#dmm masterlist

Then, radiant light bursts through the mausoleum, blinding you.

Crash.

The creature’s appendages that dig into your flesh disappear as it’s abruptly slammed sideways. An inhuman snarl echoes across the room as a result, discordant and harsh. The noise is painful against your eardrums as you try to squirm away, face contorting uncomfortably in response to the sound.You scramble away from the spot you were just in, knees scraping against the ground. Sharp gravel bits dig in through the fabric of your pants as you crawl away, blinded from the light that flashed through the room.  

The afterimage from the burst of light floats in your vision, leaving your hands to indiscriminately reach around for your gun—or anything—to defend yourself with. Dusty stone is all your hands meet, grime caking under your nails uncomfortably as you attempt to grasp at anything solid. Your pinky brushes up against something cool and metallic, prompting you to lunge hastily in a blind attempt to grab it.

Though, in your partial blindness you miscalculate. All your hands meet is rubble, and instead the heavy small object is smacked by the side of your hand. It’s sent skidding further away from you, the sound of the metal against concrete coming to a halt much farther than what seems safe to reach for. Recalculating, you decide to back away as far as you can towards the wall nearby. If you can’t help, you should at least stay out of the way. 

You slam your own back against the nearest wall, as the dots of light dancing in your vision finally start to dissipate. Slowly refocusing as the world gains definition again, you see Soobin and the creature tussling at the other end of the room. Soobin’s wings are splayed out awkwardly, as he tries to tilt the balance in favor of himself against the dark mass under him. White feathers fly, as the creature claws violently at anything it can reach. 

With a frustrated grunt, Soobin slams its back against the far wall, displacing debris and denting the nameplates the other hunter was looking at mere moments ago. The creature huffs, and the inky darkness around it falters enough for you to see its—his—face.

The creature's dark eyes dart towards you for a moment, head lolling to the side to glance at you as a shimmering liquid drips from his nose. The same sliver-blue sheen leaks from around your knife, still jammed into the side of his thigh. Light bounces off of his eyes unnaturally, reflecting an otherworldly sheen against the light that you’ve never seen. They settle and focus on you momentarily. 

Or you thought it was you, until a voice is suddenly too close for comfort. 

“Seonghwa!” 

A hand grabs your arm, twisting painfully as you’re dragged sideways, before being jostled around to press your back against a chest. Something cool presses against your throat, forcing you to tilt your chin up. Hot breath hits your ear in a shaky rhythm, and hands roughly pull you closer. Cologne mixes with the faint scent of rot and something sickly sweet, as you feel fingers drive into your forearm hard enough to bruise. 

“Let go of him.” 

Soobin’s focus falters. Just long enough that the creature, supposedly named Seonghwa, pushes him off roughly. 

Soobin stumbles backwards, wings flaring out in an attempt to balance himself. Seonghwa however advances, hands reaching for the closest part of Soobin’s shirt to drag him down for a solid kick to the nose. An audible rip resounds through the small room as Soobin sidesteps the grab, one of his sleeves instead is ripped to pieces. 

Eyes alighting with a new fury, Soobin pulls out a small dagger. Arcane runes run along it, glowing with golden ethereal light along the flat edges. The metal rapidly twists and turns, screeching against itself as it warps into a blade easily three times the size of the original dagger. Power emanates from the blade in slight pulses of light as Soobin moves. Slashing it through the air with an audible fwip, he aims for Seonghwa. 

Seonghwa seems to finally get a good look at his attacker, a flash recognition flitting across his face. He huffs, the expression on his face turns incredulous. The inky darkness around him dissipates slowly, as he scoffs at the angel. Whatever aggression was there from him earlier, perceived or not, is no longer there. He stands still, unflinching despite the blade closing in rapidly on him.

When Soobin’s blade never touches him, but instead hovers a hair away from his own throat, he smiles arrogantly.

“Long time no see.” He comments, looking the angel up and down.

“Go on,” his hand reaches up, grabbing the end of the sword to drag it closer. Sparkling silver smears along the edge where he touches the sword, blending with the metal indistinguishably, “Do it.”

“Seonghwa I swear to all that I stand for—” snaps the voice against your back.

“He won’t.” Seonghwa responds smoothly, hand tightening around the steel. “Right? You were never one to make that kind of call.”

The man holding you lets out a sharp exhale. You feel the cold metal against your own neck press impossibly closer, forcing you to take shallow breaths in an effort to not accidentally cut yourself. The voice against your back tsks, and you feel him shift slightly to tighten his hold.

“Enough,” Hisses the voice behind you.

Seonghwa shrugs, “He doesn’t have cause to actually hurt me. Not now, at least.”

Soobin doesn’t budge, his wings puffing up to tower above himself in fury.  

“I could end you right here, Seonghwa.” Soobin responds coldly, pressing the blade closer. 

“Do it, then.”

The man holding you cits in again.

“Seonghwa, don’t antagonize. You,” he gestures towards Soobin with his chin, “Angel. Let him go.”

“I’m performing my duty. I cannot back down until I know both of you are no longer a threat to my charge.” Soobin says icily, eyes finally darting towards you and the man with a blade to your throat.

The man behind you takes in a wavering breath, before slowly pressing the blade so close you feel a slight sting. Swallowing nervously, you can feel how close steel is to scraping against your skin. Every heartbeat makes you painfully aware of how little space there is between you and death in this moment. Hands dig mercilessly into your shoulder, drawing a pained gasp from you. 

“Let. Him. Go.” Your captor sneers. 

Soobin lets the ghost of a frown dart across his face, as his gaze darts down to hover on the knife pressed to your throat. Nothing passes across his face to hint at what he’s thinking, apathetic and stoic until he sees your face contort uncomfortably. He clicks his teeth, jaw clenched in irritation, before letting his sword drop away from Seonghwa’s face a few inches. 

