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Jongho's Prologue
Think about something for a minute with me, won't you?
Death.
All mortals fear it, don't they? How should I know, I won't get to know, but that's a bit selfish of me to ruin such a "wholesome, family-friendly" story by revealing my real form to the public eye. Why do you fear it? Why is it that the thought of not being able to wake up in the morning and your parents or siblings find you not breathing, not beating, not living seems to terrify unawares so much? Maybe it's because the line of "I don't wanna die, I have so much to live for" or "I'm too young to die" have seemed to engraved themselves against the seams of our skulls like a wooden carving. Did you ever think that? Well, now you're probably thinking it because I just told you.
This is a harrowing topic, isn't it? Apologies if you're currently crying about thinking about your loved ones missing you more than anything but death is a temporary thing, a wake-up call if you will. Let's play a game. What do you see?
What I mean is... What do you think you will see when you die? The majority of people are on two different sides of this spectrum: They either see light or dark. Kind of sounds like this tale but that's a bit less subtle foreshadowing, being I just told you it was. Hyung told me that death is almost instant, even if it doesn't feel like it.
He said, "Unawares think they will see a black space when they submit to their timely demise. Another saying is that the word of God will shine against their retinas and lead them to Heaven."
"Hyung, what do they actually see?"
"They see nothing, Jongho-ah. There is nothing to see and that is what will flash in front of their eyes."
"How could you do that to them? I know that's what you're supposed to do and everything but—"
"Jongho-ah, you are about as old as me, just a fraction younger. I do my job and that is a part of my 'contract.'" Once again running a hand through his silver-scalp, similar to mine, he takes his hand in mine, squeezing a bit tightly. A sincere smile paints his lips, the other two males, one artificially blonde, the other naturally raven, peek over the edge of the table, their hands folded against the flat of the table we're adjusted at. The blonde one always caught my attention, gently tapping his prosthetic leg's "knee" under the leg of the table, out of nervousness for being down in this realm after several years. He seems to do that a lot, the grey-haired oldest resting his hand on the other's shoulder. "It has to be done."
My eyes curl around in my head, a bit annoyed at his lack of a proper answer but there really is nothing that I can do about it. "I won't let you have him."
"Jongho-hyung, you're making this harder on yourself," the blonde warns, his foot actually kicking my ankle out of his anxiety. He bows his head down in an apology, the black-haired one snickering softly. "Chonggak, I will nail you to the wall."
The silver-haired male flicks a finger across the blonde's mouth, signaling for him to keep himself quiet. Suddenly, a thin, black thread begins sewing the other's mouth shut, the blonde not showing any surprise to this as he taps his cane on the ground, a pair of opera glasses fused to the wood to form an elegant handle, the string disappearing from his lips and onto the length of his fingers, curling it around his fingernail. "I've had enough of your bickering, dokkaebi," the oldest hisses, straightening the collar of his white button up, his suit jacket hanging on the back of the chair. We're not in a coffee shop, nor at a cafe but rather in a blank space where only silence remains, the only material objects being four chairs across a long table, the oldest sitting at the head and me at the opposite end. The aforementioned dokkaebi sit across each other at the sides, showing a bit of distaste towards each other.
"San started it!" The black-haired boy yells across the length of the table, his finger pointing stark in the middle of the other's face. The blonde finally had a name but I already knew it. I had to give some suspense somehow. San scowls at the apparent "chonggak," pointing his cane to the other.
"I will not hesitate to knock you out with my bangmangi, Jung Wooyoung!" San practically screams, the silver-haired oldest pinching the bridge of his nose trying to curb back a headache. I'm just a spectator in this childish fight of non-mortals.
Finally, the grey-haired male stands up, knocking his chair to the floor, his hands slamming against the mahogany wood of the table, a gentle pulse vibrating the table that they were surrounded by. "Both of you! You're acting like children!" The two dokkaebi finally bite back their tongues, San placing the cane back against the table, sticking his tongue out at the other like a toddler. "I will put you on Jongho's menu!"
"Hyung, I don't eat dokkaebi," I mutter a bit softer, being that I was also experiencing a migraine from the two non-mortals barking insults at the table like dogs fighting over the table scraps.
"Seonghwa-hyung, can we just tell him what's happening now?" Wooyoung finally speaks something that makes logical sense. Yes, please, let's talk.
The oldest now mentioned by his mortal name curls his fingers around mine, a bit of an upset expression radiates across San's face, crossing his arms and leaning into the weight of the chair. "This is my job, Jongho-ah. Please understand that."
"He's too young though. He has so much that he hasn't been able to do or see or say or—"
"Jongho-ah, you know why I'm doing this so please stop making this so much harder of yourself. You always attach yourself to mortals like this," Seonghwa notices, a soft sigh hissing against the base of his throat. "This gets you hurt."
"I already have to deal with the police..."
"Here we go," San growls, his eyes doing a three-sixty around his skull. That pisses me off of course but I dismiss it, being that was how San was.
"I don't need to deal with you too, hyung."
Seonghwa exhales slowly again, his cheeks puffing out as he nods his head slowly. "It has to be done."
"What about what Hongjoong thinks, huh? Have you actually considered the person you're taking!"
"King Yeomna told me I don't have much ti—"
Now it was my turn to get upset with his irrational decisions, kicking my own chair back until the backrest made contact with the floor with a loud slam, my fingernails embedding themselves into the wood of the table we were situated at. "Mortal or not, I won't let you take him!"
"Hyung," Wooyoung points at my hands, a coarse, white fur coating my knuckles as a small set of claws set where my fingernails should be placed. In my fury, I had begun to show my true colors, the real beast that I actually am. "Your—"
"Leave it, bachelor!" I bite back, San already pointing the point of his cane towards my overturned chair, setting it back up on all fours without lifting a finger. Wooyoung sinks back into his chair, obviously nervous about what I could possibly do. I could do so much to them but Seonghwa would have my head on a silver platter.
"Hongjoong will die. You can't stop it, Jongho-ah. Let yourself rest. This meeting is adjourned. We will be down in the morning."
"There isn't a single thing that I can do to stop you, is there?" The loud screech of chairs rumbles the floor, the gentlemen straightening their neckties and twisting their rings around their fingers. I stay standing but I can't move from my spot. It's as if I was frozen in time. Another mortal that I would lose, lost to the strangling hands of death and there was nothing I could do to try and get him to reconsider.
The grim reaper cannot be reasoned with.