Actions

Work Header

Rating:
Archive Warning:
Category:
Fandom:
Characters:
Additional Tags:
Language:
English
Series:
Part 2 of Red Dragon!KRS AU
Collections:
Божественно
Stats:
Published:
2021-05-26
Words:
5,558
Chapters:
1/1
Comments:
121
Kudos:
1,900
Bookmarks:
173
Hits:
10,948

Distances

Summary:

Choi Han noted the distance between him and the dragon.

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Work Text:

The first time, Choi Han had been barely five steps away from the dragon.

 

It had not been by choice. A group of hungry raptors had herded him into a valley with no exit. He had realised too late when he had seen the tall rock walls at the end. The predators crowded at the entrance, covering his one escape route. He had drawn his blade once again, ready to engage in a vicious battle against the persistent predators.

 

But the battle never occurred.

 

The raptors suddenly screeched before turning tail, scurrying away as swiftly as they could manage. A strange stifling atmosphere suddenly descended from above which had Choi Han looking directly upwards towards the sky. A giant red blur growing bigger and bigger by the second.

 

Hurtling towards him.

 

He froze at the sight. He should be dead for doing that. But then, there was a snapping sound and the descending shadow changed its shape. Tons upon tons of a gigantic body smashed into the ground around him. The shockwave from the crash knocked him off his feet. When he tried to get up, the dust began to clear. Choi Han became aware of the huge red form curled in a crescent around him.

 

A dragon, his mind finally acknowledged. For there could not be any other term for the behemoth that laid before his eyes. The reptilian creature had curved black horns upon its head, ridges along its back spine, large leathery wings, a long serpentine tail, following the image of a western dragon. And befitting the image, the dragon was gigantic. Its head alone was larger than his entire being, and its body half-filled the valley it lay in. He – a mere human – was no more than a doll in front of the dragon.

 

And Choi Han was just five steps away from the dragon.

 

It was a gross intrusion of its space; any monster would have simply lashed out. A beat of its wings, a flick of its tail, a bite from its jaws, a swipe from its claws; any random blow from the dragon could easily smash him into a fine meat paste. He wanted to run, but at the dragon’s growl, all strength left his legs. So, he waited. Waited for the dragon to decide his time of death, for there was no way a mere boy could outrun such an unfair existence.

 

As if to add to the bleak picture, rain fell from the overcast sky. The boy was numb to the raindrops as the dragon was moving again. The dragon’s huge head turned towards him. Their eyes met. It acknowledged him, took in his existence.

 

Choi Han’s heart hammered within his chest. Deep within him, the despair surged. It threatened to overflow and to spill out, to surge and to strike. His hand had unknowingly grasped his sword, a thin black aura surrounding the blade. It would be a hopeless battle, but he could at least die fighting-

 

And then the dragon rested its head upon the ground beside him. Its reptilian eyes closed.

 

The only sound that could be heard within the valley was the pitter patter of raindrops against the magenta leathery wing extended over his head. For an unknown period of time, Choi Han kept his breaths quiet, staring at the dragon that had simply chosen to slumber.

 

It was only when the raindrops stopped did he regain his senses. That he dared to breathe normally again.


The dragon did not attack. He was alive.

 

The europhia swept away the pooling despair and he almost choked while breathing. His feet brought him away from the dragon, to put infinite distance in between him and the dragon.

 

But he found himself returning. Over and over and over again.

 

 

On his second visit to the valley, Choi Han scratched out a line fifteen steps from the dragon.

 

Choi Han had estimated the length of the dragon’s neck with his strides, then doubled the distance. This was the distance where he had felt somewhat safe should the dragon wake. It was out of the dragon’s immediate striking range from where it lay, and he should be able to escape into the forest before the dragon fully woke up.

 

He watched the dragon, who continued to sleep a week after. He had not quite expected the dragon to remain within the valley. But he heard no roars nor seen any sudden migration of monsters. So he had taken a chance when he found himself being chased by an eight-armed bear. When he had crossed the entrance to the valley, the familiar pressure from the dragon pressed down. And as he expected, the bear fled after taking a single step into the valley.

 

Choi Han knew the reason why. Even now, every fibre of his being screamed at him to turn away and run. Sweat dripped down his body, and it was not due to the heat.

