Work Text:
Xie Bi’an became the creature known as the White Guard.
It was interesting, the way the simply act of taking a body meant becoming a new person. With a body, there were things asked of him. Things he could not, at any point, attach to himself. Xie Bi’an was the man he thought himself to be- the man who, long ago, fell in love and hung himself under a bridge. The man who still experienced a tremor whenever it rained too hard, for too long.
White Guard was the creature who committed atrocities against innocent people.
They were not the same. They could not be the same.
The mist cleared. The match started. His heart hardened.
And the White Guard enacted a bloody trail of fury through the abandoned Moonlit River Park. His body was a whipcrack of strength- he lashed his umbrella through the air with bone-breaking force. The Doctor was the first to fall, her clavicle shattered beyond repair. She crumpled. The Mechanic was next. The White Guard caved in the back of her skull, and her corpse lay twitching on the cobblestones. Third was Gravekeeper. He spat and struggled, but his leg was maimed, and he, too, was chaired and killed.
Cowboy was last. He tried to hide by the dungeon, but White Guard caught him.
“Bastard,” he wheezed, blood spewing out from his cracked jaws as White Guard dragged him to the chair. “You’re a damn monster. Can’t rest until we’re all dead, huh? Tracy was just a kid. You like seeing her brains on the ground?”
White Guard said nothing. He picked the Cowboy up and slammed him back into the chair, and he rocketed up into the sky. He closed his eyes as the powers of the manor took him away. He saw nothing.
He felt nothing.
-
Back in the manor, the White Guard sat down on the bed (too small, it was too small for two people) and placed his face in his palms. His mind felt like static.
There was a gentle pulse- then, a pull in his gut as his soul was tugged out of his body, back into the umbrella. He was allowed to become Xie Bi’an again.
Black Guard, formerly Fan Wujiu, opened his eyes. He would bear this weight for as long as his love needed. He would be inhuman, at least for now.
He held the umbrella close to his chest and felt Xie Bi’an sobbing within. He could not comfort him. He could not hold him. But he could be there, for as long as he was needed.
“Just so we can be together again,” he whispered, though he did not know who he was soothing. “Just so we can be together.”
-
As his soul slept within the umbrella, Xie Bi’an remembered coming to the manor.
He woke up still thinking the rope was around his neck. He scrabbled at his throat, clawed- but there was nothing there. Just clothing he did not recognize, and hands that were not his own. They were large and deathly white, veined through with black, and his fingernails were long and sharp. They clutched at a black umbrella.
At the time, he hadn’t understood why he couldn’t let go of the umbrella. Wujiu wasn’t awake at that time; he was still slumbering, taking his time waking up from death’s sleep.
Bi’an had soon come to understand that there was a single command branded upon his mind like words from a god- one that he had no choice but to follow.
Kill survivors to grant your wish.
There was no supernatural compulsion laid on his body. There was no authority giving the order. At first, the White Guard did not take his matches seriously. He let survivors go, or sat and watched them decode, fascinated by their rattling machines.
But he had no choice, much like he had no choice when he had found Fan Wujiu’s water-bloated corpse downriver from the bridge.
He started to hurt the survivors.
Other Hunters told him that he would get used to it- the killing. That it would become easier with time.
It did not.
Bi’an forced himself to become the White Guard. He became unfeeling. He became a weapon.
And if he cried himself to sleep, only Wujiu would ever know.
-
The Black Guard was alone- or, as alone as he could ever be- in the manor’s halls when he was interrupted by a visitor.
“Excuse me.” Geisha’s sweet voice addressed the Black Guard from behind- then, she rounded his shoulder and dipped into a bow. “May I borrow some of your time?”
“Miss Michiko,” he greeted, and bowed in return. “It would be my pleasure.”
Company from another lightened his shoulders somewhat. It grounded him- made him feel a little more like Fan Wujiu again.
She led him through the halls, downstairs, and into a greenhouse garden. The Black Guard was greeted with sunlight and thick air, verdant life bursting from every pot and hanging basket. He smelled rich soil and damp herbs, like he might smell in the morning, before the dew had been wicked away by the day. Clusters of red flowers unfurled from every angle, their velvety petals turned up towards the sun. Black Guard rubbed his thumb among them and felt a little bit of Fan Wujiu raise his head.
He turned towards Michiko, who was standing by a stone-wrought bench, her face tipped back to enjoy the sunlight. She glanced his way and touched her mouth with a smile.
“Sit with me,” she said in her soft voice. Black Guard complied. He sat himself down on the bench beside her, the umbrella with Xie Bi’an’s soul held on his lap.
