Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Celine had been right.

Even after they defeated Gwi-Ma, Zoey and Mira continued to hold her at arms length.

In the moment, she thought things would be okay.

After Celine refused to run her through, Rumi made the choice to finish what she was supposed to, come what may. She'd been prepared to fail, prepared to die alone, desperately.

But Mira and Zoey, her friends, her family, the two people she always expected to be there, were there. They were right there with her.

The fight was a blur, but their faces remained clear in her memories. Clearer than anything else she'd experienced before. They looked at her the same way they used to. With care, concern.

At least they could look at her.

And yet once the fight was over, once the adrenaline died down and they made it home, exhausted and ready to rest for the foreseeable future, Rumi tried to lift the mood. She mentioned the fight, and how well they'd all done. She said they deserved to celebrate, and pulled out her phone, speaking in a sing song voice about ordering food.

They shot her down quickly, insisting that they were too tired, and they could do that later. That they could eat after sleeping.

But Rumi noticed. She saw their gazes flickering to each other, watched as their lips thinned, and saw the way their body tensed and they avoided looking at her body. At the patterns covering her skin.

She didn't argue, just went to her room, while Zoey and Mira disappeared into the one they shared.

They hadn't eaten in a while, Rumi had been certain they were starving. She certainly was, but she waited. She laid in bed, messing with her hair, until she heard the chime of someone at the door, and smelled the food through the door.

Maybe they'd changed their minds? Rumi stood up, crossing her room in an instant before freezing with her hand on the doorknob.

The door to her friends’ room just closed.

She let go of the door, walking back to her bed and dropping herself on the edge of it. She stared at the small metal basket near her bed, her trash bin, and felt a pang deep in her chest.

She wasn't invited.

__________________________________________________________________

Celine had been right.

Rumi left her room and walked into the living room, where Mira and Zoey were sitting on the couch together in a tangled mess, eating popcorn as they watched a corny drama.

They looked up at her with mild shock, and almost immediately, their eyes darted down to her arms, which she'd covered with a long sleeve shirt. She'd also tried to hide the marks on her face with makeup, though that didn't work very well.

“Hey, girls.” She tried, stiff smile accentuating cracked lips.

“..hey, Rumi.” Zoey responded with an identical smile, fidgeting with her hands. Her voice was pitched up in the way it gets when she's nervous.

Hesitantly, Rumi took a seat on the couch, at the opposite end of her friends. “What're you guys watching?”

“Some random drama we came across. We didn't look for anything specific.” Zoey forced a laugh. Rumi waited a beat, to see if she'd offer to restart it like always.

She didn't.

“Listen, uhm, can we talk?” She finally asked, feeling heavy doubt settling in. The room darkened, the voices from the T.V fading as the faces of her friends came into greater focus.

The lines covering her body almost burned, and she gripped her arm with a vengeance, nails digging into her skin through the sleeve of her shirt. Her chest tightened, and the heavy air caged her on her spot on the couch. The space between her and her friends, her teammates, her family, grew as the seconds ticked by.

“Talk?” Zoey asked, feigning obliviousness, obviously trying to steer Rumi away from the topic she knew she was about to broach. Mira still hadn’t spoken to her. She barely even seemed to want to look at her.

Did her patterns really change that much between them?

Steeling herself, Rumi forced herself to continue. They had to address it eventually. They needed to stop running from it. She wanted to go back to how things used to be. She wanted her friends back.

“Yeah. Talk about my patterns.”

Zoey flinched, Mira’s eyes narrowed as she continued to stare at the television screen. “Why do we need to talk about your—uhm—those?” Her smile stretched thinner, straining more and more. Rumi grabbed her braid, slowly running her hands over it.

“Well, we haven’t talked since we defeated Gwi-Ma, and I wanted to explain.”

“I-I don’t think there’s anything to explain. I mean, we know what those are. Is there anything to explain?”

“It’s just that you guys have been so distant.” Rumi began to feel desperation taking over, unable to stop herself from revealing what she’d been feeling. She wanted to keep a level head when she explained, and now she was becoming emotional. “I want to go back to being good friends with you. I mean, when we were fighting Gwi-Ma, it felt magical! That song was perfect, a-and I thought we’d be okay after talking now, instead of singing. I miss hanging out, and I don’t want you guys to feel like I betrayed you! I wanted to tell you, I really did!”

Mira shot up from the couch, stalking over towards her room before Rumi could say anything. The hope flickering in her stomach went up in smoke, leaving behind a cold, aching chasm.

Zoey jumped to her feet and began to follow after her. “I’m sorry, Rumi.” She began, wringing out her hands. “I just don’t think right now is really a good time.”

Zoey hurried past where she was seated on the couch, and Rumi reached out instinctively, grabbing her hand to stop her. She watched a flicker of disgust cross over her face before it was replaced with shock, and eventually discomfort. Rumi quickly let go of her hand, as if it burned. The memory of them finding out about her patterns flashed across her mind. The memory plagued her nightmares. Running off that stage, hoping to find comfort in her real friends, only to find that they think she’s just another demon. That she was always one of them. Watching them raise their weapons against her, as if she would ever hurt them or anyone else for that matter, and realizing for the first time, that Celine was right.

They did hate her, didn’t they?

“Maybe… we can talk at the bathhouse?” It was the final attempt, her last desperate struggle to repair their fractured relationship and begin rebuilding their trust in her.

Zoey pursed her lips, brows twisting up and nose curling out of what was either disgust or pain. Her lips trembled, and her eyes glistened.

“I think we just need some time, Rumi. It’s… a lot to process. We’ll come to you when we’re ready to talk. Okay?” Her voice cracked at the end.

“O-Okay…” Rumi relented, pulling her feet up onto the couch. “I’ll be waiting then, I guess.”

“Bye, Rumi. We’ll see you later.” Zoey skittered off towards her shared room with Mira, shutting and locking the door behind her. The quiet click of the lock rang in her ears, drowning out the T.V. her friends had left on.

Celine was right. She’d always been right.

