#for sqq of course but it hardly gets used

[vodkassassin]

cucumberplane with sqh defending/comforting sqq instead of the other way around (badass!sqh?)

Someone asked for a FIERCE son???

This one is a little long, at just about over 4k

Warnings: gore, graphic depictions of violence ;3

—

Shang Qinghua is scared.

There’s been plenty of instances, especially in this new life of his, where he has been in fear for his life. Every instance feels like it’s the worst one, in the time that it is happening. In the moment, when his heart seems to freeze, beating so quickly it’s almost like he can’t even hear it in the blood that rushes by his ears. When his breath stutters to a stop, and his stomach drops so sharply that it feels like it’s dug itself deep into the mantle of the earth.

In the moment, when it feels like he’s never been this scared in either of his lives.

Like a cornered animal, pinned down against cold stone marble floors, this snarling demon’s clawed hand encircling his throat with just barely enough pressure to make breathing something difficult. The cold, sharp point of a spear digging ever-so gently into his gut, just to remind him that it’s there.

“I’ll carve out each and every one of your bones,” the demon is crooning into his ear, fingers flexing against his jugular, just barely. “They will make excellent jewelry, a badge of great honor. A boast at how the revered and powerful Peak Lord Shang was felled by my hands.”

Revered? Shang Qinghua has absolutely no idea where this dipshit idiot got his information, but clearly his broker had decided it would be a good laugh to lead him around by the nose, because he is so far off the mark.

It’s far more like Shang Qinghua is barely tolerated. Kept around for his work ethic and quick results. But revered? No.

And powerful? Okay, in order to be a peak lord, Shang Qinghua had to meet certain expectations. There are prerequisites for becoming the successor of your Shizun in Cang Qiong. However, there are twelve peaks, and despite being ranked number four out of all of them, the peak lord of An Ding is hardly considered powerful.

This demon has it all wrong. But! Here he is, spear and claws cutting into Shang Qinghua’s skin, threatening his life.

Usually, Shang Qinghua has precautions in place for this very circumstance. There are so many exits he could have taken before this. Back up plans, routes to temporary safety. Hell, just calling for Mobei Jun gets the job done in a flash, half the time.

Okay, more than half.

But. However. Shang Qinghua had made certain oversights. Because he never, in any of those precautions, accounted for the additional presence of his bro. Shen Qingqiu, who is curled up against the wall across the room, pale and unmoving, blood dripping steadily from a gash in his head.

And so, like a cornered animal would, Shang Qinghua bares his teeth.

It should have been a warning, but the demon just laughs.

“Don’t pretend to be brave now, little cultivator,” he chuckles.

The hand on Shang Qinghua’s throat loosens, before removing itself completely so that those long, wickedly sharp claws can trail up the soft skin underneath his jaw. They press down as they go, just enough that Shang Qinghua can feel droplets of blood start trickling down his neck. The demon traces up his cheek with two claws, gently, and croons.

“I never imagined a small thing like you to be the infamous Lord Shang,” the demal continues. “I really did expect someone at least a little taller. But, small is fun, too! You gave me a good hunt, little one, so at least you lived up to some of the rumors.”

Any other day, Shang Qinghua would really love to know what the demons of the North say about him. Really. He’s dying of curiosity, about as much as he’s certain he doesn’t actually want to know.

It doesn’t matter right now, though. If there’s anything that Shang Qinghua is guaranteed to be able to work with, it's being underestimated.

“But, the chase is over now. This one wins, and Lord Shang loses.”

With that, the demon plunges the spear into Shang Qinghua’s stomach.

It’s cold, going in. Terrifying, knowing that there’s something ripping into you. The feeling as your body reacts to a foreign object’s invasion. Not quite at the conclusion that it should hurt, yet. Just… shock.

There’s a brief period of time before the shock makes it hard to move, though. Shang Qinghua knows, from experience, almost exactly how long it will take for his body to realize it’s suppose to be in pain. He has a precious few moments, and his teeth are still bared.

