Chapter Text
The sun had barely set, its dim light casting an eerie glow through the windows of the Demon Hunting Bureau Hall. Shadows danced across the streaked walls, mingling with the faint crackle of energy left behind by the battle. The war with Wen Zongyu was over, but its aftermath lingered like a ghost, heavy and suffocating.
Zhuo Yichen’s boots sank slightly into the floor as he walked, each step deliberate and weighted with purpose. His breathing was steady, but his chest felt as though it might collapse under the strain of what lay ahead. The hall stretched before him, vast and ominous, and at its heart stood the one he sought.
The great demon Zhao Yuan Zhou waited, his imposing figure silhouetted against the fading light. His crimson eyes glowed faintly in the dimness, unreadable yet somehow beckoning. Yichen's grip tightened around the hilt of the cloud lightning sword at his side, its energy pulsing faintly as if sensing his inner turmoil.
He had promised to end the bloodshed, to bring peace. But he had not anticipated that peace would come at such a personal cost. The promise that had been made to Zhao Yuan Zhou—this great demon, his equal in power, and yet the source of his deepest desires—had been the one thing keeping him together. The poison of his feelings for the demon had taken root long ago, and now, it threatened to consume him whole.
As Yichen approached the clearing, he saw the great demon waiting for him, standing tall and resolute. Zhao Yuan Zhou had been the one to lead them in battle, saving their allies from the clutches of death, yet now, as the two men stood face-to-face, it was clear that there was no easy resolution. The air between them crackled, charged with a dangerous energy—both of them knew what was coming.
Zhao Yuan Zhou’s gaze was unreadable, his eyes deep and ancient, but there was something in his expression that made Yichen’s heart twist. The demon was waiting, as though expecting the inevitable.
The promise was simple but cruel: one must fall.
Yichen could feel his fingers tightening around the hilt of his sword, the weight of the decision pressing heavily on him. He could not deny his feelings, nor could he ignore the vow that had been made. The clouds overhead seemed to darken in response to the conflict that swirled within him.
Zhao Yuan Zhou stood at the center of the clearing, his imposing figure calm yet resolute. His crimson eyes, glowing faintly in the dim light, bore into Zhuo Yichen, who stood several paces away, his chest heaving with the weight of his emotions.
“Let’s end this,” Zhao Yuan Zhou said, his voice steady, almost gentle. “You can now take your revenge.”
Zhuo Yichen’s grip tightened on the hilt of the Light Cloud Sword, his breath shaky as he struggled to find the words. His body trembled, but it wasn’t fear that coursed through him—it was anger, pain, and something far deeper, far more dangerous.
He raised the blade, the polished steel catching the dying light of the sun. The memories of their battles together, the promises they had made, and the forbidden feelings he had harbored all weighed heavily on him.
Yichen’s eyes flared an electric blue as he let out a sharp breath. Without hesitation, he gripped the edge of his blade and sliced his palm, the blood trickling down to ignite the ancient runes carved into the Light Cloud Sword. The weapon glowed brilliantly, charged with lightning, humming with raw, destructive power.
He lifted the blade, its light reflecting in his eyes, and launched himself forward with a cry.
Zhao Yuan Zhou didn’t move, waiting until the last possible moment before side-stepping the attack. Yichen’s blade sliced through the air, missing its target by inches, and the force of his swing left a crackling streak of lightning in its wake.
The great demon turned swiftly, his hand glowing with dark energy as he summoned a weapon of his own—a massive, obsidian scythe materialized in his grasp. With a single swing, he deflected Yichen’s follow-up strike, the clash of their weapons sending out a shockwave that rippled through the clearing.
“You’ll have to do better than that,” Zhao Yuan Zhou taunted, his tone laced with a mixture of respect and provocation.
Yichen growled, spinning on his heel to deliver a sweeping arc of lightning aimed at Zhou’s chest. The demon blocked it, sparks flying as the two clashed again. Each strike of Yichen’s blade was fueled by his anger and despair, while Zhao Yuan Zhou met him with calm precision, his movements fluid yet unrelenting.
