Ye Shen, Night God of the East
#⏹⏹⏹ Rift Cave, Waterfall Cliff
Wu Yuan Village, Eastern Mainland
Dayheim, Land of Mortals
For the first time in several sundowns, the night god sheds his skin free of garments, and plops himself down into the pond.
The water envelopes him like a warm sigh, the reflection of the cave's roof zigzagging in distorted mirrors across his face. It is but a humble bathing setting; a miniature hot spring carved out of rocks with cracks to allow the waterfall to seep in, situated in a section of his private chamber. Although the water has long become room temperature, he welcomes the sensation nonetheless.
The bandages soak themselves into near transparency, and yet the outlines of grime and blood stands out like a sight for sore eyes. Just for a moment, he contemplates unwrapping himself, just to clean the dirty clothes and perhaps scrub at the carved skin where the runes sit.
But the image of the four Blessings appear before his eyes just as fast as they flee, and he falters.
All it takes is one, simple flick of a switch in his brain, and all the restraints will let loose. All it takes is so little, and yet he will stand to lose so much. He will hear the agonising screams from that very moment like he was reliving it. All over again, in repeated loops, like an unending nightmare that kick starts itself as soon as it ends, with neither heads nor tails.
Being a reaper does take a toll on one's psyche; and his, for example, is cursed with enhanced senses to vehemence. For every soul he has reaped, and for every evil he has repelled, he has heard every cry.
The souls of gods are no different.
If anything, he hears them in more astounding clarity. He can't remember the last time he was able to succeed in filing them out just for some good shut eye.
He looks around. The stillness of the water when he doesn't move anchors him, and the solidity of the bedrock radiates a sensation that is cooling to the touch. If he holds his breath, just for a moment, the voices in his head become null.
It seems rather quiet today, he thinks to himself, and he dares think he may be able to fall asleep because the water feels too nice and too soothing, and perhaps I can actually get some sleep.
In hindsight, dozing off in a bath might be unwise — but then the runes on his skin wouldn't hurt too much, and perhaps the world can keep going on without him for a mere few hours — just because the water that surrounds him feels like a weightless blanket that lifts the burden off his psyche.
He sighs, sinks himself lower until the back of his head rests against a bedrock, and closes his eyes.
Then, time passes in a blur — it could have been a second, or it could have been a century, and yet it all felt the same to him.
The indistinguishable murmurs blend into the sound of running water, and the night god finds peace in his presence being drowned out, invisible to all eyes that could see.
My liege.
His reverie begins to resound in the echoes of his mind, and he wonders why he begins to doze off to the idea of his generals calling out for him.
My liege?
He stirs. It sounds too realistic to be a part of his mental cacophony.
My liege, there is an intruder at the front of the cave!
He sits up, eyes wide open like he's seen the Lord, and bolts straight out of the bath.
The speed in which he gets dressed — even with hair and body soaking wet — would be something he praises himself for, had it not been for the urgency of the situation. As soon as he ensures he is as presentable as one might be, a general is already standing at the door, waiting in slight panic.
"Who is it?" He asks, shaking the water droplets out of his hair.
"A… mortal, if my readings prove correct."
They share a look of unexpected surprise, and remain quiet as the night god ponders. "A mere mortal should not have been able to break the camouflage spell."
"As it stands, my liege, it is a mortal with a rather unsettling trace of dark energy to her person," As they take long strides to seize the distance, his general continues. "A Westerner as well. She has an aura trace of a god."
This immediately makes him stop in his tracks. "A descendant of a deity?"
The look they share is uncertain, albeit laced with a tinge of surprise, and they continue walking.
"A descendant of a deity," he merely echoes what he said, his mind's eye already mapping out which Western deity is assigned the mission. Why would the Forbidden City enlist the help of the Welkin Castle at all stands to be pondered upon, but he files that away for later.
He does not have to verbalise his thoughts nor use the private communication array, and yet the general is able to understand clearly what this situation means.
After two hundred years, the Celestial Abode has finally started to take action.
The question is, which deity is sent after him, and what does he have to deal with?
"Does this mean war, or does this mean going back to the Forbidden City?" His general thinks out loud as they resume their pace, spreading both their wings to fly over downslope.