Shang Qinghua has been waiting. He’s good at that. He’s patient. He’s spent most of his life waiting for one thing or another. For plans to come to fruition, for schemes to set. For pieces to fall into place so that he can pull his strings. For this demon to finish his dumbass, dramatic monologue, and make the final blow.

Shang Qinghua is quick — he always has been. At the moment the spearhead enters his flesh, he’s already wriggled an arm forward and grabbed it by the shaft, just below where the demon holds it.

The demon makes a surprised noise when Shang Qinghua uses his grip to pull himself further onto the weapon. It’s the last sound he makes, beyond a wheeze of shock as Shang Qinghua jerks forward into his space and latches his jaw around the demal’s throat.

He sinks his teeth into flesh. It tastes salty. He can feel the point of the spear exiting his back, but he doesn’t pay it any mind. He clamps down as hard as he can and thrashes his head to the side and then back again.

The skin under his teeth breaks open. Bloods splurts out, dribbling in rivulets down his chin, and Shang Qinghua bites down even further. Something long and sinewy, stretched like a tube, bursts between his molars, coming apart over his tongue.

The demon collapses, falling away from where he’d been straddling Shang Qinghua’s legs. He crashes to the ground with wide, unseeing eyes, soft gurgles erupting from the demal’s mutilated neck before the sound dies out completely, and Shang Qinghua is left lying there on the cold marble floor, a spear protruding from his midsection.

He stares up at the ceiling, hyper aware of the shock that’s finally settling into his limbs. There’s copper and salt cloying in his mouth. He’s never been a fan of rare steaks, and this is even worse. He feels, distantly, as if he’s going to throw up. But, not now. Maybe in a little bit, after the shock wears off and the pain sets in.

Shang Qinghua experimentally tries to wiggle his toes. He succeeds, and so he moves on to the muscles in his arms, working at them until they contract and retract in the way he wants them to. He lifts up one arm, shakily, and carefully grabs the shaft of the spear that he’s currently impaled upon. He can feel the spearhead pressing uncomfortably against his back, from where it’s exited the wound.

He can’t just pull it out the way that it came in, like he wants to. It will catch, and drag against already torn flesh. The backside of the spearhead is serrated. It will just make it worse.

He has to snap the spear head off before pulling the shaft out.

But, it’s not like a shoddy spear, with a stone head and a wooden shaft. This is a well-crafted weapon, without any seams to serve as a weak point. The spearhead is carved of the same strong metal as the shaft. This was forged by a master weaponsmith, with demonic spells carved elegantly into the detailing.

Shang Qinghua isn’t going to be able to break it with regular, Qi-enhanced strength. He can’t start healing himself until he removes the spear, either. And he can’t push the spear all the way through, since the opposite end is an oddly shaped hilt. Bulky. That would do worse damage than the serrated spearhead.

He’s kind of… stuck. Shang Qinghua isn’t entirely sure how to get the spear out of himself without making it worse. He’ll have to wait until help arrives.

However, he might just bleed out before then!

And, across the room, though his head wound has sluggishly ceased its bleeding, his best friend is still unconscious.

This is fun. Exciting! A real puzzle to solve.

Hey, System!

[System remains in standby mode during all cutscenes.]

What the fuck is that suppose to mean? Cutscenes? There’s never been cutscenes! This is just another shitty excuse not to help!

I hate you.

[System remains in standby mode during all cutscenes.]

Shang Qinghua groans, and carefully begins to maneuver himself onto his side.

The pain hits. Thankfully not all at once. It comes in increments, so Shang Qinghua is able to sit up and get his legs underneath him before it really starts making a nuisance of itself, but it does come.

It hurts, dammit. He’s had worse, of course, but it still hurts like a bitch, and there’s a hazy blackness encroaching on the very edges of Shang Qinghua’s vision that won’t go away no matter how many times he blinks.

He shoves the pain to the back of his mind and focuses on standing. It’s an arduous process, but he manages it, and he’s by Shen Qingqiu’s side within thirty seconds of almost drunken stumbling.

