Haneul staggered to his feet, his limbs weak and trembling beneath the crushing weight of Seojun's words. His knees threatened to buckle again with every uncertain step, but he forced himself upright.
His chest heaved as though each breath cost him fragments of his soul. His blood still trickled faintly from his palms where his nails had torn the flesh open.
But none of it mattered now. Not compared to the horror awaiting them.
Seojun turned with fluid grace, his long coat flaring briefly with the motion, the black fabric dragging softly across the warped wooden floor. The chains swayed from his sleeves like delicate tendrils, their faint clinking the only sound in the heavy silence.
His boots landed with deliberate finality on every uneven plank, driving a pulse of authority into the air with every step forward, as though even the building bent beneath his stride.
Hyeonjae followed a pace behind, carrying Taejun's limp body in his arms with unsettling care, as though holding a prize both fragile and irreplaceable.
His face, once full of arrogance and venom, was now pale with nervous obedience, his eyes flicking up to Seojun as if awaiting silent judgment at every turn.
The confidence he once exuded around Haneul had evaporated entirely beneath the weight of his presence.
Haneul trailed them, stumbling behind like a prisoner marching toward his execution.
His breath rattled as he watched Taejun's small, unconscious frame sway with every step, head lolling weakly against Hyeonjae's shoulder.
The sight carved deeper wounds into him than any blade could.
The corridor they entered was narrow, suffocating, its walls closing in with each step they took.
The rotting wood, damp with years of decay, seemed to pulse faintly as if reacting to Seojun's presence, shrinking away from him as though even the structure feared what walked its halls.
The air thickened, heavy with the scent of damp stone and something fouler beneath, a quiet rot buried in the marrow of the house.
Dim sconces flickered weakly along the walls, casting elongated shadows that danced grotesquely with their passing.
The flicker of failing flames played across Seojun's pale features, emphasizing the unnatural sharpness of his cheekbones, the glint of cold light catching the faint crimson threads embroidered along the inner seams of his coat, intricate patterns that whispered of long-forgotten rites and unspoken pacts.
At the end of the hall, a door loomed, taller, older than the rest.
The carvings etched into its blackened surface spiraled in indecipherable patterns, as though the very wood itself had been scarred by forces that had no business touching mortal earth.
Its handle was forged of tarnished iron, twisting into grotesque shapes that resembled neither beast nor man.
Seojun came to a halt before it. The very air surrounding him seemed to pull inward, as though drawn toward the stillness of his frame.
Slowly, he raised a hand, his slender fingers hovering before the twisted handle. But before he touched it, his head turned slightly, his golden eyes falling once more upon Haneul, who froze like prey beneath a predator's gaze.
"You begged to follow," Seojun murmured, voice low, measured, and razor-sharp. "Do you still wish to continue? You may turn back now. Save yourself what little dignity remains. Left this vessel alone, with use where I have chosen."
A vessel?
Haneul swallowed hard, his throat raw and burning. His legs screamed to run, to turn, to flee this place and abandon all hope. But his gaze drifted again to Taejun, cradled in Hyeonjae's arms like an offering waiting to be devoured. And every instinct inside him twisted violently.
"No," he rasped, barely able to summon the breath. "I'll go wherever you take him."
Seojun's lips curved into the faintest mockery of a smile, but his eyes remained devoid of warmth. "Good. Now then."
Without another word, he gripped the door's handle.
The moment his hand closed upon the iron, the carvings pulsed faintly with a dull crimson glow, as though recognizing their master.
The lock hissed open, not with the sound of mechanical release, but with an almost living exhalation, as if the door itself had been waiting.
Seojun pushed the door inward.
What lay beyond was not a room, but a void.
A vast chamber descended beneath the earth, hollowed out by rituals long forgotten, its walls slick with moisture that reflected the faint flicker of dim torches planted deep into the ground.
Chains and hooks dangled from the vaulted ceiling like a forest of rusted limbs, alongside strange symbols lined the floor in winding, endless circles, drawn in dried stains of an origin Haneul dared not imagine.
The moment the door opened fully, a wave of cold washed over them, not the chill of wind or weather, but the breath of a place that existed outside of time, untouched by sunlight.
Seojun entered first, his footsteps silent as shadows devoured his form. Hyeonjae followed, clutching Taejun like a fragile relic, his movements increasingly careful, as though even he feared disturbing the slumbering forces that waited here.
Haneul paused on the threshold, his breath visible in the freezing air.
His heart pounded against his ribs, each beat a hammer's strike against his will, but he stepped forward nonetheless, sealing his fate as the door groaned shut behind him, locking out what little of the world remained beyond.
