Outside the wooden door, spells were barely heard through rusting iron hinges. The young warlock’s two guards stood still, not wondering about the works of magic inside, but only because they were conditioned to think that way. All that was on their mind was to keep the property of the kingdom’s works from being compromised— even they didn’t know what it looked like inside.

 

He came from the far lands— the ones with curly letters no one in Eluso could read, and sharp language they couldn’t speak. He was only a child then, when his father shunned him for turning to the side of greater evils, but he didn’t understand what was so wrong about summoning small animals to play with. He remembered the first he ever saw, from an accidental spell he cast without thought. It looked like an obese lemur, about the size of his father’s elixir bottles; grey, white, and black hair swirling around it’s back, and big golden eyes. The creature, Lucy, sat on his shoulder, and he was joyed by it until his father found out and returned it to the land from which it came— or, some land anyway.

 

He was only a child when he ran away to practice his magic in peace, not worrying about whether his father would approve of his chosen path. Thirteen, fourteen maybe, was when he found a bustling metropolis in the middle of the forest and swamplands, sitting on a plain with hills and mountains he never saw in Hai.

 

The warlock, a teenager then, was lost when a poor family saw his disheveled face and let him in, but had to apologize greatly for they didn’t have any food to give him. “It’s okay,” he told them, and summoned a chicken right there. He cooked it almost right away, with a spell he learned on his fourth birthday, frightening the commoners.

 

“O Lord, what if he is the devil child?” the woman screamed in horror, unable to be grateful for the food only because she had no idea where it came from. “Call the castle— Call the— Get the forces, get somebody!”

 

And he was taken away to the castle, horrified but unable to speak, and locked away before the King himself took the liberty of speaking with this devil child. He asked what the boy’s common name was, but what was a common name? There’s your common name and your real name, he said. What’s the difference? I only have one name. Then what is it? Kunpi. Kunpi?

 

Where did he come from? Who is his father? Was he in fact the devil’s child? He wondered the same thing himself, sitting a full adult, educated in the likes of Eluso, in the room guarded by behemoths of men; the same room he’d lived in since the King discovered the boy’s relations to magic, since he saved the entire kingdom from falling. He laughed at the thought of such a question, chuckling to himself in the same way he would if someone were to ask, “Are Aurumberries worth as much as Eucaberries?” when in fact they were worth much, much more.

 

In any case, the King had been loyal to him, and he was loyal to the King. He was the one who got goods from the market for free— and only the best of the best, none of that self made . That was no good for the spells he performed on the King to keep him alive and well. 144, he was now, and the spells clearly worked.

 

≫—————✦—————≫

 

Kunpi was no fraud. He grew his own aurumberries in the dark of his room, where it was cold most nights, and waited for them to be harvestable even though it did take six sidereal months for them to develop fully.

 

He heard chimes one night, just when he was about to water his prized fruits, that indicated a visitor. He was expecting somebody, of course, but not until the sun would rise at least. He didn’t mind this time, however, for this was the maiden he ordered.

 

He walked down the long hallway, leather boots clicking against the stone tile, thick robe dragging on the floor. His face was bored, but inside he was flaming with excitement about this ‘client’ he would see.

 

“Sir Kunpi, your appointment has arrived early,” his blonde guard said. “I tried to tell her—“

 

“Don’t worry, Im. She’s an exception.” So, he strode forward and smiled at the young woman standing, waiting for him. “Jeongja,” he smiled, “it’s my pleasure.” She curtseyed with a shy look and followed him down the windowless corridor, stomach tingling in the thought that he wanted her.

 

“So… You’ve come here, but for what?” Kunpi said, gesturing for her to sit down. “Why, you’re only the most beautiful woman in all of Eluso.” He grinned at her, and she shyly tucked her hair behind her ear. “Oh, darling, your hair is your defense, isn’t it? It really is gorgeous,” he told her, kneeling down and taking a lock of her hair in his fingers. “It will grow back.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“You do realize that, by being here, you are guaranteeing the utmost benefits to your family. They will all get service from the highest apothecaries and top chefs that have worked for previous kings. Of course, that is only if you accept the terms.” He looked at her slyly and carried on. “When Kim Myungsook died of that horrible, awful disease, I thought I was done for. Naturally green-eyes, what were the odds? Those eyes made her beautiful, but they dulled, and had already been used by the time of her funeral. Your hair, Jeongja, makes you beautiful.