"War against the Forbidden City is not in my best interest," he responds, and as they take another turn, they are finally nearing the opening of the cave. The sunlight highlights the creases in his brows in perfect clarity. "But I am hoping for a fair negotiation for my return to the post — if that mortal in disguise is not set on killing me."
"It will take more than a mortal shell to vanquish you, my liege," his retainer remarks, to which he just huffs at. Although that statement stands factual, he has to remember that his combat prowess is no longer what it once was.
The moment the sunlight envelopes his whole body, where the cavern of the rift cave opens up wide, all of his retainers are seen standing guard, a shared panic on all their visages. The only thing separating the rest of the colony from the unwanted visitor is the ironclad talisman he has set up at the front, masked as a pile of rocks and outgrown vines. "My liege, she is prodding at the entrance. Let us know how to proceed."
The manner in which they all spread their wings signal their readiness for battle, and the way the night god simply closes his, signals his decline. "All of you, go into hiding. I will handle her alone."
"But, my liege—"
"She cannot harm me in a mortal body, even if she chooses to do so. Let me assess her purpose of visit first."
The retainers immediately go quiet, and with one look at the way the night god clenches his jaw, his determination is absolute. They all know that once he has set his mind onto something, not even the Lord can deter it.
Thus, they just quietly retreat, morphing into their bat forms and blending into the shadows of the harsh sun.
When the rest of the colony is dormant, he takes a deep inhale, brushes the last remnants of droplets from his hair, and deactivates the camouflage spell.
Gumiho, Fox Spirit of the East
#⏹⏹⏹ Rift Cave, Waterfall Cliff
Wu Yuan Village, Eastern Mainland
Dayheim, Land of Mortals
This is a pretty strong camouflage spell, the fox god thinks to herself as she now stands at the opening of a cave, clearly blocked off and with nary a foothold for her. The only thing between her and falling straight into the waterfall beneath is a particularly steady boulder she is stepping on.
Her senses tell her there's more to it — there has to be, this can't be it, and her senses have never once failed her. She can detect that there has been a talisman set in place, but it surpasses her to break it.
Is this it? Is this how I fail?
There has to be a key to it, all spells have a weakness. She just needs to find it. There is no way she is returning to the Forbidden City with such a shameful report. Her? Unable to dismantle a camouflage talisman?
As she wanders around the blocked opening of the cave, tugging at the vines in one moment, the next, they just — disappear.
The fox god jumps back with a startle, almost losing her footing and falling off the narrow edge. This mortal shell that houses her does not seem to be filled with great stamina.
"Watch it."
Before she remembers herself, a steady grip encloses around her wrist, yanking her forward, and recovering her balance for her. And in the next moment, as if it all happens way too slow and too fast at once, the world spins on its axis, and the cave's opening is wide open.
But that wasn't what she saw first.
What she sees first are a pair of striking eyes, mismatching hues of vibrant red and steel grey. They burn ablaze with an unreadable emotion of impressive aptitude, and they are unblinking as they scrutinise her like her soul has been barred open.
Those eyes stare at her like they see through her disguise, and the intensity of it all is so unsettling that she yelps.
As locks of grey hair fall into her vision in waves, and as the striking features of his face fall into a tight-lipped stare, she thinks to herself, there he is.
There you are.
The night god, Ye Shen, currently the most wanted deity in all of the Heavenly Abode, has revealed himself in front of her.
She has faith in her disguise, she really does — even if he may have sensed that she was not a usual mortal, he should not be able to pinpoint her identity. At least, not yet.
And even if he may have known that she was an agent of the Forbidden City sent to catch him, the fact that he chose to reveal himself so easily, and is doing… nothing to her yet, when he could be pointing a weapon at her throat, is surely not what she equipped herself for.
But then, those eyes blink, and those brows lower into a frown, and then she remembers herself.
Only then does she realise she has tumbled to the ground, moments away from crashing into a large boulder a mere yard from her head — had it not been for a dark clawed hand cradling the back of her skull.
The man continues to stay silent, just observes as she blinks, dumbfounded. He kneels down on one knee, one hand behind her head and the other gripping her by the wrist. This position they found themselves in does not give her much room to move out of his grip; although she did not sense any hostile intent, the way he stares at her still makes her stomach drop.