“Call your little… hunter… off.” He says slowly. Suspiciously. 

Seonghwa simply lets out a quick laugh, batting the sword away from his face entirely.

“Giving orders now? That’s new.” Seonghwa smiles smugly, tilting his chin to look up at Soobin defiantly, “Last I checked—”

“Last you checked was well over a century ago. Times change.” Soobin cuts him off, whisking the blade away to rest at his side. The metal flickers with the light from earlier, casting a soft glow on the dented name plates behind him before morphing back down into a small blade he slips in his pocket. 

“Let y/n go. I don’t have time to babysit them or play your stupid mortal games.” Soobin spits out venomously.

You feel heat rush to your face in embarrassment. 

He thinks you’re in need of protection? You’re perfectly capable as is. 

Seonghwa shakes his head, and dismissively waves a hand towards the man behind you.

“Let them go, Hongjoong. There’s more important things to focus on.” He says, motioning to his leg that has a streak of glimmering silver running down his leg. 

Leaning against the wall for balance, he reaches down and wrenches your knife from his leg. You get the briefest glimpse of discomfort on his face, before he’s gently wiping the knife on his trousers and holding it back up to inspect. An unreadable glimmer passes through his eyes as he glances up at you, before slowly sliding up to the face of Hongjoong. Something silent passes between them, as Seonghwa stuffs the blade into his belt. A single eyebrow raises, and he jerks his chin in a motion towards you both. 

The hands on your shoulders tense, rumpling the fabric of your shirt slightly before releasing. Dropping unceremoniously, you take in deep breaths now that the pressure against your throat is gone. 

Your hand trembles as it comes up to run against the shallow wound against your throat. Nothing vital, but terrifying all the same. It stings as you gingerly run a finger over it, licking your lips nervously. 

The man—Hongjoong you think was his name—squats down to your level. His hands stay against his own figure, resting innocently against his thighs as he glances you over. He tilts his head, waiting for your gaze to meet his, before offering his hand out to you wordlessly. 

There’s a few noticeable scars along the back of his hand. The worn sleeve of his jacket rides up slightly, revealing several bracelets of various colors and states of wear stacked underneath. Two have small metallic charms woven into them, clinking against each other as they catch the dim light in the mausoleum.

When you don’t accept his help, he snorts and decides to haul you up himself. The same sickeningly sweet scent from earlier hits your nose as he does so, enough to make you want to gag. Something fruity, with putrid rotten notes hidden barely beneath the surface. When your face contorts, his does at the same time. He hastily pulls away, mumbling a half hearted apology.

Despite this, the winged figure across from you both continues his conversation with Seonghwa, like this encounter was now categorized as a mild inconvenience at most.

“I may not be as patient next time, Seonghwa.” 

“Even if that were the case, what could you do?” Seonghwa muses back.

Soobin’s lips purse into a tight line, his voice coming out sharp and irritated.

“All in my power I could do to protect my charge.”

Seonghwa rolls his eyes, “which wouldn’t be much. You’re acting like I couldn’t rip your wings from your form if I tried.”

“I wouldn’t be shocked if you stooped so low, given your nature.”

A snicker escapes Seonghwa, as he straightens to stand upright. His whole demeanor seems to change, as he pushes off against the stone to stand. Despite bleeding heavily from his leg, and his nose, he seems unperturbed. He rolls his shoulders as he looks down at the stab wound, tsking to himself. A rip resounds through the area, as he tears the sleeve off his shirt to turn into a makeshift tourniquet.

“You’re lucky I didn’t plan on actually hurting her. I just needed her to stop firing her gun. Unlike some…” Seonghwa pauses, looking directly at you so intensely it feels like it burns, before glancing back at Soobin, “I actually care about mortals.”

“I’ve had a change of heart.” Soobin responds brusquely.

Seonghwa’s hands flex as he tightens the bandage around his thigh, before sighing.

“I somehow doubt—” Seonghwa begins, before being abruptly cut off. 

“I have duties to attend to.” Soobin’s voice comes out rushed and strained, as he avoids looking directly at the Seonghwa. 

“Huh?” Seonghwa questions as he’s cut off, “what duties would—“

Soobin is already lifting his massive wings behind him, extending them out as he readies to fly, at least by human standards. Him and Seonghwa make tense eye contact that lingers for a heartbeat, before he’s vanishing in a flurry of feathers and blinding light.

You look away before you can be blinded again, as Hongjoong takes a sharp breath, angling himself slightly away. One arm comes up to shield his face partially, the other dancing midair as if contemplating wanting to reach for something. You catch a fleeting glance of his face up close as he does, his jaw clenched in discomfort and eyes squinted against the pain. 

Seonghwa nearby doesn’t seem affected. He remains steadfast, gaze lingering on the spot Soobin just stood in. His eyes reflect the fading golden light before glancing back at you and Hongjoong curiously.  

Hongjoong’s arm drops as the light fades, going instead to dust his jacket off with his hands. Bits of grime and dust from the area disperse into the air as he does so, making your eyes water. His hand streaks in fine powder, smudging the dirt around more than it cleans it off.

“You know Hwa, as much as I’d love to pry about the lore between you two, we still have a spirit to catch,” he huffs, lifting his hand to his face to inspect the dust with a scrunched nose, “Gross. if this gets all over the car I’m going to lose it.”

Hongjoong finally steps away from you entirely, towards his partner nearby. His lips curl up in disgust, as he tries to wipe his hands on his pants next.

“Haven’t even dealt with the spirit yet and I’m dirty.” Hongjoong hisses out, “last time I get my hands dirty crawling around a cemetery after it’s rained.”

“It’s just dust.” Comes an amused reply, as Seonghwa makes his way over, “it’s not even the mud from outside.”

“Dust from a smelly, crumbling, ancient mausoleum. Who’s to say the dust doesn’t contain something, like remains?” Hongjoong grumbles, as he wipes the last of the filth onto his leg.