 

“Tell me, why is it always the peasant maidens that are the most charming? It truly makes me sad inside to see somebody so unique suffer.” She looked at him and listened to his voice that echoed off the walls, thinking that he would hypnotize her or take her for granted, but was he really only throwing her compliments? “Kim Myungsook had eyes that let the King live another twenty years, so I killed her.” Jeongja gasped aloud, covering . Her hands quivered.

 

“You just said she- she was diseased,” Jeongja said quietly, not wanting his attention.

 

“Diseased? Oh, no, the disease was a lie, an excuse, you see… I guess you could say I have a charm about myself. She simply couldn’t resist. Oh…” He looked away for a minute, standing with his fingers to prop up his chin. “What a dumb girl. Beautiful, but so stupid. Simply taking a glance inside sits you on death row, but I don’t believe in barbaric trials like decapitation or shock. With my heart, I can stop yours painlessly, so don’t worry, love. Your family will never starve again.” His gaze seemed to make her stop thinking.

 

“What will they do?”

 

“Well, they’ll be told that you’ve become very sickly and are now under my care. But, really, you’ll be dead for a week or so until your family finds out. What will I do with your body, you ask? Well… fuel. It’s what happened to Myungsook.” He opened a cabinet and took out a pair of rusting scissors, snipping the air as if to test them. “I’ll just need your hair first, for the King.”

 

“What’s wrong with the King? Is he ill?”

 

“No,” he said slyly, “but he will be very soon. And that’s why you are so treasured to me. Now, if you please…” Immediately, the hair was taken from between her fingers, one lock the size of a rope and the colour of a squirrel’s fur.

 

Snip,

 

another, thicker this time, fallen from the same side as she trembled with the young mage’s hands so close to her neck. She thought for sure he would strangle her, but he promised it would be painless, and asphyxiation was not painless.

 

Before she knew it, more and more hair fell from her scalp, falling on her dress and itching her bare shoulders, but pleasuring Kunpi while he chopped more off with a growing satisfaction. Soon, her hair was gone, all but a halo of choppy, centimeter-long hairs on her scalp. He stood up, smiling with contentment, and took a jar from the shelf to collect her hair in.

 

“You did great,” he told her. “And now you understand why I cannot let you leave.”

 

“Yessir.”

 

“Very well.” Just then, her eyes met the floor then jutted back up to the warlock. Their stare met quickly before his hands did find their way around her neck, a heat much hotter than body temperature coursing through his fingertips. She felt it flow through her neck, seeping into her chest and lungs, until it eventually wrapped its body around her heart, crushing it slowly with scorching hands. It was like something jumped inside of her, but she couldn’t feel it.

 

Painless.

 

Painless, just like he promised.

 

An orange glow shone faintly around Kunpi’s hands and Jeongja’s neck, dispersing into yellow and gold, first travelling up her face and down to her toes in a matter of seconds, and she suddenly didn’t have anything to feel or be conscious of. “See, that wasn’t so hard.”

 

≫——✦——≫ Five Days Later ≪——✦——≪

 

“The King! The King! He’s fallen ill!”

 

“Oh, whatever shall we do without our king!”

 

“Surely he will be healed—”

 

“No, no, the apothecaries have no treatments! He’ll die if Sir Kunpi can’t do something!”

 

“Oh! Oh, I’m feeling faint…”

 

“It’s horrible! He has lesions all over his face and arms, and his ears are bleeding! He can’t move, don’t you understand, you imbecile!?”

 

Kunpi cleared his throat before speaking to the messenger. The King had fallen ill two days prior, and there certainly was something he could do. A simpleton spell, one to cure the King of his disease and heal his wounds, but he pretended it didn’t exist. Besides, he was the one who made the King ill. What use was it to help him?

 

“Unfortunately this is incurable even with magic,” he told the messenger. “He will only be alive a few more days.”

 

“What?” the messenger blurted out, though it was against his duty. “Last time you prolonged his life five years, ten before that, so why can you not do the same!? Can’t we trust that you’ll heal us!?”

 

“Easy, Park Jinyoung. Know your place. There is nothing that can be done for him.” The messenger looked at him with furrowed brows, his face pale with anger. He was only a messenger, though— he had no right to be angry. No right to speak that way to the warlock at all. He growled before walking off to the outside.