Chapter Text

Rumi felt sick. She'd taken to only leaving her room at night, once she was certain Mira and Zoey had fallen asleep.

During the day, she flitted between wakefulness and sleep. Each time she'd find herself drifting off, she'd jolt awake, terrified that she might miss a knock at her door. She had to stay awake, just in case her friends came to see her.

She spent her hours awake pacing the room, slowly feeling herself going insane as she went days with no more than an hour or two of sleep.

She'd walk from one end of the room to the other, stare at her feet, chew her nails, and continue to repeat the cycle. Every so often, when she accidentally caught sight of herself in the mirror, she'd dissolve into tears, falling to her knees and slamming her hands against the floor.

She'd grip her hair in one hand, pulling fistfuls out with each desperate, anxiety-ridden tug, and cover her mouth with the other to stifle her sobs.

She'd suffocate herself to avoid them hearing her cry. How would they look at her then, if they heard? If they suddenly felt guilt forcing them to reconnect? She couldn't take it if they felt forced to forgive her.

Eventually, on the third day, she threw her blanket over the mirror. Even then she couldn't hide from her reflection. It followed her. She could see it through the blanket. Every time she saw her skin, looked in that direction, she felt as though the patterns were getting worse.

It felt like they were digging into her skin—going from markings similar to tattoos to years-old scars. They were embedded within her, forever marring her skin, deciding the life she'd live without any input from her.

Every now and then, she'd summon her weapon for the comfort of holding it in her hands. She'd hold it close, cradling it while sitting on the floor, back to her balcony.

It was a reminder. A reminder that she was not one of them. That she was more hunter than demon. That she was still good. It was all she could do to convince herself that just being able to summon her blade was enough to make her worth loving.

The fifth day passed with Rumi in a trance. The blanket had fallen from the mirror, and she found herself entirely unable to look away. Even as disgust turned her stomach, and her nails bit into the skin of her shoulders, she couldn't avert her eyes.

It was something akin to morbid fascination—like when people are intrigued by things that are considered gross.

The longer she stared, limbs numb from sitting still for hours on end, the more she wondered what was wrong with her.

What exactly was it that disgusted Mira and Zoey so much? Could she change it? Was it more than her patterns? It had to be, didn’t it?

It was too sudden of a change, too unpredictable. The had to have harbored some hatred towards her beforehand.

Was it her voice? Was it too pitchy when she sang? Did they feel upset because she was too loud? Did she consume far too much of the spotlight? Was she being unfair?

Was it her hair? Did it get in the way? Did it take her too long to braid it when she was getting ready? Did it cause them to be late to something before?

What about her face? Did she put on too much makeup? Too little? Did it not look right on stage? Was she doing enough to take care of her skin? Was she unsightly?

Was she too bossy? Was she too energetic? Was she too naive? Was she too pessimistic? How about optimistic? Was she just too much?

Was she too many parts demon?

The sixth day passed with Rumi wrapped under endless nightmares. Unable to stay awake any longer, she fell into a deep sleep. Even the ringing of her phone at full volume—a call from Bobby—couldn't wake her.

The nightmares cycled between each other all night, disjointed and convoluted, only adding to the anxiety and terror each one produced.

The cycle began with Jinu's death. He protected her from Gwi-Ma, and allowed Zoey, Mira, and herself to defeat him and save the people trapped under the Saja Boys’ spell.

Following the destruction of Gwi-Ma, Rumi would turn around to face the other two, grinning and feeling light on her feet, only to see them staring at her with disappointment and resentment.

“I can’t believe we had to work together with a demon to finish off Gwi-Ma.” Mira would cross her arms, spitting venom at Rumi, refusing to lower her weapon against her.

“I thought we were friends.” Zoey would whisper, wringing her hands and side-stepping into Mira’s shadow.

Behind them, Rumi could see the faces of the people in the crowd. Their fans.

They were all staring at her arms. All surprised—digusted—by her arms, her face, her being. Everyone knew what she was, there was no hiding it, nothing she could do.

The scene would switch, and she’d find herself in front of Celine. But that time, as a child. Celine would be braiding her hair as Rumi hummed to herself, idly tapping her hands against the ground.

She’d hear the sharp, piercing shwing of a sword being drawn. Yet, as a child, how was she to recognize the adult she valued as highly as a mother would be drawing a weapon against her?

“Is the braid done?” She’d ask instantly, right as the glint of metal danced into her field of vision, and a blade swung across her neck as the nightmare progressed.

Rumi was no longer a part of her nightmare. Instead, she seemed to be observing from an outsider’s perspective. She watched the world turn, observed Mira and Zoey living a life without her.

Mira and Zoey were as closely knit as ever, even without her there. There was never a need for them to be a trio. They were the first demon hunters that were successful without a third. They were even more popular on their own than all three of them had been together, and were better at fighting off demons and restoring the Honmoon. The Saja Boys hadn’t stood a chance against them.

Voices began to invade her dream. It was her fault that people were suffering. Because she, a half-hunter half-demon monster, was no longer there, the real hunters found it much easier to protect their world from the demon realm.

Rumi finally woke up after a number of cycles through those scenes, each more graphic and painful than the last, and resolved herself to avoid sleep as much as possible from then on. Not only because she wanted to make sure she was awake to talk to her friends, but because she didn’t want to see those things again.

On the eighth day, she was jolted awake from another fitful sleep by a wet piece of paper falling onto her face, and the sharp caw of a bird inside her room.

Chapter Text

Something smacked her in the face, ripping her out of her repeating nightmares and bringing her face to face with the tiger and bird Jinu used to send messages with.

Rumi's head snapped towards the door, double checking that it was locked, before turning back to the tiger.

“Why are you here?!” She hissed, voice straining to remain as quiet as possible. The tiger continued to stare, eyes as wide as always, strange grin as unsettlingly cute as the first time she’d seen it.

Eventually, its eyes slowly lowered to look at the paper she’d slapped off her face. It was another invitation card just like the ones Jinu would send.