Seonghwa pauses next to Hongjoong, picking a piece of dirt off his collar, “It is remains. That’s what dust is made of. I thought you humans were advanced enough in the sciences by now to-”

“That is not what I meant Hwa and you know it!” Hongjoong cuts him off, a ghost of a pout gracing his face.

You can’t help the huff of laughter that bubbles out, whipping your head to the side to try and not look at the two of them bickering. The sound, however, is easily heard within the small crypt. It bounces off the walls and dilapidated arches inside, louder than intended.

Both heads turn to you as the noise escapes. Hongjoong’s face dusts a light pink, his eyes widening as he seems to remember you’re still here. Seonghwa himself lets out a guffaw, body shaking as he laughs at Hongjoong. His fist coming up to try and muffle his laughter as the shorter man’s face darkens. Wispy black specks like smoke float through the air around him as he does, floating down softly and dissipating mid-air. 

“Whatever. There’s more pressing matters.” Hongjoong snaps, pushing past Seonghwa outside.

Hovering nearby for a breath, Seonghwa watches Hongjoong leave the cramped mausoleum before turning to you. His hands gesture towards you, tilting his head slightly with the last bits of amusement lingering on his face. You don’t register for a moment what he’s doing, until you see him gesture again.

Your knife, wiped clean, is held handle-out towards you. His grip is firm and unwavering, as he tilts it against the light of your surroundings. Shallow etchings against the metal catch the light, showing off the blade’s flat sides. The etchings along gain an other-worldy glow for a breadth of a moment amidst the light. 

“Your knife. I assume you want it back?” He muses, waving it at you gently, “unless-”

You snatch it out of his hand before he can change his mind. You’re already shoving the blade into the sheath against your hip, finally feeling a bit more whole as the weight rests against your side. You don’t bother thanking him, as you glance around for your fallen gun.

“Quite the blade you have. Not many of those left in the world.” The creature muses outloud, watching as you circle the small area. 

His comment causes a sudden unsettling anxiety to bubble up in your throat, your hand darting up to pull your jacket closed to obscure it slightly. 

Just ignore him.

Instead of responding, you opt to instead search for your pistol. Tracing your way back to where you were pinned, you squat down to assess the scuffs on the floor. A skid mark here, some chipped cement there. 

“How’d you even get a hold of that blade?” He pries again, though his voice lowers gently. 

Like he knows something. 

When Seonghwa gets no response, he huffs, and leans against the wall by the door. His gaze watches as you search the corners of the crumbling area for your gun. Your hands blindly dart into new crevices and questionably stable arches of the small area. He has enough after a moment, getting up to leave after Hongjoong, though not without a quick comment as he passes. 

“It’s in the corner by the rusty nameplate that fell off the wall. Where Soobin was standing earlier. He had kicked it behind him in case he needed to toss it to you.”

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The darkness that’s descending brings a cool peaceful ambiance that wasn’t there earlier as you emerge from the mausoleum. Dusk coats everything in a fine purple blue hue, as a slight shimmer in the air from your wards dance at the edges of your vision. You inhale a breath of crisp night air, no longer trapped in the stagnant crypt. It’s nice, until the smell of rot hits your nose, making you gag.

You glance around as you grimace, attempting to find the other two hunters. You spot them, huddled together nearby.

Hongjoong has a thick journal precariously balanced atop a headstone, scribbling in it as he mumbles something. Seonghwa is standing next to him, bent down awkwardly to try and peer at what his partner is writing.

Hushed words pass back and forth between them, as the breeze picks up, sending leaves scattering in the wind over the cemetery. Hongjoong’s eyes finally dart up to meet yours as soon as you step further into the dying twilight, his shoulders tensing for a moment before dropping. Seonghwa taps hongjoong’s arm as he himself looks up at you briefly, before whispering something in Hongjoong’s ear. You see his hand flex uncomfortably around the pen in his hand, like it’s a lifeline, before relaxing. He rests the pen on the front cover, tapping it once. Twice.

Clipping the pen to the front cover, his hands close the worn journal in his hands. Fingers trace over an intricate cover before he’s tossing it in a satchel at his feet. A muffled thump resounds from the impact of the relatively thick notebook as he straightens himself back up to observe you. Hongjoong beckons you over hesitantly, while his partner huffs something under his breath and sets the bag upright again. 

“So…,” he pauses awkwardly, “Uhh… hunter…? Any leads? Seems me and my partner’s have gone cold past the mausoleum. We only managed to track the wraith to—”

“Wraith?” You can’t help but snort, cutting him off.

A wraith? Is this man mad? That was the first thing you checked off your list when you set up the sigils, hours ago. They wouldn’t be able to hide.

His face twists into a slight frown, eyes narrowing.

“Yes… wraith. What, do you have any other ideas?” Hongjoong presses, lips pursing in mild irritation, as if he feels personally challenged by the proposition it could be anything else.

You mirror his irritation, crossing your arms over your chest to stare him down. Finger tapping against your arm impatiently.

“Well,” You breathe out exasperated, “considering this entire section of the cemetery has been warded against wraiths, I’d imagine it’s not a wraith. Next best option would be a spectre of some sort. Maybe-”

His voice cuts you off before you can finish listing the entities you’re thinking of. A gust of wind blows through the area as he does so, bringing a fetid odor drifting past yet again. 

“You warded against wraiths? Didn’t feel like following up with that first? Did you set anything else up that we should be aware of?” Hongjoong sharply interjects. 

Seonghwa sighs, hand hovering over Hongjoong’s shoulder.

“Maybe take a deep breath, Hongjoong. There’s only one type of ward active. Even if others were setup, I’m sure—“

Hongjoong’s nostrils flare, as he shoves Seonghwa’s hand off his shoulder harshly. His eyes flash angrily in the dying twilight, catching the final rays of light in a way that sets them ablaze for a heartbeat. 