Shang Qinghua is very mindful of the spear that still impales him as he kneels in a controlled collapse beside his best friend. He angles his chest away from the other man so the heavy end of the spear points downwards and away from them both. He lifts a visibly shaking hand to Shen Qingqiu’s brow and begins channeling qi into him.

Just because he can’t heal himself with the spear still in him, doesn’t mean he can’t heal his buddy.

It’s a short process. He’s no healer, but he and Mu Qingfang are — close, and Shang Qinghua has learned a thing or two from the very best that their sect has to offer. Shen Qingqiu’s eyes are fluttering open within minutes.

“Ow,” the man murmurs, raising a hand to his most-likely aching skull. It lands to cover Shang Qinghua’s, fingers momentarily intertwining with his, and Shen Qingqiu straightens up from where he has slumped against the wall to look over at him.

“What hit me?” he groans, confusion cinching his brow.

Shang Qinghua sucks in a slow, controlled breath. The pain is hammering at his senses insistently, but he shoves it to the back of his mind again. It’s an ongoing battle, like trying to fight off a jumping dog with boundless energy when you’re going off two hours of sleep and are short three cup of coffee. And you have a migraine that makes every single one of your joints feel like there’s a knife stuck in them.

It’s a very specific metaphor. Which might not be a metaphor, but more of an correlation to that one time he’d been roped into dogsitting for his older brother.

That didn’t necessarily hurt as bad as this, per say, but it was like, similarly annoying?

To… being impaled?

Right.

It takes a few moments, Shang Qinghua still focused on channeling his qi, but Shen Qingqiu eventually becomes coherent enough to recall how exactly he’d ended up like this, and he pins him with a sharp look of examination. Which quickly turns to pale-faced horror.

“Airplane!” Shen Qingqiu hisses, eyes wide and terrified. “Airplane, stop! Why are you — why are you healing me? You have a fucking spear sticking out of you, oh my fucking god—!”

They quickly switch positions. Suddenly, Shang Qinghua is the one on the ground, with a panicked Shen Qingqiu leaning over him, hands hovering above the spear but not quite touching it, uncertainty warring with fear on the man’s face. No fan to hide the expression, this time.

Amusement and fondness twists up in Shang Qinghua’s gut, mingling with the internal bleeding that he is most certainly experiencing. He reaches up a hand to clumsily pay at his bro’s face.

“Peerless,” he breathes out. He can feel a smile curling at the corners of his mouth. “Bro, you’re so pretty…. I did so, so good…. character descriptions absolutely flawless....”

“Great, you’re delirious.” Shen Qingqiu huffs out, trying to sound annoyed. There’s still that note of fear in there, though, that can’t be mistaken. “Airplane, pull yourself together. How the fuck am I suppose to get this out of you? I need you sober, man.”

“Drunk on paiiin,” Shang Qinghua giggles out in a singsong, and his bro pulls a face.

“That sounds so wrong. Don’t say that. Instead, tell me how to— to unimpale you? Maybe? Airplane?”

Shang Qinghua tilts his head back. Cold marble presses against his crown. It’s soothing, kinda. He feels like he’s burning up with a fever. The slight chill is… nice. He closes his eyes.

“Fuck,” Shen Qingqiu says. A hand lands on his shoulder and gives him a very light shake. “Don’t fall asleep. Don’t fucking fall asleep! Airplane, please.”

Right.

Shang Qinghua sucks in another slow, careful breath, and forces his eyes open. He fights past the haziness that’s trying to cover his vision, and locks eyes with his martial brother and best friend. Shen Qingqiu looks terrified, eyes wide and damp around the edges.

Awww, he does care!

Shaking the thought away, he reaches out with one hand and slaps his palm against the shaft of the spear. The vibrations travel down its length and into Shang Qinghua, and his entire torso alights with fresh, white hot pain. He stiffens and smothers a cry.

“Shit! Airplane, what the fuck?! Stop!”

He ignores Shen Qingqiu. Shang Qinghua is more awake now, which is exactly what he was going for.

“Bro,” he says. It comes out breathless, more of a wheeze. “We can’t break the spear with normal cultivation.”

“Then how the fuck—?!”