 

It was fear. It was an instinctual fear of a creature that was on another level of existence. The fear stole his breath away, making it hard to breathe. The pressure emitted by the dragon had enveloped the entire valley, causing all creatures to run away after a single step into the valley.

 

All but him. Choi Han was the one single exception to this rule.

 

Choi Han remembered the time when the dragon had first fallen into the valley. How he had been stunned by its sheer presence. How he had remained unmoving for an unknown duration before he had finally gathered the courage to leave. The experience had given him a degree of resistance to the pressuring aura. He had become somewhat used to it, hence was able to enter the valley where no monsters dared to tread.

 

It was still a crazy idea for him to use the dragon’s aura as a defense against the other monsters. Choi Han knew he should give the dragon a wide berth, move into a different section of the forest. With how the dragon dwarfed every other monster, the moment it woke up it would be the apex predator in this dark forest. He should be staying away.

 

But he remembered the tired eyes that had seen him and had chosen to ignore him. He remembered the wing that had extended over his head, that shielded him from the elements.

 

Was the dragon simply not hostile? Was this the one creature in this forest that would not attack him?

 

Choi Han did not know. But when he had weighed the pros and cons about occasionally using the dragon’s valley to escape from monsters, he was already leaning towards yes. He had already done many crazy things already. The forest was filled with so many vicious monsters, and he was willing to take any advantage he could get against it.

 

So, Choi Han committed to memory the distances. And at fifteen steps, was a boundary line he should not cross.

 

 

He ended up crossing the boundary line one month later.

 

It had been yet another time whereby he had escaped to the valley. He had been panting, glad that he had been able to keep his life once again, when he had noticed that the air was still. Choi Han was used to a slight warm breeze within the valley; the dragon simply emitted so much heat that it created its own air currents. But that day, the air was strangely still.

 

The abnormality warranted investigation. He began walking back into the depths of the valley, past the hundred pace mark where he usually stayed at, past the fifty-step mark where he usually watched the dragon. Deeper, deeper, up until the boundary line he had drawn one month back.

 

There he stood, staring at the dragon that he feared. Not because of the majestic creature, nor was it because of the pressuring fear. No, it was for the fact that he could finally see the dragon for what it was.

 

Choi Han had been blinded by fear the first time he saw the dragon. But in each subsequent flight into the valley, he started to take in more and more details. For what he saw now were the scars carved all over its scales, its outstretched wing ragged and splotchy. There were bands of faded scales around its wrists and ankles and neck, there were bits of chains that dug into its back, there were an uncountable number of chipped scales and broken back spines. There was not a single meter of its hide that was untouched by some sort of injury.

 

It had been a sobering thought, the first time he noticed this, that the dragon which he had thought was almighty and powerful had been so badly hurt.

 

The dragon was still. On the previous visits, it still breathed. It still shifted its position occasionally. It still huffed when he had prodded it with the longest stick he could find. But now, it was deadly silent and still.

 

Was it dead? Was the pressure now just a remnant from a corpse?

 

He stepped closer and closer to the hulking body, fully aware of how the dragon had remained unmoving throughout.

 

And then he reached out.

 

The first touch was light and hesitant, his fingers barely brushing against the scales. There was a lingering warmth, cooler than the usual heat that warmed the valley.

 

Slowly, he placed a palm upon the scales. There was no response. He could have been touching a stone statue. He slowly moved along the body of the dragon, dragging his hand against the scales. The dragon did not stir. There was no movement, no tremble of the muscles. Nothing to show that the dragon was alive.

 

He turned his attention to the corner of a scar that peeked out under the shoulder of the dragon. This was vaguely where the creature’s heart should be, right? Slowly, a shaky hand pressed upon the patch of empty skin where no scales grew. It was smooth. It was still.

 

His heart began to sink. His palm was slightly shaky. He was just about to move his hand away, to sigh and accept the facts when -

 

Ba-bump.

 

It was soft, very weak, slow, and hard to miss, but it was there. The beating heart. This gave Choi Han the courage to put his ear right next to his hand.

 

Ba-bump.

 

Ba-bump.

 

The dragon was still alive. It had simply entered a deeper phase of sleep.

 

Choi Han let out a breath that he did not know he was holding.

 

 

Choi Han erased the fifteen-step boundary line he drew soon after.

 

With the dragon in hibernation, he did not need to worry about the dragon waking and attacking any time soon. There was really no reason why he should stay away from the valley, which had become a monster-free zone.