Rumi stared at it, hand slowly moving to grab it, heart thrumming in her throat. The card seemed to draw her in. Anticipation and fear twisted into a whirlwind within her. What if it was really from Jinu? Was he… was he okay?

Was he alive?

Her fingertips brushed over the card, when without warning, Mira’s laughter and Zoey’s shrieking indignation sounded from the living room.

Rumi snapped her hand back as though the card had burned her, staring at the door, shrinking back as it loomed above her, foreboding and final.

The room held a chill to it that had only gotten worse over the days she’d locked herself in it. It was something that couldn’t be controlled by the thermostat. It was a chill deep, deep within her bones, infecting the space around her, turning her nails purple and pinkening her nose.

The chill was something lonely.

Rumi fully turned away from the card, twisting around to face the tiger and bird again instead. “Go away.” She ordered, doing her utmost to make it sound sincere and commanding. The tiger simply stared at her, slowly turning its head to the side as the bird blinked from between its ears.

She couldn’t imagine how Zoey and Mira would react if they saw her with demons in her room. She might lose them forever. She couldn’t risk it. If they wanted to come talk to her, and the tiger and bird were there, they might misunderstand her. They might think she was on the demon’s side, and decide then and there that she was a threat, and they needed to be rid of her.

Rumi knew she wouldn’t be able to bring herself to stop them.

She grabbed the invitation on the floor, shaking it slightly to get rid of some of the slobber, and grabbed a lighter from her bedside table. Without hesitation, she flicked on the lighter and held it up the card, watching it go up in smoke.

It didn’t matter what it said. Jinu was dead. At best, the letter was from before they defeated Gwi-Ma. It wouldn’t be worth the risk. She needed to make sure her friends knew where her allegiance lay.

She was more hunter than demon, and she swore to herself that she would make them believe that, too. She summoned her weapon, brandishing it at the tiger, which took a step back to avoid the blade grazing its fur. “I said leave. Before I kill you.” The tiger stood stock still, observing her, cheshire grin as wide as usual, and Rumi continued to stare it down.

Her gaze remained unrelenting, refusing to back down from their standoff, trying her best to convince all three of them that she was truly planning to hurt the two passive demons. With a hesitant flinch, she jabbed the sword forwards, and the tiger dipped down, lowering its head to avoid the blade while the bird took to the air with a squawk.

Once the bird resettled on the tiger’s head, the two seemed to finally believe she meant business, and sank into the floor, slowly disappearing from sight, leaving her alone once again. That time, however, it had been by her own choice that she’d been abandoned. She made the choice to turn her back, in order to remain loyal to her two oldest friends, the ones who had been there for her through everything.

She sank back to the ground, knees digging painfully into the cold, hard floor. She rested her forehead against the hilt of her sword, body trembling as silent tears fell from burning eyes, staining her pants. The markings covering her body felt more present than usual. Larger, darker, painful even.

Why was she forced to carry the weight of being stuck between worlds? Why did her mother betray humanity, betray her fellow hunters, by falling for a demon? How could she ever? It was all her fault. She doomed her own daughter to a life of solitude. A day would’ve come eventually, where the truth would have gotten out. Maybe not so publicly, but Mira and Zoey would have found out at least. This still would’ve been her life: locked away in a room, isolated as if she were infected. As if the blood in her veins was evil incarnate. As if holding her near would cause the infection to spread.

She dropped her weapon, leaning back against the side of her bed as the sword dissipated before hitting the ground. Only half-aware of what she was doing, Rumi stared into the mirror while scratching at her arm, nails biting deeply into the skin, reaching for an itch nestled within the pits of her defective soul.

The face in the mirror was one that couldn’t belong to her. Covered in purple patterns, the signs of a demon, one eye glowing brightly. Almost like a lightbulb.

She chuckled to herself dejectedly, wondering briefly if the last bits of her sanity were finally leaving her.

Her hair was a tangled mess, likely unsalvageable at that point. She hadn’t bothered to brush it in days, and had made a mess of it ages ago by running her hands through her loose hair, digging into it when her fears became too much, and shaking her head back and forth to free herself from the thoughts that plagued her.

Her cheeks were pale, face thinner than it used to be. The bones around her neck were far more pronounced, and her clothes hung off her body, a size and a half too big.

She watched the skin she scratched turn red, raw, and bloody. She continued to scratch, unable to notice any pain, because that creature in the mirror was not her. That bleeding arm was not part of her body, and the fingernails now painted cherry red moved without her approval. She was somewhere else, watching that demon in the mirror sit there, waiting for it to go away.

The demon continued staring back at her, eyes taunting her.

What if the girls walked in when it was there? What if they saw that demon sitting there, staring at her ever so peacefully, and assumed they were on the same side? What if they struck them both down?

Rumi glanced away from the mirror, shutting her eyes and tilting her head back until her neck fell over the edge of her mattress.

How did things end up going so wrong? She’d done everything right. Relentlessly, she’d sliced through hoards of demons, ran her voice hoarse rehearsing to take down the Saja Boys, and never put anything before her duties. She was a hunter before she was a person, because if she allowed herself to act more person than hunter, she was afraid the demon half living in her blood would infect the good in her.

She’d tried, she’d tried so very hard to remain good. She made up for her sinful existence by purging the demons from their lands, sending them down to the depths where they belonged, and only hoped that she’d be spared for her efforts.

Perhaps this was worse than being sent to Gwi-Ma.

She still lived among the humans, still lived with a soul, as a hunter, and yet she was alone. Dragged into deeper depths than the most depraved of the demons, forced to suffer as she fought her own mind, her own inhumanity, her own loneliness.

Zoey laughed loudly from the living room, drowning out Mira’s quieter snickers, voice as crazed as a hyena, and yet as merry as a child during the holidays. Desperation clung to Rumi’s skin like sludge, and she crawled towards the door, pressing her ear to it and forcing out a small chuckle. It was too quiet for those in the living room to hear, too depraved to belong to anyone sane, too dark for it to sound cheerful.

She held her breath, straining to hear from the living room, imagining the faces of her friends, envisioning the living room, and planting herself in the middle of the delusion, alongside her friends, like she’d never left their side.

