THE KING'S DECREE

"Two Kings on the board, which one is meant to fall."

Seoul Business School and College

Kizzie

Of all the kids in my family, I'm the least deemed problematic one or that's what my Yoon Pa says. Jeongguk takes the second place, and I doubt there must be a mention of Jiha anywhere near that list—not even at the bottom.

I'm used to being quiet mostly, a bit goofy and cheerful but quiet. Hence, finding myself in a new problem one after another in the timeline of a few days is a total out-of-syllabus thing for me. It's a pain in the head too.

Think I'd probably run out of fingers and toes included if I started to count them.

The past days I'd not only forgotten the boundaries I should be having with my alleged principal aka family friend-more like an enemy-but I'd also broken up with my boyfriend.

Correction: he had broken up with me and slapped me on the face with the tag of a cheat.

I'd gone out of my character for an apology that wasn't even acknowledged, got verbally harassed by two guys—if that's even a thing—and escaped my guards to sneak out with the man my father hates with his guts.

Maybe Uncle Yoon should amend his list.

Jiha deserves it better than me. At least she doesn't go around lying to her parents like me. Troubling but not lying.

Fear had dug its claws so deep inside me that instead of going to my house and facing my parents, I'd gone to Dahyun's and freshen up there leaving a message on my mother's number telling another lie.

The first reason is that my mom is always the easiest one to talk to in our house. And the second, well, she would be saying the direst of news in that voice of hers and my father would simply say 'I do' with hearts in his eyes as if she's reciting the marriage vows.

So yes, I'd taken the cowards' way out.

I rub my palms on my black jean trying to ease some of the tension out of me, but the discomfort doesn't fade. It clings to my skin like sweat-dirty, irritating, and bothersome.

Had Dahyun been here, she would've called out my behaviour and said I was overreacting. I can almost hear the exact words in my mind she would've said: "No one's jumping at your face with a mic in their hand, cutiepie. We escaped and we're alive."

Until my father gets to know.

Another wave of fear rushes to my body, and I'm physically swayed off my feat. To not make a fool out of myself by falling on my butt in front of the few students lingering in the college garden I take a seat at the nearest bench. I have enough on my plate for now, don't need humiliation too over all that.

For now, I would want nothing but a distraction-the distraction I send away.

Cursing myself with all the words I can manage to recall in this condition of mine for letting Dahyun go to fetch us both our afternoon coffee—her alternative to basically every medicine—I clutch my head.

Calm down, Kiz. There's no way anyone will get to know where you stayed the last night. Not until you stop acting like a dimwit and spew it yourself.

As if I don't know that.

We'd outdone ourselves yesterday. Misled the guards into thinking we were having a sleepover at Dahyun's place and escaped from the back door. To add to it Dahyun even covered her entire bed with pillows and blanketed it to feign our sleeping bodies. I swear she likes to be overdramatic sometimes.

Now considering the kind of reputation I've, I know they must've believed that faux situation we'd laid forward—not like they must've possibly broken into Dahyun's place and informed about our absence to Yoon Pa or Dad himself.

Right?

My head throbs again. How long is Dahyun going to take?

I guess this is what rebellion feels like. Nauseous and suffocating.

No, I think rebellion would be outstating the situation I had put myself into. I hadn't snuck out my father's favourite gun and committed a homicide in the city nor I had gone around partying past my curfew.

Still, what I've done feels worse than both.

My little sneak-out has somehow become an entire night escape for which I am the only one entirely responsible.

Maybe getting reprimanded by my parents would be better than this gnawing feeling inside me. But who am I kidding, I might be able to tolerate the peeling of my skin but not the disappointed look on my parents. Not ever.

I take another glance at my watch. Dahyun had only been away for 10 minutes and knowing that the canteen seems to get the busiest at this hour I've no doubt she's gonna take another. I stifle a groan and check my phone another time looking for the just-in-case summon from my father.

However, a summon from the Devil is what I'm favouring for now.

