Joseon, 1536

The night was deathly quiet.  Even the mice and rats scurrying about the dirty marketplaces were no where to be seen. Perhaps the air was too crisp. This year autumn had come early, bringing with it the fog of the northern mountains, which spread over the land so thickly a man could not see past his own hand. The old, weary watchman sat at his post at the entrance of the village, staring into the blanket of white that swallowed up the lush forest surrounding the village with tired eyes. Only the dim light of fireflies could be seen through the dense fog.

The old man chapped lips and scratches at his beard. How many nights has he spent watching this god foresaken forest while the other villagers slept quiet in their homes? He shivers in the cold and adjusts himself on his chair, pulling the fabric of his hanbok tighter across his chest. Damn these autumn nights. Wearily, he glances at the woods. Firefly light lazily drifts about. Bottoms of trees and plants are engulfed in the drifting whiteness. Nothing moves. Nothing sounds. As always at this time of night, the earth is unnervingly still.

Nonetheless, the old man had long since gotten past his fear of the forest and the night. He was warned by his father--and his father by his grandfather, of the dangers of the neighboring mountain and its wood. There were rumours, stories, yet in all his eighty years of life and his father's 73, the watchman had not seen a single danger emerge from that wood. Each night was the same. And the same was quite tedious. The old man's sunken eyes began to flutter closed, and his shoulders slump with the weight of sleep.  

A branch cracks inside the forest, the sound echoes against the frosted trees and startles the old man from his sleep. He nearly falls over in his chair, and rubbing the sleep from his eyes, snatches his lantern from the ground beside him.

"Hello?" he stands, and shuffles closer to the edge of the village, "who goes there?"

Another branch cracks, and the watchman swivels his head. The sound rebounds off the frozen bark of the trees, multiplying itself to a point where he cannot distinguish where it starts and where it ends.

"Show yourself!" he shouts, swinging the lantern around and casting shadows into the fog. One of which seems to be moving closer and closer, a silhouette forms from the blanket of grey, until its legs vanishing into the remaining fog come into the light. Its face remains hidden by the shadow of the trees. A pair of glowing yellow eyes peer out from the darkness.

The watchman stumbles backwards, falling to the cold ground. The lantern crashes with him, and a sudden and random gust of wind blows out the fire inside, throwing the world back into perpetual darkness.

"Leave us in peace, monster!' The old man calls, scrambling backwards towards the first homes of the village, "I've heard stories of the gods and demons of this mountain. We take nothing from your woods! We touch not the berries or the rabbits, we want for not!"

Ignoring the warning, the figure takes a step into the clearing. Yet in one step, he crosses  the entire distance of the clearing between the edge of the forest and the gate to the village, arriving before the old man before he can even blink his eyes. In an instant, his hand is on the watchman's throat, claw-like nails dig into blotching, wrinkled skin, drawing drops of blood. 

"Spare me," begs the old man, tears forming at the bags of his eyes, "I'm but an old watchman! I have a family!"

The man tilts his head, staring unblinkingly with yellow eyes that burned as if lit by an internal fire.

"Please," the old man cries, "I have no quarrel with the gods!"

A smirk crosses the lips of the old mans assaulter. He in a hissed breath between his two teeth and, using only one arm, lifts the man by his neck into the air. The watchman's scream is muffled by the hand around his throat, and he stares helplessly into the eyes of the beast.

The man all clad in black prepares his remaining hand to stab through the chest of the watchman. He nearly cannot wait to feast on the beating heart of this poor tired soul. He can feel the hot, sweet blood pulsing in the old man's neck beneath his hands. It feels like he hasn't eaten in a thousand years.

Horse hooves thunder along the mountain path, drawing closer every moment. The beast's yellow eyes move over his shoulder, and he remains still a moment, listening. He hisses a curse and turns back to the old man.

"Spare me, spare me, please, someone save me," the old man whimpers, tears stream down his withered face.

"You are lucky, old man," the beast speaks at last, his voice deep and ancient, like the wind that shakes the branches of trees, or the rush of water that has ran since before time. He lowers the crying watchman and releases his killer grip. The watchman crumples to the ground and gasps for air.

"Great god of the forest, thank you," he bows deeply at the monster's feet, who stares expressionless.

The sound of hooves grows louder and the beast runs and leaps, easily bounding onto the thatched roof of the nearest house. The old man gasps at the sight, mouth agape in awe.

"Do not pray to me, foolish old man."

His eyes begin to glow, brighter, brighter, until they burn like tiny dancing yellow fires in the cold night.

"Do not tell a soul what you have seen," he orders. His voice seems to rise up from the ground, drift through the fog, rebound of the walls of village houses.

"Forget what you saw. Like your father, and his father."

The watchman can do nothing but nod, already feeling the memory of the man before him burn away in the flames of his eyes.

Horses fly into the village, flashing the whites of their eyes and stomping their hooves, feeling the presence of great power long before man. They nicker and kick, tossing their heads in search.