 

At first, he stayed near the entrance of the valley, unsure how long the dragon’s dormancy would last. But over time, he became accustomed to the domineering pressure, and slowly started shifting inwards. Eventually, he moved his little camp under the dragon’s wing to take advantage of the convenient roof it made.

 

Choi Han had been in the forest for so long that a safe shelter was a luxury to savour. He could sleep under the dragon’s wing, sheltered from the elements, unworried of being attacked in the night. He could set up a camp, a rudimentary fire pit, a fur bedding, and not have to think that he would be chased away by another monster, for the dragon’s presence kept them all away. He could drink when he was thirsty. He could eat when he was hungry. He could rest when he was tired. All this was possible was due to the slumbering giant dragon.

 

It probably was not the dragon’s intention to give shelter to one small human, but Choi Han was still someone that knew reciprocity. So, he did what he could to give back to the dragon. He would sweep the fallen leaves and branches off the dragon, and sometimes, after a rain, he would take the time to wipe the accumulated dirt and grime where he could reach. He was all too aware that all these actions might have no meaning, for the dragon was likely just another stronger monster. That it would most likely attack when it was awake.

 

To the dragon, Choi Han would just be another intruder.

 

But for this time when the dragon slumbered, where it served as a safe shelter, Choi Han was willing to help it in what little ways he could. Choi Han was someone who paid back his debts.

 

 

He eventually did leave the dragon. He had stayed for a season, where the bright sun of the summer gave way to the changing colours of leaves in autumn. When he noticed how long he had stayed in one place, how long he had made no progress in finding a way out of the forest, did he realise that this could not continue. Choi Han still dreamed of finding a way out, finding a way home. And to do that, he had to venture out of the safe comfort of the dragon’s valley, back through the dangerous forest.

 

Somewhere out there was a place with people, he told himself. And to reach there, he had to leave the valley that was a dead-end.

 

The only thing he chose to bring out of the valley was his rusty blade. Everything else, the fur bedding he slept in, the bamboo water bottle he fashioned, the firepit, the strange white rock shaped like a crown he had found, everything else that he had gathered and put together in the time he had stayed with the dragon, he would leave behind.

 

There would be no point. He would most likely lose them. The only thing he would never let go of was his blade, his one defense against the monsters of the dark forest. So, he piled everything else under the dragon’s wing and left them there.

 

He threw away the comfort that he could receive and returned into the forest. He focused on moving away, away from the allure of the safe shelter the dragon provided.

 

Choi Han could not indulge. He had to get stronger to leave the forest. And if getting stronger meant throwing himself back into the abyss of the forest, so be it. 

 

 

He did not know how far he had travelled, nor did he know how much time had passed. All he knew was that he had spent a long time in the forest, and he was still no closer to finding his way out.

 

He had wandered from place to place, carving out temporary hideaways as he moved. He tried to cover as much ground as he could, to go in directions that seemed new to him. He made discoveries of mountains, of swamps, of cliffs, of lakes.

 

But he found no way out. He had to double back when he met ravines he could not pass, turn away when he found a swamp full of poison. He tried to circumvent the unpassable terrain but the areas around them were usually filled with hoards of monsters, who used the place as chokepoints. The territorial monsters chased him away each time he approached. They blocked him from exiting the forest.

 

And within him, the darkness deepened, seeped through bone and marrow, becoming a part of him. He learnt to wield the darkness like a blade, to carve through the bones of monsters that tried to kill him, to poison and to inflict the same pain that he had been living through in this forest.

 

He moved and he killed. He gained more experience, he became more powerful, he managed to carve a river of blood through the monsters that had harried him.

 

And yet, he found no way out. There was a ring of mountains at this edge of the forest that he had found, the cliff nigh unscalable.

 

He lost his mind once. He could not quite remember what happened, but he remembered waking up to a scene of a dozen sword scars all over the landscape, of a strip of land mowed clean of any trees or shrubbery. Of how the darkness within him was all too close to the surface, and how some of the smarter monsters would think twice before engaging him.

 

But the monsters were still shrewd and harried him whenever he tried to rest. Whenever his guard dropped was when a snake would strike, a goblin would sneak up, a raptor would flank from the side. His sleep was light and almost always interrupted.