“A heads up would’ve been nice. Plan on setting anything else up, doll?” He hisses out condescendingly. He takes a step towards you, attempting to impose into your space.

“That’s enough Hongjoong.” Seonghwa snaps, stepping between you both before Hongjoong can get too close. “They were just trying to set up for a solo hunt. Don’t get irritated, it’s just a hunter doing what hunters do. She didn’t even have time to debrief us, let alone trust us. Don't be an ass.”

You take a step back, but Hongjoong’s eyes still bore into you, unwavering. He’s still, postured like a cobra that’s gotten a bit too defensive. Ready to strike at a moment's notice. You feel your own blood freeze at the sheer force he has behind the glare—icy cold to the point it burns up your chest and numbs you to your fingertips. Like your soul has been set on fire. You only feel your limbs thaw once Seonghwa steps in to block his line of sight, his hand coming back to gently push you behind him. 

“I said that was enough.” Seonghwa reiterates, voice firmer than before, “stop acting like a child. You’re better than that.” 

There’s a tense stand off between them for a moment, before a sharp irritated exhale is heard from Hongjoong. He mumbles something to Seonghwa, waving him away from him. 

Seonhwa turns to you sheepishly, doing a quick glance over before dropping his arm to his side limply.

“We started off on the wrong foot. I’m Seonghwa. This is Hongjoong. You are…”

“Y/n.” You begrudgingly answer.

“So you ruled out wraith, right? Me and Joong ruled out ghouls earlier in the day. Haven’t ruled out banshee completely, since none of the victims or missing hunters are available to question either. That, and the cemetery is mostly quiet during the day, so no one has reported any happenings aside from the usual paranoia humans get in these areas.”

“Well, none of us three have heard a banshee scream yet, so I'd agree. I’d rank it low.” You respond, letting your shoulders drop slightly.

“Except that they could also be preying on someone else visiting the cemetery.” Hongjoong cuts in smugly, eyeing you closely. 

This arrogant asshole.

“Cemetary is closed on Mondays. AKA today.” You respond curtly.

“Ooookay, well,” Seonghwa laughs nervously, “why don’t we search around for clues? Eliminate what we can and regroup in an hour?” 

Hongjoong mumbles something under his breath as Seonghwa pushes him to take a step away, though Hongjoong’s eyes linger longer than necessary on you. As if he’s trying to piece together a puzzle you’re not even aware of.

“Right…” he finally acquiesces, dragging himself away from both of you, “we can start on the far north side. Regroup in an hour.” 

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Your hand brushes over the grave you passed earlier in the evening. One hand holds a flashlight, trying to aim it optimally so you can search the area and still see your surroundings in the pitch black cemetery. You can see a faint dot of light nearby, from where Hongjoong and Seonghwa are prowling the other end of the field inspecting graves on their own.

The one you're focused on now, is the one you nearly tripped into when sneaking into the mausoleum. It was originally broken in two, though your tumble earlier in the day seems to have loosened off another wedge of granite. It sits in the still muddy weeds just behind it, the name partially obscured by grass and sludge.

It wouldn’t be much to mind, but you keep finding yourself drawn back to it as you’ve been searching the cemetery. Staring hard at it, you try to make out the weathered name on the headstone. The letters dip and curve, barely comprehensible. Faded from years of rain and wind, the sunlight having long seeped the color from the stone. You glance over it again, as a new feeling bubbles uneasily in your stomach. 

The weeds are overturned like a fresh plot.

Why does the tombstone look so old and weathered?

You flip your flash light to a higher setting, tucking it under your chin as you squat down in the soft mud beside it. Your jeans immediately soak through, leaving your legs cold and uncomfortable from the feeling. Ignoring this, you pick up the headstone wedge that fell, wiping it the best you can with the sleeve of your jacket before flipping it around to read the name. 

Finn Mercer. 

You feel your throat go dry as you read the name. From the depths of your mind, you recall this seems awfully close to the name of one of the missing hunters connected to this case. Your mind scrambles to recall any of the information you got from the files Beomgyu gave you.

Five missing hunters, over the past two weeks. Three solo hunters, one pair. The grave has the same name as the latest hunter that disappeared—he had gone off alone after alerting a few more local hunters in surrounding areas in case he didn’t get back to them within a few days. 

You bite your tongue. Maybe it’s a coincidence. 

Glancing at the other edge for the date—

It’s today.

Your body has a physical reaction, an uneasiness that creeps up your spine. Your heart speeds up slightly, a sudden paranoia climbing into your mind. Your skin feels clammy now, a cold sweat breaking out on the palms of your hands.

Realizing you’re holding your breath, you muster the will to set the wedge down, awkwardly balancing it back in the spot it had originally cracked off of. 

No time to panic.

Adjusting the metal flashlight digging into your skin, you drop your bag. Uncaring if it soaks in mud, you search for the manila folder within it you had packed with the intel Beomgyu had given you. As your hand shakily brushes against the thick edge of the folder, you contemplate if you should call out to the other two. Before you can get up however, there’s a sudden woosh behind you, and something touches your shoulder.

You’re spinning around before you can think, hand already unclipping the blade on your hip. Adrenaline rushes through your veins, breath coming in quick short beats. The flashlight is dropped to plop against the soft ground, as you aim up defensively. Moving without thinking, your other hand grabs their arm to flip whoever—-or whatever—-had the audacity to grab you. A quick spike of adrenaline fuels you to fluidly get up and roll them over your form. A noise of surprise escapes the individual as it lands in the mud beside you.

Thump.

“Ow…” Seonghwa huffs out, wincing slightly. 

He’s sprawled awkwardly amongst the weeds, mud caking onto the back of his legs and splashing partially onto his shirt. He lifts his hand from where it sits halfway in the mud, making a disgusted face as he tries to shake off what he can, and wipe off the rest on his now soiled pants.

