The night held them in a loving embraced. They were the darkness and all the life it held. Feared and forgotten warriors of old. Not good, not bad, but somewhere in the grey.
BTS X READER | based/ inspired of Ryan Kirks Nightblade trilogy. You DON'T...
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The figure ahead was cast in a half shadow.
Every muscle and curve on their body flowed from the light into the dark. It was a living work of art. Their skin looked so tempting to touch; every move gave away their strength. Yoongi's eyes were locked onto the body of the female hundred or so metres ahead of him. He edged himself closer and closer. He wanted to see who it was. He had no sense and couldn't determine who they were, yet he felt he knew them. He wanted to see her face, illuminated by moonlight. He wanted to see who had him so hypothesised.
He reached close enough to touch the girl when she finally turned to look at him. Still, he couldn't see her face nothing was blocking it. However, his mind had put a mental mask over her.
Deep down, he knew who it was. He knew who it was all along.
He reached an arm out, and his pale fingers grazed the top of her shoulder. The girl seemed to dissolve into his touch and hastily enveloped her arms around his neck. For a brief moment, he was frozen in shock from the sudden contact, but as soon as he gathered his mind, he squeezed back.
Yoongi's nose rested in her neck's crook, and the familiar honeysuckle scent filled his head. His hands rested on her back, slightly gripping the black fabric, but after a few minutes, they started to feel sticky and wet. He looked over her shoulder to see his hands were drenched in a crimson liquid.
Blood was leaking profusely out of the girl's back.
The blood didn't gush out; it was more of a constant flow in time with the beating of her heart. At first, it came thick and strong, flowing through Yoongis fingers as they clasped the ripped flesh. He felt the blood move over his hand, the viscous fluid no warmer or cooler than his skin. After a few more moments, the blood was still leaving the rapidly paling flesh, but the pulses were slower and weaker.
Then he realised the body was no longer holding on. It was draped over him, all limp and unresponsive. Yoongi felt his insides curdle.
As he looked down, the clothes on the girl's back had disappeared, replaced by a mixture of fresh and old cuts, all ranging in size. The more he looked, the more cuts appeared, and the more blood oozed out of the dead body. His small intestine started to make loops around his larger one and squeezed tight. He wanted to be sick, but something was in his throat, stopping anything from coming up.
The strong scent of death filled his nose.
A short scream tore through Yoongi like a remarkable shard of glass. He felt his pulse quicken. The cry came again; it sounded desperate. It brought his head up.
All around him was a ring of people hidden in the fog. They had to be at least eighty people dressed in various items. Some had soldiers' uniforms; others were dressed in rags. Every six or so people, someone would hold a touch. The orange glow lit up the dark green of the grass.