I startle in my place. My attention shifts from my mobile to the nearest building where a window of one of its rooms clashed against the wind, getting crashed on the white-painted concrete.

The principal's office.

My cheeks burn red. Events from this morning rush back to me like a wave making my body go hot under the cool puff of air.

After he had pulled me back into his room, he had me caged against the wall and his big body. For a second, I'd gone still, contemplating his actions, being wary of them until he'd softly kissed me on my forehead claiming he wasn't going to touch me in any way deemed bad—not until I was old enough and wanted it at least. Well, he hadn't said the same, but I'd assumed that much beholding the way he kept on gawking at me. Like he wanted to swallow me up.

Anyhow I'd escaped, more like begged out of his grasp after paying a tax of infinite kisses on his face and a bone-crushing hug from him. Luckily, I'd made it out alive of both; his room and his house-red-faced but breathing-and got to the college just in time oblivious to where he had gone in such a hurry.

Is he already back?

The ringing sound of my phone has me pulling it out of my pocket. Dahyun's name on the screen brings a grimace to my face.

"You good?"

The silence responds to me. I don't hear anything except for the little chit-chat in the background and a grinding sound so loud as If I'm sitting next to a grinder itself.

"Dahyun?" I say again and this time she finally replies.

"You think there's a chance the court will let me go unpunished if I somehow get them convinced that the murder was needed for world peace?" She bristles.

I ponder on it and shake my head. "No to that. And no to you murdering someone. You're not doing any of that, Tofu."

The disapproving sound that escapes her mouth has me stifling a grin. "What is eliciting those murderous desires in you anyway?" I pull my bag from the bench and hang it on my shoulder glancing at the now-closed window for one last time.

"Not what. It's a who, Kiz." She grits out and I register the grinding sound to be coming from her and nowhere else. I'm damn sure if she goes on with doing that some more she would be missing a tooth or two sooner in the future.

"Who must be that 'who' now, Dahyun?" I ask while I go over the list of her nemeses-yes, plural-in my mind.

For someone who's just returned here the list of Dahyun's foes is a bit too long for my liking and capability to recall yet I go over and over the names in my mind.

Candidate 1- Sandy Brown?

The college head cheerleader and the 'S' word as per Dahyun.

Nah, she would be having another set of teeth to dare and mess with Dahyun after their little dispute during our sports period last week.

PS: Dahyun ended up printing an entire volleyball on her face.

Amett?

Hm, he's a bit crack but I doubt he'd do something again that'll land him a trip to the police station.

Jackie? Nope-too cowardly.

Kate, Sam, or Dean?

No, no and no.

I pull the straps of my bag tighter as I walk through the corridor passing the empty classrooms.

A few students still linger by the rooms, holding a book or two in their hands and I guess the rest might be either in the library, studying or in the professors' offices, coaxing them into disclosing somewhat relevant details about our forthcoming examinations.

But who cares about the exams when you have an entire WWE fight happening right in front of your eyes?

We students?

No, obviously.

I swear they all but cheer the fight as if in an arena. Like two kids aren't at each other's throats wanting to rip each other's teeth out—Dahyun included.

It was one time when I had walked into a massive fight going on in the middle of the corridor. Students distinguishable only as a bunch of limbs, sprawled on the ground as they spat blood. Profanities in the air like oxygen.

And there she sat on a chair at the end of the corridor with a cup of americano in her hands. Booing and supporting the crowd with all her might. It was as if she was watching a movie, sans the popcorn and theatre.

Her admiration for violence to such heights is concerning to me and obviously to her father Mr Kim Hye-Jun, an agent by profession and an oppressed father by his unfortunate fate.

I hasten my feet, worried about being already late and dreading the possibility of Dahyun having painted her arms with some poor man's blood by now.

The call has been silent from the other side for a while, something that only heightens my worry and I begin to yell.

"Dahyun, please don't do anything crazy. We can't take the risk of getting suspended so close to our exams. You're hearing me, right? Make some noise at least. Even the grinding of your teeth will work. Say somethi..."