Neither of them said anything at first. Michiko toyed with her fan, flicking it open and shut- then, she took a quick breath and turned to face the Black Guard.
“I feel,” she started, “like I have not gotten to know you as well as I should. You have been at the manor for some time now; you do your duties as well as anyone could ask. However…”
Black Guard twitched away. He did not want to have this conversation.
“… I am concerned,” Michiko continued. “You always seem… distant, somehow. The other Hunters and I… well.” She pressed her hands together in her lap. “We just want to know if there is anything we could do to help.”
Help? No. No, there was nothing. There was nothing anybody could ever hope to do, not as his love was in arm’s reach but a million miles away-
Calm yourself, Xie Bi’an seemed to say. Then, Black Guard felt himself be pulled out, away from his body-
The swirls of inky pigment on Wu Chang’s body realigned themselves as the White Guard asserted himself, taking Wujiu’s place. As much as he loved his husband, he also knew that he often struggled with accepting kindness.
“Michiko,” he greeted, bowing his head politely.
She blinked. “White Guard. It is good to see you.”
“Indeed. Wujiu… has trouble with people.” He stroked the umbrella’s black folds and imagined it was his husband’s hand. He felt a dim sense of indignance coming from Wujiu, and graciously ignored it. “So I chose to take over.”
“I…see.” Michiko worried at her lower lip with her teeth. “Tell me, please- what is your relationship to him? I have heard of those who possess multiple souls within a single body, though these souls are often created by the original- for protection, or some such reason. Is that…?”
“Ah- no. We are… we began as… two different people. Two different bodies.” He smiled a little. “We were married. Are married. Before we became Wu Chang, we were simply Fan Wujiu and Xie Bi’an. I suppose we are both dead now.”
Her hand went up to cover her mouth. “I… forgive me. I did not know.”
“You did not,” he agreed. “So there is no blame. “
Michiko went silent for a while. She simply gazed at the plants around them, her eyes flicking again and again to the red flowers that burst from their leaves.
“… I was almost married, myself,” she murmured. “To a man from the army. I loved him.” She bowed her head. “When Miles was away, his father killed me.”
“I am sorry,” White Guard said, not knowing how else to respond.
“Do not be. It was a long time ago. After death, I awoke here- at the manor. It is a place where wishes can be granted. At first, I longed to be reunited with Miles. Then, I longed for the death of his father. But…”
“But?”
“I came to realize that there is no wish worth the cost of my human soul.” She looked directly at White Guard, and her gaze pierced through to Xie Bi’an beneath. “Do you not agree?”
White Guard looked down at his hands.
“When Wujiu died,” he murmured, “I knew I could not live in a world without him. I chose not to. I ended my life, so that I would not have to exist alone. Now, I cannot help but wonder if this is my punishment- to be so close to him, yet so far.” He stroked the umbrella’s handle. “I cannot hold his hands, or touch his cheeks. I cannot comfort him when he weeps.”
White Guard paused, considering. “I lost my human soul the moment Wujiu drowned under that bridge. To see him again- to be with him again- is all that is important.”
“No matter the suffering you cause to others?”
There, White Guard paused, and Xie Bi’an struggled. No matter the suffering you cause-
He was being selfish, and he knew it. But hadn’t he earned a little selfishness? Hadn’t he won the right to take something for himself? Suffering was life’s game. He was simply playing along.
And he felt sick even as he had those thoughts.
He shuddered- and then Wujiu emerged, taking the reins.
Black Guard prickled defensively, wishing he could shield Bi’an with his own body. “That is none of your concern,” he hissed. “Our actions are not ones that need to be justified. This is our choice. Tell me you would not do the same, if you had the chance.”
Michiko hesitated- then, she stood.
“I fear I have offended you,” she murmured. “Please accept my apology. I will leave you to your peace, now.”
She slipped out of the greenhouse on silent feet, and Black Guard watched her go. The moment she was out of sight, he crumpled.
Bi’an murmured words of comfort from within the umbrella, but they ghosted over deaf ears.
It’s all for you, he told himself desperately. Everything is for you. Please understand.
All he felt in return was Bi’an’s grim agreement.
-
Another match.
White Guard walked alone into hell.
He didn’t like taking Wujiu out of the umbrella- but in quarters as tight as the ruined Arms Factory, it was necessary. Wujiu was stronger, though he was slower, and the sound of his bell battered survivors to the ground.