She wasn’t lonely any longer, not with her friends right there. They smiled at her, laughed with her, leaned against her and allowed her to lean against them. Her skin was clean, and their gaze met her own. Not a trace of disgust or fear lingering in their expressions.

They looked at her, really looked at her, and they didn’t hate what they saw.

Chapter Text

Rumi woke up, a crick in her neck from falling asleep against the door.

Almost immediately, she noticed a strong throbbing in her arm, accompanied by a stinging pain when she moved it. Peeling her eyes open, squinting against the light, she stared down at her arm.

Deep, rough gashes covered her forearm, directly over the patterns covering her skin. She stared at them, at the blood that had dried in rivers down her hand, pooling in her elbow, trailing onto the floor around her.

When—

She glanced at the mirror, a flood of memories from the night before surfacing before she could chase them away.

She'd gotten rid of a few demons. That was it, this was just a wound from fighting.

She pressed herself against the door, listening for any noises coming from the hall or common areas, before she peeled open the door and slipped out, heading directly into the bathroom. She shoved her arm under the water, scrubbing away the dried blood, before finding the disinfectant. She poured some onto the wound, hissing at the sudden burning sensation, and patted it clean before wrapping it in bandages.

Her arm burned, thrumming worse than before. It was fine. It'd settle in a bit, it was just irritated because she'd messed with it.

She heard another door click open just as she began to leave the bathroom, and her stomach dropped.

Frozen in place, she came face to face with Mira. She was half-asleep, still in her pajamas with messy, unbrushed hair. Rumi kept her bandaged arm hidden behind the door, gripping the lightswitch like her life depended on it.

“M-Mira.” Her voice came out smaller than she intended. It was shaky, hoarse, and cracked at the end of Mira’s name. It burned her throat to speak, and she had to suppress a cough.

Mira stared at her for a few moments, expression harsh, gaze unrelenting. Rumi watched her clenched her fists, watched her eyes trace the patterns on her face, neck.

She lifted her attention back to her face and nodded. “Rumi. Been a while.”

Rumi felt like collapsing from relief. She spoke to her, finally. Hearing a human voice, and not through a door, was a miracle. She flinched, having to stop herself from reflexively reaching out and showing her bandaged arm.

She planted her feet firmly on the ground, clenching her jaw and digging her nails into the wall hard enough for her to feel one bending and breaking.

“Yeah, it has been.” She forced out, barely more than a whisper.

If her voice had been any better, she might’ve broken into pleas. She might’ve begged Mira not to abandon her. She might’ve fallen right there in front of her, dropping to her knees and making herself seem like as little of a threat as possible.

Mira turned to face the wall. “Bobby called you.”

Rumi faltered. “He… he did?”

“Yeah. Said he couldn't get in touch with you. Zoey told him you were fine. Still, call him back. Sometime. We've still got jobs to do.” Mira huffed, arms crossed. “See ya later.”

Before Rumi had a chance to respond, Mira strode past her and disappeared around the corner.

Something final broke in Rumi's chest. Her lungs grew heavier, and her breaths more labored. Her neck felt too weak to hold up her head, and her hair dragged her chin down until she was staring at the floor like a heavy chain.

She flicked the light off, and stared at her broken nail. She trembled, unsteady as she dragged herself back to her room.

She shut her door, and stood before it, the soles of her feet stopping in the dried puddles of blood.

Her blood.

Her red, human blood.

She was still human. Her blood confirmed it. She was more human that demon.

Tears slipped down her cheeks, silent and slow, unlike her previous messy, desperate sobs.

She didn't feel human.

________________________________________________________

Rumi stared at the bandages she'd wrapped her arms in until they began to itch.

It must've been at least a day at that point, if the darkening and brightening of her room was any sort of sign.

Slowly, she peeled away the bandages, revealing new, delicate scabs in patches over the scratches. Some places looked a little more healed than others.

Her eyes had begun growing heavy, vision blurring out every few moments. Once the uncomfortable bandages had been removed, Rumi found herself drifting off. Rather peacefully, at that.

________________________________________________________

That small bit of interaction sustained Rumi for the next few days. Time passed in less of a haze, which was both a blessing and a curse.

She spent her time pacing, scratching idly at her arm, and staring at the wounds healing.

Multiple times, she'd stop, standing still as a deer in headlights, and would take out her phone. She'd ignore the notification about her low battery, and would open her contacts.

Her finger would hover over Bobby's contact, before she'd quickly launch her phone back onto her bed and drop to the ground, shaking and holding her head.

She could almost imagine herself turning into one of those disgusting demons. How could she ever call Bobby? How could she ever dare bring herself to pretend to be like the rest of them? Like her fans, like her friends—the people who were practically her siblings.

Eventually, her eyes would settle on her arm. After that, the pattern would repeat.

That day, however, was different. That day, Rumi’s mind felt slightly clearer than before. Her desperation had grown, and yet she seemed to be able to think clearly.

It was a curse. For her mind to be stable. For her to be able to process coherent thought. For her to be able to make observations.

Time passed normally, for once.

She stared at her arm for seconds. Minutes. An hour.

Her arm was different.

The wound had healed, the old scab having fallen away some time ago.

Her phone buzzed on the bed.

The door to the apartment shut with a loud clack.

The air thickened. Shadows crept towards her, licking at her feet and wrapping around her wrists.

The hair on her neck stood up, and a shiver ran down her spine.

Her shoulders raised, and her body stiffened.

Almost in a trance, Rumi rose to her feet.

A voicemail began to play from her bed. Bobby.

She twisted the door handle. She thought the daylight would've stopped her, enough of a threat of being seen, and yet her feet continued past her open door without hesitation.

She moved steadily towards the bathroom, mind empty. Clear.

She breathed easily.

She crossed into the bathroom, and her sword materialized in her hand without her conscious summoning.

She raised her free arm in front of her. Her scarred arm.

She stopped with her toes against the bath.

She stared at the scarred skin interrupting the patterns.

She held her arm straight.

She held it steady.

