him tightly from behind, purring all the while. So yeah, this is either a very vivid fever dream or some weird special edition of Hell.
Once again, Yue attempts to dislodge the arm from around his waist, but this only gets his wrist caught and pulled until he suddenly finds himself facing the bastard.
It’s dark, both due the mound of blankets and furs and due to them being inside a cave of some sort.
In any case, Yue is delirious, and he honestly cannot see anything. He can still sense it though; the intensity of that ominous gaze.
Why is he here? Why is he alive?
Is the demon bastard just waiting, biding his time until Yue’s qi reserves recovers a bit so that he can once again drain them to a flicker?
Or is the demon bastard perhaps planning on eating him, as Jiao Ziyu had once alleged certain demons did with their enemies? Something about absorbing their strength and whatnot? Not that there’s much strength left to absorb in Yue’s case, unless human flesh, and particularly that of a cultivator, is the kind of sustenance that growing demon bastards really need; not entirely unlikely, all things considered. But⸺
The demon bastard is holding his hand.
Yue only really becomes aware of this when a wave of soothing qi flows through it and into him. He tries to pull away, but the demon bastard pulls him closer instead and interlaces their fingers.
Yep, Yue blearily thinks to himself, eyes fluttering shut as another wave pulls him under. This is some special kind of Hell.
Living alone out in the forest hadn’t been without its dangers and challenges, and at times, Yue had caught himself missing it; his time over at the Green Jade Peaks. Because other than all those chores and all those douchebag disciples looking to make his life a living Hell, it had been a fairly educational experience. If not for the System, then⸺
The remembrance sends a spike of pain through Yue’s head and he gasps, at least in some form. He’s not entirely sure where he is, actually, because it’s entirely possible that he’s dead already – not that it matters or anything, not really.
Still, to think that there’d been a time when Yue had missed the System – that there’d been a time when he’d thought of that chipper voice in his head with some semblance of fondness. To think that he’d still retained enough fondness for it to actually miss it, in spite of everything it had done.
It wasn’t all fondness, of course. Rather, the majority had been fear – fear and apprehension. And he’d been right too – he’d been naïve to assume he’d be able to escape it.
In the end, nothing had mattered.
Him taking himself out of the equation hadn’t mattered.
He’d taken himself out of it to avoid facing everything – past, future, present.
He’d thought it’d be better, leaving those douchebag disciples vying for Master Bai’s attention to duke it out amongst themselves however they pleased.
He’d thought that’d be better, and possibly even hoped for their mutual destruction – or their destruction at the hands of Youming Jun.
In hindsight, Yue even cared to admit that this particular thought had warmed his bitter soul – the thought of the bastard taking out the others before embarking upon those lofty world-dominating ambitions of his.
And that would’ve been fine, honestly – Yue would’ve been perfectly fine with that. His world had already ended, so⸺
No, Yue would’ve obviously preferred it if the bastard didn’t end the world, and⸺
The demon bastard that Yue had pulled from the river, wounded and half-drowned, had not been dressed in the green-coloured garb of the Green Jade Peaks.
It was a bit funny actually – the sheer irony of it all.
It doesn’t matter though, not really. Yue isn’t under any obligations to help the demon bastard, but he would, just this once.
For Master Bai it would be different though.
It’s complicated, and although Yue feels affection towards the other, he doubts it’s mutual and even if it is, then he is undeserving of it – he’s undeserving of it because he’d failed, failed to notice and failed to accomplish his mission. He’d been too caught up in his own head, too caught up with his own selfishness to really think about the aftermath.
He feels cold now – cold and hollow despite there being no real reason for such – because Yue has his own Golden Core now. His meridians are fine, and even if they crack and shatter once more, that would be fine. It would be fine, because Yue has died before – once, twice, thrice, however many times – and he isn’t afraid. Master Bai could keep his Golden Core – and he should. He should keep Hánlěng as well, and keep it well away from Yue before he⸺
He flips the blade over in his hand so that the tip faces him, and then⸺
He feels it against his chest, feels his muscles straining as he attempts to drive it into his own chest, but then⸺
There’s another rumble at his back, a wet but unnaturally warm body curling more tightly around his. Yue desperately wants to move – wants to get away – but he cannot, not even as a slightly abrasive tongue resumes licking the back of his neck, cleaning yet re-contaminating the wound there all at once. It’s not throbbing anymore though, having gone numb. Yue blearily wonders if it’s due to some component in the demon bastard’s saliva or if it’s something else.