I don't acknowledge where I'm heading until I've head-butted a wall. A groan falls off my lips as my free hand massages the front of my throbbing head. It's only when the wall starts to speak that I realise it's a man, not a wall I'd carelessly walked into.

"I'm sorry Miss Jeon."

"It's alright," I say rapidly dashing through the corridor and then all of sudden come to a stop. Terror inflates my lungs like oxygen forcing me to stand still in my place like a mannequin.

My father has always told me that I've got a great memory. My retention of faces, voices, images, texts etcetera is almost as good as somebody with a photographic memory. But for once I want to neglect it and walk away.

Emotions overwhelm me all at once and I'm left confused about what to feel first.

However, I'm wrong. It's not emotions, it's just an emotion.

Fear.

Fear of different magnitudes. Minor and greater. It shifts as if someone's turning a knob inside me. It grows and grows and grows. My mind stops working and my limbs cease responding all at once. It's only my heart keeping me upright and I'm pushed.

I barely register the 'sorry' whoever pushed me threw my way and continued his/her path and I mumble a small thank you to that person. My nervous system kick starts again, blood reaches to all my organs along with oxygen and I breathe.

Turning around I stare at the two men bolting down the corridor and just when they're about to turn left I see it again.

The tattoo.

A chrysanthemum flower blended into their skin.

A death note.

My fear has taken the shape of not one but two over 6 feet tall men—my father's men—and is making its way to the person completely oblivious to both. To my fear and my father's decree.

I see all my efforts discarded at my feet and the useless precautions flowing away with the air, laughing at my face as they do so.

He knows.

He knows and he's already in action.

"Kiz, you there." I almost miss the sound of Dahyun's voice calling for me and before my feet begin to buckle in their place, I do something I should be doing.

I run.

——————————

Taemin

I should be relieved.

Calm even.

Should be grinning like one of those people in a toothpaste advertisement.

Blood should rush like normal in my body instead of simmering at this medium heat evolving within me.

My brain should work systematically-maybe think of some multi-billion deal I want to accomplish or cultivate new ideas to piss off Ed.

Instead, there is a crime show going on inside my head. Several theories form and deform in my mind. It's like a puzzle in there. Gears turning at a speed that makes my head throb.

No, this isn't what I had envisaged.

Why am I not fucking ecstatic?

I just beat the shit out of that Dylan-not-to-be-banged. Then what's stopping me from breaking the seal off a champagne and chugging it down?

Um, maybe because you know already that your dear father-in-law won't just stop at this.

As fucking if.

If he won't then I'll bloody make him.

Jeon Jungkook has misperceived me as the boy he met 10 years earlier at his party. What he is oblivious to is that I'm built over that boy's carcass.

If the 14-year-old Taemin was resistance then I'm a fucking battle.

And if my not-so-dear father-in-law thinks I'm somebody who'll weep he can't be any more wrong. I bleed, and once I'm done with this strife it'll be him who'll bleed.

Thus, all these shoulds can go to fucking hell for now.

I drop myself on my chair behind the desk, soughing and just then the window crashes against the wall. Except for the sound of wind whistling through the landscape, it's eerily quiet in here—it always is—as if all the students were flooded away.

I wish.

This place's a fucking nuisance, it does nothing to halt this ruckus inside me. Had I been at my company I would've fired a bunch of imbeciles by now. But here, it's best if you don't get me to begin.

My ears register a meek sound coming from the door and I groan almost yelling. "Come in."

The peon, a balding man in his 30s, Akai-as far as I can reckon I believe that is his name-steps inside. The tray in his hand rattles with each step he takes, his bloodshot eyes only proving his reliance on substance abuse and I release an exasperated sigh.

This is what I was talking about.

Fucking nuisance.

Fortunately, my black coffee is on my desk with all of it still inside the cup after a few more minutes of him trying to balance the tray on his unsteady hands.

I glance at the table. As pristine as it could be. Thank fuck.