They were up against three familiar faces- Forward, Mind’s Eye, and Seer- as well as the new face of Painter. He had never faced the newcomer, though other Hunters warned him that his abilities were troublesome. Xie Bi’an, locked deep away behind the front of the White Guard, dreaded this. He did not want the match to be dragged out.
They found Forward, his thick fingers struggling with the keys of the cipher machine, and quickly hunted him down, felling him with a blow to the leg that shattered his kneecap.
As White Guard chased, he spotted another face out of the corner of his eye- a youthful face, paint-smeared, topped with brown hair and a red beret. He seemed to be staring at White Guard intensely, and he suppressed a groan. Some survivors took to following him around, building up their own abilities; they were always the most difficult to deal with.
Forward was executed with ruthless precision, and White Guard stepped back. His soul slid into the umbrella, letting Wujiu emerge-
And the Black Guard took over. He gripped his bell’s handle, raising it high to call its tone out. When the bell tolled, it tolled for death.
There- the new survivor, squirrelling away. Contempt rose in the Black Guard like bile. It was creatures like these- mortals, scrabbling creatures- that stood in the way of his singular goal. He would kill them, again and again, with relish.
(Fan Wujiu cringed at his own thoughts).
Painter ran, his hands working desperately over something. A canvas? Artwork? Didn’t matter. Black Guard was closing the distance. The Painter placed something on an easel, like some kind of last-minute protection. He reared his hand back, his bell’s clapper swinging to sound-
He saw the painting.
His hand opened. He dropped the bell on the ground, and mud stilled its sound.
It was Bi’an.
It was Bi’an.
He was standing there, in front of him- his eyes were focused, cold. He was dressed in Wu Chang’s clothes, he was wielding Wu Chang’s weapons, but it was him, depicted in paint with perfect accuracy.
The persona that was Black Guard vanished. Wujiu sunk to his knees, trembling fingers reaching out to touch the painting- but no, it was still wet, and some of his clothes smudged away. He could look. He couldn’t touch.
It was more than what he had had in years.
Tears ran freely down his face, stinging his eyes, blurring the painting in front of him. He choked out a sob.
“Bi’an,” he whispered, staring at his husband’s face. He clutched the sides of the painting, careful not to smudge it again. “Bi’an.”
Xie Bi’an pulsed sorrow and comfort from the umbrella, but it was not enough. Wujiu wailed, his voice breaking down into wracking coughs. He pressed his palms into his eyes and cried, ugly and loud. Shudders racked his body- his thin shoulders shook. His chest felt like it was being torn in two.
He just missed him. He missed him so much- the scent of his hair, his smile, his warm hands. It was torture. Living was torture without him.
Eventually, the sobs subsided, but the tears did not. He knelt in front of Bi’an’s portrait, the raging agony within subsided to a sort of whimpering numbness. He was rooted to the ground- paralyzed. Each time he looked back up at Bi’an’s face, it brought a fresh tremor to his lungs, and he was forced to draw in a shaking breath.
Wujiu vaguely registered the three remaining survivors. They had finished their decoding, but instead of leaving, were just standing around- watching him. He lifted his eyes from the ground long enough to glare.
“What is it,” he muttered in his tearstained voice. “You won. Spare me the gloating.”
They sort of shuffled amongst themselves. Then, one of them stepped forward- Mind’s Eye, the blind girl.
“U-um,” she stammered in a tiny voice. “Are you… alright?”
His eyes drew themselves back to the painting. It was hard to look at it for too long, though it was also hard to look away.
“No,” he whispered.
“I….” she edged closer. “I’m… sorry?”
Another survivor stepped past her- Seer, the one with the blindfold and the owl. Blood trickled down the side of his face from where White Guard had struck him earlier in the match. He stood over Wujiu for a moment, saying nothing. Then, he bent over and wrapped his arms around Wujiu’s shoulders, pulling him into a hug.
He didn’t know how to react. Here was a survivor- one of the people he had hunted and killed dozens of times. And he was simply… offering kindness. Just like that. Wujiu blinked back fresh tears. Then- almost unwillingly- he responded in kind, placing his hands upon Seer’s back.
“You’ll be alright,” Seer murmured in a tenor voice. “Come on. Let’s get you somewhere else.”
And Wujiu let himself be lead by the hand, out of the Arms Factory, even as the Painter stayed behind and carefully lifted his painting off its easel to take it back with him.