Really though, what else could possibly go wrong? Maybe the demon bastard’s fangs also contain some sort of venom causing tissue necrosis or respiratory paralysis?
Yue almost wants laugh, but it comes out as a sob instead, which makes the soft rumbling noise cease and then return with full force. And this time around, there is no mistaking it; the bastard is purring, like actually purring.
Of course, Yue knows enough about cats to know that they purr for things other than contentment, like when they’re in pain, in which case this is perfectly understandable.
It makes no sense though. It really doesn’t.
Because while Yue himself might’ve deviated from the path dictated by the System, he’s much too insignificant to influence anything else at this point. Then again, the aforementioned thrice-accursed System had also spurred him on against Youming Jun, as if defeating demon lords was a task to be delegated to a member of the supporting cast.
In hindsight, it makes sense though – the System is a liar, and now that Yue no longer has to hear its grating voice in his head, he has no intention of listening to it. Frankly, it can take all its talk about points, penalties and unavoidable plot points and shove them right up its⸺
Then again, considering the situation at hand, then perhaps some of them had been unavoidable after all – or perhaps this is merely the punishment sent by the Heavens for Yue’s attempts to thwart his own fate?
If so, then it’s in very poor taste – in very poor taste indeed. And unlike last time, Yue cannot even put himself out of his own misery. He cannot, because his self-crafted but trusty obsidian knife lies firmly out of reach and Yue can’t even move. In fact, he can do very little except lie there and curse Jiao Ziyu into oblivion.
It’s highly illogical, of course, because the aforementioned Peak Lord could hardly have foreseen such an event, could he? Then again⸺
If Yue lives and if he lives long enough to ever encounter Jiao Ziyu, then he wants his revenge.
Granted, Jiao Ziyu’s advice on effective insect repellent had probably only been just that; advice on effective insect repellent. Still, it’s not an unthinkable thought that the other could’ve known and that he’d given Yue this advice in the hopes of the demon bastard having an interesting reaction.
Before, Yue would’ve scarcely believed it though, but now⸺
Again, that slightly abrasive tongue returns to his neck, and Yue holds back a whimper.
At this point, any remaining coat of oil – Nepetalactone, extracted from Nepeta cataria, colloquially known as catnip – is no doubt gone from the area, so it really makes no sense for the demon bastard to keep nuzzling it like that. Besides, the effects of it ought to have worn off by now, meaning that soon, the demon bastard would⸺
Well, it doesn’t really matter.
Yue releases a slow, shuddering breath, and then finally asks: “What the Hell are you doing, Youming Jun?”
He sounds so weak, and he really hates it. But at least the purring stops. At least the purring stops and the demon bastard scrambles away, which honestly speaks volumes because if he could scramble then he’s undoubtedly recovered enough – and at Yue’s expense at that. Like sure, there’s innate healing abilities as well, but⸺
Well, it doesn’t really matter. None of it really does.
Somehow, Yue manages to sit up, but his blotchy vision and the amount of static in his head tells him that he’s very close to passing out again. He steels himself though, fighting against it with everything he has.
In fact, Yue is so busy trying not to pass out that he doesn’t even notice the demon bastard moving closer at first, watching him with seeming surprise.
“Shixiong?!”
Yue snaps his head up so fast that he’ll probably get whiplash, and in that moment, he briefly catches sight of Youming Jun standing there, mouth agape, his previously crimson eyes faded to a duller reddish brown, his pupils now round. The guy looks so utterly shocked that it’s almost funny – almost. It doesn’t really matter though, because Yue’s vision quickly turns grey, and then black, and again, everything ends.
Everything ends, and then it starts over. Yue wakes up.
This time around, Yue opens his eyes to a sea of red. It doesn’t feel or sound or smell like the sea though, even with the rocking movements. There are the sounds as well, the sounds and the smells, and brought together, they are far more consistent with those of an oxcart travelling sedately down a country road than those of a vessel out at sea. This still doesn’t explain the red though.
Where is he?
Where is he going?
There’s something in his mouth; some sort of cloth. Yue wants to remove it, but quickly finds out that he can’t. He can’t because his wrists are bound, bound up in silk, and from the feel of it, his ankles seem to be in a similar state. He tries to use qi to loosen them, but quickly finds out it’s an utterly futile endeavour.
Steeling himself against the wave of anxiety setting in, he releases a slow breath through his nostrils, trying to remember. What had happened before this? Wasn’t there a cave? Wasn’t there⸺?