“No, no. Listen. You can’t break it with normal cultivation. It needs an elemental touch, and I’m not about to electrocute myself to death again.”

Shen Qingqiu pauses, staring down at him. He blinks.

“But,” Shen Qingqiu says, realization alighting in his eyes. His bro is so clever. “I don’t have a lightning element. Mine is earth.”

“Yep! Bro.”

“Airplane?”

Shang Qinghua swings out his arm and slaps it against Shen Qingqiu’s chest, turning his hand to grab the front of his bro’s robes. He uses his grip to haul himself up into a sitting position, leaning in to speak directly into the other man’s ear.

“Bro, disintegrate the spear. Like, I am begging you here. It fucking hurts.”

Shen Qingqiu leaned back in order to stare at him. After a few seconds, he shakes his head roughly, eyes wide.

“R—Right!” He says, and reaches out to curl his fingers hesitantly around the spear shaft. His other arm has curled protectively around the small of Shang Qinghua’s back, helping to hold him up as his strength quickly drains away from him.

“Right. Um, just… give me a second. I’m not… um, I’m not really good with elemental techniques….”

“Take your time,” Shang Qinghua says sincerely, before blacking out into his bro’s shoulder.

—

“Hey, Airplane?”

Shang Qinghua glances up from the door of the throne room that they’ve summarily been trapped inside of.

It was a beautiful scheme of their opponent, truly. Using the defenses of the wards that are intended to protect against them. Setting up a grand distraction in the form of a false invasion, drawing away the guards and his king to the frontlines of the battle. Meanwhile, Shang Qinghua and Shen Qingqiu were trapped within the seat of power of the palace the very moment that the wards had initiated the total lockdown.

Nothing goes in, nothing goes out.

It’s a complete, absolute protection — but it can’t do anything to protect them from someone already inside the wards themselves, and subsequently had cut them off from any back up in the form of a teleporting demon king, as not even Mobei Jun himself can break through the ancient wards of his own ancestors.

It was a severe oversight. He’ll have to rectify it immediately, once this is all taken care of and finished.

Loopholes being taken advantage of in such creative ways! Shang Qinghua would be so very impressed, if only they weren’t his wards being made a mockery of.

He looks over at his bro, to find Shen Qingqiu staring down at the corpse of their attacker with an odd look on his face.

Really, Shang Qinghua is kind of embarrassed. For both of them! They could have taken this guy, working together. Neither of them are slackers in the power department, and Shen Qingqiu in particular inherited a pretty strong body to begin with, that he has since only made more powerful. Shang Qinghua himself is, while not exactly super impressive, certainly nothing to sniff at. After all, he is a peak lord, too.

Together, they should have been able to take this guy.

Too bad the dipshit demon had foreseen that, and had worked in the element of surprise. It really had been too quick. Strike down the more powerful of them first, and fight the lesser head on. Shen Qingqiu is unconscious against the wall, and Shang Qinghua is fast, but apparently not fast enough.

Seriously. It’s embarrassing.

“Yeah, bro?”

“Did you….” Shen Qingqiu looks up from the body, glancing at the bloodied mess that is the front of Shang Qinghua’s robes. He points a finger at him, and looks back down at the corpse in clear befuddlement. “Did you, uh…. Um, how exactly did you kill this guy?”

Shang Qinghua pauses his work with the wards. They’re a true beast, really, and he’s gonna need his bro’s help anyway. It’ll take more than just him to dismantle the lockdown. He stands up and wanders over to stare down at the corpse as well.

It’s a fucking mess. The corpse had drained out of the neck until there wasn’t any more blood to bleed, resulting in a massive puddle of deep crimson that has expanded a good five feet in diameter around the demon’s body. The body itself is pale in death, an ashy green color that has become mottled in places due to the absence of blood. The eyes are still open, staring sightlessly at nothing, and the face still bears a slightly slack expression of shock.

It’s disturbing to look at, sure, but they’ve both seen worse. Shang Qinghua is a little confused about why his bro seems so uneasy.