"Thank you," is all she is able to muster, and only then does he release her, allowing her room to pull herself upright. It takes an embarrassing amount of time for the fox god to stand up, and she truly has no idea where all of her charms went now that she is face-to-face with her target.
She dares to steal one glance at him, and the night god just stands there, hands folded across his chest, looking way too lax for the situation, like he truly does not suspect her to be a deity in disguise. His comfort is what she finds jarring, and certainly what she did not expect out of the hundreds-or-so devised possibilities in her head.
So, she continues staring.
His hair has a soft look to it, freshly dried and a little fluffy. His animal features are nowhere to be seen. There are still water droplets running down his forearms, seeping into the bandages he wears. Despite the raggedness of his clothing which initially took her by surprise, the night god still somehow manages to look respectable. It is as if his aura has not once diminished, regardless of his attire.
"What are you doing here?" Are the words he uttered to her, back facing the front of the cave which is now wide open and surprisingly barren. She only has a moment to glance behind him to peek at what could possibly be inside — but his eyes follow hers like it's life or death, and she finds it hard to look at anything else.
"Sorry, I was — lost," is this truly the best excuse she can come up with? How lost do you have to be to stumble upon such a well-enshrouded cave by a cliff's edge in the middle of nowhere? "I am a researcher from the Western Mainland. It is my first time venturing into this side of the East, my greatest apologies if I disturbed you!"
The night god continues to say nothing. He doesn't even blink, like he never once considered her words to be truthful — and does this slow head tilt that is all the more agonising for her nerves. "What are you researching about?"
"Ancient superstition and mythologies, sir. I have been directed by my professors to research this area due to hearsay that this nearby village is receiving blessings from a guardian!"
"And you came all the way here due to hearsay?" He looks at her like she's a fool, and it agitates her so bad that she almost considered sedating him then and there.
But she composes herself, reminds herself what's at stake, and fakes a smile. "Well, sir, it is worth a try. After all, this is how research is conducted," she tries, she really does, to keep her tone passive, but she struggles when his eyes narrow like he thinks she has a mental illness. It is truly a wonder how one can rattle her up so much without any words.
She is usually the one doing the nerve rattling, for heaven's sake.
"And what has led you here?" He continues asking, not even moving an inch, to the point where she finds it greatly disturbing.
"I… am from a bloodline of dark arts practitioners," She has practised this line a million times in her head on the way here, and yet, she still stammers. "I can sense — dark energies."
He blinks again, and it's truly amazing how such a mundane action can come across as so chastising, and his lip quirks. "I see. Can you sense anything right now?"
As he says so, the night god takes a step closer, seizing the already little distance between them, like he is asking to be tested. Something inside her tells her she should take a step back, but the wind that creeps up from the inside of her sweater tells her that she would lose foothold and fail before it even starts.
So she challenges him, dares to stare at him with vigour in her eyes, and clenches her jaw. "I can sense that you, sir, are not human."
"You know what I am?" If his bat ears are present, she would imagine that they'd be crooked in mocking curiosity.
"I think I can guess," she breathes, realising their height difference when her head tilts upwards just to match his gaze.
Afterwards, the world halts to a screech. For the first time in centuries, she sees a smile on his face.
And yet, it isn't the one she longed to witness — it is cruel, patronising, and almost mocking as it ignites pits of fire in the back of her throat. "A ghost? A demon? An evil monster that hides under your bed?"
Great. Now he is just straight up teasing her.
The fox spirit temporarily closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, chants to herself she needs to remember what she's here for, and opens them again.
She is the God of Deception; just because the King of Ghosts actually participates in idle chit chat does not mean she must forget herself.
Mocking. That is her strength. This banter; it is her domain. Just because this man actually has a sense of humour and it takes her by surprise in a small moment, does not mean she is no longer the nine-tailed fox god.
She mirrors his smile in perfect clarity, and watches as the light of snideness fades from his eyes.
"No, sir — none of the above. There is an air to you that is riveting. The air of…" She trails off, and it is now her turn to take a step forward, cursing him to retrace a step back. She is winning. "... Godhood."
He stays silent.
"You are the guardian in the folklore I came here for, are you not?"
I got you. Her smile widens, and she must look nefarious right now, if she has anything to say about the warped reflection of herself in those red-grey eyes. I have finally found you.