Akai saunters to the window and secures it shut before I even order him to. Strolling to my desk he stands still for a few seconds, hands clasped behind his back and I observe him.

He's all bones and scraps of skin. There's barely anything to fucking observe in this man. He's a much bigger nuisance in my life than this place itself.

Hadn't been for his older brother, the headmaster of this school, who had begged me to give this nutter a chance to work for me, I would've transferred him to another continent by this date.

Well, my generosity is one reason. The other; his priority to get his work accomplished on time, fucking slowly but on time, and that too without opening that enormous mouth of his-unlike a fucking pest in my life.

Moreover, he doesn't look me in the eye, especially since the day I broke his two front teeth.

What?

Don't get me wrong, I read somewhere that druggies have a lot of difficulty in breathing. I merely helped him solve his problem-of course, it had nothing to do with him staring back at me. He should be thankful to me and my sentiments.

The more I recall about the punch and the window in his mouth, the tightness in my chest eases. A smile begins to creep on my face and his face turns desolated. Despondency leaking from his appearance.

Aw, he must be getting flashbacks too.

Oh, good days.

"You can go," he begins to walk back the way he came in, his walk now a bit energetic as if he's in a hurry to get the hell out of this place—as if his poor excuse of an ass is on fire.

Had there been a better man in my place, he would've felt bad for the varying ways of oppression I force the people around me to go through—or would've feigned at least. But neither I'm a better man nor do I feel bad. Incredulous but true.

"Don't let anyone come inside." I let the words hang in the air and close my eyes. Anger takes the back seat letting sleep drift me away for once and I grunt straightening my legs.

All thanks to Akai and his broken teeth—my gift to him—the fog clears out of my head like the dark clouds in the sky. Slumber tugs at my nerves, something it ignored to do yesterday night and I let it haul me.

Adoring Kizzie the entire night while she slept soundly I could only manage to get a shut-eye at dawn and woke up an hour or so later by my baby sneaking away from me.

I vow one day soon if not sooner I am going to keep her bound to my bed so that I can look at her howsoever long I want and until it is stacked in her mind that there's no place for her away from me. Till then my baby can enjoy all the freedom she has.

Like a thunderclap in the sky after the dark clouds, a sharp sound cuts through the air forcing my eyes open.

A crack.

A cry.

A chill.

My feet jump to the floor behind the desk just as the door slams open striking the wall as it does so.

I let my eyes dart to the corridor and skim Akai's heaving and unscathed body on the floor before I pay heed to the two intruders standing inside my cabin.

They scrutinise me with eyes virtually of a robot and I fathom they belong to the military-or at least they used to. Currently, by the looks of the tattoo on their limb and the savageness of their appearance they seem to be working under my not-so-dear father-in-law.

Both men amble at a lethargic pace seeming to prefer being anywhere rather than here as they try to level me with their gazes.

I'm not worth their time and energy, that is what they think.

Spoiler alert: I'm going to prove it wrong to these nutheads in the forthcoming minute.

The beefier guy twirls a silencer at the front of his gun while his acquaintance-the taller and hideous one-forwards a phone in my direction, narrowing his eyes at me when I don't budge an inch.

Jokes on these two if they think they are capable of intimidating me. Nothing is anymore.

Intimidation left my body when I was 5 and laid on the road crusted with my parents' blood on my entire body.

PS: Childhood trauma can make you fatal. Pun intended.

I drop on my chair, yawning solely to spite these two morons-yeah, fucker keep telling yourself that you're not sleepy.

I've always noticed in my life that rather than the reaction, we humans are often scared of nonchalance. The reaction gives away your fears, your insecurities and the more reactive you are, the more convenient you are to feast on.

Nonchalance on the other hand is like the night. The cold, dark, and silent night. You never know what you'll get to see or what'll you be a part of. More fascinating; whether you'll be alive enough to witness the entire night pass by or not.

My favourite one.

Nonchalance is destructive and so am I.

