Work Text:
animus: soul, spirit, mind
The heavy iron gates of the graveyard groaned as they were closed precisely at the stroke of midnight, the timbre of the old church’s bell echoing across the silent grounds. Precisely twelve deep chimes marked the hour when the graveyard keeper reached for the hefty ring of keys hanging from a string tied securely to his leather belt. Grunting, he fumbled with the keys, and soon with a metallic clink, the gates were locked.
He turned away, his boots crunching on the gravel path as he made his way to his little hut. Humming to himself to not feel alone in the depths of heavy mist that clung to the ground - coating it with a thick, milky layer.
When the humming subdued, and only the echo of them from far away reached Wooyoung’s ears, he quickly made his way to the west side of the graveyard. The whole area was surrounded by a stone wall, high enough to be troublesome to jump over for most, but Wooyoung knew this place through and through. The wall on the west side was slightly chipped, making it easier to hold onto its surface with bare hands.
Wooyoung reached into the pocket of his pants, his fingers closing around a fresh set of metacarpal bones. He had cleaned them just this morning, preparing for his nightly venture.
Bending low, he pressed the bone into the damp earth at the base of the wall. He closed his eyes, tuning in to summon his powers and trying to make a connection with the bone, bending his mind in a way that would enable him to reach the bone using his magic. A black, semi-transparent, smoky serpent poured from his nostrils, flowing swiftly into the direction of the bone. Colorful speckles danced across his eyelids as he kept them tightly shut. His mind was spinning a little, exerted from using his powers.
It was nothing new to him, necromancy was second - if not first - nature, he was used to the sickening feeling whenever he used his powers. Despite years of practice, the nausea that accompanied the process was never easy to endure. Not only did he have to push through the dizziness and focus solemnly on the feeling of the smoke reaching and wrapping around the bone, he had to sacrifice a portion of his life energy in order to bend the bone to the shape he desired.
Under the influence of his dark magic, the metacarpal bone began to shift when the darkness of his magic covered it. Slowly, it grew and elongated, stretching into the shape of a humerus bone that jutted out of the ground. The smoke remained tethered to it, still flowing like a delicate veil, coming out from Wooyoung’s nostrils and the corners of his lips.
With the bone firmly in place, Wooyoung stepped forward. He planted his right foot onto the makeshift foothold. Using the bone for leverage, he pushed himself upward, reaching for the chipped edges of the stone wall. His fingertips were calloused, making it easier to pull himself up - his fingers dug in, nails scraping against the rough surface as he threw his body atop the wall in a fluid motion.
Satisfied, he turned his attention back to the bone. With a single decisive thought, he severed the magical connection, and the inky smoke that had tethered it to him dissolved into the mist, disappearing as if it had never been there. The bone, stripped of its magic, crumbled instantly into a fine, pale powder. A small pile of bone dust remained where the sturdy foothold had once stood, but even that evidence wouldn’t linger. A light breeze picked up, carrying the remnants away into the swirling fog. Soon, there would be no trace of his passage - just as Wooyoung intended.
Nothing could stop him from returning to the graveyard, and he had proven it night after night. He just had to be extra careful.
With one final breath, he pushed himself off the wall and leapt to the ground below. He landed heavily, the impact reverberating up through his legs, and a sharp ache flared in his knees. The sensation traveled like a spark up his spine, sending an uncomfortable prickle through his nerves. If he had been mortal, his kneecaps would likely have shattered by now, but Wooyoung brushed off the discomfort as he always did. Dusting off his clothes and checking if he had the rest of the bones in his pocket, he grabbed a shovel that was left behind by the gravedigger - propped against a nameless tombstone nearby.
He knew the whole graveyard by heart, he could follow the path to the given grave blindly and would always unmistakably make it. Tonight, as on so many others, his journey led him to the eastern edge of the graveyard - a secluded area far from the freshly dug graves that dotted the central grounds.
The air was thick and cold, the dampness mingling with the fog to create a stifling, oppressive atmosphere. A faint, grating screech cut through the quiet - the cry of a crow hidden in the gloom. Dry leaves rustled beneath his boots as he walked. With the shovel slung over his shoulder, Wooyoung moved quickly, his anticipation growing with each step. The gravestone he sought came into view, its silhouette stark against the muted background. His pace quickened until, at last, he stood before it.
“Hi baby,” he murmured softly, his voice carrying the warmth of a lover’s greeting. “Did you miss me?”
