Chapter Text
“Move, girl.”
A powerful knock caused Rumi to stumble forwards, pain blaring from her shoulder. The rusty chains on her wrist cut into her arms and clanked loudly, disrupting the order of the march around her. Within her, a deep pit of vengeance took form. She clenched her fingers into her palms, trying not to let out a growl.
Currently, her and the other misfits had been chained and put into solider-like lines. They had a destination – that much was clear from the way they kicked them all along. But could they tell them where? No. Could they give them something to eat, drink? No. Maybe a respite, every now and then? Also no.
Rumi was down hard on her luck.
The march upwards was all she could feel. Or focus on.
It was hiking all over again.
“You could at least try to look like you don’t want to kill someone,” Came a sudden voice from beside her.
It was the pink-haired, gangly demon. The one who looked like he was even worse off than she was, and had told her where they were going. The one with those freakishly human eyes.
Rumi grimaced, then tried to relax her face. She still shot a glare at the pink-haired demon. He wouldn’t win that easily.
“Making conversation now, huh?” She muttered, not at all bitter. Taking her slow steps forward made her acutely aware of how frail she felt right now. She hadn’t eaten in what was probably days – and the only luck she’d had with water was a small, dirty spring the day before.
“So what? Maybe I’m bored.” Said the other demon in his deep, clear voice. Truly, it sounded completely out of place for his build.
“You’re funny.”
In the dusky purple light, Rumi saw a smile crack across the demon’s face.
They trudged along more, and one of the more “demon-y” looking demons up ahead got kicked forwards. Their supervisor was a tusked Dokkaebi, snarling and almost blue in the face despite her green pallor. Rumi felt the urge to pull out her weapon strengthen just looking at her – if only to wipe the sneer off her face.
But Rumi didn’t have her sword.
“You know, you look awfully depressed a lot of the time.”
Rumi turned her head around, slowly taking in the audacity of her chatty demon partner.
“Really. You’re joking,” Rumi stuck her hands up purposefully, giving the black chains on her wrist a good shake. The action made the cold parts of the metal nudge her arms, and Rumi cringed at the feeling.
The demon scoffed, as if her point was null, “This is what happens. All new demons, stray demons, and rebellious demons get picked up like this. You’re in the same boat as everyone else here.”
Rumi raised an eyebrow, a tickle of curiosity wedged in her chest, “And which category do you fall in, oh so talkative demon that hasn’t told me his name?”
He paused, something guilty briefly overtaking his face. As it did, Rumi felt a quick wave of pain, but it left as quickly as it came. Something about this demon was dredging up memories, and not in a good way.
The demon turned, looking earnest, “I... fall in the new category. And my name is Abby.”
Rumi’s heart stopped.
The roar of flames
The enthralled crowd
The sardonic smiles
The burnt sand, the purple faces, the voices of sirens-
Abby’s familiar eyes kept staring at Rumi as she struggled not to internally collapse. Unbidden, the memory of that tall, muscular demon falling backwards at her kick, the sheer malice in his eyes, the rage in her own chest, filled her mind.
He looks nothing like that now.
Seeing him, this demon right here – it was still unmistakeably him. He was Abby of the Saja boys. The face was the same, the features all sharp and sarcastic – but somehow, he was simply different. Weaker, like an unfed eagle, caved in at the chest. She’d honestly not recognised him because of how differently he was built.
Which begs the question, how the hell is he here now? How does he not recognise me?
Did Gwi-Ma’s defeat take his strength? Make him forget?
Make him think he was a “new” demon?
What are you playing at, monster?
“Wow, you can stop looking at me like that. You asked,” Abby grimaced, clearly mistaking Rumi’s utter bewilderment for something else.
The bewilderment, however, had made Rumi unable to speak. Speaking – with all of those thoughts and questions and suspicions – felt like processing dust through sludge. Painful, useless, and slow.
Eventually, and toying with every instinct in her mind, she decided upon a route of confrontation that her tired body could manage best. The one she was forced to default to, when surrounded by demons, in the demon world, without her sword or energy or friends.
I’ve really lucked out this time.
Letting out a breath, Rumi’s eyes turned steely as she locked gazes with Abby.
“Abby. You said... you were new. As in, a new demon,” Rumi felt her mouth turn dry, words like a desperate plea in her mouth, “Listen. Before I give you my name, before I can say anything more – I just want you to answer one question. I have to know.
What year do you think it is?”
She hadn’t meant for it to come out so heartbroken, but she knew her voice only spoke of worlds of hurt and pain and confusion.
“What year?” Abby’s eyes narrowed, enhancing how human they looked. The back of Rumi’s mind whispered how they would look just like a jaguar’s – a normal demon’s – if you peeled the skin just a bit. Still, something within her cracked.
“Yes,” Rumi said coldly, eyeing the way their supervisor was strutting back their way.
“Last I checked it was the year 1999. But I’ve been down here a while, so that could have changed. What year do you think it is?”
19-
Within Rumi’s head, an inferno sparked to life, engulfing every rational thought in its path – it was going wild with Abby’s words, with his admission.
Of nineteen ninety freaking nine.
A puzzle piece within Rumi’s mind that had been missing fell into a place. The awful click of the strange, red Honmoon, the weird sense of civilisation in the underworld, the way an undead Saja boy somehow stood in front of her. It set her heart afloat in the most unsettling way.
Of course, it could be the wrong conclusion. It could be that Abby had simply lost his memories, and all of his muscle, in the span of the few days since Gwi-Ma was defeated.
But there was an old, uncanny instinct in Rumi’s heart that whispered truths she didn’t like to hear. Like how she wasn’t really human. Or that Celine wasn’t always right. Or how Jinu was really gone.
Oh you’ve really done it this time.
Rumi looked up at the sky, at the old Honmoon, turquoise and as ancient as the demon scars on her arms. Despite it being a symbol of hope, Rumi only took it as something so incomprehensibly ridiculous that it was almost funny. So extremely funny.
Bitter, breathless laughter broke out over the sounds of the march.
Chains rattled around her as they looked towards her, as her laughter increased. Some sneered, some didn’t. Rumi didn’t care. It was loud, but she didn’t care.
How could she?
She’d freaking time travelled.