Chapter Text
The demon world was cold. Bone-chillingly so, the type of cold that settled into Rumi’s bones and made her feel as if she’d never be warm again. A strange mist hung in the air, making it impossible to see anything more than a few paces away clearly. All around her were demons—yellow eyes fixed on her, they paced and grumbled, but didn’t approach.
Rumi’s grip on her sword tightened as she scanned her surroundings. In the darkness, the patterns on her skin seemed to glow with an unearthly light. The same light of the purple fire atop the altar. The firelight was weak, a trembling candle flame, but as Rumi’s eyes fell on it, it blazed for a moment and then died down to embers again.
Gwi-Ma was weak, but he wasn’t gone. Not completely.
The Honmoon may have been secure, but that didn’t mean he was destroyed. Rumi wasn’t even sure if he could be destroyed.
When she took her first step, the demons surrounding her hissed. It felt as if a tremor ran through her skin, the earth shaking under her boots as she approached the altar.
“Hunter.” Gwi-Ma’s voice was not as strong as before, but it still managed to turn her blood to ice. “We meet again.”
During the battle, she had been so focused on her goal—sealing him away, turning the Honmoon to gold—that she hadn’t realized exactly how terrifying he was. Even at his weakest, his raspy voice still felt like fathomless evil. Jinu must have suffered, hearing this voice in his head for the last four hundred years.
Jinu…
Rumi steeled herself. “Gwi-Ma.”
He laughed, and the sound was like rocks scraping. “You look as if you have something to say.”
“Give Jinu back to me.”
“Back to you? You act as though I have him.”
“You killed him.”
“I? I was trying to kill you. Jinu chose to take the blow.”
Was it her imagination, or had the laughter gone from his voice?
“Tell me how to bring him back, then.”
“Would that I could, Hunter. Jinu has always been a faithful servant. I am certain I could have convinced him to turn away from you.”
No, she was not imagining it. There was bitterness in Gwi-Ma’s voice. A centuries old, ancient evil being—bitter?
Rumi would have laughed, but the only thing she felt was rage. “He would never go back to you.”
“Perhaps. But does he want to be with you?”
“I—that’s,” Rumi faltered. “He gave his soul to me.” Even as she said it, she realized how weak of an argument it was. Who was she to decide what Jinu would want? She had barely known him a week.
“And here you are, asking me for a soul I no longer own. Are you that afraid to accept that he could be gone from this world?”
It was strange, but…Gwi-Ma said that with a tinge of amusement, as if he knew something Rumi didn’t. As if the small, impossible wish she had been holding onto since she saw the blue glow of Jinu’s soul merge with the sword in her hand, could possibly come true.
“You’ve asked me so many questions now,” Gwi-Ma continued. “Let me ask you one of my own, little Hunter. Why do you still hide your markings?”
Rumi looked down at herself. She hadn’t realized she was wearing her usual battle uniform—long black sleeves and a high collar that covered every available inch of skin. “I…I’m not sure.”
“Too afraid to admit that you’re one of us? One of them?” A tongue of fire flicked out, illustrating the hovering mass of demons below the dais.
Rumi gritted her teeth. “They’re nothing like me.”
“But they are. None of them have attacked you here—have they? The markings on your skin are just like theirs. You have power that an ordinary human, even a Hunter, could never hope to attain.”
“I’m not like them. I’m not like you .”
Gwi-Ma’s mocking laughter echoed out over the plains again. “How foolish you are. Tell me then, have you truly never once thought yourself a monster? A cursed creature? Never felt the shame of being shackled to an existence you did not ask for?”
“I—no, that’s—“
“Hunter you may be, but demon you also are. Running from it leads nowhere. The truth is that you belong here.”
“No!”
Rumi sat up with a gasp, heart pounding. Her nightshirt was plastered to her skin, damp with sweat. Just a dream.
Beside her bed, her alarm clock was blaring frantically, and Rumi glanced at the time and groaned. Practice started in five minutes.