 

It was one day, when he noticed a somewhat strong presence at the edge of his detection range. It was the feeling of a creature that was just slightly weaker than him, a trouble for him to fight. He was alert and started moving with purpose. He had to chase down yet another of those strong and smart monsters that loved to harry his sleep.

 

The presence did not move. It remained still as Choi Han approached. All he could think of was getting the jump on a monster for once. To kill a threat before it tried to kill him. He walked, blade in hand, dark aura coating the rusty edges, as he forged through trees to find himself on the edge of a cliff. The presence was below.

 

He looked down to see a valley, and within it, a giant slumbering dragon.

 

His breath caught. The dark aura surrounding his blade dissipated as he immediately jumped down, to head over to check its chest. The chest scar was there. It was his dragon. The dragon that had become his safe zone, his only shelter.

 

He did not know when his touch became gentle strokes, or when a faint smile started to grace his lips. But he did make the decision to spend his night here, another night under the dragon’s wing. When he found his old fur bedding all rotten, he instead leaned into the dragon’s side, against the patch of bare skin on its chest, allowing the slow heartbeats lull him to sleep.


Choi Han slept deeper than he had ever did in years.

 

For the next few days, there was very little distance in between him and the dragon. Choi Han owed the dragon for giving him a safe, undisturbed rest. So, he could only try paying back, the usual way he did. He decided to spend some time cleaning the dragon.

 

It was no easy task, for the giant dragon was covered in multiple layers of leaves and sticks and dirt after what had to be years of neglect. It was barely red anymore. But favours were meant to be repaid, and what Choi Han had was time. He killed a beast for its fur as a simple cloth. He chopped wood, burnt some into ash and lye for a rudimentary soap and fashioned a small wooden bucket from what remained. And then, he got to work.

 

He noticed how things have changed. He no longer had any reason to fear the dragon now that he was stronger than it, so he dared to do things he had never done before. He leapt up the back of the dragon easily, reaching back ridges and wing spokes he had never touched before. He dared to scrub near the dragon’s maw, beneath the claws, from tip to tail. He was not winded even after a day’s work, it was nothing compared to years of being in constant motion, of having to move without rest. These simple days, the only times he left the valley was to hunt a beast for a meal, or to get more water, or burn more wood for the soap.

 

The first layer he removed was the autumn leaves that had fallen from the trees above. The second was accumulated dirt and grime. And then the third layer of black that he uncovered was dried blood. He cleaned it off all the same, but he was reminded once again, of how the dragon that towered over him was an injured creature, of how it had laid within this valley, never waking once in all these years. How the creature had apparently been chained down once, cruel hooks still embedded in some parts of its body, hooks he dared not pull out. The scars that marred its hide were a grim reminder of the damage that the dragon had received, and he wondered, time and again, what had caused the dragon to fall.

 

It was a strangely comforting thought, that he was not alone in his suffering. Cleaning the dragon allowed his mind to relax, his heart to soften, and he slowly dug himself out of his despair. It was a therapeutic exercise that he did not know he needed until he went through the motions.

 

The falling autumn leaves kept him busy for a time, but eventually, the trees ran out of leaves to shed, and the cold whispers of wind heralding winter came. Choi Han petted the now cleaner dragon, and noticed it was warm. Even as the temperature continued to drop, even when the first snowflakes fell from the sky, the dragon remained warm.

 

He stared at the dragon, that gives and gives without asking anything in return.

 

And he decided to stay for the winter, within the warm hearth that the dragon created within the valley, in the only permanent camp he has.

 

 

Winter was the season that he usually dreaded, for his best defense against the biting cold was to light a fire. But fire in the winter forest might as well be a beckoning call to the monsters, so he was always forced to smolder the flames quickly after cooking his food, and instead hide out in the closest cave he could find. It was the time he made the least progress in exploring the forest as the energy expenditure from moving around in winter was too high. The only times he left his hideaway would be to hunt for food, to get water, and the rest of the time, he spent wrapped up in the furs he had skinned, waiting for the seasons to change.

 

He still had to leave to hunt food, he still had to bundle up in blankets, but he no longer had to worry about winter hardened predators tracking him back into his shelter. The problem of water was easily solved by setting up a bucket under the edge of the dragon’s outstretched wing, fresh snowmelt would drip off at all hours. A flame could easily be lit to cook his meals, and he no longer needed it for heat for the dragon was warm.