The nightmare had only begun.
The chamber pulsed with a hollow stillness that gnawed at Haneul's nerves. Every distant drip of moisture striking the stone floor echoed like an accusation.
The stale air, thick with the metallic tang of old blood and forgotten despair, clung to his lungs with every breath he dared take.
The dim light of the flickering torches cast grotesque shapes along the damp stone walls, their silhouettes writhing as though alive, twisting with silent mockery.
Seojun moved ahead, his presence slicing through the stagnant air. His coat, lined with countless crimson embroideries, whispered with each graceful shift of his frame.
The chains woven into his sleeves swayed faintly, producing soft, irregular chimes that broke the otherwise heavy silence.
His every movement was precise, controlled, less like a man and more like some unspoken force wearing human skin.
Hyeonjae lowered Taejun's limp body onto a small altar that stood at the center of the room.
The slab was carved from dark stone veined with a dull maroon hue, as if fed by the seepage of countless rituals performed upon its surface.
The boy's fragile chest rose and fell faintly, his eyelids fluttering against the poison's grip, his skin pale beneath the failing torchlight.
Seojun stood before the altar, his golden eyes fixed upon Taejun with a peculiar stillness.
His lips moved in silent calculation, reciting incantations older than memory itself, his gaze studying the child as one would an intricate puzzle waiting to be solved.
Finally, his voice broke the silence, low and steady, as though speaking directly to the marrow of the earth beneath them.
"He carries it… barely formed, but strong. And the thread remains." His fingers hovered just inches above Taejun's chest, as though feeling for invisible currents pulsing beneath the boy's skin. "The twin tether is still intact."
Haneul's knees nearly buckled again, but he caught himself, his voice trembling as it crawled from his throat. "Please… whatever you're planning, just don't hurt him. I'll do anything."
Seojun's head turned with a slow, precise motion, his eyes locking onto Haneul with such force that the air between them seemed to contract. "Anything?" His voice carried no surprise, no warmth, only a quiet curiosity, as though observing a weak animal offering itself willingly beneath the butcher's blade.
Haneul's breath hitched, but his voice cracked forward. "Anything. Spare him. Take me instead, use me for whatever you want, but leave him out of this."
A long pause hung between them. Even the flames in the sconces seemed to hesitate, flickering nervously in the suffocating stillness.
Then Seojun's expression shifted, a faint flicker of amusement curling at the corners of his mouth, though his eyes remained void of humor. "It seems like you still don't understand your place." His voice dripped with quiet authority, not raised, yet filling every crevice of the room. "This was never about your permission. I gave the permission, and what came out of my mouth is my will."
As his words sank into the cold stone, Seojun gestured with a single finger.
The chains affixed to the far walls began to twitch.
Slowly at first, then violently, snapping taut as unseen forces dragged them into motion.
The chains extended, unfurling toward the altar with eerie precision, their rusted links slithering like metallic serpents across the bloodstained floor.
Haneul's breath quickened, horror rising like bile in his throat as the chains curled themselves around Taejun's small limbs, binding his wrists and ankles with delicate but unyielding strength.
The child flinched unconsciously, a faint moan escaping his lips as the cold steel bit into his fragile skin.
"No!" Haneul lurched forward, but Hyeonjae intercepted him, stepping into his path with effortless speed.
One pale hand pressed against Haneul's chest, forcing him back with a strength that far outweighed his lean frame.
Haneul struggled, pushing against Hyeonjae's arm with desperate fury, but his captor barely budged, his face composed and strangely mournful.
"You're only making it worse," Hyeonjae whispered, his voice almost gentle. "This was always going to happen. This was the fate from the beginning."
Seojun stepped closer to the bound child now, his hand reaching once more for Taejun's chest.
His fingers hovered there, steady, reverent, as if communing with something hidden beneath the boy's ribs.
The air vibrated faintly, as though answering an unspoken call.
"The brother lost," Seojun murmured, voice rich with dark satisfaction, "but he still lingers within him. The echoes were woven into his blood. One soul fractured, two vessels left behind. You tried to sever them, Haneul." His gaze flicked briefly toward Haneul, whose face was drenched in silent, helpless tears. "But threads like these were never meant to break."
He spread his arms slowly, his long coat parting like heavy curtains as dozens of fine, thin blades revealed themselves, hidden within the inner lining of the fabric.
They swayed gently with his motion, gleaming with an otherworldly sheen under the dying torchlight, each one etched with symbols that pulsed faintly as though breathing.