“I’ma gear up for the takedown!”
Crash.
“I’m fine!” Rumi braced her hands on the cold wooden floor of the practice room and got up—to see Mira and Zoey staring at her, eyes wide.
“Rumi, are you okay?”
“Yeah, what’s going on, girl?” Mira asked. She turned to the radio propped on a stool and switched off the music. “I’ve never seen you fall before. Like, ever.”
Their enormous practice room was a part of their penthouse, floor-to-ceiling mirrors on three sides and a huge window on the last, overlooking the city below. The speaker system rigged around the room was Mira’s pride and joy: about fifteen million won worth of bass boosted, 360-degree sound.
“I’m just a little tired,” Rumi said. “Restart the song. Let’s go again.”
“Uh-uh.” Mira, a scowl plastered firmly to her face, folded her arms across her chest and shook her head. “That’s the tenth time you’ve said that this week. What’s going on?”
At the concern on Zoey’s face, and the obvious bewilderment behind Mira’s snappish tone, Rumi weakened. “It’s just…it’s nothing.”
How did she explain to her friends that she had been dreaming of Gwi-Ma every night since the Honmoon? That sometimes, the dreams felt more real than reality? And most importantly, she had the strangest feeling that in her sword slumbered a boy who was supposed to be dead. By all rights, should have been dead four hundred years ago.
“We’re not practicing until you tell us what’s going on!” Zoey insisted. “C’mon, Rumi. Best friends don’t keep secrets. Whatever it is, we’ll help you through it. Right, Mira?”
“Yeah. So spill.”
Rumi rubbed her aching side—she had hit the floor with her hands at an awkward angle, unable to catch herself. “You… might need to sit down for this. It’s a long story.”
By the time she had finished explaining to Mira and Zoey about the dreams, they were both staring at her, completely silent, dance practice long forgotten.
“So you’ve been having these dreams how long?” asked Mira.
“Since the battle when we sealed the Honmoon,” said Rumi. “They began the night we got home.”
Zoey looked at Mira. Mira looked at Zoey. In unison, both nodded.
“What you need–”
“What we all need–”
“Is to drink. Immediately,” Mira finished. A narrow smile spread across her lips as she opened her phone. “And there’s this new bar I’ve actually been dying to try.”
“So let me get this straight. You think your demon boyfriend–”
“He is not my boyfriend!” Rumi slammed her hand on the table of the bar, sighing as the bartender turned around and eyed her with some distaste. Great. She could almost see the headlines tomorrow – Idol denies dating rumors while publicly intoxicated! Rumi forced a breath. “Okay, listen. Zoey. Mira.”
The two girls in front of her nodded intently, eyes fixed on her. They were worried about her, she knew, for good reason. Though the Honmoon was rainbow now, it didn’t change the fact that Rumi had barely slept more than twenty hours in the last two weeks, there were bags under her eyes, and her nail beds were chewed ragged and almost bloody.
She was struggling, and it made Rumi cringe how easy it was for them to see. She was their leader. She wasn’t weak.
Rumi took a long sip of the soju on the table and continued. “When Jinu – dissolved, his soul went into the sword. It didn’t vaporize. He isn’t dead. At least, I’m not certain. But my sword changed when he vanished. I…I don’t know what else to think.”
Mira frowned. “But that’s bad, right? If he isn’t dead, then the rest of the Saja Boys are probably alive down there. Ugh.” Her face soured and she too took a sip of her drink, chasing away unpleasant thoughts. Hunched inside the booth of the bar, all three of them wore basic black wigs, appearing for all the world like three college girls drinking away their sorrows.
“So, all we have to do is wait for the Saja Boys to come back, and then we kill them again! If Jinu really is in your sword, like you think, he can just stay there, then,” Zoey offered. “I mean, he’s just a soul now, right?”
“A demon soul,” Mira snapped.