So, instead of giving in to their demands, I allow my fingers to graze the desk, the smooth wood gliding under my skin like butter.

The desk is usually cleared except for a PC and a few papers stacked together-I've no idea what these papers are about—and the now cold-that-used-to-be-hot-coffee cup.

These two better know how to make a good cup of coffee or I'm undoubtedly draining this fucking cup in the mouths of these asswipes.

I swipe the paperweight off the table and bounce it a few times in the air. A click surrounds the air, repeatedly, as the paperweight comes in contact with the rings on my fingers.

The skin of my knuckles feels flimsy and somewhat swollen, an outcome of the earlier assault I put on that Ducklan, but I don't mind it, if anything it mitigates the vehement anger inside me.

The pet with the gun tightens his fingers around it and nods at the other. At the gesticulation of his whatever-he-is-to-him, the guy with the phone taps a few times on the device and situates it on my desk.

A voice fills the viscous air the subsequent instant.

"Last chance Kim. Back off or I'll make sure my boys see you off well to the purgatory."

Nonchalance drips from his voice—see, I told you it's the best weapon, even my father-in-law employs it all the time. Though I'm surer than my damn existence that I'm going to change that in a few seconds.

"I'd like to take some time, His Majesty. It's a question of my life and death." A laugh threatens to spear out of my throat and I condense it by humming, sounding as if I'm considering his question.

What I'm truly considering is how I'm going to kill these men-chopping their skulls off their shoulders, separating their limbs from their bodies one after another, and leaving their corpses amid the woods to decay, glazed in their blood and whatnot.

Though I'm not sure if that's the order I'm going to follow.

Anyway, afterwards, I'll get their ashes collected and deliver them with my own gracious hands to my dear father-in-law, allowing him to see the consequence of his foolishness.

Last chance he says, then I'll also make it the last fucking time that I tell him: Kizzie is fucking mine and no one else's. Not even his.

Even assuming that he could purchase my devotion for Kizzie was the first and only mistake of his I overlooked, however this time, I'll make it certain that no other man from his family dares even peek my way without recalling the consequence their King is about to face.

"Um, how about a no." As soon as the words are out of my mouth, the silenced gun is turned towards me. "I'm going to marry your daughter in front of your eyes and you can't do shit about it."

Outside, I'm cooler than the coolest of glaciers, but it's the inside that's burning up. Flames fume my innards, a streak of fire scrambling from my toes to the head and my eyes dilate.

It is the only reaction that I give away unlike the other man on the call whose rage is palpable enough for me to breathe in from here. And what did I say about breaking his nonchalance?

A blatant blissful feeling dawns over the fire, not enough to extinguish but to dim its intensity.

I stare at the gun head-on. Jeon Jungkook couldn't be a lesser fool if he supposes he can barter his daughters' freedom with my doom. If he can come out of the dead to have his wife then I'll tear the fucking hell apart to get to my angel.

"Don't forget to give your last words, Kim," he rasps out the words. His voice appears at ease as if I'm already halfway to hell-I swear I've never met someone so thrilled to see me dead.

Okay, maybe I have.

"You wound me, father-in-law. If I died, how will you see your future grandchild." I snort.

Silence occupies the room and had I possessed a knife; I'd try cutting through it but as if hearing my thoughts a bullet breaks through the air shortly after his voice. "Kill him. I want his head as a showpiece in my house."

The bullet slides past my ear, injuring it on its course. I twirl the paperweight between my fingers, estimate the distance and before the gun fires again, I hurl it away.

My throw hits the mark, blood oozes out of the man's nose like raspberry juice, he loses his aim and the bullet shatters the windows.

That was a simple self-defence technique, hit the nose and you have just immobilized the person for long enough to pull out the gun from the cabinet.

Broken glass pieces cover the floor like snowflakes in the midst of what lies a few big haphazard cut fragments but that's my last concern.

It's the girl standing in front of me that concerns me.

"Kizzie, don't."