Haneul's voice ripped from him in a hoarse, broken scream. "Stop! Please, Seojun, I beg you!"
For the first time, Seojun paused, only for a moment.
His eyes settled upon Haneul again, and though his expression remained unreadable, something in his gaze darkened, not out of sympathy, but as though mildly inconvenienced by the man's persistence.
"Begging is beneath you now, Haneul," he spoke, his voice like the cold edge of winter slicing across flesh. "You were given years to prevent this. Your failure has simply caught up."
And with that, Seojun's fingers shifted once more, his preparations complete.
The ritual was about to begin.
The moment Seojun's fingers shifted, the entire room responded as if awakening from a long slumber.
The chains binding Taejun grew taut, pulling his small body into a rigid spread across the altar, suspending him slightly above the cold surface, his chest rising in shallow, trembling breaths.
His head lolled weakly to one side, eyelids fluttering as the venom in his blood fought against the faint sparks of consciousness clawing to the surface.
The symbols etched into Seojun's hidden blades began to glow more intensely now, a sinister amber hue, pulsing like the heartbeat of something not entirely bound by flesh or mortality.
The air thickened, heavy with a cold humidity that seemed to seep directly into the marrow of Haneul's bones, making his knees threaten to collapse with each passing breath.
Seojun spoke, but not to either of them. His voice dropped into a low, resonant chant that felt ancient, not in years, but in weight, words that seemed to crawl through the walls themselves, vibrating across the stone, twisting the shadows along the corners of the chamber into long, stretching fingers.
The language was guttural, foreign to human ears, yet carried a cruel elegance as it poured from his lips.
As the chant deepened, thin strands of vapor-like threads began to slither upward from Taejun's chest, wisps of pale blue and violet light twisting together in slow spirals, as though his very essence was being teased loose from his flesh.
The threads swayed, pulling and tugging with each carefully articulated syllable that fell from Seojun's mouth.
Haneul's breath hitched, eyes wide with silent agony.
His hands trembled at his sides, fingers curling into useless fists as his body screamed for action while his mind collapsed beneath the weight of hopelessness. "Please… I'm begging you…" He rasped again, voice torn and thin, eyes glistening with desperation. "Whatever you want… take me instead. You want my life? My soul? Anything! Just don't take him!"
Hyeonjae, standing behind him like a phantom warden, remained silent now, watching Seojun work.
Even his usual mocking grin had faded, replaced by a tense solemnity.
Though he had committed countless horrors under Seojun's shadow, witnessing the ritual firsthand was never without its dreadful gravity.
His jaw tightened, throat was dry. This was not a spectacle meant for casual indulgence.
Seojun's chant halted abruptly, and the threads of light froze mid-air as though locked in suspense.
For a moment, the chamber became impossibly still.
Then Seojun turned his head slightly, his golden eyes landing once more upon Haneul. His voice softened, but its cold detachment remained intact. "Do you even understand what you're asking, Haneul? Do you have the slightest idea of what he carries inside him? What do I intend to release?"
Haneul's breath shuddered. "I don't care, he's just a boy! You don't have to."
Seojun's voice cut through him like a blade. "You care for the vessel because you mistake it for the soul. What rests beneath is no child. What sleeps within him was never meant to remain caged. Your fear is irrelevant. And this process... cannot be reversed."
As he spoke, the threads above Taejun began to twist tighter, merging into a thicker, denser strand that pulsed with an erratic rhythm, like some embryonic thing preparing to hatch.
The chains rattled violently.
Taejun's back arched sharply as the tether within him fought to resist its extraction.
His lips parted in a soundless cry, his breath shallow and rapid, sweat forming across his pale forehead as his body convulsed under the strain.
Seojun extended both arms now, and with a slow, commanding motion of his hands, the fused thread of energy began to lower itself from the air, descending into a small, rune-etched vessel resting at the foot of the altar.
The vessel's surface shimmered unnaturally as though it thirsted for the stolen essence.
A wind that had no source blew through the chamber, howling like distant voices trapped beyond sight, their mournful wails circling above as if bearing witness to the grotesque act unfolding beneath them.
Haneul dropped to his knees, his voice fracturing into raw sobs. "I'm begging you!" he screamed, tears streaking down his face. "He's all I have left!"
The room responded not with mercy but with a dreadful crescendo of noise, the grinding of stone, the rattle of unseen chains, and the building hum of the ritual nearing its climax.
Seojun's face remained frozen in unyielding focus, his eyes glimmering with predatory anticipation.
The vessel beneath the boy trembled.
The extraction was almost complete.