She raised her sword. A weapon meant for slaying demons. For purifying the world. For protecting others. For saving lives.

She could slay the demon infecting her.

She pressed the blade to her skin.

She'd remove each of the marks cursing her to live this lonely life.

It was okay to have scars.

It wasn't okay to be a demon.

Rumi would carry out her duty. She'd slay the demon before her.

Chapter Text

The glowing blade sliced neatly through her skin, and Rumi noticed no pain.

The blade was only removing the infected skin—the parts that were no longer her. They weren’t connected to her, she couldn’t feel them.

Rumi, eyes wide and unfocused, vision blurry, placed the sharp side of the blade against her skin, dragged it across her arm and carefully picked out all the skin covered in the disease. Blood beaded up to the surface, blade met with slight resistance, before it suddenly sank into flesh with the power of a dying vampire searching for a meal.

After that, she took the weapon and cut her skin off in mostly thin slices, careful not to dig deeper than the marks went. Her blade, usually clean, since demons didn’t bleed, almost seemed to be permanently stained. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever be able to remove the red from its glow.

Still. Wouldn’t that prove just how far she went? Just how human she was? How could she do this so easily, if she wasn’t entirely human? Once the patterns were gone, her mind and body would finally show the same thing. She was human. Just human.

Slabs of skin fell into the tub with a sickening splat, blood falling in much the same manner. Soon, her right arm became a patchwork of missing skin, bloody pits, and exposed muscle in places she’d dug the blade in too deep.

Even if she wasn’t able to feel the pain when she removed the patterns correctly, the blood loss still began to affect her. When she was about halfway done with her arm, and only had her shoulder left, she dropped to her knees, legs trembling with the effort to keep her standing. Her arm began to feel heavy, and carrying her sword grew difficult.

Her hand shook, and the slices on her shoulder came out sloppier than the rest of them, digging too deep more often than not. And she still had the rest of her body to do.

Her head spun, and her hand slipped on the final strike. Luckily, the sword fell away from her, and she avoided injuring herself from the mistake.

She laid her head on the side of the tub, sword vanishing, and left her bleeding arm in the tub. She’d probably be fine, wouldn’t she? Her breathing slowed, and her eyes closed. No longer did her heart pound in her chest, nor did her head ache, splitting with the force of her thoughts.

No longer did it hurt to live.

Gently, Rumi drifted off to sleep, expression peaceful, smiling freely.

_________________________________________________________________________

Rumi woke to noise in the living room. The voices of Mira and Zoey, laughing, with the television buzzing quietly beneath them.

She glanced towards her arm, to see it had scarred over already, marred and ugly, but natural. They were human marks, not demon patterns. That was all that mattered, really, wasn’t it?

She picked herself off the ground, turning her arm to examine all sides, to see how successful her removal of the patterns had been. She couldn’t find a hint of purple left on that arm. It was perfect. She’d proved to herself that she could become human—she could remove the demonic parts of her, even without the Honmoon.

It hadn’t done anything for her when they’d properly defeated Gwi-Ma and sealed the Honmoon, so wasn’t this her final option? Wasn’t this truly what she was meant to do? A test of strength, of resilience, of her humanity?

She was human enough to do whatever it took to no longer be part demon. She had to have passed, right? She had to be human. She had to be a hunter.

“Hey, that was mine!” Zoey’s shrill voice drifted into the bathroom, soon followed by Mira’s raucous laughter.

That time, Rumi saw no need to hesitate in stepping out into the light. Only demons hid in the shadows. Humans—Hunters—were built to glow.

And she was human.

“Mira? Zoey?” Rumi entered the living room, standing behind the couch, arms at her side. “Can we talk now?”

The two came to a sudden stop. Zoey froze, hand still outstretched towards the cup of ramen Mira held out of her reach, before she quickly climbed off her and stiffly dropped back onto the couch.

Slowly, Mira placed the ramen on the table, eyes frozen on Rumi’s face, as if she was waiting for her to do something.

“Uhm… I-It’s kinda late, Rumi. I-I don’t know if right now is the best time… We should probably sleep before we get into a serious conversation.” Zoey rambled, waving her hands in the air, eyes flitting back and forth between her and Mira, nervously bouncing her knee.

“But we’ve put this off for so long! And–And I finally did what I should’ve long ago.”

Zoey’s voice fizzled out, and she clasped her hands together, shrinking down next to Mira.

“I know demons are evil, I’ve fought them for so long, just like you guys. But… I never really fought hard enough. If I really wanted to protect the world, to defeat all demons, I would’ve made sure to take out the easiest targets as well.” Rumi began, unscarred arm scratching her neck. “I mean, I should’ve dealt with my demon patterns long before we even got close to defeating Gwi-Ma. And yet I never actually did anything to make myself human again.”

“W-What are you–”

“But I finally figured it out! The patterns are like… an infection! If I could get rid of them, I’ll become human again. Just like Celine always said. And I realized…” Rumi couldn’t help smiling. This had to be the most wonderful moment in her life yet. Everything was perfect, she’d finally found a way to be good again, and could finally get her friends back. Zoey shifted, uncomfortable, and Mira pursed her lips, jaw clenching. Once they understood, they’d feel better. It was just all the talk about demons making them uncomfortable. Once she explained everything, they’d never have to talk about those things again.

They might even get to be normal girls. Not hunters.

“Getting rid of the patterns doesn’t hurt. Even if I cut them off, it doesn’t hurt at all, because they aren’t actually a part of my body! They’re a disease, an infection!”

Finally, she stepped around the couch, holding out her arm proudly, and watched as Zoey and Mira’s eyes fell to her bumpy, discolored, scarred skin. Her breath caught in her throat when Zoey clasped a hand over her mouth with a gasp, and Mira’s eyes widened with shock.

Did… did they not understand? Did they not believe her? Did they think it was a ruse?

What if they thought she was tricking them?

The lights around them dimmed, highlighting the three of them like some scene in a drama, and Rumi had the urge to turn and flee right then. But she was frozen in place. No matter how desperately she wanted it, she couldn’t move her feet. She couldn’t run. She couldn’t escape.

