nothing ever changes, xu minghao

54

song:
dead man runnin - seulgi

TO MAKE AMENDS

With splattered microscopic dust, in the well-known company, the guards comfortably fell to the ground and even as the witches' faces were a blurred picture, they seemed not worried.

Even though Jun has encountered and seen many unbelievable scenes, this one was just the cherry on top. Through a hallway that felt endless, with pillars that reign over its prisoners, and chilling air that hit the bone. Even in Hell where everything was fire, somehow it was more painful down here in coldness.

If prisoners took to the eye, even the evilest down here in the barricades. They would know just from Jun's posture, his assured demeanor that he is regal, the energy of essentially a prince was daunting.

But he continued to walk, stoned-facade, his existence of numbness but his hands were clammy and cold, but still, he continued.

It was fitting that Minghao's cell was at the end of the hall, it faced Jun. Threatening and the eerie silence matched with the obsidian-style door, -that compared to his bracelet- while a lighted torch created enough glow to showcase the handle of the door.

He knew he had to go in there, but his hand clenched the knob, hesitating, dreading to see the damage they'd done to him. He imagined the worst, knowing it could only be better before a deep breath expelled his nose and he pushed through the door.

But even what imagined was gruesome, how Minghao was tethered by chains, and his head was hung lifelessly was worse, and he hadn't even seen him fully.

Hair matted and greased, cuts engraved into his shoulders, chest, and arms. Slow mangled breaths and green-hued skin, a pile of blood underneath him as his arms were chained to the wall behind him, keeping him from retaliating.

But what was the worse, was his wing's white feathers seemed to be plucked one by one, leaving sore boiled skin in between his righteous black feathers.

It was a nauseating scene, and even with the entrance of Jun, his footsteps announcing his appearance, Minghao never lifted his head. But his body still moved, so he knew he was breathing, but the fight in him was gone or buried deep under the unimaginable pain.

Even so, Jun got closer, and the hair on his neck rose before he took the courage to speak in the silent room.
"Minghao?"

There was no response, for moments, maybe Jun wasn't loud enough. But before he opened his mouth to speak again, slowly, like a predator cat Minghao lifted his head.

His eyes were snake-like, a void, the warmth he had in his eyes dissipated, and somehow the gold that used to swirl almost looked dull sliver, his humanity sucked out of him.

He looked unbothered but sinister, knowing that his disastrous wounded body would make anyone's stomach churn and eyes shift; and Minghao wanted Jun to feel this way.

Sweat glistened on his forehead, his lips dehydrated and his fangs barely peeked. But weak was not how Jun would describe him, no, instead he looked dangerous.

Unconsciously, Jun stepped back, he was uncomfortable as Minghao didn't shy away from the visible torture, and instead displayed it with his shoulders back.

"Scared?" Minghao grumbled, throat dry enough that the words were forced to be at a lower decibel. A violent cough afterward eased. "Did you expect rainbows in here?"

He was brutal, his words slapped Jun. No matter the pain inflicted by Satan on him, he knew just by watching Minghao's body's attempt to overcompensate his health that Minghao has went through unforeseen torture.