“Uh,” he says, head tilted to the side in thought. “Well, he stabbed me…. hm. Oh! Yeah, so I kinda, like, used the spear to pull him closer so I could, y’know,” Shang Qinghua snaps his teeth in a theatric grimace, and gives his head a slight jerk to the side.

He then smiles brightly at his friend, who is staring at him with an expression he can’t really describe.

“And, yeah,” he finishes, lamely.

“There’s blood,” Shen Qingqiu says. “In your teeth.”

“Hm,” Shang Qinghua frowns. He runs his tongue or his teeth, and grimaces for real at the tacky feeling that coats them. Not even going to mention the taste. “Can blood stain, like, bone? Teeth are bone. Do you think it’ll stain?”

“Airplane, did you rip out that guy’s throat with your teeth?”

Shang Qinghua frowns at his friend. “Um, yeah? Didn’t I just say that?”

“Haha, you did.” Shen Qingqiu gives a strange laugh. It sounds a little hysterical. “You actually did.”

Shang Qinghua watches in bewilderment as the other man spins on his heel and takes a few steps away from him. His steps bring him closer to the corpse. He stops just shy of his feet kicking into it and stares down at it for a long few moments that feel like they stretch into minutes.

Then, Shen Qingqiu shakes his head slowly, and walks back over to him.

“That’s so fucking metal, bro,” he says, finally. “Like, I’m both terrified and very, very impressed.”

“Oh.” Shang Qinghua says. He runs his fingers through the back of his hair self-consciously, feeling at where the strands have come loose from his bun. “Thanks. Listen, I’m gonna need a hand with the wards. They can only be unlocked from the inside, and usually I’d be able to just do it myself, but I’m almost spent, dude. Like, I need a fucking nap, as soon as possible. Imma need your qi.”

“Sure, what little I can give of it. I used up a lot on that medical technique for your, uh, impalement. I’m no doctor, man.” Shen Qingqiu shrugs. He casts one last vaguely incredulous glance between Shang Qinghua and the demon’s corpse, before following him over to the two, large and imposing throne room doors.

They’re swinging them open about fifteen minutes later, and both of them are forced to duck out of the way as a barrage of deadly sharp icicles comes raining down almost upon their heads.

Shang Qinghua grabs his best friend by the arm and flings him back, raising his other arm up into the air to snap his fingers. He winces at how the movement pulls at his still incredibly sore injury. Thankfully, he’d managed to heel it enough that the wound itself has closed, but he’s pretty sure he’s still got some internal bleeding going on in there.

There’s a light shimmer in the air before them, barely visible, as his qi condenses into a weak physical barrier. Most of the icicles shatter upon contact with it, but some make it through, and Shang Qinghua tugs his increasingly drowsy martial brother out of the line of fire.

Ah, head wounds are so annoying. Guess he’ll have to drag Shen-ge with him to see Qingfang, after all.

“My king!” He shouts, and then raises his voice as another volley of icicles begins to form from the moisture in the air. Being in the cold north, there’s plenty of it. “Mobei Jun! Stop! It’s us!”

The icicles pause, and then fall to the floor, shattering into thousands of tiny shards of ice that immediately begin to melt into the floor. There’s no time to appreciate the built-in clean up function born from his beautiful world building skills, however, as a large figure comes striding across the outer hall toward them, intent in every single step.

As soon as Mobei Jun and the retinue of guards spot the two peak lords, they fall to an abrupt stop. The guards all exchange glances, but it’s difficult to make out their expressions underneath the helmets of ice. His king, barefaced as always, looks a little surprised. Not much, of course, but his eyes are a little wider than usual.

“Shang Qinghua,” Mobei Jun says, and then stops.

“Yes, my king?”

There’s a long strength of silence. Shang Qinghua frowns and turns to his friend, only to find Shen Qingqiu staring at him as well. His fan flutters in front of his face, having appeared out of absolutely nowhere — seriously, does the man keep spares in a qiankun space? — and the eyes that peer over it at him look distinctly amused.

“Shang-ge,” he says, mirth coating every word.

“What?”

Shen Qingqiu watches him for a moment, and then snickers.

“Shen-ge, what?”