The silence that followed was unbroken, save for the distant rustle of wind through the trees. Wooyoung smiled faintly, as though the absence of a reply was precisely what he expected. “Of course you did,” he answered for them, his tone light and playful.
While the surroundings had changed, when every few weeks a new resting place would be dug, welcoming another soul that would rest here, nothing about this particular grave had changed, even after two centuries. The tombstone seemed untouched, as if it were freshly engraved. No creeping tendrils of moss or patches of green mold dared to mar its surface, unlike the weathered stones surrounding it.
Wooyoung made certain of that. Every other week, he returned to care for it with meticulous devotion. He would scrub the tombstone clean with a mixture of water and soap, painstakingly removing even the smallest blemish. He would kneel to pull away the weeds that dared to encroach upon its sacred ground. But tonight, there was no need for such maintenance - he had tended to it just two nights ago.
Instead, his focus shifted to the ground at his feet. The earth was still damp from yesterday’s rain. Wooyoung’s own handiwork was evident - the grave had been covered with only a thin layer of soil, hastily spread the night before. He had known he would return tonight, and there was little sense in making his task harder than it needed to be.
Wooyoung began to scrape away the loose soil with the edge of his shovel, careful to avoid scratching the coffin beneath. When the majority of the dirt had been cleared, he set the shovel aside and knelt, brushing away the remaining soil with his bare hands.
As his fingers revealed the dark wooden surface of the coffin, Wooyoung’s breath hitched slightly. He paused, his hands resting against the damp earth, and glanced up at the tombstone. Its familiar inscription stared back at him.
In loving memory of
Choi San
Wooyoung smiled to himself, a growing feeling of excitement blooming in his chest. The lid was heavy - far too cumbersome for one person to lift alone - but he had no other option. Summoning a skeleton to assist him was an enticing thought, but Wooyoung dismissed it almost immediately. The ritual would take far too much of his energy, being more demanding than a simple molding of a bone.
Controlling a whole skeleton by himself would leave him in a state near blacking out - it sucked his mind dry, feasting on his life energy. Wooyoung knew he shouldn’t waste it now, he had to save it for later.
Grimacing with exertion, Wooyoung braced his feet against the damp ground and pushed against the coffin’s lid. His muscles strained as he grunted, willing the stubborn barrier to give way. After what felt like an eternity, the lid finally shifted, the wood groaning in protest. A rush of relief coursed through him as the last obstacle was removed, leaving nothing between him and the figure lying within.
As he lifted the lid completely, a familiar, almost soothing scent enveloped him. Lavender oils mixed with the earthy aroma of freshly turned soil filled the air. There was no foul odor, none of the unmistakable stench of decay that clung to most graves. Wooyoung’s sensitive nose had long since become attuned to the repugnant smell of death, a scent that could churn even the strongest stomach. But not here. Not with San.
The lack of decay was no miracle - it was Wooyoung’s careful work. He had tended to San’s body with meticulous devotion, coating his skin in thick layers of lavender oil to prevent it from drying or cracking.
Glancing around one last time, Wooyoung ensured that he was alone. The silence of the graveyard pressed in on him, but he welcomed it. No one else was here - just him and San’s lifeless body.
“Okay,” Wooyoung muttered to himself, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck in preparation. “Sannie, it’s time to wake up.”
Kneeling beside the coffin, he reached out and rested his open palm against San’s sternum. The shirt covering his chest clung to his skin, damp and greasy from the oils. Wooyoung closed his eyes, letting the image of San’s ribcage fill his mind. He pictured the delicate curves of the bones, the way they arched protectively around his heart and lungs. The collarbones, meeting at the top of the sternum, framed the center of his focus.
Summoning a skeleton was child’s play compared to what Wooyoung was about to do. Bringing a real human back to life was a bitch to do - even if it was only temporarily, it still was infinitely more complex. He had to connect with San’s body on an intimate level, feeling the bones beneath his fingertips as though they were extensions of his own.
Dark smoke began to seep from Wooyoung’s nostrils and the corners of his lips, drifting downward in ethereal tendrils. The mist coiled around his boyfriend’s body, sinking through the layers of fabric and flesh to reach the core of his being. Wooyoung’s powers weren’t enough to revive the whole body at once - not yet. He had to work layer by layer, starting with the still heart nestled within San’s chest.
He remembered the first few tries, over a hundred years ago, when he couldn’t yet imagine how to control the complicated organ, so he hadn’t been able to grasp the hang of it properly. Countless tries and a few dissections of other bodies from the graves nearby later, he was finally able to do so.