“Okay. Note to self, do not approach from behind.” He murmurs to himself, before trying to stand.

The mud squishes audibly underfoot as he stands, shooting you an apologetic yet awkward half smile. His jacket is coated in mud now, the thick leather hidden under layers of grime, and his boots are thoroughly caked with muck from trudging through the more flooded area of the cemetery with Hongjoong. The recent rain has been doing no one any good. 

“Apologies.” He says awkwardly.

As he does so, Hongjoong finally makes it past the last few rows of graves, his voice calling out across the way as he nearly trips against a gnarled root from a nearby tree attempting to avoid a particularly muddy spot. It bounces off the headstones nearby, echoing through the unsettlingly quiet air. 

“Anything?”

You nod your head, sighing shakily as you pick up your flashlight from where it fell. You point it at the rotting headstone, waiting for Hongjoong to aim his own light there. Once he does, you set your own atop a nearby grave so you can set your bag down to rifle through it. 

Seonghwa is already squatting down, inspecting the grave you’ve paused at with the light Hongjoong is aiming at the stone. Hongjoong himself, however, watches you take out a folder of papers to flip through.

“Sweetheart, of all the times to choose to flip through newspapers, why the hell now?” He tsks out, tilting his own flashlight back to try and peer over at what you’re flipping through.

Seonghwa lets out an annoyed hey as he does so. It doesn’t seem to register to Hongjoong. He’s far more curious about what you’re doing.   

“The name looks familiar.” You mumble, partially to him, mostly to yourself.

Your fingers deftly flip through the folder of case files that Beomgyu had handed you earlier in the day. Names, locations, victims and missing persons reports. Hongjoong leans closer, the scent of his cologne, woody with a slight spice hits your nose. His proximity warms the air between you two from the proximity—enough you start to lean away slightly. Your hands fumble slightly with the pages as you’re attempting to find the one you’re thinking of. Pausing on one, you tug it out to hand to Hongjoong.

He lets out a confused breath when the page is shoved into his, crumpling in on the side. He snorts a derisive thanks, before focusing his gaze on the printed letters. He doesn’t budge from his spot though, seemingly comfortable impeding on your personal area. 

You feel a slight irritation build within you. He doesn’t seem to have issues in your own personal space. Snatching your light up again from where you set it down, you huff. Taking a step back to create space, you find your eyes inspecting his face. It’s concentrated, eyes cast down on the paper as he reads. His gaze flits over it, eyebrows furrowed the further he gets. 

Hongjoong’s eyes slide off the page to observe you after a moment, feeling your eyes burning across his face. A smirk ghosts across his face before he’s going back to reading. Another moment of silence, before the smirk vanishes and he’s shaking his head.

“So… you think this decades old weathered tombstone… belongs to this Finn dude?” He deadpans, hand dropping down to refocus on you, “it could just be a coincidence. A random old dude that has the same name.”

He hands you the paper back, which you haphazardly slip back into the folder. You shake your head, feeling red hot pokes of irritation sink into your skin. 

“Very sure.” You respond, voice coming out a bit clipped.

“You could be wrong.” Hongjoong responds smoothly, hands gesturing to the grave.

“The date doesn’t match the weathering on the stone.” You point out, aiming your flashlight to illuminate the etchings. The light bounces back into your eyes painfully, the mud squishing underfoot again as you take a step back to show the boys. 

Seonghwa takes the chance to continue his inspection of the stone, frowning as he does so.

“She’s right.” Seonghwa confirms.

Hongjoong’s eyebrows furrow, before he’s brushing past you to inspect the grave himself.

“That should be impossible. The Finn in the excerpt was alive a few days ago.” He responds curtly, doubt clear in his voice, “you sure you didn’t just misread the burial date?”

Your skin burns now as you try to fight the urge to snap at him. Your hand tightens around the flashlight in your hand, nails digging just barely into your palms as an attempt to control yourself. Your nostrils flare as you let out a rush of air, before responding.

“If you used your damn eyes, you’d see it’s the same date as today.”

“There’s no need to be bitching. I’m here to do a job, same as you.” He waves off, squatting down next to Seonghwa.

His fingertips tracing the letters and numbers on the headstone as he reads it, but all you can focus on is how frustrating this man is. How angry you are at his attitude. 

“If we’re on the same side, the least you could do is fucking believe me.” You snap back, feeling the anger finally claw its way to your chest and throat. 

His head snaps up to lock eyes with you, eyes narrowing in the moonlight dangerously. His voice growls out a bit sharper, firmer. He stands up, ignoring Seonghwa’s softer protest to slow down and breathe.

“Says the girl that had to call feathers earlier to save her ass. After jumping to conclusions about my partner. Why would I believe you when you don’t take the time to asses a situation properly?” He sneers, venom dripping from his own voice.

“Oh that’s rich, considering you have your own pet—whatever—at your beck and call.” you spit back. 

Seonghwa makes a noise of protest behind Hongjoong, though both of you trudge onwards.

“And you’re a solo hunter who can't handle the pressure. Do you need a savior? How many times have you called on him to get you out of trouble? You’re just playing pretend if you can’t even handle yourself.” Hongjoong hisses back.

“Watch yourself.” You snap back, “you’re not exactly prime hunter material either. You put a knife to my neck. Hunters are supposed to be serving the greater good of people, and yet—“ 

“And yet I was just doing what any sane Hunter would do when his partner was shot at!” Hongjoong yells back, taking a step towards you as he gestures to Seonghwa.

“Oh excuse me, I didn’t know hunters were now working with monsters to—“ You raise your voice, red slowly bleeding into the edge of your vision.

You’re cut off by him grabbing your arm, hands tight enough to hurt.

“Say that again.” He growls out, eyes boring into yours.