“You look like you just ripped someone’s throat out.” Shen Qingqiu comments idly.

Annoyed, Shang Qinghua reaches up and rubs the back of his sleeve across his mouth. He scowls at his bro. “That’s because I just did? Why are you laughing at me?”

Someone coughs. It sounds like one of the guards. Another hurriedly shushes the one, and all the demons in the hall are very still and very silent. It’s kind of eerie, actually. Mobei Jun is still staring at him, too.

Is it because Shang Qinghua has made such a mess? He will clean it up, your majesty, he promises!

“What did it taste like?” Shen Qingqiu suddenly wonders aloud, watching him inquisitively, and Shang Qinghua rounds on him with a sigh of exasperation.

“Gross.” He says firmly. He wipes his sleeve over his mouth once more, for good measure. Blood flakes off of his chin, and he makes a face. “Disgusting. I’m never doing that again. Ugh.”

Shen Qingqiu’s fan flutters, and his friend laughs at him.

“Shang Qinghua.” Mobei Jun says, this time more firmly.

He turns toward his king and folds his hands out in front of him, bowing just slightly enough to show respect. “My king, this one will have the mess cleaned up, do not worry. However, both this one and his martial brother require the assistance of our fellow peak lord after such an ordeal, so if your Majesty would allow us….”

Mobei Jun’s haze sharpens, and he takes a step forward. Always one to read in between the lines of what is being said, he demands answers. “You are hurt?”

“This one was impaled. Healed now, but likely requires further treatment just in case. Brother Shen has a head wound that I would like for our sect doctor to look at.”

“I’m fine,” Shen Qingqiu says, annoyed.

He sways slightly to the side, righting himself before Shang Qinghua can reach out to steady him, and gives him an impervious look when he tries to set his hand on the man’s arm anyway.

Shang Qinghua rolls his eyes. “Sure, as Shen-ge says. Would you like to tell Qingfang, or should I?”

Shen Qingqiu glares at him.

He turns back to Mobei Jun, who has taken a few steps to the side and is trying to peer around them for a glimpse at the mess on the throne room floor. Shang Qinghua steps in front of him, blocking the view.

His king narrows his eyes at him, and Shang Qinghua swallows down the usual nervousness that tries to crawl up his throat at the look. He is tired, he’s got a headache, his qi levels are at rock bottom, he’d just been impaled, and Shang Qinghua thinks he deserves a fucking nap, okay?

He summons up a polite smile and gives his king another bow. “If my king permits it…?” He hedges once again.

Mobei Jun glowers at him for a couple more long moments, the line of demonic guardsmen at his back unrelenting and immovable.

“The invasion force at the gates,” his king says slowly, eyes once again going to the throne room just beyond their little rendezvous point here. “It was only a bluff?”

“Yes, my king.”

“And the assassin?”

“Dead, my king.”

“.... Hmph.”

Well, Shang Qinghua has no idea what that sound means.

Mobei Jun stares at him some more, before finally nodding his head once. “This king will take you to Qian Cao.”

Shang Qinghua beams at the man. “That would be amazing! Many thanks, my king!”

Mobei Jun lets out a huff and pivots on his heel to face the contingent of guardsdemals instead, his back shown to them.

From Shang Qinghua’s shoulder, Shen Qingqiu quietly snorts into his fan.

“Gather a cleaning crew for both the battlefield and the throne room,” Mobei Jun barks out, and the guards scatter.

He turns back to face the two peak lords, and holds out one arm, not even looking at them.

Shang Qinghua wraps one arm around his bro’s waist. From how unsteady Shen Qingqiu still is, he doesn’t really trust the man to hold on for the entire trip. And falling off mid-teleportation is definitely not fun. Shang Qinghua can attest to that.

Mobei Jun is scowling when he reaches out and sets his arm into the crook of the king’s elbow, but he steps into the teleportation before Shang Qinghua can even consider asking him what’s wrong.

#svsss prompts #tw: gore #tw: violence #tw: blood #shang qinghua #shen qingqiu #scum villain's self saving system #vodka answers #vodkassassin fanfiction #anonymous #anon request