The smile completely disappears from his face. A breeze drawls past them, like a lazy afternoon yawn, warm and humid like a sigh. It does little to calm the hairs rising at the back of her neck.
"You are right, I am." Instead of finding a lazy excuse or straight up attacking her, his posture just slacks, and he nods lazily, like this confession is equivalent to saying water is wet. "You found me. Happy?"
"Very!" She just nods giddily, shock and excitement barely concealed. There is no way this mission is going smoother than she thought it would.
"Come in, I will answer all the questions for your paper — and then, you will leave the village, and leave me alone." He speaks as he turns his back to her and starts walking in, fully expecting her to follow suit. And that, she does. "Do we have an agreement?"
"Signed and sealed, sir."
He just makes a noise at the bottom of his throat, passive in acknowledgement, and leads her inside.
The cavern of the cave takes a soft turn, and surprisingly, opens up to a massive space with a roof that is yards tall, almost the size of a deity's heavenly post in the Forbidden City.
Although the architecture is brash and all rocks, there is a fine taste of decoration that gives the ambiance of a fully functional communal space — akin to a well-crafted, underground city. Lights are hung up with fire torches here, and powered by dark red crystals there, the eeriness interpreted as strikingly elegant. Everywhere she looks, all the furnitures are adorned in grey and red — the large dining space, the wooden doors that leads to other terminals, crimson-brown weaponries hanging on one odd side of the wall, the massive courtyard with wilted flowers that are hauntingly beautiful, and the enormous chandelier made out of mana crystals hanging high at the heart of the ceiling.
From the outside, it really looks like nothing much — it can even pass as a wilted, abandoned cave. And yet once the camouflage spell is lifted; she truly understands that the elegance of a god stays with him wherever he goes, and wherever he chooses to make itself his home.
This cave looks like it could be a happy home to hundreds, and yet the only people occupying the space now are the two of them.
"This is impressive," she breathes, and it is factual in every way as her eyes dart from one end to another. "You really have built something amazing for yourself here, sir."
"You can drop the sir," it irks her slightly that he disregards her genuine compliment, but if it bothers her, it doesn't show on her face. "I have a name."
"I assumed it was rude to inquire."
He laughs, and it's a short, huffed sound, like it's out of disbelief. "Xin."
Her eyes round up at the name given — of course, she knows this name. Xin Zhilei, how can she forget?
But why would he give her his mortal name?
"Sin?" She repeats, pouring her all into the fake Westerner accent she forced herself into.
"It's — softer than that. Xin."
She purses her lips together to rid herself of any laughter attempting to burst out, then inhales, and tries again. "Cyn?"
His eyes find her over his shoulders, a slight agitation laced underneath the way those long lashes flutter, before he straight up surrenders. "Sure. It is whatever you call it."
"Cyn is a great name," she responds without missing a beat as he leads her to take a seat at the long bench carved from bedrock.
"And yours?" He inquires like it's only natural, already shifting into a cross-legged sitting position like he's about to tune her out and start meditating.
Right, she needs a name. She didn't even bother to learn the name of this host body — just straight up stole her shell when she was alseep in front of her desk, and flew out.
Damn it, do I have enough time to send Ariadne a message on what would be a fitting Western name?
But the look he's giving her is indicating that she is treading on eggshells, so she spews out the best name she can think of.
"Ari." Short for Ariadne. Sorry Ariadne. I'm sure you would forgive me for using your name in vain.
He simply lowers his gaze in response, not even offering a hallowed compliment, and simply stares at her attire like it's atrocious. Yes, she is clad in jeans and a navy sweater, and her backpack is just simple black polyester, but surely this is nothing to warrant such a judgemental look from a man wearing ancient undergarments, no?
"This space is definitely too big for you to be alone — where are the others?"
"Out hunting," he offers, like it's the most natural answer; and perhaps, to him, it is. "Let us start. What questions do you have for me?"
"Well, maybe we can start with the brief backgrounds," as she pulls out a notebook and a pen, pretending to jot down information she already knows like muscle memory, the man — Cyn, now — shifts in his position, and is now almost knee-to-knee with her. She pretends it doesn't alarm her. "You are a god who watches over the nearest village? For how many years?"
"It is called Wu Yuan, and two hundred."