San’s heart was still and firm under his touch, it took a lot of effort to make it work again. Wooyoung’s smoke tightened around it, squeezing in rhythmic pulses to coax it back to life. Slowly, the heart began to stir. The first beats were faint - barely to be felt by Wooyoung’s hand still on San’s chest - but they grew stronger with each passing moment.
Wooyoung didn’t stop there. The smoke extended its reach, pushing against San’s diaphragm and forcing it to contract. The lungs soon followed its movement, bending to Wooyoung’s will, and San’s chest rose in a shallow inhale. Wooyoung’s entire body ached with the strain of maintaining the connection. A dull, relentless pain settled behind his eyes, spreading like a vice around his skull. He felt as though his mind was being drained drop by drop, but he endured it. His power allowed him to keep San conscious for nearly half an hour.
The pain was almost unbearable, but he always pushed through it - just to be able to talk with San again, to make himself believe that San hadn’t been fully gone.
Opening his eyes, Wooyoung leaned over San, slightly tapping his cheek to wake him up. His head was spinning with the effort of keeping the smoke lingering between the two of them. San’s eyelids fluttered slightly, the faintest flicker of life returning to them. His muscles twitched, the reflexive movement sending another jolt of pain through Wooyoung. Yet none of it mattered. When their gazes met, Wooyoung’s lips curved into a soft, sweet smile.
“Hi there,” he said, his voice laced with affection.
It usually took a few minutes for the muscles to work properly again, but the corners of San’s mouth quivered delicately - shaping his lips into something resembling a smile. Wooyoung gently helped San sit up, holding him tightly and not letting go of him - or else San would fall limply on his back. They stayed like that, tangled together in silence, as Wooyoung adjusted to the effort of keeping him alive.
“Hi,” San said with a raspy voice. “Oh, the weather is better tonight.”
Wooyoung had learned long ago that San remembered everything - both the vibrant memories of his life and the fragmented moments of being brought back from the dead. Those endless hours in the coffin, before Wooyoung’s magic had roused him, were something else entirely. To San, it had been a dreamless slumber, a vast nothingness that stretched on forever - that’s what he had told Wooyoung
“The fog is irritating,” Wooyoung said, reaching out to clasp San’s hand, intertwining their fingers.
“At least it stopped raining,” San replied, his lips quirking in a faint smile.
At first, nothing in the way San looked gave away that he had been dead for over two centuries. But Wooyoung still remembered the way his boyfriend looked while he was still alive, he had once memorized every detail of San’s face, every nuance of his smile, and could see the changes clear as day.
San’s skin was thinner and more pale than before, Faint veins branched beneath the surface, blue and delicate. His eyes were more distant each time they fell open on Wooyoung, it seemed that it was harder for San to properly focus on him.
It broke Wooyoung’s heart to watch San deteriorate like this, knowing full well that their stolen time together was a fragile miracle. Wooyoung tried not to think about the day when he might fail to bring San back - when his body would be too far gone, when even the strongest magic couldn’t restore him.
For months now he had been working tirelessly, pouring over ancient texts and forbidden tomes in search of a solution. Somewhere in a dusty volume for advanced Necromancers, he had uncovered a sacred script - a spell that promised to bring the dead fully back to life. Not just a temporary revival, where San’s heart would be coaxed to beat for an hour longer, but true life - a permanent resurrection.
Tonight he had tried to resurrect a mouse, and for a moment he thought it worked out - the mouse stayed alive for nearly the entire day. But by the end of it, Wooyoung’s energy was sucked dry, and he was found unconscious in his room by one of his friends.
The mouse was dead, its limp corpse lying beside him. The toll of keeping it alive was too exhausting and demanding - the sacrifice was too great as it nearly sent Wooyoung straight to the afterlife. And though he’d risk his life a thousand times over for San, he knew that if he pushed too far, he wouldn’t be able to protect him anymore. He had to find another way if he wanted San to be back and not get both of them dead in the end.
“Is something wrong?” San’s voice snapped him back from his thoughts. “You're very quiet.”
Wooyoung blinked, realizing he had been absently stroking the back of San’s hand with his thumb. It was a gesture he had picked up long ago, back when they were both students training to become Necromancers. He could still picture it - the two of them sitting side by side in the musty corners of the library, hiding from their mentors, having their hands secretly clasped beneath the table, while they were studying anatomy together.
“A bad day, I guess,” Wooyoung muttered, shrugging lightly.