His eyes have a deranged look to them. Glassy and lethal, yet unfocused, as he glares down at you. His breaths are coming in staccato bursts, teetering between rage and control. He leans in so close his breath fans over your face. 

Your hands move without your consent, digging your nails into his hand to wrench it off yourself. An unnatural rage rushes through you, eating away at your self control until all you can see is red. Your hands are on his chest, shoving him backwards against the headstone with so much force he knocks into Seonghwa. Losing balance, he flies backwards over the stone, foot slipping against the soft mud and twisted weeds. He lands so hard against the grave behind him, you hear an audible crack from the impact as the stone splits in two. 

He groans in pain, as he tries to get back up. His gaze refocuses on you, confused.

You’re shaking with a rage wholly not your own. It hums under your skin unnaturally, twisting and inching through your stomach. A vile, sweet and putrid scent hits your nose, as the hum turns to a burn like acid. 

You attempt to shake it out, managing a step backwards from the two. Your thoughts feel like they’re swimming, and a dull ring starts up in your ears that slowly turns to a roar so loud it drowns every other thought out.

Your gaze moves on its own, zeroing in on Seonghwa as he rises from the ground. His shape seems to buzz around the edges, his outline fading black, then white, obscuring the shape of his silhouette. He yells something at you, and the dark aura around him responds in kind to his emotions. You can’t make out his words, they feel garbled. Too many tones at once.

It hurts your ears, you think. 

Hongjoong just past him is shaking his head, standing up shakily behind him. He looks dazed, disoriented even. When he looks up at you, there’s a strange glassy sheen to his gaze. Like he’s not completely there himself.

There’s hands on you now, you barely register them as you’re sent skidding backwards into the mud. Some more incomprehensible words are being yelled in your face—it’s Seonghwa. He has you pinned down, fury covering every inch of his face. The shadowy wisps dance around him again, morphing and warping with a vividity that makes you feel sick. Your hands move up in what feels like slow motion, guided by something beyond your control. 

Trapped within your own head, you watch in both horror and fascination as they grab Seonghwa forcibly, dragging him down to the floor with you to send him face-first into the roots of a nearby tree. His whole form shudders, and large black shadows of wings sprout from his back as he gets back up. Silvery liquid drips down from his nose, smearing as he wipes his face to glare back at you with eyes so venomous you’d throw up if you could. 

The world around you appears in waves, like you’re drunk. Foggy one moment, vivid the next. Freeze frames of consciousness have you aware you’re acting against your own thoughts. The cool metal of a blade in your hand one moment. A harsh sting as you momentarily find sobriety when your hands and forearms grate against concrete. Nails digging into something hard enough you feel one break. 

“It’s not her!” You hear a voice momentarily cut through the haze, as you’re wrestled backwards against a tree.

Seonghwa hesitates, his hand pinning you against the rough bark loosening slightly. Your hands move against yourself again, clawing at him. Digging into whatever they can reach.

“Well I can’t just let go!” Seonghwa snaps, a pained look darting across his face when your nails digs into his side so hard they may draw blood.

Your mind comes back to you for a moment when you feel a smear of liquid against your fingers. Looking up at him in confusion and horror as your realize what you’re doing. The dark shapes around him stop flickering in your vision as you regain temporary control of your sense. His eyes are laser focused on yours, darting back and forth between them for any sign of recognition. 

“It’s… something else,” Hongjoong grits out, like he’s fighting against something himself.

Your gaze looks just over Seonghwa’s shoulder, finding Hongjoong nearby. He’s breathing heavily, footsteps stumbling forward. Despite the darkness of the night, his gaze finds it’s target.  Eyes boring so deeply into you that you feel bare. 

“Don’t listen to it.” He hisses out, sweat beading against his hairline. 

You don’t have a chance to respond. You can’t. The force rushes back even stronger, burning through the palms of your hands and ringing in your ears. You use the moment of hesitation on Seonghwa’s part against him, your leg darting up to knee him before pushing him off. He’s thrown back with inhuman force, hitting and breaking several plots in a row as he skids to a stop near Hongjoong. He makes a pained face, tensing up as his spine registers in pain.

“Well, she’s pretty fucking lethal like this.” Seonghwa comments as he winces, attempting to adjust his shoulders as he sits back up. “We can’t just leave her like—”

Your hands find your gun, curling around the handle comfortably. 

“Fuck!” Hongjoong exhales, watching as you draw the gun from your holster. 

A click resounds through the air. 

Hongjoong is standing now, his body wavering dangerously as he does so. He’s moving faster than your muddled mind can register, grabbing Seonghwa and tugging him behind a larger granite headstone just as you aim and fire. The bullet ricochets off the granite, chipping the corner and barely missing Seonghwa. 

Bang. Another one.

The area lights up briefly from the muzzle flash, just enough you see Hongjoong’s face peeking over the edge as he tries to figure out what to do.

Your body moves against your will. You’re screaming internally as your finger tenses against the trigger again, aiming for him next. The world slows, as your finger tightens against the trigger. Hongjoong isn’t moving fast enough, and you can only helplessly watch as the sights line up to his head. His eyes widen in panic as you do so, and it’s the last thing you register consciously before your own mind is being dragged back into a foggy abyss.

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Prologue - Dusk Chapter 1 - Interference Chapter 2 - In Progress

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The smell of dust and old paper mixes with the coffee, a sense of nostalgia hitting you for a moment. Beomgyu sinks down into his own chair with a sigh, and opens a few folders on the table diagonal from you. Taehyun’s hand darts out to snatch one of the files from him, earning a slap from Beomgyu on his scarred hand. 

“Seriously? That’s not even the right file, genius.” Beomgyu chastises, as he sorts through the papers. 

The shuffling of parchment fills the air as Taehyun grumbles, rubbing his hand. 

The bunker door groans, two figures coming in as the heavy metal creaks behind them. The metal slams against the stone walls, rattling the air before slowly swinging closed behind them.