Rumi winced, and Mira immediately softened. “I’m sorry, Rumi. You know what I mean, though. He killed people. They all did.”
“It wasn’t a choice, though. That’s the thing. You weren’t there. You don’t know him. The things Gwi-Ma says make them kill.”
Zoey chewed her straw thoughtfully. Unlike Rumi and Mira who had gone for the cheapest soju they could get with the highest alcohol content, Zoey had picked the fanciest cocktail on the menu. It was piled high with fruits and smelled so strongly of alcohol it made Rumi’s nose crinkle from across the table. Zoey, never a lightweight, was halfway through the drink and still seemed perfectly sober. “So what you’re saying is we can’t really hold them responsible for their actions? I think it’s 50/50.”
“50/50 their fault… 50/50 Gwi-Ma’s fault,” Mira considered. “Okay, that makes me hate them slightly less.”
“Exactly!”
“Guys!”
This time the bartender turned all the way around and gave Rumi a look that clearly said one more time and you’re out of here. Sheepishly, she nodded her understanding.
“Guys,” she said more calmly. Deadpan. “We can discuss the morals of the maybe-dead Saja Boys later. We need to focus now on getting Jinu out of the sword.”
“Is he going to be human if we do?” Zoey arched an eyebrow. “We did all see the demon part vaporize, so is it just the human part in there? If he’s there?”
“I..I’m not sure,” Rumi admitted. She still hadn’t touched her sword, hadn’t so much as summoned it. Out of apprehension, or maybe just fear. Of what was, or wasn’t inside it.
Because if Jinu was really gone…
That just wasn’t something Rumi could accept.
Mira slapped a hundred thousand won down on the table, grabbing the half-empty soju bottle and beckoning the other two to leave with her.
They stepped out into the chill Seoul night air, immediately wincing at the bracing cold as they turned and headed back. Dark was quickly falling, and the trio dodged couples rushing home and salarymen heading for the train on their way out of the city. Zoey and Mira kept pace a few steps ahead of Rumi, occasionally looking back with faces dark with worry.
What kind of leader was she?
I can’t even keep it together, Rumi thought bitterly. She inhaled, sharp, and removed all the expression from her face. Blank and featureless was the goal. No fear, no stress. Just confidence that she didn’t feel.
“Rumi–”
“I’m gonna take a short walk, okay?” She released a breath and smiled at her group members. “I feel much better now, honestly. I think I just need some time alone.” Mira and Zoey hesitated, but Rumi knew from years of experience how convincing she was. “Go get started on that show you were talking about and you can rewind it for me when I come up?”
“Of course,” Zoey said, relenting immediately. “But don’t take too long, or we’re gonna get to episode two without you, and after that I’m not rewinding.”
“What she said,” Mira added, scoffing. But the hand she squeezed Rumi’s shoulder with was warm.
Rumi didn’t deserve them.
Either of them.
She knew that much too well.
The revolving door closed behind Zoey and Mira, and Rumi turned down the sidewalk and began walking in no direction at all. Her feet carried her on and on into the dark, past the last lighted convenience store signs and to one of the dilapidated public parks nearby. Meant for families with kids that had long been pushed out of the city by the rising cost of living. It still put a lump in her throat when Rumi remembered how easily she had accepted having everything. Fame, money, luxury, adoration.
Something Jinu had given up everything for.
“I am not thinking about him,” Rumi said to the empty air, sitting on a creaky swing. “I don’t care if his soul is still here, or if he’s dead or alive. I do not care .”
All the same, when she reached out her hand and her sword shimmered into it, and she felt that familiar spark of rightness, there was something else there too.
Something that didn’t belong to her.
When her fingers moved from the handle to touch the blade, she knew she’d made a mistake.
There was a thick splintering noise from all around her, like glass shattering, and then her vision went blank.