She couldn’t take it back.

This could be the last straw. If they didn’t believe Rumi, and they thought the worst of her, she might lose them forever. They might really pull their weapons on her that time, all previous hesitation stamped out. Then what would it have been for? What would her struggle have amounted to?

Dying human was surely better than dying a demon, though.

“Is that… real?” Zoey’s whispered voice cut through Rumi’s rampaging thoughts, and she nodded her head vigorously.

“You…” Mira began, standing from the couch. Before Rumi could find the courage to react, She had grabbed her arm, dragging it this way and that to examine it more closely.

“You actually managed to get rid of them.” Her voice softened, shock turning into light, pleasant surprise, and for the first time in ages, Mira smiled at her.

Zoey squealed, dragging them both into a hug by their necks. “We can be together again! Oh my gosh, you can go to the bathhouse with us now! We need to go as soon as possible!” She laughed, directly into Rumi’s ear. Still, it was welcome. All that previous fear and nervousness had vanished from Zoey’s demeanor, replaced by her usual bubbly personality.

It was exactly what she’d hoped so desperately for.

“But what about the rest of them?” Mira interrupted. Still, she didn’t seem upset by the fact that she was still mostly covered in patterns. If anything, she just seemed concerned.

Zoey let them go, looking Rumi up and down before nodding sagely. “Yeah, we’ve gotta wait until they’re all gone to go to the bathhouse, huh?” She tapped her foot, crossing her arms and jutting out her bottom lip in the way she did when she was thinking. “Oh! I know! We can help you get rid of the rest! That way we can help you get rid of them faster, and it’ll be less dangerous. I mean, I bet you can’t get the ones on your face.” Zoey smiled, beaming with the force of a thousand suns.

Mira placed a hand on her hip. “Yeah, and we can help make sure you don’t get hurt by accidentally cutting out more than just the patterns. Some of those scars look pretty bad, after all.”

Rumi’s expression faltered, and she glanced at her arm again. Most of the excitement had faded by then, and she was able to look at her skin with a clear mind. It did look rather… unsightly. “Oh, yeah. The fans probably won’t like those, will they? I’ll still have to wear things to cover them.”

Zoey and Mira’s hands covered her arm, hiding most of the scars from her view. She glanced back up at them, and finally began to feel warm again while bathing in their smiles.

“We can figure something out.”

“You don’t need to hide from us ever again, no matter what.”

“We can all make it part of our brand to wear longer sleeves and pants.”

“We’re right here with you, Rumi.”

“We always will be.”

_________________________________________________________________________

Rumi woke to the annoying buzz of the bathroom light. Her face was frozen, smashed against the cold side of the bathtub, and her arm ached with a level of pain she’d never felt before. She groaned, peeling her eyes open, blinking back a piercing headache and squinting through blurred, spotty vision.

From what she could tell, the rest of the apartment was dark, cold, and abandoned. She couldn’t hear any signs of Mira or Zoey. Where did they go?

And why was she back in the bathroom? Why did her arm hurt so much? Slowly, she tore her face off the cold tub to look at her arm, still sluggishly bleeding in a few places, although most of the wounds had clotted over by that point. Still, it wasn’t healed like she’d remembered it to be. It was bloody, raw, dirty, and painful.

The tub was full of a mixture of wet and dried spots of blood, as well as layered in chunks of flesh. It was all a mess.

Was waking up before a dream? Did she imagine it all? Did she imagine Mira and Zoey accepting her again?

She tried to get up, forcing herself to move the bloodied, burning arm, and gasped. A full-body flinch caused her to jump violently enough to knock her knee into the side of the tub, and she gagged before throwing up in the tub. She panted, staring in disgust at the contents of the tub, and began to dread cleaning up.

With her arm in the state it was in, she wasn’t going to be able to clean up easily. The blood and puke could probably be washed down the drain, but she’d have to remove the chunks of her arm first.

She caught her breath and decided to try moving her arm again. She started slow, trying to bend her fingers first. She managed to barely cause each of her fingers to twitch, although the effort sent pain shooting up her entire arm. Her vision spun, and she barely held back another wave of vomit by lowering her head onto the edge of the tub.

She shut her eyes, a small whine escaping her, and found herself wondering how she was even alive.

Her arm was free of all her patterns, but it was also almost entirely mutilated in the process. Sure, some parts still looked fine, but her sword wasn’t exactly a precise tool. If she’d had something smaller, maybe she’d have been able to minimize the damage.

She’d lost so much blood in the process, wouldn’t that have been enough to kill a normal human? Shouldn’t she have died?

She didn’t mean to die, but wouldn’t that have been the correct thing to happen? What did it mean, that she was still alive?

A sob tore through her chest, and her breath rattled in her lungs.

The apartment was so cold. So lonely. There was no one to help her, no one to show what she’d done like in her dream. No one to help her like in her dream.

Could she return to that dream? That perfect world, where her arm was all healed already and Mira and Zoey loved her again?

Did she need to wait until her arm was healed to show Mira and Zoey in the real world? She couldn’t imagine they’d accept her looking like she did. She probably looked less human in her current state than before.

Was her dream a sign that once her arm healed, she’d be loved again? Was it telling her not to tell them until it looked human? But how long would that take? How long would it take for her arm to look less monstrous?

She heard the front door open and her leg shot out to slam the door shut instinctively, sudden dread falling over her and replacing the pain.

She couldn’t let them see her yet. They couldn’t see what she’d done. Not until everything was perfect, like in her dream.

Rumi held her breath, biting back small sounds of pain with each slight movement of her arm. Zoey’s excitable voice floated in from the kitchen, while Mira’s voice droned on from the hallway near the bathroom.

Rumi waited for one of them to stop in front of the door, for one of them to acknowledge she was there, and yet it never happened. Neither of them stopped anywhere near her. They settled in their room not long after arriving, and she couldn’t tell whether that was a blessing or a heartbreak.

She felt so weak. So broken. So lonely. Tears joined the rest of the slop in the tub, and Rumi had neither the strength nor the will to stop them.