The fight was a dance of power, the clearing alight with the glow of blue and crimson energy. Yichen lunged again, feinting a downward slash before twisting mid-air to bring his blade down in a streak of lightning. Zhou barely managed to block the attack, the force of the blow pushing him back a step.
“You’re hesitating,” Zhou said, his voice cutting through the sound of their battle.
“I’m not!” Yichen snapped, though his voice betrayed him.
Yichen’s breath was ragged as he fought to keep up. His emotions clouded his judgment, each swing of his sword fueled more by turmoil than strategy. He dodged a devastating strike, rolling to the side before springing up and countering with a wide slash.
“You are,” Zhou insisted, his crimson eyes piercing into Yichen’s soul. “Because you don’t want this any more than I do.”
Yichen roared in frustration, unleashing a flurry of strikes that Zhou parried with masterful ease. The demon retaliated, his scythe carving through the air in deadly arcs, forcing Yichen to backpedal. Despite his ferocity, Yichen couldn’t deny the truth in Zhou’s words.
This time, the blade grazed Zhao Yuan Zhou’s arm, drawing a line of black ichor. The demon hissed but didn’t falter, his smirk widening.
“Finally,” Zhao Yuan Zhou said, his voice laced with grim amusement. “But it’s not enough.”
Their movements became faster, more desperate, the ground beneath them scorched by the energy of their clashing weapons. Yichen’s strikes grew heavier, his breath ragged as the weight of his emotions began to take its toll.
Zhuo Yichen’s strikes grew heavier, his breathing ragged, his chest heaving as the turmoil inside him threatened to spill over. His grip on the hilt of the cloud lightning sword was ironclad, his resolve like a dam straining under the pressure of his feelings.
The great demon Zhao Yuan Zhou, ever graceful even in battle, deflected each strike with precision, his movements fluid yet deliberate. But even he could feel the shift in Yichen’s energy. This was not just a fight—it was a storm, a tempest of everything they had suppressed for too long.
“Is that all you’ve got, Xiao Zhuo?” Zhao Yuan Zhou taunted, his voice calm but edged with something darker, something that mirrored the turmoil in Yichen’s heart. “If you truly want to end this, you’ll have to try harder.”
The words were like fuel to Yichen’s fire. He let out a growl of frustration, his next strike heavier, faster, pushing Zhao Yuan Zhou back a step.
“You think this is a game?!” Yichen roared, his voice breaking under the weight of his emotions. “You think this is easy for me?!”
With a sudden burst of raw power, Yichen swung his sword in a wide arc, channeling his energy into the strike. The ground beneath him erupted, a wave of crackling lightning surging toward Zhao Yuan Zhou with devastating force.
The energy hit its mark, slamming into the great demon with such intensity that he stumbled backward, his body skidding across the charred ground. A cough wracked his frame, and he spat out a few drops of blood, the crimson staining his lips as he pushed himself up to his knees.
Despite the damage, Zhao Yuan Zhou smiled—a slow, almost amused curve of his lips that made Yichen’s chest tighten with a mix of anger and something deeper. The great demon’s eyes, sharp and glinting with a strange mix of admiration and sorrow, locked onto Yichen’s.
“Well done,” Zhao Yuan Zhou said, his voice steady despite the blood that trickled from the corner of his mouth. He wiped it away with the back of his hand, rising to his feet with an almost casual grace.
Yichen’s hands trembled as he raised his sword, pointing its glowing tip directly at the great demon’s chest. His breaths came in ragged gasps, his heart screaming for him to stop, but his mind refused to let him stop.
Zhao Yuan Zhou tilted his head, his gaze softening as he took a step closer, unafraid of the blade aimed at him. “Go ahead, Yichen,” he murmured, his voice low but unyielding. “Do it,” he says softly, his voice like the rumble of distant thunder. “End it. You’ve been carrying this weight for far too long.”
Yichen’s vision blurred, a mix of exhaustion, tears, and the overwhelming conflict within him. The sword in his hands felt impossibly heavy, yet he didn’t lower it. The distance between them disappeared until the blade hovered just an inch from Zhao Yuan Zhou’s chest.