“Come on, Wooyoungie, tell me what’s wrong,” San said softly, his eyes searching Wooyoung’s face. His hand reached out, brushing aside a strand of hair that had fallen into Wooyoung’s eyes. The fingertips that touched Wooyoung’s skin were still cold. “We don’t have the whole eternity,” San added, a hint of teasing in his voice.
“We should,” Wooyoung whispered.
He knew that San hated talking about this topic - about Wooyoung’s research and progress on learning how to fully resurrect. Wooyoung avoided bringing it up most of the time, preferring to preserve their fleeting moments of peace rather than ignite another argument. San hated that Wooyoung sacrificed part of his life energy, he could see how much it pained his boyfriend. He begged Wooyoung to stop coming to the graveyard every day, to find someone new and live a happy life, to let him die and let his soul leave the world for good. But Wooyoung didn’t listen, he couldn’t even stand San talking about it - he didn’t want to live without San, he couldn’t do that.
San could do nothing about it, because it was Wooyoung who pulled all the strings, forcing San’s organs to work properly again. Because it was Wooyoung, who needed to see him every night, to hold him once again, to hear his voice, to-
To pretend, even for a moment, that they could still have the eternity they had promised each other the night before their ordination - the night they became Necromancers.
“You shouldn’t rot there, you should be able to live with me. We were promised immortality-”
“Youngie,” San interrupted with sorrow. “I am dead. You can’t do anything about it now. We chose that path together, I am fine with it.”
“No, I didn’t choose that! If I knew how that bloody ritual would end I would never say yes to that!” His voice cracked, his hands trembling with the effort to hold himself together. His chest ached, his very core - the seat of his power - pulsed with overexertion. “Why does it have to be that way? Why-” Wooyoung choked on a cry.
“Wooyoung, stop, you’re bleeding.” San reached to hold him by his shoulders, squeezing them harshly to stop Wooyoung from spiraling further.
Wooyoung hadn't noticed until San pointed it out - the warm trickle of blood sliding from his nose, staining his lips. It was always the same: Wooyoung pushing himself too far, nearly losing control of the bond that tethered San to the world of the living.
“We were so fucking blind, too greedy for our good, and where did it lead us?” Wooyoung spat to his side. The phlegm was mixed with blood. He felt the grip of San’s hand loosening on his, and he had to bring his focus back onto the bond between them unless he wanted to let San slip away. “It’s so unfair. They promised us so much more. It’s so unfair.” Wooyoung collapsed into San’s embrace, not resting his whole body weight on his boyfriend because he knew San right now was too weak to hold them both. He barely held himself upright.
“I know Wooyoungie, but we can’t turn back time.” He stroked Wooyoung’s hair in a soothing motion.
Wooyoung remembered as if it happened yesterday and not over two hundred years ago when the night of long-awaited ordination finally came.
The ritual was complicated, in order to obtain the blessing from their mentors, they had to pass a series of tests - to prove themself to be worthy of the title.
The first test required them to reel off long texts for nearly ten whole pages. It was demanding, but it didn’t break them. Both he and San had passed into the next stage, which was a study of anatomy - where they had to name all the structures of the body and their functions, starting from the heart and going as far as the smallest tendons. Wooyoung hated the anatomy of a neck with a burning passion - in his opinion, the names of the muscles were far too complicated, and most of them were hidden in the deeper layers anyway. However it didn’t stop him from passing that test as well, and San was no worse.
The final test required them to manipulate a random bone into a different one assigned to them by the mentors. San was first, Wooyoung watched him turn a hip bone into a scapula, he struggled with it for nearly a full hour. It demanded of him a lot of energy and he had to take a quick pause between each stage of bending the bone with his power. Wooyoung cheered on him from the sidelines, not being allowed to come any closer. The Scapula that San crafted wasn’t perfect, his mentors pointed out a few mistakes and moved on to the next candidate.
The verdicts would be announced after all the candidates were done with the final test. Wooyoung was one of the last to have his turn - and he nearly cussed out loud when the mentors declared his two structures.
He was tasked with reshaping a patella into a thoracic vertebra - an incredibly intricate transformation. Just thinking about vertebral foramen, the arches and the processes gave him a hideous headache. In the end, he made it but his vision was blurry and he heard nothing but a long whistle noise ringing in his ears. It took him a few long minutes to regain his composure, while San held him in his arms, pressing a strip of cloth to Wooyoung’s nose which was bleeding from the use of his power.
Despite their struggles, they passed. That night, they stood side by side as their mentors bestowed the blessings of immortality upon them. It should have been enough.
