Kyuhyun knows he’s there the second the door swings open.

His forearm burns where the numbers and letters used to be, and he just knows. His essence, or soul, or whatever you want to call it – is screaming with it.

And then he looks up, and sees him.

Everything slows down to a crawl.

Heechul looks exactly the same as he did over ten thousand years ago. The only thing that’s different is his suit jacket style. Apparently white is in, this century. Even his trademark insincere smile is whiter.

There’s a roaring in Kyuhyun’s ears, angry, frothy waves are building up and crashing, breaking, against the walls of his skull. Right now, he doesn’t even remember his own name, he feels wild, unstable, explosive, a madman waiting to be set loose inside his own head.

He can’t even understand the words issuing out of Heechul’s mouth, nothing at all, thousands of languages are jumbled up and sinking and drowning in his mind, it’s as if all his thought processes have shut down except for one thing.

Kyuhyun is hurtling up the stairway like an avenging dragon, screaming an ancient war cry, bellowing like a soldier of old, the same way he screamed at the head of an invading army, the same way he screamed in the deep chasm of an erupting volcano, the same way he screamed when his smiling mother died with a gaping hole where her heart used to be –

Kyuhyun’s claws are inches away from Heechul’s throat, he’s a second away from ripping out his trachea, and in that moment, Kyuhyun feels triumphant, he’s finally here, he’s found him, he’s going to kill him, it’ll be over, they’re face-to-face and Kyuhyun is going to enjoy watching the life flicker out of his eyes, he looks up to see it, and –

It's the oddest thing.

Heechul is smirking.

Kyuhyun’s whole body is blasted backwards in a sudden shockwave – he splits a small crater into the concrete wall across the hallway with the force of the impact. Cracks spread across the wall like spider webs, and the fractured pieces shudder and topple to the floor.

That’s new, Kyuhyun thinks dazedly, shaking his head to get rid of the fuzziness creeping in on the edges of his vision.

He can hear Heechul chuckle.

Kyuhyun forces his head up past the pain of his broken bones, burning his stare into Heechul, snarling like a feral animal.

“Oh, Marco, you and your endearing headlong rush into suicide,” Heechul says fondly, taking a few leisurely, casually steps downwards into the prison pit with a hand in his pocket and swagger in his step.

He finishes off his champagne and tosses the glass behind him carelessly. There’s a tinkling sound when it shatters somewhere up there on the marble floor. “Well, don’t worry, I’ll oblige. It would be my pleasure to kill you.”

All Kyuhyun can see past the blood dripping in his eyes and the wooziness blurring the edges of his thoughts is Heechul advancing on him, stepping down the stairs like they were covered in gold leaf and red carpeting instead of stains and dirt, grinning, drawing out his hand from his pocket.

Kyuhyun knows with sudden clarity that this is where he dies.

Heechul is going to make sure to do it poetic justice, too. He’ll tear out Kyuhyun’s heart with that one hand, just like he did to his mother, and he’ll eat it for dinner tonight. He’ll probably even make a toast to ‘Marco’ before the meal begins. Most of the dinner guests will clap politely and have no idea what’s happening. And then they’ll all cut his heart into tiny, neat pieces with embossed French silverware, eat it in dainty little bites, wash it down with exorbitantly expensive red wine, and finally cleanse their palates with sorbet in preparation for the next course.

Kyuhyun watches him stretch out his hand that’s covered with intricate silver bands and rings, lift up his palm to strike the final blow, and –

Something’s suddenly blocking his view of Heechul.

Someone.

“Excuse me,” Sungmin says mildly, but Kyuhyun knows without a doubt that there’s steel underneath. “I can’t allow that.”

Kyuhyun hears the shockwave blast Heechul sends right in their direction – even more powerful than the one that sent Kyuhyun flying. It shoves Kyuhyun’s head further into the concrete, it’s so strong.

When the winds die down, and Kyuhyun can open his eyes again...

Sungmin is still standing there.

He’s planted right where he was, arms crossed and weight shifted onto one side like he’s slightly annoyed but trying to be polite about it.

Kyuhyun’s eyes widen.

The ring Kyuhyun tempered in the heart of a volcano, wove spell after spell into, carried in his pocket for days – it must be doing its job.

Thank the seven hells.

There’s another blast. And another. And another. Heechul must think Sungmin is using a limited protection amulet that’ll run out of juice if he hits it enough. And they’re strong blasts, too, strong enough to buffet Kyuhyun around even from this distance, but Sungmin...

Nothing happens to him. He’s as solid and unmoved as a mountain.

Kyuhyun laments the fact that he can’t actually see Heechul’s face right now. It’s got to be priceless. He can’t even imagine what expression he’s making.

“If you’re quite finished,” Sungmin deadpans. He puts two fingers to his temple, closes his eyes, and takes a fortifying breath.

There’s a beat of silence. Kyuhyun imagines Heechul gaping like a goldfish at that, completely speechless. It’s probably not what he’s actually doing, he’s probably wearing a mask of elitist indifference or something, but just the thought of it makes Kyuhyun grin uncontrollably.

Then Sungmin turns to the side, back to the prisoners. “Right, all of you, do what we planned. You three – ” he gestures at the volunteers – “go find the circle while I take care of this.”