Quiet hiccups echoed in the bathroom, ricochetting off the walls only to hit her with the force of a hoard of demons. Her body shook with each one, causing small bursts of pain to run up her arm, urging more tears forth.

Something heavy, large, and furry pressed down on her leg, and Rumi sluggishly turned her head to see the tiger staring down at her, expression as unsettling as ever. The bird on its head cawed, blinking its multiple eyes before fluttering down next to her.

She wanted to tell them to go away, truly, she did. They were demons. She shouldn’t allow them to continue showing up, she should kill them. She needed to prove she was human. And humans weren’t supposed to show demons grace—hunters even less so.

And yet… the words wouldn’t leave her mouth. Companionship was the only thing she wanted at that moment, and she wasn’t strong enough to throw away her one chance at it. She couldn’t refuse their warmth.

She whimpered, gripped the edge of the tub with her good arm, and pushed herself towards the tiger, landing with a thump against its legs.

The motion sent an explosion of pain through her mutilated arm, and she bit down on her good hand to muffle a scream, sobs returning with renewed strength as the throbbing settled, worse than it had been when she woke up. She shut her eyes, as if that would make the pain any better, and shoved her head into the fur of the tiger’s chest. She gripped the fur on its paw, and comforted herself with the warmth of another living thing.

Because only living things could be warm. It had to be alright for her to find comfort in the tiger. It was warm, so it was living. It wasn’t like those cold, heartless, evil demons. It didn’t seem to hurt others. It didn’t mean she was evil.

She was still good. She had to still be good.

The tiger sat down with a thump, and Rumi curled further into its fur. The bird flew onto her legs, settling down near her knees.

“Please.” She whispered. She was getting used to her voice sounding scratchy, damaged, and small; it was a stark contrast to how she used to sound, but something she deserved. Until she could be fully human, she didn’t deserve to sound like her usual self. Her hunter self. “Please stay. Just for a bit.”

Please rid her of that lonely cold.

Chapter Text

Rumi continued to lay against the tiger until someone began knocking on the bathroom door.

“Rumi? Are you in there?” Zoey asked, concerned voice coming muffled through the door.

Rumi’s head shot up, and any sort of peace she’d begun to feel vanished, replaced instead with extreme panic.

“Hello?” Zoey asked again, knocking harder.

“Y-Yeah, I’m in here!” Rumi responded, straining to make her voice loud enough.

“Oh, okay. Uhm… are you getting out soon? You’ve been in there since we got back.” How long had that been for them to be asking her? What if they suspected something? What if Zoey opened the door, and saw the two demons she was being friendly with? What if she saw her arm? She wasn’t ready for that yet.

“Oh, yeah! Just give me a minute.” The pain in her arm had dulled considerably, and although she still couldn’t move it very much, she could stand and move without immediately feeling sick.

She scrambled over to the bathtub, only to see all the pieces of her arm had been removed and tossed in the trash. She glanced at the bird, preening its feathers near the tub, and exhaled.

Quickly, she turned on the water, watching as it washed away most of the mess, and began scrubbing the rest of the dried blood down the drain, grimacing at how gross it was.

Once she was content with how the tub looked, she turned to the trashcan and tossed in a few handfuls of toilet paper to hide the contents. She tied it up as well as she could with one hand, and went to reach for the door, before freezing.

The demons and her arm were still fully visible. That would most certainly be a problem. Her shirt was both short-sleeved and bloodied.

“Get out of here!” She whispered, quietly as she could, to the tiger. It blinked at her, licking its teeth. She grimaced and pushed on its head, as if she could will it to disappear like always. “They’ll kill you!” She murmured into its ear.

“Rumi? I-Is someone in there?”

She wasn’t quiet enough, apparently. “No! I-It’s just me!” She responded, following it with a shrill laugh that definitely wasn’t helping her sound convincing.

“Okay…”

Finally, Rumi stumbled forwards, losing her balance for a moment as the tiger dipped into the ground. The bird sat on its head once she removed her hand, and the two disappeared.

But what was she supposed to do about her arm?

She scanned the bathroom, looking for anything that could help her hide the damage. Her eyes landed on the small pile of dirty clothes in the corner almost instantly. All reservations thrown out the window, Rumi dropped to her knees to search through the clothes for anything she could use.

At the bottom was a sweater. Her saving grace. She shoved her head into the sweater, pushed her arm into a sleeve, and prepared herself to put it on over her damaged arm. It was definitely going to hurt. She just hoped it wouldn’t be too bad.

“Ru-” No time for hesitation.

“-mi?” She clamped down on her tongue, scream rattling her teeth as she dropped her arm into the other sleeve, dropping her head against the wall and lurching from the pain.

“Rumi?! W-What was that?” Zoey sounded panicked. It was almost a relief for her to be so concerned. It meant she still cared about her. There was still a chance for them, right? They could still go back to being friends instead of living in this weird enemy-ally state forever.

A minute passed before Rumi could answer. “Nothing! I just dropped something on my foot.” She climbed to her feet shakily, gripping the trashbag in her good hand, using that same hand to open the door awkwardly.

Zoey looked her over, wringing her hands out with worry. “You were in there for hours.” She admitted. “Are you sick? You look kinda… pale.”

Rumi glanced away, shrugging her shoulder. “I think I ate something bad.” It was a way out. An excuse. “I was nauseous for a while but it’s better now. Just accidentally fell asleep in there.” She laughed, trying to sound as normal as possible. “Sorry.”

Zoey shook her head. “No, no it’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”

“Right. Well, I’m gonna take the trash out.” Rumi slipped by Zoey, sucking in a sharp, pained breath when a hand suddenly gripped her arm. Her knees buckled, and her vision went white with pain. It was all she could do to stop herself from collapsing.

“Are you… sure you’re okay?”

Rumi held her breath to keep from sobbing. She pinched her eyes shut and prayed Zoey couldn’t see her face.

“Rumi? I-I mean, I just ask ‘cause Bobby says you still aren’t returning his calls. He said he’s gonna come check on you soon, even though we told him you’re okay.” Bobby was going to come check on her?

