Chapter Text
The small village burnt as the smell of smoke and roses filled the air, hellfire falling upon the living, and those few lucky to escape were shot down. You watched as the scene unfolded before your eyes, helpless - you could not move, in shock and awe of the grueling view surrounding you, which was chaotic and destructive in its nature, but certain and beautiful. The first shot you heard was accompanied only by the screams of a woman. A pinkish trail followed quickly soon after, the second bullet finding her own heart soon after her husbands’. You ran to them to help them, but they were transforming into unimaginable things - petals blooming from their torso, streaks of color and floral decor in the stead of veins, contrasted only by the flames behind them and the smoke coming from their lifeless flesh. You could not help but stare at it.
The Rose.
“Oh gods, what’s happening?” Another villager, fearing for their life, had the misfortune of running by the killers’ craft, joining the two victims in the opera of death. Shocked, they could only tear up and cover their mouth, the view of it too much. Frozen in place like a deer in headlights, the last thing they saw was a glimpse of their deliverance - a man, like any other, standing among the chaos. He seemed to enjoy himself as he was the clear cause of it. Elegantly dressed yet disturbing in his mystery, a mask hid his features. Long before the poor villager could act, the man had pulled the trigger, and sculpted them into his view.
Jhin looked at the woman before him, who was staring right through his mask, you. “Three times is not enough. Four. Four makes it perfect. Four is perfection. And you are the fourth.” he thought, pointing his gun at you.
You closed your eyes, readying yourself for the embrace of death, but to your surprise, a woman pushed you away, giving herself up in your stead; you have no idea who she is, or rather who she was; her face and body were now mangled up into a monstrosity of flesh, lotuses, perfume and colorful, bright smoke and glittery dust.
“Hm.” the masked killer looked down upon you, a piercing gaze meeting it’s match - yours was fury, his was calm. Blood was dripping down his beautiful, cream, satin cloak. It was his. “This pain, wonderful. Isn’t it?” Jhin asked, his question pointed at no one, as the carnage seemed to come to a halt; only the embers of a dying flame, the crackling of wood and ashes stood in between you and silence. “Looks like you were…” he groaned his words - clearly, he was in distress. “Lucky.”
You looked at him through half-closed eyes, and saw his chest impaled by a small knife thrown by the woman who saved you in hopes she and you could both live.
“Alas, it looks like she missed.” the sadness in Jhin’s voice was so dramatic you could not tell if he was serious or not. “It seems the roles have changed, dear.” he spoke to you as he covered his wound with his supple, shapely hand, whose fingers were long and ended in black tips of nail polish. The slight shake in his bones were telltale signs he was putting up a façade to cover his true predicament - he would bleed out and die were he to not receive any medical assistance. Jhin kneeled down to you and tried to help you up, yet you couldn’t do anything but stare and recoil from his touch.
“I have no reason to kill you; so please, listen.” he cleared his throat, voice now shaking. “I must ask for your help. Normally, I don’t require aid, but I don’t want to die bleeding out.” Jhin kneeled before you again, awaiting your answer. He put his gun down in respect for your safety, as a gesture of good will, trust, and politeness, and lent you his hand, open palm facing you.
You stood up and looked down upon the masked man, now pleading for his life and appearing weak before you - a simple play where he was the damsel in distress and you were the knight in shining armour. A very cliche theatrical plot, but it worked oh so well. You took a good look around the village and the fleshy sculptures behind you, now slowly fading and turning to nothingness.
“An artist.” you picked up his weapon, making Jhin look at you. You pointed the pistol at his head and adrenaline rushed to your head, your hand shaking - pulling the trigger would only make you the same as him, yet the temptation was there, so you pulled the trigger slightly and stopped midway. You breathed out. “And I assume you believe this is your paintbrush.” you pulled the gun away, not giving in to the whisper of it, stealing a quick glance before throwing it back on the ground. “I admit, I’m an artist myself. Albeit a more…” the short pause in your speech was accompanied by a click of the tongue. “... mundane one.” you pondered whether to help him or to leave him to die - time was running out, and you could tell so by his breathing, which became more and more heavy. Living was becoming a chore for him. Frankly, you decided it was not your choice to kill him and avenge justice - you were a mere anatomist and, luckily for the murderous artist, you knew how to help him; pity and mercy got the better of you. “Get up. Time’s of essence, so hurry.” you demanded, yanking his hand and throwing his arm over your shoulder.
“I never thought I’d live to see the day that I’d help the Golden Demon.” you thought to yourself as you carried him. Jhin’s weight on you was bringing you down, even with him doing his best not to drag you further down more so than necessary. You heard Jhin speak meekly, a whisper more than anything and barely audible or inteligible. His grip on the knife in his chest was certain. “If you pull that out, you’re as good as dead.” you warned him. In exchange, Jhin had only chuckled, slightly sinking the blade deeper - he exhaled sharply and a small gasp escaped him. You could feel he was passing out, “We gotta move faster. I can’t carry you by myself, I’ll have to drag you.”
“Well, I’d hate to get my outfit dirtier… than it needs to… be.” His statement was as much of a joke as it was true - Jhin despises getting his garments dirty; blood especially. It was tedious to clean them, and while doing it four times, to make sure they were indeed clean, was very time consuming - which was time spent not making, or plotting to make, art.
Nearing by your cabin, and leaving behind the remnants of a village, you were sweating and panting as much as Jhin was. His weight became heavier as his legs were weaker and weaker with each passing minute, he spoke softly, warning you. “I’m sorry, dear, but I’m afraid I’m going to faint now.”
And so he did.