"Wow, you are ancient," she remarks, and he just furrows his brows at that, dismissing her immediately. "What do you do, actually?"
"I protect the village from evil spirits during the night. This area specifically is closest to the biggest battlefield during the Ancient War. Many undead spirits are still found lingering in the premises, even centuries later."
Of course, she knows exactly what he meant — the Ancient War of the Eastern Mainland, barely ten years after he was brutally murdered. A war that the Royal Family lost, due to the absence of their greatest military general. Known to most as Huise, and known to her as Xin Zhilei.
That very man, centuries later, is sitting in front of her now, looking bored out of his mind. It truly is ironic how this world works.
No wonder he chose to reside here — if she thinks about it, is this not above the waterfall where he was found dead?
But she brushes the memories aside, pretends she had no prior knowledge of this information, and fakes a surprised ah.
"I see," is all she has to say, and she inscribes it into handwriting. However much she can remember, that is. "Is that why you—" a brief glance at the mysterious bandages, and finally, she now has the courage to ask, "— are wrapped with bandages? Because of the injuries?"
His face turns ghastly pale, like she has struck a nerve for forbidden things she should have never touched on, and for a brief moment, the air around them weighs like bricks on her conscience. His aura flares, invisible to the naked eyes — and yet she can see it with astounding clarity; mists of black-red evaporating from the seams of his silhouette, suffocating the air which they breathe, and her throat tightens.
But in the next moment, it disappears, and his face is passive.
"You may say so. These are centuries-old wounds."
She looks up, and her eyes tremble slightly as his sharpens. This is a good opening to prod further; maybe this could be the very reason why he fled from the heavens. "Centuries-old wounds? You should clean them."
"I do clean them," is delivered in the blandest and most ingenuine tone known to man, and she huffs.
Her deductions tell her that beneath those bandages may be spiritual injuries sustained from the Battle of the Blessings — perhaps beneath them are the very godrunes of the other four deities.
But then this begs the question — why would he try to hide his newfound powers and reject them? All gods wear their godrunes proudly on their skin. Some even go so far as to tailor elaborate outfits that highlight portions of skin where their godrunes are etched.
If she can just see them — if she can just touch him, and release just the tiniest bit of her aura trace, she can activate her mind control spell.
And the rest will be easy work. She will gather all the information she needs to know; if only she can touch him again. She shames herself for not thinking of doing so upon first encounter, when his hands are still on her. Damn him and his element of surprise.
"I can clean wounds. Let me help." She offers, rather innocently at first, lifting her hands to touch the dirtied bandages like she means no harm.
Cyn pulls away faster than the speed of light.
"I do not need a mortal's help." He spits, venomous and strong with disgust, and she is almost offended had it not been for the relentless farce she needs to uphold.
"Right, my apologies, Cyn. You seemed to be in pain — I only wanted to help." She responds, her words rather meek in delivery, and that she did not have to fake. Although she did have ulterior motives, she truly meant no harm.
He stays quiet for a moment, almost as if he felt bad for her, and then, "What could you help with, anyway?"
"I don't know, some calming spell? You seem so tense. Especially your shoulders — here." And as she reaches up again, he doesn't evade her, and the skin contact is finally made.
She almost hisses at how cold he is. Sure, he is as pale as alabaster, and gods do not have a heartbeat — but to be as cold as a centuries-old corpse is still uncommon for any deity.
Her palm rests on the god's shoulders, firm with muscle and still looking incredibly frail, like something doesn't match up. Like he chose to appear frail on purpose, but she doesn't question it. "I come from a family of witches — we do know some spells or two, although not as strong as a god's, but perhaps what you need in this moment is novelty."
His eyes dim for an instance, not daring to move a muscle; like if he did, he would kill her on the spot. There's a sense of hostility under there somewhere, the way he tenses up even more and his jaw clenches, but his eyes and the way they regard her is soft and piqued with curiosity. She finds his carefulness rather… endearing. "I have never encountered Western spells."
"And perhaps that changes now, and it will work," she smiles as warmly as she could, and scoots closer. Their knees brush. "May I?"
His lips are pursed into a straight line, and she can visibly see how hard he's trying to rid his face of any emotions. "If you do anything funny, let it be known that I have the right to kill you."