She couldn’t let him see her in her current state.

She had to call him, if just to convince him that she was okay.

“And… uhm.. I’m trying to talk to Mira. I-I know you wanna like… talk about things, and we’ve been putting it off. Just… can you give us a little more time? It’s just been… a lot.”

Rumi lowered her head, tears threatening to fall. She began to shake with the effort to stay standing. The hand on her arm hurt more and more as time went on. She couldn’t speak, lest she scream. Then Zoey would know for sure that something else was wrong.

The hand finally left, but it did little to relieve the refreshed pain in her arm.

“I’ll go, then… Uh.. goodnight, Rumi.” Soft feet tapped off towards the room at the end of the hall. A door creaked open before falling shut with a quiet click.

Rumi took a shaky step forward and fell to her knees, wheezing and gripping her hair. The pain bursting in her arm wasn’t even the worst of it at that point. Her chest hurt far, far worse.

They still wanted to be friends. They wanted to talk.

She needed to get the trash downstairs.

_________________________________________________________________________

Rumi held her phone to her ear, breathing in time to the ringing. She glanced at her arm, finally properly bandaged and cleaned, although she’d had to force herself to properly disinfect it. Just thinking about it made her arm burn again.

On the fourth ring, Bobby’s voice came through on the phone. “Rumi?”

Rumi leaned her head against the wall. “Hey Bobby. Sorry I haven’t been picking up your calls.”

“Oh, it’s okay! I was just worried about you after everything that happened. I just wanted to talk to you about some things.” His relief was palpable, even through the phone.

“What things?”

“Well, there’s been some talk on social media about your tattoos.” Rumi’s blood went cold. “Is that why you and Celine always pushed for outfits that covered them?”

How was she supposed to fix that? What if people got suspicious about her hiding those so-called ‘tattoos’ even after they became public knowledge? What if someone tried to force her to show her patterns, only to reveal her scars?

If everyone knew, how was she supposed to shove it all down again? How were things supposed to be normal again?

Was that why Mira and Zoey were still so awkward around her? Did they see what everyone was saying about her patterns? Was the fact that it was being shoved in their faces made their resentment towards her worse?

“Rumi? Are you there?”

“Yeah.” She choked out. “I.. I’m here.” Why did Bobby have to bring them up? How big of a mess were they for him to be so concerned. How much had she ruined? How much of her life did the patterns have to steal from her?

“Okay, well, I only wish you could’ve told me about them. We could’ve prepared better so you could be comfortable and not have to worry about them being revealed, if you didn’t want them to be.”

“Right.” Rumi tried to bend the fingers on her damaged arm. They wouldn’t move how she wanted. They’d be fine again eventually.

“But don’t worry about it, okay? You girls just take a good, long break. I’ll deal with all this and make sure everything is okay when you three come back. That’s my job, after all.” Rumi understood he was trying to be reassuring, but it only made her feel worse. She’d caused him so much trouble, all because she couldn’t be human.

“Putting that aside, I want to know how you’re feeling. Are you okay after your last performance? I’m still not entirely sure what happened on stage with Mira and Zoey, but you looked scared. Are you doing better? Have you girls worked it out? Do you want to share what happened, from your perspective?”

“Oh. Well, we–” Rumi’s throat closed. She swallowed thickly, forcing herself to continue. “We’re fine. I’m okay, too. We can all explain it together later, if you want, but it’s no big deal.” Lie, lie, lie. Very demon of her, wasn’t it?

Her mouth tasted sour.

“Okay, that’s good, that’s good! If you’re more comfortable explaining together, we can do that. I’ll talk to Mira and Zoey to see if they’re in agreement and schedule a time to meet up soon, okay?”

“Okay, Bobby.”

“I’ve gotta go now, but thank you for calling, Rumi. Take care of yourself, okay? And remember to pick up your calls! You worried me for a while there!” Rumi’s lips quivered and her nose burned, tears building up. He didn’t sound angry, upset, tired, or disgusted. He still sounded like his regular, happy, caring self. Even to her. Even when she didn’t deserve it yet. Even when she wasn’t human.

“Got it. I’ll pick up from now on, Bobby. See you later.”

“Bye, Rumi! Say hi to Mira and Zoey for me!” The call ended, and she allowed the phone to drop from her hand, not bothering to look when she heard it thud against the floor. She couldn’t care less whether or not it cracked.

What was she supposed to do? How was she supposed to deal with meeting Bobby like she is? How was she supposed to cover all of it up?

She could explain to Mira and Zoey why she'd done what she'd done, but Bobby wouldn't understand. No one else would. None of them were part of their world. None of them knew about demons.

If he wanted to see them… what should she do?

How did things get so big? So out of control? It didn't make sense, she'd been so careful for years, and for all of it to come crashing down suddenly? It didn't make sense.

It wasn’t fair.

Was there really no going back? Was there nothing she could do to reverse it? The fans—the entire public—could've seen her patterns. All of their eyes would be looking for them. During performances, when she was just out and about, in pictures, in videos.

They wouldn't just forget about it if she kept herself covered. They wouldn't move on that easily.

Could she ever show herself again? Could she dare to ever step out into the light again? With what she was constantly following after her? Even if she cut the demon out of her, none of their fans would know, or care. They'd question, whisper, and scan her hoping to see her ‘tattoos.’ She was a public figure, a commodity, an idol.

Panic churned her stomach, the familiar feeling of nausea returning and settling over her like a comforting friend on her shoulder. This wasn't something she could fix.

Even if she was able to get Zoey and Mira to forgive her, even if they no longer hated her or looked at her like a monster, that meant nothing in the real world. She'd never be able to show her face again.

Even in her room, it'd begun to feel like a spotlight was on her, putting her in all her destroyed glory on a pedestal, placing her in a museum for all to see.

Eyes followed her, voices reached her ears from the corners of her room, and it was all she could do not to collapse under the pressure. Not even saving the world felt this imposing.

This was her own personal doomsday.