But it wasn’t.
Greed crept into their hearts as they explored their newfound powers. The blessings made their magic stronger, easier, and they gained access to a hidden section of the library filled with forbidden texts.
One night, Wooyoung had found a script with a ritual that sounded too good to be true - but the greedy, young, and fresh Necromancers fell into the trap of it, not sensing any danger behind it. The text was about mingling two sources of power into a joint, greater one. If they were to succeed in it, they would be unstoppable together, San would be able to use part of Wooyoung’s life energy and Wooyoung would be able to do the same with San’s.
They both eagerly began to study the text further and to prepare properly to hold the ritual they planned to do as soon as possible.
When the right time came, they locked themselves alone in Wooyoung’s room and decided that San would go first. He was to form a connection with Wooyoung, wrapping the smoke grasp of his powers around the very core of Wooyoung’s magic, deep within his soul.
However, it turned out to be a complete disaster when something went wrong… So horribly wrong… San lost control, and the ritual backfired. Leading San to sacrifice his whole life energy for Wooyoung.
Wooyoung could still hear San’s final, pained gasp. He could still feel the moment San’s life energy drained completely - transferring entirely to Wooyoung - leaving his body cold and lifeless.
“We have to let the past finally go. You have to move on and let me leave,” San continued, pressing his lips against the crown of Wooyoung’s head. His cold lips lingered for a moment, and the touch made Wooyoung’s heart ache even more. “You can’t do anything about it, Youngie.”
“I can,” Wooyoung insisted desperately. “Just give me more time, I’ll find a way to give you your life back,” he begged, holding tightly onto San, circling his arms around San’s neck.
“Don’t sacrifice yourself for me,” San gently pulled away. His eyes bore into Wooyoung’s, filled with a quiet plea that only deepened the pain in Wooyoung’s chest. Reaching up, San wiped away the trail of blood under Wooyoung’s nose with his thumb. “You’re becoming weaker Youngie, you’ve lost weight and I see how tired you’re getting from bringing me back from death and keeping me here with you. It- it’s killing you. Let me go, you have the whole eternity ahead of yourself.”
“How can you say that?” Wooyoung’s voice cracked as he slammed his palm against San’s chest, screaming at his lover with a painful cry. “You don’t even know how bad I am hurting for having to leave you here. I can bear a little pain and nosebleed, I can bear nausea, but I can’t bear the thought of letting you go for good. Don’t you ever fucking ask for it again.”
San didn’t flinch at the outburst, didn’t push Wooyoung away. He simply looked at him, a mix of heartbreak and understanding in his gaze. “You could be the greatest Necromancer,” he said quietly. “With both our powers combined, you could accomplish things no one else ever could. But only if you let me go.”
“I don’t care. I didn’t want it, I didn’t ask for it!” He cried, once again taking a hold of San’s hand, that by now had become slightly warmer. “I never wanted to be the greatest Necromancer. I don’t care about power, or immortality, or anything else. I just want you, Sannie. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. Why does it have to be so hard?” He sobbed.
“I am sorry,” San trembled under his touch. Wooyoung tried to strengthen the connection but the power seemed to slip away from his reach. The smoke between them lost its intensity and depth. “I wish we never found the script for the ritual. I wish for things to be different. But they aren’t, and-” He paused, his words becoming more sluggish with each syllable. “I just want you to be happy again.”
“I am happy when I am with you.” He shifted closer, wrapping his arms tightly around San as he felt the familiar pull of his energy slipping from him, the fragile connection between them shattering. San’s body grew heavier in his arms, the stiffness setting in as his muscles gave out, one by one.
Knowing what was coming, Wooyoung gently helped San lie back into the coffin, his hands shaking as he adjusted San’s limbs so they would fit. The sight of San’s lifeless form made his chest tighten unbearably. “I’ll find a way to give you back your life,” he whispered through his tears, brushing San’s hair away from his face. “Just give me more time. I just need more time.”
“I… will be… here,” San said, barely above a whisper. Then he stilled completely, his mouth frozen in mid-sentence. His eyes, still open, stared unseeing into the void. Wooyoung felt the bond break, the thread between them severing like the snap of a fragile string. Wooyoung reached down to close San’s lids with his fingers.
“I know you will,” Wooyoung murmured, his forehead pressing against San’s as fresh tears spilled from his eyes, tracing a path down his own cheeks before falling onto San’s. The droplets slid down the pale skin of San’s face. “And I’ll be back tomorrow.”