 

It was a much easier winter. And with his basic needs of sleep, food, water, and shelter all met, his head was now clearer than ever. Choi Han could finally sit and reflect about all he had done thus far.

 

Aimlessly wandering around the forest did not yield good results. His journey through the forest had only proven that the forest was expansive. He might get lucky and find a way out if he continued wandering, but there was a risk of him backtracking, passing the same tracks of the forest without knowing. He had already done so once, returning to this valley when he had thought he had taken another path.

 

He needed to make a map. A map to tell him where he had gone, where he had not. It was something he had given up on once before, for he had no place to put the map. Pieces of wood would rot over time, and a rock would be too unwieldy. He had tried once, making a carving on a wall, but then, a few days later, he ended up moving shelters in his journey, and the carving had been abandoned.

 

Now though, he had a shelter he would return to, one that would not be taken over by a monster, one that would remain untouched over time. So, Choi Han picked up a sharpened rock he used as a knife and begun carving into the valley wall what he remembered about his journey. The top-most edge was a ring of mountains, the middle of it was a tall stone mountain. He then carved the locations of lakes and swamps, though he hesitated when it came to the positions of the hills and ravines that he was not sure of. Then, to the south of all the dangerous zones, he drew an icon of the dragon, denoting the dragon’s valley.

 

He took a step back, to take in the map he had drawn, and all the empty spaces that he had yet to fill. And then he started planning the routes he would have to take, to explore every edge of this forest to find a way out.

 

It had been a long time since he last had a concrete plan. He thanked the dragon for giving him the time and space to rest and think once again.

 

 

It was the beginning of his journeys to and fro from the dragon. The first few trips were short, completed in several weeks to check the immediate surroundings before inscribing it onto the valley map, but eventually he had to venture further and further away. He had to take longer and deeper trips into the sea of endless trees. And each time he left, the forest seemed a little darker, a little more foreboding.

 

There was still light in the day, speckled shadows dancing upon the forest floor. There was movement, of the wind blowing through the trees, of small monsters scurrying out of his way. There was warmth, for all the other seasons were warmer than winter. But the light felt dimmer, the movement only raised his guard, and he hugged his ragged cloak closer to his body. He thought of the dragon the longer he was away from it. The days felt longer, the nights felt lonelier.

 

At some point, he started carving notches into branches for each day he spent away from the dragon. It helped when he made his return trips, crossing each of the notch. There was something comforting about the practice, knowing exactly how far away from his one safe shelter. When the trees seemed to stretch forever, when the nights seemed endless, he would spend his time counting the number of notches. He would comfort himself in the knowledge that so long as he endured, he would return to the valley.

 

And no matter how much time had passed, no matter how many dreams he had of returning to an empty valley, the dragon remained there. It continued its unending slumber. It remained his one place of rest.

 

In the dark forest, the dragon was the only creature by his side.

 

 

The days blended into months into a passage of time that he became unable to quantify. He had tried once, to use the notches on the sticks to count the total number of days, but the wood was unable to hold that many notches. He had then tried to use several, but eventually, the wood itself rotted, surrendering to the passage of time.

 

He stopped trying after that. It was not important anyway. All he had to know was that he had been here for a long time.

 

And the longer and longer he remained within the forest, the deeper the darkness grew. And from time to time, it took over. Lighter episodes had him simply wake up in a place he did not recognise. But sometimes, he would give in the anger and rage and slash his surroundings to pieces.

 

He found himself rushing back to the dragon, cloaking himself in its warmth. He needed it. He needed a reminder that he was still human, even with the darkness that spilled out from him, even when he continued to live without aging. That he could be weak, that he could be comforted, that he was not alone within the forest.

 

He could not quite remember when he started talking to the dragon. He just did. His first words came out as stutters, but the dragon did not judge. The words sounded foreign to his own ears, and he realized how long it had been since he had talked to anybody at all.

 

It became a habit for him to talk to the dragon whenever he had returned to the valley. At the beginning, he talked about the things he did not want to forget about his family, his friends, his time in Korea, his school, whatever little details he could remember. He would also talk about his latest trip into his forest, the location visited, the monsters he had faced, all of that while carving what he remembered into the wall.