Despite my words, she's running towards me in a room full of flying bullets and truth be told, I've never been more scared-dreadful even.

The prospect that a bullet could just pierce her unmarked skin, and kill her, take her away from me has adrenaline rushing through my veins. I turn the safety off and as I'm about to pull the trigger, the bullets stop.

Once she's in my reach I pull her in my arms. "What the hell do you think you were doing?" Her eyes are hazy as if in a daze and I've to shake her shoulders to haul her out of it.

"You... you're fine?" Her voice is barely there but I hear her-I always do-as tears cascade down her cheeks. Perspiration trickles down her temples as she scans me up and down for what I reckon to find any damage.

This girl. Is she trying to get me insane-more than what I already am?

Never in my 25 years, I've thought I could get a hard-on at the thought of someone getting worried about my being. But look where I am.

"I'm fine." I sound a lot breathier than I would like, especially in front of someone—or in my case sometwo—who wants me dead. Something that isn't going to happen.

As soon as I push Kizzie behind me, the guns are in my face again and her figure turns tense. It's weird, absurd even, how I can feel all such emotions transmitting from her as if they were always meant to reach me, find me no matter where I am.

"Had the bullet even grazed her skin I would've pulled the intestines out of your bloody mouth." I don't mind the hostility that drips from my voice, don't care that she can hear me too. It is the image of her, bleeding and still, that haunts my mind and plagues my entire body. "I would've killed you barehanded, you mutts."

I've never liked guns anyway. I like to get my hands dirty. Feel the copper glaze my skin as I dig my fingers in the hot flesh. The bare veins pulsing under my touch, the warm body turning cold, and life leaving their eyes are all that thrills me.

I crave it like Akai might crave his dopes.

Nah, mine is the better alternative.

The hideous guy tenses his finger on the trigger and I feel Kizzie move before I see her.

"No, no. Don't. Please, don't," she cries and glues herself to my front, her hands open wide to shield me. She's aware they won't dare shoot with her anywhere near me, in case it hits her, but she also knows that they will shoot as soon as they get the chance to. Yet, she's ready to take the shot for me.

Oh, my baby.

I'm not certain if I should laugh or get emotional as of now. Her head merely reaches my chin which implies if her father's men were to shoot me in the head, I'd be dead—despite her tiny body shielding me with all her might.

Nevertheless, I fathom laughing in this situation won't be a good idea anyhow so instead I focus on my angel. The rise and fall of her back against my chest, her thumping heartbeat that I can hear oh so clearly, the strands of her hair tickling my chin as she shakes her head, repeatedly, talking to the men of her father who at the front might appear cognizant to her words but inside are resolute of taking my head as a souvenir to their boss.

And I repeat: That's not gonna happen.

"How far is your birthday again, baby?" I swirl a lock of her hair in between my fingers, sniffing her scent off it. Yeah, I know I'm always needy at the wrong times, but I'm just a man.

"How do you always smell so good?" She elbows me in the stomach as quietly as she can.

"Shut up. I'm trying to save your life here." As soon as she says that another bullet flies past my hair-I'll kill this fucker if he shot my hair one more time. "No, don't hurt him, please. I'll talk to Dad. He... he will listen to me. Please don't shoot." I doubt that.

Her voice is pleading, begging even, and I feel the urge to choke these motherfuckers just for this reason alone. However, I'm too distracted by the way her fingers curl around my hand, her softness on my rugged skin excites me again.

I bite back a grin. This place is already overflowing with bullets, the downpour of my lusty emotions is the last thing that should be here, but still, I can't help it. I hold her hand tighter, squeezing her fingers in between mine.

"Will you get angry if I hugged you right now?" She looks back at me in disbelief and I grin at her—again, I'm just a man. "Or better, kiss you."

"You can't be..." One moment she is scolding me, her attention solely on me and the next, she is tossed away from me.

A kick lands on my back causing me to sink on my knees and my hold loosens, liberating her. "Kizzie..." A punch to my gut and blood floods my mouth, the copper tainting my teeth and tongue. It is a familiar taste as if it's blood that I drink every morning in my breakfast and thereupon.