-
An hour later, Wujiu found himself sitting in the survivor’s dining hall, with a blanket tucked around his shoulders and a bowl of soup steaming in his hands. Some of the survivors- principally Seer and Mind’s Eye, who insisted he call them Eli and Helena- sat close by. The rest watched from doorways, suspicious eyes glinting in his direction. He could them whispering among themselves-
“Eli brought a Hunter to the manor?!” That was the Mercenary, his arms crossed over his chest.
“Don’t ask me,” the Painter responded. He had deposited the painting, wrapped neatly in canvas, on the table in front of Wujiu before retreating behind the others.
“What was he thinking?!” the Perfumer demanded. “This is supposed to be our safe space! Now- now there’s a monster here!”
Wujiu shuddered, feeling too empty to care. Then, he slipped away, letting Bi’an take his place, hiding back in the umbrella.
Bi’an blinked his eyes open. He did not miss the way a collective ripple of tension passed through the gathered survivors, like he might start ripping their souls out of their bodies.
Sitting across from him, Eli lifted his head. “White Guard,” he greeted. “I see you have joined us.”
“I have.” He nodded. “Thank you for helping Wujiu.”
“Wujiu…? Ah, of course. The other half of Wu Chang. Your name is…?”
“Xie Bi’an,” he told him. “My partner is Fan Wujiu.”
“Partner.” Eli leaned in. “I, um… is he doing alright…? He seemed- very- distressed to see the portrait of your face.”
Wujiu pulsed sadness and exhaustion, and Bi’an touched the umbrella in a trite gesture of comfort.
“He was,” he murmured. “He is. It has been some time since he last saw me alive. Since I last saw him alive. He has always felt things more strongly than most people.”
“Since he last saw you…”
Bi’an couldn’t see Eli’s eyes under his blindfold, but he imagined the confusion he might see in them.
“Please- could you explain this to me?”
Bi’an hesitated.
“Wujiu?” he whispered, asking permission. He got a faint sense of disapproval, but mostly exhaustion- finally, he signalled something that felt like ‘do what you want’.
Well, then. Time to disclose their history once again.
Xie Bi’an told the survivors everything, though his words were addressed to Eli. He told them how they had grown up together- how they knew each other better than they knew their own hearts. How love was inevitable. They had finally gotten married the year before their deaths, still caught up in the fluttering hearts and sweating palms of young love.
Then, Wujiu drowned.
Then, Bi’an hung himself.
And they were separated in undeath like they had never been in life.
Bi’an explained all this in as calm a voice as he could manage. It wasn’t easy, with Wujiu’s pain fresh in their bond- at times, he had to dig his fingernails into his hands just to maintain a level tone. To their credit, the survivors just listened quietly, not interrupting once.
When he was done, Eli sat back, his hands flat on the table.
“I… I’m sorry,” he said in a thick voice. “I didn’t know.”
“No. I should… I should be the one apologizing.” Bi’an shook his head. “When we came to the manor, we were told… kill survivors to grant our wish. The only wish I have is to see him again- to hold him. And… because of this, you became victims as well.”
“But that’s just not fair!” Helena burst out. She clutched her cane tight, face taut with an unexpected grief. “I mean- I mean they’re basically just holding you hostage! How could… how could you do anything else?”
Eli nodded, as if he were considering something. Then, he asked Bi’an, “do you enjoy hunting us?”
“No!” he said vehemently. Wujiu pulsed his agreement.
A crease appeared in Eli’s brow.
“… I’ll volunteer myself to be a sacrifice in matches, then,” he replied. “I’m sure I can get a few other takers. It might take longer, but- would you be willing to spare some survivors if others allow you to kill them?” He glanced around the room. “Would anyone be willing to volunteer for this?”
Hesitation.
And then survivors started trickling forward- Mercenary first, then Coordinator, then Cowboy. Faces he recognized. People he had murdered, again and again, stepping forward to give him a chance at seeing his husband.
Bi’an felt his throat clench tight.
“No,” he croaked. “No, I- I can’t accept this. I… thank you, but no. This isn’t right.”
Eli glanced back his way. “What isn’t?”
“I can’t- I won’t-“ he felt sick. “It’s not right of you to die for me.”
“But we already have been.”
“And that was wrong,” Bi’an hissed- and suddenly, the emotion was too intense. He retreated back into the umbrella, letting Wujiu take over.
“It was wrong of us to do that,” Wujiu told him. “To sacrifice your happiness in exchange for our own. I… we…”
He looked at the faces gathered around him- some concerned, some still hostile. He gestured at the blanket around his shoulders, at the bowl of soup in his hands.
“… I can’t keep doing this. We always knew we couldn’t keep it up forever, but… it’s… it’s enough.” He bowed his head. “We will hunt you no longer. After the kindness you have shown us today… we cannot.”
Eli looked confused. “But… your husband…”
Wujiu paused- and from within the umbrella, Bi’an gave him encouragement.
“We are in agreement. Perhaps… it is alright, to continue existing like this.” Though the thought twisted his heart. “You are humans- you are mortal. There is a chance you will escape from this place and live your lives, free from the manor. For us, undead as we are… we cannot take this away from you.”
He closed his eyes, wishing he could cry, though he was much too tired for tears.
“Perhaps if you could paint us again,” he whispered. “Then we will manage.”
The words hurt to say- like committing oneself to the executioner’s axe. To the noose, hanging from the bridge.
And yet, at the same time, it was freeing. For Wujiu to always exist as himself- for Bi’an to do the same- perhaps they could learn to be satisfied.
The last word left Wujiu’s lips. Then- suddenly, as the final syllable was voiced- there was a twisting pain in his gut. It felt like a knife, twisting through his body, clenching, tearing-
Wujiu buckled over, clutching at himself, at his abdomen. Bi’an in the umbrella shrieked concern, but there was nothing he could do. He was incorporeal.
Wujiu’s jaw twisted open in a rictus of agony. The pain was so sudden as to be unbelievable- it felt like something in him was being torn in half, ripped apart by gripping hands. His hands scrabbled over his clothes, trying to relieve this sensation, trying to do anything-
Something inside him snapped on a tether.
His vision whited out.
His body went limp.
Wujiu half-slithered out of the chair, to the ground, consciousness melting like a snowflake in summer.
In his last moment of awareness-
He could no longer feel Bi’an’s presence.
-
Xie Bi’an woke up.
There was residual pain in his gut, but it was fast fading. Overall, though- he felt fine. His head was clear. His wrist was sore from the way it was twisted from under his body, but as he pushed himself up…
Wait.
He didn’t remember switching with Wujiu.
And his hands- they were not traced with inky blackness like usual, but were rather pure albino white. He blinked at them, not quite understanding what he was seeing.
There was a groan to his left- a tired, groggy, pained groan.
He knew that voice.
He knew it.
Xie Bi’an turned, and- there he was.
Wujiu lay on the floor beside him. He was the opposite of Bi’an- his skin was charcoal black, his hair pure white. As Bi’an watched, he pushed himself upright, favouring his left hand because- well, of course, he was left handed, Bi’an knew that but he hadn’t seen it in so long-
Wujiu looked up. Their eyes met.
Bi’an felt a thousand emotions at once.
“… Bi’an…?” Wujiu sounded out, like he couldn’t believe it. His eyes were so wide.
Bi’an’s hands were shaking. He reached out, fought through the tremor-
He touched his husband’s cheek.
It was there. It was real. His skin was smooth and warm and-
He had to choke back a sob again. He watched as Wujiu lifted his hand, placed it over Bi’an’s own, pressed it to the side of his face. His movements were so slow and careful- like he feared that if he went too fast, the moment would shatter. Bi’an watched helplessly as Wujiu turned his face to the side, pressed his lips to his palm in a soft kiss.
It was too much.
Bi’an flung himself forward and wrapped his arms around Wujiu’s shoulders, sobbing freely into the crook of his neck. He was there- his hair smelled the same, his skin was warm and comforting, his hands strong around his shoulders-
“Wujiu,” he gasped, again and again. “Wujiu. Wujiu.”
“Bi’an,” he murmured in return, stroking his long hair. “My Xie Bi’an. My love. My heart.”
Vaguely, Bi’an registered the survivors around them, watching the reunion. He couldn’t care. He had his husband. He had his other half. He pulled his face back just far enough to kiss him- and then he kissed him again and again, Wujiu’s lips feeling like fire against his own.
At that point, he heard a few coughs and shuffles from the survivors, and- well, fair enough. He stopped and laid his head against Wujiu’s chest again, simply listening to his heartbeat and the sound of his breathing.
It was incredible. It was unreal.
But- why then? What happened to bring them back together?
Back then, the order had been to kill survivors. And yet, their wish had only been granted once they had vowed to do the opposite.
Maybe- maybe that was the point of it all. Maybe their wish could only be granted once they had the strength to separate themselves from it entirely- to give up, for the sake of other’s well-being.
And maybe they didn’t have to understand at all.
Bi’an sat in Wujiu’s lap and held him, and tears fell freely from his eyes. And each droplet was a release, soaking into the ground like a sigh.