 

But memory was a cruel thing that fades and fades. With each subsequent visit to the dragon, he found himself less and less able to talk about his home country. He had forgotten the name of his school, the names of his friends, the names of his family. Soon enough, the topic of home stopped coming up. The memories that had no practical value were eventually forgotten, for it was more important to remember the routes through the forest, the behaviour of the monsters, the plants which he could eat or not. The useless memories were simply the next in the long list of things that had already been thrown away.

 

The memories, the experiences that made up the boy named Choi Han, were disappearing. Choi Han consoled himself that there were some things that he would not forget. His name for one, for he kept repeating it, kept carving it out into the ground under the shade of the dragon’s wing. He kept his name in his thoughts, recited it every day, desperate not to forget the one thing that defined him as him.

 

He had thought the dragon would be another thing he would not be able to forget. Over the long span of time, he had put so much reliance, so much importance into the slumbering creature. He knew every scar upon its body, every chain and hook that pierced it’s hide.

 

He thought he would be able to remember everything about the dragon.

 

He thought, he thought.

 

But one day, when he tried to recall his first meeting with the dragon, he froze.


He could still remember the scene of the falling dragon, the crash that shook the ground. How the dragon had growled and grunted as it righted itself, how a wing had unfurled over his head. How the dragon had turned its head, and how their eyes had met. He remembered all that, yet…

 

“I can’t remember the colour of your eyes.”

 

It was nothing but a trivial fact, unimportant and without use. Yet, like all his other forgotten memories, it still brought a twinge of pain.

 

 

It was another spring. Choi Han wiped the fresh dewdrops off the dragon’s wing, then inspected his work. The dragon was clean. That meant that it was time for him to go out on his next excursion into the forest.

 

As always, he did not quite want to leave.

 

It was the same dilemma that arose after his first stay with the dragon and the affliction only got worse and worse the more the time passed. Logically, he knew that every day he stayed was one where he remained in the forest. That he should spend more time travelling through the trees, mapping out the land so that he would find his way out. His map was almost complete now. There was just the south left to check.

 

But the dragon was his sanctuary. It was the only place his mind could be at ease, where the darkness was kept at bay. The one creature that was not hostile, who continued to provide a safe shelter to him. The only being at his side. It felt so strange that he had once been afraid of it. Nowadays, he slept by its side whenever possible, basking in the steady warmth. He stayed close to the dragon whenever he was in the valley.

 

He really, really should not be so.

 

There were many times in the forest that Choi Han had thought the dragon would have left. He had spent too much time away; the dragon was gradually recovering, its presence getting bit by bit stronger. He kept thinking that one day, he would return only to find a barren valley. Or worse, he would find the dragon awake and violent, and he would need to slay yet another monster with his own hands.

 

But time and time again, the dragon defied all expectations, remaining here, alive and asleep.

 

Its heart continued to beat at its slow and steady pace.

 

He patted the dragon once again and noted the darkening sky. He was supposed to leave after completing the cleaning, but he decided that he could delay for one more night. He settled into his usual spot, against the dragon’s chest scar and let the slow heart beats lull him to sleep.

 

Ba-bump.

 

Ba-bump.

 

Ba-bump. Ba-bump. Ba-bump…

Notes:

When I planned the first and second scenes I wanted to write out for the Red Dragon!KRS AU, I knew separate one-shots was probably better, due to the POV switch. While unreliable narrator Cale is a joy to read in TCF, I love to write about the other character’s POV. And really, this whole AU really would not be half as fun without POV switching because of how KRS and how Choi Han sees each other differs by a lot from the get-go. Just from the above, Choi Han has already formed an attachment to the sleeping dragon. And KRS has no idea what’s been happening when he’s been asleep. He's going to be so confused when he wakes.

The unifying theme I settled on was the concept of distances, the physical and emotional ones. Choi Han starts out noticing physical distances. But at the end, he's aware of the lack of emotional distance he has. Choi Han would pay attention to how much reliance he was putting on a creature he did not understand. But Choi Han who has never had any sort of comfort in the forest would be tempted by the safe zone the Dragon!KRS's Dragon Fear provides. And he would be desperate for some companionship, even if it’s a gigantic dragon who never wakes.

Also, the little birdy on my shoulder says:
“So we have CH, Raon, and Kim. The suffering boys. The Father, the Son, and the supposed to be Dead Spirit.

IM SORRY 😂”

Unholy screeching

Series this work belongs to: