Chapter Text
Rumi didn't exactly remember when it started, or how it even happened but she knew that it wasn't a good omen for things to come.
Perhaps, she's been hallucinating– the most logical answer that a doctor would probably give her. She's just distraught over what occurred these past couple of weeks which is why she's not in the best mental state, and also why she's been hearing voices that absolutely aren't from demons or Gwi-ma.
Because no demon would be busy giving her such stupid suggestions Instead of preying on her insecurities!
‘HEY! They aren't stupid, I thought them over many times and I just think that it would be great if you were to–’
“For the LAST time, I'm not smashing my sword just to see the glitter fall out!” Rumi yelled to her sword, no longer whispering as she was alone and Mira and Zoey weren't around to stare at her worryingly. “And I'm not even sure if there's any glitter stuck to my sword!”
‘THERE IS! I'm the sword so I would know! It's so itchy here that I'm practically dying and I can't help but pray to be free from this unending torment everyday.’
“If that's the case, can't you die faster so I won't have to hear your annoying voice?” Rumi said, “and what do you even know about unending torment… you're a goddamn SWORD!”
The sword's voice suddenly dropped, ‘Us swords have feelings too you know– you use me to kill demons everyday and you barely clean me afterwards. All of that hurts my feelings deeply and makes me feel unclean! You just won't understand!’
Rumi sighed, “I just cleaned you a few minutes ago, don't tell me you want a bubble bath?’
The sword went silent for a minute, ‘...Maybe?’
Rumi glared at the sword, she didn't care if it even sported eyes because she wanted one way to express her frustration, “Tough luck because I'm not giving you one, so don't try anything funny!’
The disembodied voice of the sword spoke again, in a much too excited tone for her liking.
‘Then… could I at the very least shower with you?’
“NO!”
Rumi shouted, but not before punching the sword against her walls until it created a dent, and dropping it on her nightstand. She collapsed into her bed and wrapped herself in blankets, hoping to drift off to sleep and be free from his nightmare once and for all.
It didn't work.
‘Can't sleep, can you?’
“Yea…” Rumi fretted, “it's because of YOU that I can't–”
‘What's the blame for? I never did anything wrong.’
Rumi grit her teeth, “Is inconveniencing not included in your definition of blame?”
‘Oh, that's fun to do so it doesn't really bother me,’ The Sword replied, ‘But, I've probably done worse– I think?’
“You think?” Rumi questioned, raising her brows. She realized that she barely knew anything about this talking sentient sword that annoyed her daily, despite being forced to spend time with it. All she recognized was that It's voice sounded distorted and masculine, and that it might be powered by demon souls but that was just her theory.
‘Well, It's not my fault. There's barely any entertainment around so I just have to make do with what I have!’
“I already knew about that, you idiot. I'm asking you about the worser crimes you've committed instead.’
‘That's such a harsh word, you're painting me as some treacherous criminal when I'm anything but.’
“You deserve to be classified as one considering you just laze around mocking me all day,” Rumi retorted, “And answer me unless you want to be thrown in the trash bin just like yesterday.”
‘AUGH! Why the trashbin? I can't stand the ants that crawl all around my girth. It makes me want to vomit!’
Rumi rolled her eyes, “You're a sword, you can't vomit either way. Anyways, you'll have to respond or be subject to the same punishment once again.”
‘If I answer, will I get a prize?’
“Yes,” Rumi replied, “If you do, then you won't get thrown in the trashbin.”
‘Gee, seems like a shitty prize! I really don't feel like answering now, my dearest Rumi.’
To legitimize the threat, Rumi got out of the bed and picked up the sword from her nightstand and headed towards the trashbin.
‘OKAY– FINE, FINE, FINE!!! I'LL ANSWER, JUST PUT ME DOWN!’
After hearing that, Rumi smiled and dropped the sword on her table and took a seat, “Let's hear it then!”
‘Uh, so the thing is–…’The sword stuttered, ‘I hilariously don't remember anything at all!’
Rumi folded her arms and frowned, “You expect me to believe that?”
‘Do I? I don't know about that actually. And honestly, I couldn't care less if you believe me or not since it's the truth. I don't know anything about my past really, it's just a hunch or a feeling.’
Rumi narrowed her eyes. The sword might have been lying but she reserved her suspicions for now, she wanted it to be truthful, wanted it to be truthfully badly..“Why is that?”
The Sword laughed, a high shrill laugh. ‘Oh, Rumi…I don't remember much from my past, but I remember enough to know I'm all wrong. ’ The Swords voice dropped an octave. ‘I might look sealed up now– but I'm still broken underneath, and you can't fix me, can't EVER FIX ME!’
Rumi jolted, her eyes widened as her pupils shrunk. She looked away, drawing in many sharp breaths…
That voice… those words… they weren't true– they couldn't be true! He had dissolved long ago, she had witnessed it with her own eyes. No sign of him could possibly remain. This was just a joke, a cruel joke. It wasn't true.
It wasn't true.
It wasn't.
It wasn't–
“Do you think this is funny? Because I'm not LAUGHING!” Rumi slammed her hands on the table while scowling, “If you don't want to be shattered into a million pieces, then you'll have to be honest–”
The sword chuckled in its distorted voice, ‘I'm more honest than I ever was. Why don't you believe me, Rumi? For once, you'd be right to trust me, just this once….’
Rumi glared, “What good has ever come from trusting you?”
‘I'm afraid that's not for me to answer, it's something you can only decide deep down from your soul, or your heart perhaps.’
“I'm not surrendering either of those things just because I want to understand your true self–” Rumi declared– “I'm not that much of a moron, remember what happened last time?