Yeonjun waltzes in first, dust and dirt smudged on his face and clothing. A large canvas bag sags under its own weight across his shoulders, as he flashes a brilliant smile at his team, then you. Items inside his bag clink together—iron, mirrors, salt, vials of holy water, as he swings it off of his back and onto the table haphazardly. The impact of the bag sends the cups of coffee rippling, with a disgruntled “Hey!” breaking from Taehyun's lips. 

"Didn't know we'd have a guest today." Yeonjun smiles, "Long time no see, how's the solo hunting going? Any new scars?"

The other man moves a bit more gracefully, taking his time to ensure the door closes properly behind him before walking forward. He stands stiffly, almost awkwardly next to the table, before remembering to sit down. He slowly settles down next to Yeonjun at the table, his eyes glancing over the bag before returning to Yeonjun’s face.

“Was it necessary to throw your bag on the table?” the man asks.

“Does it matter Soobin? It’s a creaky ancient table. It’s been through more than just a bag being thrown on it.” Yeonjun shrugs, before he reaches out for Taehyun’s cup.

A loud smack.

“Mine.” Taehyun scoffs, pulling the paper cup closer. “Should’ve answered Beomgyu’s text earlier when he asked if you wanted some.” 

Yeonjun scoffs, before leaning back in his chair to put his feet up on the table. “We were out in the field, I don’t have time to answer a text when I’m going toe-to-toe with a spirit.”

“You weren’t though?” Soobin interrupts, slightly confused.

“Not literally, Soobin. It’s a figure of speech.”

Soobin lets out a soft “ah”, before nodding to himself.

Yeonjun finally glances at you, nodding his head slightly in your direction.

“And what’re you doing here, y/n? You don’t stop by often.”

As he says that, Beomgyu at the other end of the table makes a triumphant noise, before whipping out a few papers from his folder and sliding it towards you.

You grab the files in your hand—newspaper clippings, witness reports, maps of the area.

Beomgyu taps on a spot on the map, marked with a red circle.

“That’s the area I was talking about. Normal creepy stuff, almost cliche really. I mean, what kind of ghost actually haunts cemeteries nowadays, am I right?” 

You inspect the area on the map, eyes tracing the streets and walkways nearby. Interesting indeed. Most of the ghost and spirit cases you’ve worked on recently mostly revolved around them being tied to spirits or people. 

The area around the location marked isn’t one you’re familiar with, though from the clipped photos Beomgyu provided, it looks rather desolate. Blurry images of gravestones, a crumbling mausoleum, and family tombs.

“And you said hunters have been going missing in the area?” You press.

“Right. I was going to ask if you’d want to scout it out with—“ Beomgyu starts, but you promptly cut him off.

“I can check it out. It’s going the way I was planning to travel, anyways.” You say, flipping to the newspaper clippings.

Five missing persons. Odd marks on the trees nearby. A grave or two dug up, with an accompanying article about grave vandalism. Sounds like an angry spirit, maybe a wraith. You wrack your brain for a moment, complaining a list of things you might need for this job. Salt, matches, chalk. Probably should make sure you’re loaded up on silver bullets—never hurts.

Beomgyu sighs. He’s known you for years, and you still insist on working alone even now.

“Y/n, experienced hunters have been going missing there. I know you’re capable, but one of us can probably—“

“No.” Comes your curt reply. “I’ll be fine. I’ve worked alone for years, I don’t need to be backed up. It sounds like a simple wraith case, it was probably a bunch of amateur ghost hunters meddling with more than they could handle.”

Yeonjun tsks across from you, nudging Soobin’s side.

“Told you she’d say no.”

Soobin’s eyes finally land on you, the slightest frown on his face.

“I don’t think it’s wise to take this on alone.”

Of course he says that. Soobin, ever the vigilant angel. Literally. Even if you didn’t know better, just the way he interacts with the world would make you suspicious. 

“You say that every time. When are you going to stop breathing down my neck? I’m not helpless, Soobin.” Your fingers tap against the table in annoyance, drumming a rhythm as you try and choke back a snarkier response.

“I’ve been alive far longer than you, I know better—“

“And I’ve been hunting here longer than you’ve been on the mortal plane. I can take care of myself.” You snap, irritation flooding through you as you stand up. 

The chair screeches against the floor as you push it backwards, tucking the files under your arm.

“I came here for intel from Beomgyu, not to be chastised like a child. Maybe I should’ve just had him message me the details instead of showing up.” Your voice rises slightly. You snatch the rest of your items, before beelining for the door.

“Y/n, you know that’s not what I meant—“ Soobin tries, standing up to follow you.

Yeonjun, for once, has the forethought to grab his arm, shaking his head as you slam open the bunker door. 

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You step into another puddle, the smell of petrichor filling your lungs as you take a deep breath. The sun is barely starting to set, turning the cemetery ahead of you a golden color as the light slowly sinks down the horizon. Overgrown ivy climbs hungrily up the sides of few mausoleums dottinh the distance, while dirt and mud cover the path ahead of you. A pitiful chain link fence, locked with a rusted bike chain, bars you from the main cemetery path. A sign hangs against the gate, the words “KEEP OUT” barely visible under layers of sun-bleached spray paint. 

Vaulting easily over the low gate, the metal chains of the sign jingle from the movement as you land. Your bag hits your back, one of the contents digs into your side uncomfortably until you readjust, thumbs slipping under the straps to tug it slightly higher. 

Your eyes scan the area, mapping out routes through tangles of overgrown brush and mud-slick walkways. Finding a decently shady spot, you lay your items out, pulling out a few sticks of chalk to set up a perimeter around the cemetery. Following the uneven stone path, you mark off each corner of the cemetery with sigils–something simple but potent. The chalk swoops and curls, arcane symbols you know by heart taking shape against cracked stone and mossy crevices. Dust coats your fingertips as you trace the shapes. A slight shimmer in the air, and this corner is sealed. You do that three more times, making your way around to each corner of the area you deem active, before returning to your bag and items. 