"You there!" yells a man atop the front horse, clad in silken finery as deeply red as blood and a tall black hat, his eyes are thin and hard--poised. like that of a king. His eyes drop to the scratches on the watchman's neck, still dripping with hot blood.

"What happened to you?" he demands, stopping his horse just feet away from where the watchman lay still dazed on the ground.

People begin to open the doors to their homes, wondering about the commotion.

Confusion slowly gives way to recognition, and the old man throws himself at the young man's feet.

"Magistrate Oh!" he wails, "Thank the gods you have come!"

Oh Sehun dismounts his horse, and kneels beside the watchman.

His eyes are calm, calculating, "What happened?"

For one fleeting moment, the old man's eyes fill with fear, and he swivels his head over his shoulder, to the empty rooftops alit by moonlight.

"I have seen..." the man shakily begins, and clutches Sehun's hand, his brown, leathery skin a vast contast to the youthful and clean white of Sehun's.

"I..." the old man shakes his hand, "I-I cannot recall..."

Sehun stands, leaving the old man muttering to himself on the ground. He squints his eyes in the direction of the old man's earlier gaze. On the first rooftop there is a fresh dent in the straw. He turns to the villagers, now gathered in the dirt road, watching Sehun and his men with worried eyes.

"Someone tend to this man!" Sehun calls, "Now!"

A woman just as old and withered breaks through the crowd and hobbles to her husband, then helps him off the ground and begins to lead him towards a house. Gasps and whispered spread through the villagers like wildfire at the sight of the watchman's bloody wounds.

"What could have done this?"

"It was the mountain god!"

"That was no god, it's a demon!"

Sehun mounts his horse in one flawless movement, and turns to exit the village.

"Worry not! This is no god we are dealing with."

His eyes fall on a thick branch of a great tree that hangs low above the roof, then into the dark forest beyond.

"Then what is it?" a female villager cries.

Sehun looks over his shoulder, down at the fearful villagers.

"My lady," a handsome smile spreads on his lips, "Tis nothing but a fox."

The road up Blue Mountain is long and treacherous. Few travelers have dared to take it, far often losing their way in the dense fog and unchanging scenery and winding paths. The air is so still one would think time nor earth moves there--that the world has ceased to continue. He flies through it like a skillful dancer, weaving this way and that, disturbing not a single pebble on the ground nor leaf in the trees. This forest was the place of his birth, his creation, and there were few who knew it was well as he. A rustle of branches stops him in his tracks, and he turns his head to the sound. A mother bear and her cub hobble up the cliffside, sniffing around for food before the red leaves of autumn give way to the barren frosts of winter. She senses his presence as well, and raises her head in his direction, snorting out a clouded breath in the evening air.

He tilts his head at her, inspecting her, and begins to approach. As first she is frightened, unsure, and quickly blocks the path to her cub. Yet she doesn't run, drawn like all living things to the fire in his eyes. He stops a few feet away, under the red leaves of a pine tree. The bear calls to him once, as if to her own kind, her cub tumbles around behind her, playing.

The fire in his eyes grows hotter, and she cannot resist its warmth. Like moth to a flame, she sombers towards him, leaving her cub in the bushes. As he lowers a hand for her, she strains her neck for it, warm brown eyes with dilated pupils do not waver from his. Willingly, she places her head in his hand. He her long, ebony fur, moving down to the mane of her neck. Then, in one single, skillful movement, breaks her neck.

The crack of bone is so loud it sends a flock of birds startling off into the sky, squawking in surprise. The great beast slumps against his leg, then crumples to the ground, a mass of thick brown fur, still warm. He kneels beside her, hooking his arms beneath her legs to hoist her unto her side, exposing her now-still chest. Pulling back the black sleeve of his tunic, he raises his hand, and aims it for the left side of the chest. Then with a grunt he plunges it into the bear's chest cavity. The smell of blood and warm flesh instantly fills his nostrils and he drinks in the scent happily. He feels his way through the bear's flesh with his claw-like nails, digging deeper and deeper until half of his forearm is inside the body. At last he feels it, the most delicious, deluctible piece; the heart. It still pulses faintly--the last remniscent evidence of a life that was. Letting his claws close around the heart, he at last yanks his hand from the body, taking with it the ball-sized heart of the fallen beast. As soon as his hand is free from the bear, he digs his teeth into the still-beating heart.

The bear's blood is hot on his lips, sweet and tangy on his lips. It quenches a thirst few things can, though there is nothing more delicious than a human heart. He stops in his eating only at the thought of the old watchman. How delicious his heart would have been. Weak and tired from years of a hard-working peasant life, surely, but that would make it all the juicier. Sure, the most delicious hearts were those of the young and strong, but hearts often aged like that of fine wine. With age they would lose their sweetness, but there was a kick that made his head buzz. Awakening from his fantasy, he snarls once in anger at the loss of his prey. He rips another bite out of the bear heart with long, canine teeth, and tries his best to enjoy it.