 

Within three hours, just as the sun rose above the kingdom, walls were plastered with posters reading, ‘CAN YOU TRUST A TRAITOR?’ underneath an illustration of Kunpi’s face. News had gotten around to even the people in the slums, and they even were angry that Kunpi refused to do anything, but the mage knew better. This had been planned since the day the King found him, anyway.

 

That night, the guards assumed him to be sleeping soundly, but found him awake and alert, standing in front of the entrance to his dormitory. “You’ll have to come with us.”

 

“What for?” he asked simply. “Would the King like to see me?” In his mind, he knew that the King would be better off dead, and the townspeople were only being stupid, like those stupid girls. Stupid, stupid, stupid. “I’ve already told you there’s nothing I can do. I’ve really tried eve—”

 

WHAM.

 

He woke up to the smell of fresh chamomile tea with honey just across the underside of his nose. It was loud, but he could tell he was inside somewhere, and he was satisfied with a feeling of anger deeply embedded in his stomach. He felt his heartbeat in his head and noticed one eye was covered with bandages, and there were bruises all down his chest.

 

Where did his robe go?

 

“Kunpi, sir, you’re awake!” He heard a whimsical voice and, for a moment, almost believed it was in his head. “Here, I made you some tea just in case. How are you feeling?” His eyes turned to face a teenage boy, something in his eyes much like his own when he was the boy’s age.

 

“Who are you?”

 

“Ah— Kim Yugyeom. It’s my pleasure,” he said, standing from the chair to bow low. “I’ve been reading all about you, but I suppose this isn’t a good time to say those things,” he told him with a cheeky smile.

 

“It’s okay,” he replied, looking deep into the boy with his obscured vision. Kunpi sat up, feeling the pain in his sides as he reached for the hot mug. “Good things?” he asked, chuckling.

 

“Fascinating things! You’re incredible!” Yugyeom covered his mouth, like he was afraid of someone listening. Only then did he hear the chants of, ‘DOWN WITH KUNPI! TRAITOR TO OUR KING!’ “Glad I found you ducked behind the castle before those mobs killed you,” he said, rushing towards the windows. The curtains were drawn closed so nobody would see inside. They would certainly kill Yugyeom, too.

 

“Am I still a traitor?” Kunpi laughed, sipping on the tea.

 

“To them you are,” Yugyeom stated quietly. “But I still trust you. Oh! Sorry about your clothes,” he laughed shyly. “You were wounded, and I can’t perform the spells to heal you so I thought I’d wipe you down at least…”

 

“Don’t worry about it. I’m thankful, actually.” Saying that, he lied a hand on his stomach, and closed his eyes, but nothing happened. The bruises remained. “Ah, damn… I don’t have enough energy…” This brought silence inside the small cabin, that Kunpi saw was just on the outskirts of the town. “Tell me something about you, Yugyeom. I’m bored.”

 

“Oh, well… I actually have interest in black magic. You’ve always inspired me, but I could never pent up enough of whatever it is I need to do anything. Every book on that shelf over there is magic and old voodoo spells. But I want to ask you something, if you don’t mind.”

 

“Of course not.”

 

The boy criss-crossed his legs in the chair and bit his lip. “Oh, I don’t… Was there really nothing you could do for the King?” Kunpi almost took the question as a threat, but was observant enough to see that this Yugyeom kid really was only curious. At this point, he was his only supporter anyway.

 

“Do you know what I do, Yugyeom?”

 

“Well, you saved the kingdom from ruin long ago using evil against evil, if I recall correctly. Those trolls—the tall and ugly ones— came one day and you shielded them away with harm that harmed their harm towards us! I remember it… I just saw this black forcefield of gas or dust or something right outside the window… Honestly, it scared me, but I knew we were safe thanks to you. And now you’re being forced to do favours for the King when you summon demons to be on your side. It’s not your trade. They’re taking advantage of you.”

 

Staring at the boy in awe, Kunpi said, “We think alike, you and I.” He took another sip of his tea, feeling as though he could trust this person. “I feel bad for keeping that old bastard alive for so long. He wanted to die, I saw it in his eyes and the way his lips curled at every movement made. So I made it happen for him. I did that man a favor.”