***
The music lilting from his bipa was high and spirited, yet Jinu felt anything but bright. Something was wrong – had felt wrong, from the moment he’d stepped into the grand hall, in formation with all the other court musicians. The emperor and his entourage sat behind folding screens at the end of the grand banquet hall, enjoying the whirling She rasilks of the dancers as they kept time to the musician’s song. Tables laden with hot, spiced food sat ready for the waiting courtiers.
What was the banquet for? Jinu couldn’t remember. He played on, ignoring the way his head was beginning to pound unpleasantly. A new elected official, or a prince’s birthday, most likely. The music changed, turned darker. His fingers tripped once on the keys, striking a discordant note, and the musician behind him sucked in a sharp breath. Jinu swore silently to himself as he resumed pace with the rest of his fellows.
The music didn’t sound joyful anymore. It just sounded like screaming.
The dancers finished with flourishes one after the other, each sinking into reverent bows before the emperor before slinking away one by one.
At some signal Jinu didn’t see, the courtiers sank down to seated positions on the floor and began to eat. Slowly, delicately. Etiquette perfect. His stomach grumbled protest at him, but he didn’t move.
Jinu!
Sounded like somebody calling him. A girl’s voice, filled with desperation. Not his sister’s or his mother’s. Gods help him, he knew how their screams sounded all too well. Not a day went by that he didn’t hear them echoing in his ears. Don’t leave us– Brother– Brother!
And he had left them, hadn’t he? Watched those palace gates close. It had been almost a year now, and only recently had the guilt begun to eat at his insides, more than the threat of hunger did. It was self-preservation, he’d once rationalized. Better to save himself than to die in misery– they’d die anyway, right? With or without him.
It was only logical of him.
Jinu!
He shook the voice like water from his ears and followed the other musicians out of the hall, to where they would sit to their own meal before returning to their quarters.
“Ya, Jinu, sit with us,” one young man called, pointing at his bowl of rice and steamed fish. It looked tempting, rich with oil and spices.
Jinu paused, then shook his head. “Leave me a bit,” he said, forcing a warm smile. “I’m not feeling too well.”
“Give it up. He’s too good to drink with the likes of you!”
“A real ascetic, our Jinu…”
“Not a single maiden has caught his eye, no drink can pass his lips…”
Laughter broke out among the gathered musicians as Jinu passed from the main room into the sleeping quarters, locating his mat. Even after ten months, he still marveled when he laid his head on the soft silk of the mat, lined with hemp. At home, it had been straw, caked with dust and mud and barely thicker than a board. Here was luxury: daybeds and cushions and silk mats for anyone to sleep on: a place where he could put his possessions down and ensure no one would steal them.
He had paid for this luxury with every last scrap of his conscience.
Look at you, the voice that never left him said, almost kindly. Your family is still alive, you know. Just barely hanging on without you. Jinu-ah, you really have no honor! He could almost hear the delighted click of the tongue, the rasping hiss of hell that always came with the demon’s voice in his ear.
Jinu buttoned his eyes shut and tried not to react.
What if I took it all away? Would you go home then? Try to apologize, and see if your meager talent can save them again? Aish, when you’re starving in the streets, at least there will be a pretty tune to play…
“Shut up!” Jinu hissed aloud, wrenching the pin from his topknot. His hair came loose around his shoulders as he curled tighter underneath his blanket.
It’s okay. You’ll be with me soon enough. See?
The purple glow crept under his eyelids, forced them open. Forced him to see how far up his chest and arms they’d crawled, almost wrapping around his throat.
Hedonism or Confucianism? Our Jinu-ya is so morally upright, he won’t even have any fun before he goes to hell!
“I hate you.”
You’re supposed to.
Jinu gazed into the purple glow of his patterns before darkness swallowed him whole. He could hear, somewhere, that girl calling his name.
Four hundred years wasn’t much, when you really thought about it. First there was the waiting, which he estimated to be about a decade, though it passed in fits and starts that felt like either seconds or centuries. Then he slept, swam through years of confusing dreams of swallowing souls and his teeth sharpening, eyes turning yellow and glowing with hate. Gwi-Ma stayed with him, encouraging him, cheering him on.