‘It's not a matter of surrendering, but a matter of apprehension and knowing one's self first and foremost. How could you ever begin to understand me when you barely still understand yourself? It seems that you still have a lot to work on but I'll be happy to accompany you through it all! Well, not that I have a choice since I'm your sword and all, but you get the gist aha!’
Rumi sat there in silence, feeling both comforted and deeply disturbed. One moment, the sword was mimicking her deepest regrets and the other, reassuring her about this requisite change.
She hated how easily she fell prey to those sweet words again and again.
She won't again.
‘Also what last time?’
Rumi wrinkled her nose, “Are you seriously gonna insist on playing dumb NOW?”
‘For the sake of brevity, I didn't wanna repeat this but I already told you that I couldn't remember anything at all. If I had any to begin with, my memories might've been erased– but not the weight. Everything is quite… fuzzy. Many times, I find myself inconsolable and sorrowful without ever understanding why…’
‘You should be.’ Rumi wanted to say.
“How does it feel?” Rumi replied instead.
‘Horrible, like I've committed too many sins just for one lifetime. The regret crushes me down in a special way I can't ever get up from. I don't understand these emotions…..WHY DO I FEEL LIKE THIS? WHAT DID I DO?’
Where could Rumi even start? What hasn't he done? The list could go on endlessly for eternity, long enough to outlive the honmon. Instinctively Rumi smiled, a sly callous smile as her patterns gleamed. She shouldn't have smiled, she shouldn't have smiled, she shouldn't have smiled…but she couldn't help it. Even reluctantly, It came second nature to her much like slaughtering demons. One side of her told her that this was wrong, that she should drown in regret for this but why? Wouldn't she just end up with a sad, pathetic existence like him, constantly smouldered with shame like a wretched creature? If anything, Rumi proudly relished in his misfortune like she should, for he deserved to suffer– deserved it for abandoning his duties, deserved it for sinning, deserved it for for fooling the world, deserved it for fooling Rumi, deserved it for–
“Do you deserve it?” asked Rumi.
‘I– I don't know…’ The Sword answered, ‘Do you think…I deserve this?’
Rumi laughed.
“I don't know either,” she replied, ”That makes two of us then.”
‘We're alike in one way? That makes me smile just thinking about it. I've always admired your grip, Rumi!’
“You're a sword, you can't smile, dullard!” Rumi stated, her patterns ceased glowing yet her smile still burned. Delirium filled her, through and through. The corner of her eye twitched, she felt so blissful, so carefree that it felt wrong. She should've been cautious around him, yet it was so easy to slip into that idyllic union once they were alone, her adoration revived once again in the rise of his warmth. It felt so freeing, so joyful, so–
Horrendous. Rumi shook her head, she needed to compose herself desperately. She was so close to losing it all once again because of these wretched mood swings. One moment, her fury forced her to see red and the other it loosened up her morals to the point where she dropped all common sense and began idealizing her past with a dead demon. Perhaps, due to sealing the honmon, her half-demon side had been impaired where it started leaking onto her human side. Or, it could be that she's just trying to latch onto any excuse that could extenuate the fact that she's talking to an inanimate sword, and hearing it reply back.
It could not be him. She was sure of that. The sword had to be powered by another demon soul and her weakness for it was just a sword imitating his likeness, either to earn her trust or to hurt her more.
just like him.
‘Won't you let a sword dream, Rumi? My smile may not be as flashy as yours, or as lovely but it can still glow. Although your smile outshines mine just by the virtue of your beauty. I may not be able to gaze upon this in reality but I can still tell just how heavenly you are!’
“HEY– you don't have to talk that much, just shut up!” Rumi muttered as she blushed. Just how was she getting flustered over a goddamn talking sword?
‘Why Rumi, you wound me~’
Rumi rubbed her eyes. She needed to get back on track again.
“Enough of that, tell me your name!” she asked, hoping to confirm her doubts.
‘Woah… You've never asked me that before, what gives?’
The sword queried, as if asked some profoundly philosophical question.
“Well, I'm asking now so tell me– what's your name?”
‘Hmm, could ‘dunno’ suffice as a good enough name?’
Rumi rolled her eyes, “Very funny.”
‘But I'm not joking, Rumi. I don't remember my name, if I had one. Do swords have names anyway?’
“They probably don't–” Rumi added– “But you aren't a normal sword.”
‘That's right, you made me this way…..so remarkable all because of you. Any sword held by you would be special automatically just by your grasp alone.’
Praise flattered Rumi, but not reverence. She didn't want to be held up on a pedestal for such shallow reasons, especially by her own goddamn sword.
“I meant the fact that you're sentient, not that you're my sword.”
‘But I'm yours…’
Rumi blinked, “Unfortunately.”
‘Oh, You're so kind, Rumi!’ The Sword cheered, ‘I love you so much, I'll be by your side forever and ever!’
Rumi debated breaking the sword into a million pieces right there and then, but the mess would be too much of a hassle to clean up. Zoey and Mira would also question her about the sword suddenly disappearing.
Rumi pondered on telling them about this situation at first, but ultimately, she decided to keep her silence. She didn't want to burden them anymore, they'd gone through enough trouble already because of her. She could deal with this on her own, the sword only bothered her when she was alone– not when she was with them. That was enough proof.
She might've not chosen to be born as a half-demon, but she chose to trust one once. That was her sin, she needed to atone for it.
Rumi stood up, she didn't feel like entertaining this thing anymore.
‘Wait, where are you going?’
As far away from you as possible, she itched to say.
“It's none of your business,” she replied, heading towards the bathroom. She was going to scrub herself clean, hoping to eradicate the sin that tainted her hands and body from the sword’s touch.
It wouldn't work.