Yichen’s breath hitched, his hands trembling as he tried to push the blade forward. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t do it. He has been prepared for this moment for years—he should do it. It was supposed to be a way to take revenge for his brother and father, ending the years of heartache because of their death. But now, faced with the reality of the decision, why he cannot make himself do it.
“Why…” Yichen’s voice cracked, his eyes searching the great demon’s face for answers. “Why— I" Yichen choke in his words.
Trying to find the right words but Zhao Yuan Zhou beat him to it.
Zhao Yuan Zhou’s smile slightly, “Do it, Xiao Zhuo I trust you. Whatever choice you make, I will accept it. Even if it means my end.” The Great Demon closes his eyes waiting for the blade to pierce into his heart but nothing happened, but instead he heard a sob.
Yichen’s resolve shattered. He let out a cry, wrenching the blade free and stumbling backward. The sword fell from his hands, its glow fading as it hit the ground. “I can’t... I can’t do it. Yuan Zhou... I...”
Tears streamed down his face as he clutched his head, the weight of his emotions finally breaking him. “Damn you, Zhou... Damn you for making me feel this way!”
Zhao Yuan Zhou stepped closer, his scythe dissolving into black mist as he reached out to cup Yichen’s face. “Then damn me, Yichen. Damn me.”
With a shaky breath, Yichen looked up, his eyes filled with both fury and longing. And then, before he could think, before he could stop himself, he closed the distance between them, his lips crashing against Zhao Yuan Zhou's in a kiss that was both fierce and desperate.
The world seemed to still around them, the chaos of the battle fading into a distant memory. The cries of the wounded and the clashing of swords that had once filled the air were gone, leaving only the sound of their ragged breathing and the faint rustle of the wind. The moment was theirs and theirs alone, suspended in time.
Their lips trembled against each other, hesitant yet desperate, as if afraid this fleeting connection would shatter at any moment. Tears streamed down their faces, hot and unrelenting, mingling as they clung to one another like two souls trying to anchor themselves amidst a raging storm. Zhao Yuan Zhou’s hands gripped Yichen’s waist, pulling him impossibly closer, his hold firm yet gentle, as though afraid Yichen might slip away.
Zhuo Yichen’s arms wound around the great demon’s neck, clutching at him as though his very life depended on it. His fingers buried themselves in Zhao Yuan Zhou’s hair, trembling with emotion he could no longer suppress. The warmth of their shared pain and unspoken longing pressed between them, as palpable as the air they struggled to breathe.
When they finally broke apart, their gasps filled the void between them, their breaths mingling as they remained pressed together, foreheads touching. Yichen’s eyes fluttered open, meeting Zhao Yuan Zhou’s gaze—a mixture of tenderness, anguish, and a glimmer of something deeper, something unbreakable.
“I hope you don’t hate me for not killing you,” Yichen whispered, his voice shaking, barely audible. The words carried a weight that hung heavily in the air, as if they might crush them both.
Zhao Yuan Zhou’s lips curved into the faintest of smiles, a gesture so soft and unexpected that it made Yichen’s heart ache. “I won’t,” the great demon whispered back, his voice deep and steady, filled with a quiet resolve. He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Yichen’s forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment as though sealing a silent promise.
Yichen’s eyes fluttered closed at the touch, his grip tightening around Zhao Yuan Zhou’s neck. “I hope they’ll forgive me—” his voice broke, trembling with raw emotion, “for loving the person who—”
But he couldn’t finish. Before the words could escape his lips, Zhao Yuan Zhou closed the distance between them, silencing him with a kiss. This one was fierce and unyielding, a declaration that spoke of things neither of them dared to say aloud. It was an act of defiance, a rebellion against fate, and a promise that no matter the cost, they would face it together.
The world continued to spin, but for them, in that moment, it didn’t matter. The chaos, the bloodshed, the promises—they all fell away, leaving only the undeniable truth that neither could escape. They had chosen their poison, and it was each other.