Time passes slowly, with little to no activity. The sun slowly sets, as you’re left twiddling your thumbs under a tree. The bark scratches and catches against your top, while the leaves sway listlessly above you with the occasional breeze. You take to plucking grass at some point, then counting headstones in view. It’s hard to tell which graves, if any, were the ones mentioned in the vandalized graves newspaper clipping. They all seem just as equally messy and overgrown.

Stars rise in the sky as the air grows colder—and your stomach finally breaks the peaceful ambience by growling.

Stretching languidly, your arms reaching above your head as you try to shake something more ancient from your bones. Reaching over to your bag, you fish around blindly for a moment, before sighing, finally twisting around to properly look inside it. 

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You’re partway through opening a second granola bar, when you see movement out of the corner of your eye, on the other end of the cemetery. The crinkle of the wrapper halts as your gaze snaps towards it, only to see a figure disappearing into a mausoleum, its form misty and obscured as it steps into the archway’s shadows. 

Shooting upright, you drop the snack, half-opened and crumbling, into your bag as you sling it over your back, sending crumbs flying everywhere. The worn canvas rubs against your hands, a weathered gift from a friend many years ago. The ground, still damp despite the passing hours, squelches underfoot, coating the underside of your shoes with sludge. 

As the sky descends further into inky stillness, you creep around the tree and back onto the path–before thinking better of it. The wet sound of mud underfoot, with obvious tracks against the yellowed cement would do you no favors in staying hidden. Sticking to grassy areas, while trackable, at least wouldn’t be as blatantly obvious as dark bootprints against a pale background. No matter the lighting, you know it’s better to stay hidden and safer as a lone hunter. One too many close calls taught you that much, especially earlier in your career.

Your hands slide under your jacket and into your pocket, fingers curling around the cool metal of the gun you take everywhere. Reassured you still have it, you advance slowly, sticking close to the bushes and trees along the path. The old path crumbles up ahead, and a misstep nearly sends you tumbling face-first into the mud, though your hand catches you mid fall to brace against a partially broken tombstone. The plot is still fresh, overturned wilting weeds dotting the soft top of a fresh mound of now-soggy dirt. Mumbling a soft apology to whomever’s grave it is, you stand back up, shaking yourself off.

As you re-orient yourself, a male voice saying something soft and incoherent floats out into the night air, catching your attention. The voice has a unique timbre, it’s smooth cadence drawing you in. Ears strain to listen to what it says—to no avail. 

When no movement can be seen outside the mausoleum, you inch closer, making sure to watch your step this time. Once again, you reach under the cool leather of your jacket to your waist, hand settling around your gun, thumb running over the engraving on the grips as your other hand reaches out for the door to the mausoleum, brushing over the worn bronze coating it.The door, by some miracle, doesn’t creak or groan as you open it further, chancing a peek past the doorway and into the dark. 

A figure stands in the corner, mumbling something to himself. His hands twirl a blade—one with the same silvery sheen as her own hunter’s blade. It’s tossed and spun mindlessly, as his eyes dart over the names on the walls. He rests a hand on his hip for a moment, the blade angled away so as to not stab himself on accident. His flashlight turns on a moment later, aimed at the more weathered nameplates along the wall as he steps to the side.

“Brinely…Sofia…Diane…Priscilla…” he mumbles to himself, pausing in front of one of the plates to sigh.

He runs a hand over his face, shaking his head. Dark fluffy hair falls back into place haphazardly, before he’s smoothing it back down. You catch a few stitched details on his jacket—likely repaired from past run-ins that damaged it—as well as what looks like a chain hanging out of one of his pockets. 

“I’m starting to think that tip-off was a false lead…”

As the man continues to speak out loud to himself, a dark silhouette emerges from the opposite corner of the room. Inky black, and looming, it moves slowly towards the man. The hunter, as you presume, seems unaware, his back turned and posture relaxed as the creature darkens the room. Black bits fly off the creature as it spreads wings like an abyss, blocking your vision.

He hums in thought, tapping the flashlight to his chin.

“You don’t think-”

“GET DOWN!” You shout, stepping through the doorway into view as you cut the man off.

The dark mass whips around, right as your hand closes around the familiar weight of your hunting gun. Deftly taking it out, you brace yourself and pull the trigger without a second thought. A loud crack splits the air, as the acrid scent of gunpowder fills your senses. You’re already lining up a second shot, when the world goes sideways.

Literally. You feel yourself being lifted up, as your gun wrenched from your hands as the dark mass shoves you to the side and against the wall harshly. The metal of your handgun bounces across the floor as the creature kicks it away. It’s icy grip is cold and firm against your shoulders as it pushes you down against the ground, your cheek grinding uncomfortably against the dusty rough stone. 

“Shit-” The male voice says, as the sound of heavy footfall echoes around the room. 

You try to turn your head to look up, thrashing against the creature holding you down. It doesn’t budge, it’s hold firm and unmoving. Your neck is craned at an angle, unable to see what’s happening. The musty smell of dust and mold make it hard to breathe with the creature pressing weight against the center of your back. You manage to slide your hand down enough to grab your blade from its spot against your waist, before angling it and plunging it into the closest bit of the monster you can reach. A shimmering liquid beads around the knife, before the creature lets out what sounds like a snarl.

“HWA! DON’T!” The man yells, though you can’t see him from how you’re pinned.

Milliseconds tick by in what feels like forever. This creature has you in a tight spot, you’re out matched. You can feel it’s grip turn painful, the shadow of it against the wall swallowing light as it grows. The hunter doesn’t sound like he’s helping, whatever it is he’s doing–so you do the only thing you can think of in the moment.

You pray to the only thing you think might hear you. 

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