Pray for the Wicked | ATEEZ

40.

I shifted my weight from one foot to another as I took in the space around me; the wooden beams crossing the ceiling overhead, sturdy yet aged and crumbling, and the platform beneath my feet which was slightly raised and bordered by columns that had been cut by swords and daggers and spears through years of war training and fighting.

I had expected to see Sunghoon as I turned around at the sounds of footsteps, remembering my mother's threats from yesterday. The ghost of her touch, her violence, still lingered beneath the sore skin on my cheekbone.

I had not expected to see his father, the first Archangel.

He towered over his son in a way that made them look vastly different as he neared with a sense of determination and confidence in his step.

His eyes held no similarity to Sunghoon's which were warm despite their grey colour, his hair was nothing like the midnight locks brushing across the heir to the Court of Diligence's browbone, his lips tugged upwards in a wicked smirk rather than the kind greeting of a slight smile.

But my dislike for Gabriel was minuscule compared to the sudden, overwhelming feeling of hostility that washed over me as my mother appeared in the doorway as well, followed by her second-most loyal guard dog, Raphael, the seventh Archangel.

"How generous of you to grace us with your presence, mother," I smiled, holding her gaze as she looked me up and down before stopping in her steps, making Heeseung's father do the same as if following her, staying close to her, was his only goal in life. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes as I bit my tongue and opted for silence.

I had secured my mask, the one of indifference and pride that had crumbled for a moment yesterday from pain and fear, ready to accept my punishment, ready to play along so long as they were oblivious to my impending betrayal.

I could bear the pain, the humiliation. I could bear it all for Hongjoong.

The mere thought of him, of reuniting with him, made my fingertips tingle as I watched Sunghoon climb the platform as well, clenching my fists tightly enough for my nails to break skin and draw blood if I had wanted to.

"For once, you should try to follow the example of someone who is truly worthy of their title."

I told myself that he too was merely a pawn in the eyes of the Archangels, his own father, and my mother, that he too was just as trapped in this wicked game of power and authority as he rolled his shoulders and found my eyes. Still, it was regretful that he was unwilling to resist.

Giving him a small nod, I reminded myself that all I had to do was play along.

Locks of ebony hair fell into Sunghoon's face as he glanced down at his belt and reached for the sword he always carried with him, the one I had gifted him.

Slender fingers curled around the silver handle before hesitating as my mother's voice cut through the air more sharply than the blade could ever have done.

"You won't be needing that."

I frowned slightly, watching him let go of the weapon as quickly as he had moved to touch it in the first place. "Then-" he began, almost hesitantly, before he was abruptly cut off by yet another order.

"Fight."

"It's okay," I whispered, offering him a small smile as he turned back to face me, seemingly realizing what was supposed to happen. He hadn't known. He hadn't known it was supposed to be a punishment.

However, we both knew that we didn't have a choice.

And Sunghoon was quick to act on it.

I missed the first hit, and the second, and the third, but with every swing I sent in his direction, it became increasingly clear that he was both stronger and faster than me, dancing around and under my arm which only managed to puncture air and nothingness.