 

“Yes! 144 is too long! Oh, finally! You don’t like to mess with the natural order!”

 

“Certainly, love,” he spoke soothingly. “Certainly.”

 

≫—————✦—————≫

 

In the end, only a few days after the boy had taken the young warlock in and the riots had been stopped, Yugyeom grew ill like the King— like the girl, Jeonja, like the maiden, Myungsook, only he was truly ill. Lesions on his face and down his arms, bleeding ears, the loss of his voice. Kunpi had gained enough strength to stand up on his own and use his magic against the only person who trusted him most, but not right away.

 

Yugyeom would walk outside, spreading the dreaded bacteria everywhere, which would spread, and spread, until a horrible cough became common with the townspeople. Kunpi simply stayed in the boy’s cottage and laughed, watching the chaos with his chamomile in hand, an orb of some spell in the other, floating, translucent air dancing on his fingertips.

 

“Kunpi…” the boy said, his loud voice hardly a whisper. “You’re doing this.” He couldn't get up at this point— he really was too sick to do anything, much less try and kill the mage when he could be immortal if he wanted to. “What do you want?”

 

“Well, Yugyeom... “ he said, standing up. “My father used to tell me that the way I performed magic would do no good. He’s dead now. The good is right in front of me, Yugie. This is what I’ve always wanted,” he said, eyes flaming as he looked at the ill citizens suffering outside. “I want this good-for-nothing garbage heap for myself. I’ll return it to the state it deserves to be. It will be a rebirth of Eluso, don’t you see? We can’t make progress with a bunch of lowly lives around, now can we?”

 

“K-Kunpi… You don’t like to mess with the natu—”

 

“Oh, I don’t believe death should be stopped. Life, however… Life is fun to play with.” Yugyeom looked at him with wide eyes, tears threatening to fall.

 

“Why kill me? I’m on your side, Kunpi.”

 

“I don’t need more humans. I have an army already.” Slowly, he made his way over to the boy and slid his fingers around his throat, gripping tighter than he needed to. “I’m a traitor, remember?”

 

“You’re the devil.”

 

“How can I be the devil? He hasn’t arrived yet.” Orange, then goldC, then white all swirling through the air, Kunpi said, “I’ll call you when you’re a beast, how about that? Your spirit will live on, Yugyeom. Never forget that.”

 

And the boy was dead, a perfectly content expression on his face.

 

This illness would take years to finally eradicate the population naturally. Kunpi decided it was against his beliefs, as contradicting as it was, to kill so many right then and there. Besides, the disease was enough. Once everybody was gone, he had substituted his robes for the King’s clothing, after cleaning it with spells his grandfather taught him to be more useful around the house.

 

He mumbled some words in his mother tongue, back in the room that was now covered in webs, drawing on the floor with ashes from burned mandrake leaves. He spoke more, standing in the middle of the circle, dropping berries on the floor and lighting candles made from fresh beeswax. He was waiting for his army, he needed his army.

 

The ashes lit up finally, after strings and strings of words that he didn’t have to think about saying to say them anymore— it was like a song his tongue memorized and produced whenever he’d felt like singing. The fire flew around him, and many grotesque creatures spawned outside of the circle with fogs of grey, purple, dark red accompanying them.

 

“This city is ours now,” he told them. “Although there are still bodies out there. Get rid of them,” he said, speaking in tongues that even those from his land would never understand.

 

They went; through the walls, up and out the windows, slithering through the pipes that would lead outside. He sang out one more tune, one more lullaby to summon the King demon, the heir to Kunpi’s throne— he who hadn’t arrived yet.

 

“Long time no see, friend.” The lemur, now hairless and thin, crawled closer to him. “What happened to you? Where did my father send you off to? Surely not home.” The creature seemed to shrink back to the size it could sit comfortable on his shoulder in, when it was nearly his size, resting its head on his knees as he kneeled down before it. “Was it because my father found your true name? Lucifer to him, Lucy to me, darling.” He rubbed the top of its head, and the creature wrapped its tail around his torso. “We’ll get you back into shape, dear. Don’t you worry.”

 

And so, they sat together while Kunpi’s army was out doing their janitorial work of feeding on the souls before sending the bodies off, to where? Kunpi didn’t know, nor did he care. They had a lot of work to do.

 

The rebirth would take decades.