“You got it, boss!” The annoying one springs to attention and salutes as Donghae quietly evacuates the recklings, probably to some closet or back room that’s completely out of the way.

The one with metal lining his bones, however, crosses his arms and glances up at the stairwell. “How the hell are we gonna get out of here?”

“The stairs,” Sungmin says matter-of-factly, fingers still at his temple.

Then he steps to the side to let them through, and Kyuhyun can finally see. He frowns – Heechul is still standing there with a murderous look on his face, and he has two handpicked subordinates behind him, how are they just going to –

Wait a minute.

The fullmetal one takes a few tentative steps towards him, but Heechul doesn’t move a muscle. He doesn’t even glance to the side to see who it is. His eyes are still narrowed at the space where Sungmin was standing just a moment ago, unblinking.

It’s almost like he’s –

“Go!” Sungmin orders with a strained voice. “I can’t keep it up much longer.”

There’s a second of hesitation before they dash up the stairs, weaving past the three frozen magicians and into the main house. Their thudding footsteps fade down the hallway just as Sungmin’ shoulders start to tremble with effort.

He drops his hand back to his side and straightens up, releasing a relieved huff of breath.

Heechul’s eyes flicker as Sungmin’ hold dissipates.

His eyes dart around, at Sungmin, at Kyuhyun, and the rest of the empty dungeon, and his lips flatten into a thin line.

He’s the closest to flustered Kyuhyun has ever seen him. He can see the confusion and embarrassment take hold, and finally, a dawning understanding.

As his realization sets in, Heechul’s face slowly churns into something dark and ugly. His frame goes rigid, and his fists are so tight that his knuckles are stark white.

Heechul’s not going to take Sungmin lightly again. Hell, it’s been an age since Kyuhyun last saw a psychic actually stop someone’s time. Heechul’s certainly not going to be stupid enough to try to take them both on alone. Not after that.

Kyuhyun brushes off some loose dust and rock from his shoulders and stands up. He’s very nearly healed. Just a few broken bones that he can already feel shifting back together. Good timing.

He rolls his shoulders, shakes the dust off his wings, and stands behind Sungmin.

-

Sungmin feels Kyuhyun step up behind him, burning with a steady, unshakeable resolve that seems to be contagious. It has Sungmin straightening his spine and squaring his shoulders.

The extra boost it gives him helps him force back the near-overwhelming psychic push coming from the other guy in white. His mind’s been creeping up on him ever since the door opened, like cold fingers trying to close around his throat, and when it retreats he releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

Now that he’s had a moment to breathe, Sungmin shoves the other’s guy mind back into his skull and locks it up. It takes a fair amount of psychic energy, roughly half of his arsenal, but he knows if he doesn’t do something about him fast he’s going to be a formidable opponent.

The guy staggers back with a shout, bracing himself on the wall with one dainty hand. His champagne glass falls down the stairs, splintering into shards with a hard crash.

Surprise piques like a bubble popping, both in Heechul and – who is the other man? Sungmin skims his mind –Yesung. They both turn towards the other guy in alarm.

“Leeteuk?” Heechul asks evenly.

He doesn’t respond, only clutches his head and curls into himself.

“Leeteuk,” Heechul snaps. He’s full of roiling, ugly emotions, has been ever since he walked in. Right now, though, with Leeteuk’s show of weakness, he’s almost swimming in disgust. Sungmin doesn’t even have to be a psychic to recognize it crawling all over his face.

It’s appalling.

“Leeteuk is a bit distraught, I’m afraid,” Sungmin remarks. Heechul turns his eyes back on him, and an absurd amount of hatred rolls back into the room. “I did just forcibly shut his third eye, after all.”

Heechul’s face goes still, and his eyes study Sungmin for a moment. Considering him.

He slips a bag of ash out of his pocket and marks some on his forehead with a swipe of his thumb. In addition to his prickly, embedded guards that sting like barbed wire whenever Sungmin tries to dig in, a few new shields rise up.

They’re strong, too. He must have prepared that ash with Leeteuk at some point for this very purpose.

Sungmin notices that he doesn’t give any of the ash to Yesung, however, who seems awfully confused about everything that’s happening. He does a quick skim of Yesung’s mind, and there are no psychic protections or guards implanted there whatsoever.

How lucky.

It’s easy to flip the switch in Yesung’s mind and send him right to sleep. He drops like a stone to the floor not a second later.

Heechul doesn’t even glance behind him to check on Yesung. He just keeps his eyes trained on Sungmin. Like a predator waiting to strike.

Sungmin smiles thinly.

It’s exactly what Sungmin thought he’d do.

Yesung’s limp form suddenly swings up from the ground like a puppet with strings, right behind Heechul.

He closes his arms around Heechul like a vise, squeezing him in a strange facsimile of an embrace. It’s hard enough to knock the breath out of Heechul’s lungs, but – because Sungmin is a gentleman – not quite hard enough to break his ribs.

Sungmin ambles up a few stairs until he’s level with him.

He reaches up with a handkerchief – embroidered with all the best counterspells, of course – and carefully wipes the ashen mark off of Heechul’s forehead. He feels