"You're a God, it is against your morals to harm a mortal." She speaks confidently like she knows this for a fact — and she does, as do every other deity and every other mortal. Benevolent gods — especially combat gods meant to be protectors — have sworn an oath in front of the Lord to never use their powers for harm, or else they would stand to face Judgement from the Heavens.
"Not if the Heavens wouldn't know about it," he remarks, contrary to her expected compliance, and the gall makes her smile. She had not realised that this austere man could be so witty. His daring pessimism is almost charismatic.
"But you invited me into your home, and I believe that already speaks volumes on your benevolence."
He remains quiet at that. Victory. "On with it already, woman."
There it is, her golden chance. Although the night god is being surprisingly cooperative, it is not within her best interests to question it. She must take what she can get.
"Close your eyes, Cyn. I promise I won't hurt you."
"A promise, huh?" He retorts back despite doing as told, and she's glad they weren't open to witness the smile on her face.
Little does he know, she intends to keep it. She did tell the sun god that there would be no bloodshed — and as long as Cyn doesn't force her hand, then she doesn't have a reason to.
One exhale is all it takes for her to tap into her mana reserves, a familiar warmth embracing her mortal skin as her aura trace activates and seeps into the ends of her fingertips. They light up with a pleasant hum, a hue of icy blue, lukewarm to the contact where it meets Cyn's cold skin.
Heed my call. Eased be your senses, laxed be your consciousness, none be your witness.
She opens her eyes. Almost instantaneously, Cyn immediately goes lax in his posture, head drooping like it would veer off his shoulders.
Oh.
She definitely did not expect it to be this effective. At the very least, the psyche of a god who bears mental weight from evil would at least put up a fight.
Well, a win is a win.
She smiles, not an ounce of innocence now left on her visage. Perhaps two hundred years of fighting without being in his post has taken a toll on him.
"Cyn? Are you alright?" She asks, expecting the silence that comes as his answer.
Like clockwork, the silence comes. Thus, she gently lays him down onto the bedrock, and hovers over him like how she leers at her mortal subjects. Perhaps all men are the same, after all.
Now that she is finally able to view his face close up without the scrutiny of his gaze, she takes her time. She takes her time in viewing the intricacy of his features — defined, yet slim, oddly with a feminine elegance that makes his appearance rather androgynous.
His lashes are curly and long, like obsidian fans cascading against the high of his cheekbones. The sockets beneath his eyes run deep, like he hasn't had a good night's sleep in centuries. The bridge of his nose is sharp and perfectly straight, almost alarmingly so. The cupid's bow of his lip is as defined as a sculpture's, and yet the bottom lip remains forever pursed like they are never meant to curl up into a smile.
A curious index escapes her grasp and finds itself poking his hallowed cheek. No response. Perhaps the sedation spell is too strong — she did not just numb his consciousness, she had numbed him into slumber.
"What a cutie." She snickers to herself, daring to utter words she never would in his presence, for she knows he would take offence in being talked to so condescendingly. "Sleep well. I'm still not going to hurt you."
"Oh, then I got excited over nothing."
The moment she looks away from his face just to steady herself, the same voice replies, laced with amusement that takes her by surprise. She hears herself gasp and hears his movements before she can register them, and once more she finds herself bested by the god's physical superiority.
The aura trace of the night god is now fully present, manifesting in the form of black-red flames surrounding them both like it threatens to engulf her whole. His ears spring up from beneath the locks of grey hair, now in full visibility, and the pointy end of his tail stabs the space just between her thighs. As he pounces, her body hits the bedrock with a loud bang, yet not before his wings spread forth, its fangs digging the space right next to her temples, locking her in position.
Unbeknownst to her, her tails flare up in a fight-or-flight response before she can even mask them, coerced into action by the threat of the night god's aura in full bloom.
And when she looks up, he is saddled on top of her, a clawed hand holding her by the throat, the other enclosed in a death grip on one of her tails.
And his eyes. His eyes scream death.
"I had an assumption, but I didn't really think the Lord would send you," he snarls at her, the fangs now in full display like a predator marking its prey, and the way his red eye lights up furiously causes her to snarl back instinctively. "Gumiho."
She hisses at the surge of vehemence coming from the usage of her true name. "Ye Shen."
He snickers, and it's a nefarious smile that is all-teeth. "Enchanted to meet you, God of Deception."