Then suddenly, the oxcart comes to a halt, and soon thereafter, the sea of red parts as someone lifts the red cloth to reveal a face that Yue had never wanted to see again.
“Shixiong,” Youming Jun says. “You’re awake.”
The demon bastard leers at him, and Yue screws his eyes back shut, even as he feels the demon bastard’s hands upon him. He wants to believe that this isn’t real – he wants to believe that he’s not currently at the mercy of some demon bastard with apparent knowledge of future events. He wants to believe, but⸺
“Say,” a sickly-sweet female voice whispers. “Why must you do this to yourself, Yue? Why must you make yourself suffer so?”
There’s touch – the fingers are cold yet searingly hot, and the ends are sharp, as if adorned with claws. Yue knows them; he remembers them vaguely, and the bruises around his throat remembers them even better.
“Just say the word, Yue,” she urges. “Just say yes. Just say yes, and everything ends. You won’t suffer.”
Sweet promises that are also lies – at least in part. Everything will end, but if he says yes, then nothing will end in his favour. Granted, odds are that he can’t win either, but at least this way, he can ensure that they both walk away from it disappointed.
And so, Yue endures, endures the pain and the suffocating darkness, endures the poison threatening to shut down his lungs. He lies there on his back, and bound up in silk upon a cold stone slab somewhere deep underground, and then remembers the red. It’s inevitable, because as she speaks – or rather, as another speaks through her – Yue remembers her vividly red attire, and then, he remembers that vividly red cloth.
The demon bastard is saying something. It sounds like a question, but Yue cannot be sure. Does it matter though?
He cannot speak, but then the gag is suddenly loosened. Yue promptly spits it out.
“Untie me,” he says, his voice hoarse around the dryness of his mouth and lips and throat.
The demon bastard snorts.
“Yeah, no, we already did that one," he then says. "I’m not untying you until I can be reasonably sure that you won’t go off doing something stupid the moment I take my eyes off of you, understood?”
The implications are that Yue had already gone off and done something stupid on some previous occasion, and that he is in no position to be making demands of any sort. This doesn’t stop him however. “Untie me or kill me, demon bastard.”
The demon bastard levels Yue with a definite look, and Yue glares right back at him, which for some reason has the other let out an amused snort.
“Well then, since you insist.” With a snap of the bastard’s fingers, the restraints immediately go loose. “There. Happy now?”
Yue would be ecstatic, if not for basically everything about this whole situation, and watching those restraints slither off into the demon bastard’s hands does little to improve the situation. Rather, watching those pieces of qi-infused cloth slither over and roll themselves up for easy retrieval makes him a bit sick, and Yue quickly sits up in an effort to get farther away from them.
“Here.” The demon bastard thrusts a waterskin at him. “Water. Completely clean. No poison whatsoever.”
There’s obviously no reason for Yue to trust him. Still, he takes the waterskin with shaking hands.
“Don’t drink too much,” the demon bastard advises. “You’ll get sick.”
Funny. Because Yue is already feeling like he’s about to⸺
Yue is sick, and there’s absolutely no doubt about it.
He has no idea where he is, but he’s clearly lying in bed, his head resting upon a soft pillow.
The demon bastard is there as well, frowning down at him. “Shixiong, you’re awake.”
Hah. “Disappointed?”
With a snort, the demon bastard wrings out excessive liquid from a rag.
“Yes,” he says, placing it upon Yue’s forehead. “Very much so. Go back to sleep. How will you ever get better if you won’t rest?”
Huh. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why do I need to get better?”
The demon bastard gives him that look again; that deeply exasperated look. “Because I need to take responsibility.”
Responsibility?
“Yes, shixiong, responsibility.”
Hah, responsibility? “You never respected me before, Youming Jun. Why start now?”
The demon bastard actually flinches, as if physically struck. It’s most likely Yue’s imagination though. Well, in the end, it hardly matters now, does it? Nothing does.
“Don’t call me shixiong,” Yue says, closing his eyes. “Since when have I ever taught you anything?”
A hand brushes briefly against his, then covers it altogether, but Yue keeps his eyes stubbornly shut.
“Shixiong is selling himself short," the demon bastard murmurs. "I’ve learned many things from Yue-shixiong.”
Hah. “Forget them.”
Forget me.
There’s a hand on his forehead, resting on top of the cold compress. “Why?”
Why not? There’s nothing worth remembering, nothing whatsoever.