Metal strikes my head and suddenly it feels lighter, my vision blurs. This is one of those moments when you feel time slow down-see it like a slow-mo—and everything grows distant. My limbs appear a mile away from me, I'm here but they're not. Something hits my head again, yanks on my hair and I'm trying to stop it but my hands seem to be stuck somewhere.

I can sense the blood cascading down my temples, feel my consciousness leaving me, black dots covering my vision and then, I see her.

My light.

My warmth.

My angel.

She sits a few feet away from me, her face contorted in fear and some emotion I cannot decipher in this condition of mine. She's too far from me to my liking and I'm trying to decrease that distance when I feel another blow to my head.

Take that fucker. This is what you get for bringing your lecherous thoughts in between strife.

At this rate, I'm confident I'll be having a concussion-that if I don't have it already—and that's enough for me to curse myself. There's nothing worse than a concussion. Not even death.

My ears register the sound of a gun getting reloaded, the safety turning off and just when I think I'm about to kiss my doom, I see her again.

Lifeless and bleeding.

A piece of glass sticks out of her calf, its sharp edge pointing towards the ceiling. The white floor, crimson beneath her stiff legs and breathing suddenly becomes foreign to me.

"Kizzie. Hey, baby, look at me. Kizzie, open your eyes." I'm yelling as much as I can manage to. I just have to make sure my voice reaches her and then she'll come back to me. She has to.

She can't leave me too.

Not her.

Anyone but her.

"Kizzie..." One of the men who was holding me down leaves my side to check up on her. He puts a finger under her nostrils as black dots line up my vision and I have to shake my head to chuck them away.

"Her breathing is faint," he tells his acquaintance who has his gun pinned on my head and before he finds the opportunity to respond I kick his shin making him tumble. I roll on my stomach, pick up my discarded gun and shoot the first chance I get.

My hands are unsteady and I miss my aim, the bullet hits the shoulder of the first guy before he gets to aim for my head. His gun falls and I shoot it away.

Destruction is all is see; all I feel.

I stand up, my legs straying from their path as I shoot, shoot, shoot and shoot—aimlessly.

I don't care if a bullet hits me, I don't care if I take this entire place down with me, I don't care if I were to perish, but if something happened to her, I'll return from hell to turn this world into another of my own.

The gun bucks in my hand, empty clicks resounding instead of the sound of pellets. The bleak sound is only an addition to my discomfort apart from the two men who seem to have taken cover somewhere. 

I drop to my haunches next to Kizzie and cradle her face in between my bloodied palms. "Baby, open your eyes. Come on, look at me." And she does. She opens her eyes, looks at me and closes them again, snatching my light all at once.

No.

No, no, no.

I won't let her leave me. 

My knees resist as I pick her up in my arms, her own falling limp at her sides. I'm dashing to the door with her when one of the men reappears, a knife clutched in his palm defensively. There's blood streaming from his leg where my bullet must've got to him and I realise he's not holding the knife to kill me this time, it is to save himself from me.

I don't have the time to take pride in it now but I will ultimately.

Death was written in their fate and they both know it.

If they try to stop me, I'll kill them and if they don't—which they won't—they'll die at the hands of their employer, for obvious reasons of course.

One: For letting me leave.

Two: For letting me leave with Kizzie.

Hence, if not by mine then by the hands of my father-in-law, but at the end of the day, they'll have to die.

Jeon Jungkook can dispatch an entire army to kill me as much as he wants for when I start the battle from my side there won't be a single person left on his.

That's both my promise to myself and my vow to my love.

His misperception of my character will be his destruction, and I'll ensure it costs him his life.

I'm done bleeding and it's time he bleeds.

King, he calls himself, but what he has forgotten is there are two kings on the board, he has given his decree, it's time for mine.

Words: 5829

Do vote and comment💜

I'll try to update every Sunday from now on—If I get positive feedback.