Jinu entered a fugue state eventually. He slept for decades, woke every half century or so to feed. Just enough to keep him going, keep him asleep for as long as possible.
Around the 380 year mark, Gwi-Ma woke him up and made him stay awake. Jinu resented that.
The twenty-first century wasn’t that great, all things considered. There were the main conveniences, such as phones, cars, and indoor plumbing. But the people – The people were still the same.
Boring. Lazy. Self-interested.
There was nothing remarkable about anyone in the world at all, he told himself, and that made it much easier to feed.
He tried to steal souls from lonely people, at first. Homeless people in big cities that no one would miss.
“I know what you’re doing, Jinu,” Gwi-Ma whispered, almost conversationally. Jinu jumped away from the young woman in the alley, claws retracting instantly. “No, no, don’t let me interrupt your meal. I was just wondering whether you were getting tired of picking at gutter scraps.”
“This isn’t–”
The girl was stirring, confused and feeble, half her soul already devoured.
“Do you think yourself noble, taking people without families? People that won’t be missed? You think you can lessen the damage you do this way…That any of it means something.”
“I don’t – That isn’t–”
“It is, you know it is. When will you learn, Jinu-ya, when will you learn…that all you are is selfish, greedy, a monster. A killer.”
Jinu screamed, then, out of pure frustration, and incinerated the girl with a single swipe of his claws.
Blood soaked him, and he staggered back, looking with fresh eyes on the scene before him. A bedroll. A lantern. Books, piled high beside the small camp tent.
And a photograph, soaked in blood, of the girl standing beside an older woman, both smiling.
A red phone on the ground began to ring.
“Pick it up.”
“I–”
“I said pick it up.”
Hands shaking, Jinu cradled the phone and flipped it open. An older woman’s voice burst in, loud against the traffic noises at the front of the alley.
“Oh, Jihye, Jihye, finally!” She sobbed. Jinu stayed silent, holding the phone. The woman on the other end sniffed, clearing her throat. “Jihye, mom is sorry, alright? Come home tonight. I’ll make gimbap, whatever you want. Your brother came back from the military base just to see you, made a special trip all the way out, imagine that..” She chattered on, interspersed with sobs as Jinu stood frozen, blood dripping slowly off his face and phone in his hand.
“Now look what you did,” Gwi-Ma said reproachfully. “And you were doing so well. Ah, but we all make mistakes, don’t we?”
“Jihye, I’m so glad you’re coming home.”
The phone fell from his limp fingers and smashed into the cement, gone.
I’m so glad you’re coming home.
“Do you miss your mother?”
Jinu fell to his knees in the alleyway and screamed.
And then, after that….
After that?
There was no after that.
He was here.
And here was…
Nothing.
A void of endless darkness.
Peaceful darkness. He didn’t have to listen to Gwi-ma’s shameful insistances anymore; didn’t have to listen to the other demons whine and nag all the time. Best of all, he didn’t have to live with the painful memories of what he had done to his family. He could be free.
Except… it was just the slightest bit odd that he could still form thoughts. He was still fully aware of himself, he just had no eyes. Or ears. Or body in general. He was solidly lacking in physical qualities, which was quite unfortunate—now he had to suffer through eternity without perfect clear skin and luscious hair.
Was this eternity? He’d thought he would be free of everything. His earthly body, his soul, his memories. Yet he could recall everything in perfect clarity, each memory coming back to him with more stunning pain then the last.
Was this hell, instead? Was there always a place worse than the demon realm waiting for him? Even after everything, he was still damned to suffer?
If Jinu had had eyes to close, he would have shut them tightly.
Less than a dream and more than a memory, someone was humming from far away. The tune was familiar, and annoying.
You’re all I can think of, every drop I drink up–
Jinu felt as if a bucket of cold water had been violently thrown over him. No. No way. He couldn’t–
The darkness shattered.