At last the cub approaches, sniffing around its mother to see what the problem could be. It nudges its mother's body, and after gaining no response, releases a whimper. It looks at the man with warm brown eyes filled with confusion and fear.

"What?" the man pauses his feast, "do you miss your mother?"

The cub sniffs the ground and nudges its mother again.

"It's dead," he explains, eyes nailed to the cub, "you're alone. Now run or I'll kill you, too."

Spitting blood onto the ground, he takes another bite. The cub ambles about beside its mother's face, in distress. His eyes return to the cub.

"I said RUN!" the man roars and the cub startles, darting away into the bushes. It turns once over its shoulder, but squeals and runs when met with another growl.

He continues to feast well until the last traces of heat have vanished from the body, and the sky has grown dark with the oncoming dusk. Leaving the rest for whatever scavengers may come upon the lucky find, he travels north along the river.

Seeing his own face has always offput him. The dark, tanned skin and piercing amber eyes. Especially the sight of the black veins from his eyes to his cheeks that appeared when he fed, the blood that clung to his hair and clothes, that was smeared about his face and hands. No matter how many times he saw it, his own face remained repulsive to him. Still, he always made sure to wash off in the river after a meal, despite the discomfort with his reflection. The mountain creek's water was fresh and ice cold, it stung his face and numbed his fingers as he washed away the bloody visage that covered him.

"We meet at last, beast."

His eyes rose to a sword that glistened like fire in the setting sun.

Letting out a breathy laugh, he stands and wipes his mouth on his sleeve, "smarter than I thought."

"I'm impressed you can speak," Sehun tilts his head, "despite being an animal."

The man doesn't respond, only stares with dark amber eyes.

"What was it you're called again?" Sehun questions, bringing the sword even closer, until it is level with the man's yellow eyes, "Kai, was it? The ghost of the blue mountain?"

"It doesn't matter," he growls back, "I care not what the villagers call me."

"Of course not," Sehun nods, "they're only a food source to you, after all."

Kai smiles, revealing white canine teeth much longer than a regular human's. He takes a step into the stream, the ice cold water stinging his feet. But Sehun stands his ground.

"You may think yourself immortal, demon," Sehun grins, "but with this, I can kill you."

He turns over the sword in his hands, and the light of the setting sun catches on something scrawled into the side of the metal. A low hum of music seems to come from it, ancient voices chanting in a language too old for even Kai to understand. It burns his ears and he releases a snarl, hunching his back and baring his teeth.

"This will be easier than fighting a dog."

Kai lunges at the lean man, but he nimbly dodges the attack, coming down swiftly with his sword and tearing Kai's tunic at the bicep. With a hiss Kai attacks again, splashing creek water into the air and this time cleverely avoiding the swing of Sehun's sword. He digs his claws into Sehun's shoulder and presses the man up against a tree, but Sehun quickly regains ground and shoves Kai off, taking another swing at his head. Kai backs away at a moment's notice, but cannot stop the tip of the blade from raking a cut down the side of his face. Raising his sword to cut into Kai's shoulder, Sehun releases a growl only to be stopped by an arm blocking his. With a grin Kai wrap his claws around Sehun's wrist and twists it until an unsettling crack sounds and Sehun gasps in pain, dropping the talisman sword on the ground. Kai dives for the sword, but Sehun, using his other hand, s the shorter man off. Desperately,  he scrambles for the sword, taking it in his untrained hand.

Kai wipes blood from the corner of his lip, heaving inhales and exhales that cloud in the cold air.

"You can't fight like that," he glances at the sword in the wrong hand, then back to Sehun, "you're asking to be killed."

Sehun sinks into his fighting position and aims the sword at Kai.

"Then by all means, kill me."

Growling like an angered beast, Kai pummels towards the other male. In his blind rage he trips on a stone in the creek and begins to lose balance. Sehun ceases the moment, ing the sword forward and slicing into Kai's abdomen. Kai screams in pain and recoils on Sehun, snarling with ivory fangs.

"Show me your tails, fox!" Sehun taunts, turning the sword over in his hand, "I know you have them!"

The sun wanes on the horizon, casting shadows into the trees as fog begins to roll in to the base of the mountain. The light begins to drain out, first from the tops of the trees, then slowly down the bark and to the ground. A wolf howls in the distance just as the lights go out, breaking Sehun's focus for one precious moment.

"Not today," Kai whispers, and then he is gone.

"What?" Sehun breathes, and swivels his head around the woods, "What?"

Haggard breathes shake his lean and tall body, "Where are you!?" He screams, spinning around beside the stream, "GET BACK HERE, FOX!"

* * *

Thanks for reading the first chapter of my newst fic. This story was previously called "I Love You, Fox," and became a discontinued story. I was looking through my old fics and saw this and couldn't help thinking the story had so much potential, so I've decided to reboot it with an entirely new, revamped storyline and hopefully some improved writing. Thanks for reading! Be sure to subscribe and leave a comment if you liked it!

~Violet