Chapter Text
Gwi-Ma paced. He hated being stuck in his human form as he was, but there was something about pacing that never ceased to be satisfying. In the end, Juni had shown his true colors, Gwi-Ma’s plan had failed, and the Honmoon had been sealed so completely that only the most powerful of the demons that Jeoseung spawned could now pierce the veil. He had strained against the new, more powerful Honmoon for nearly a month himself, but to no avail. Now, even in his own realm of Jeoseung, the light of the Honmoon haunted Gwi-Ma, invading his rest and serving as a backdrop to his meetings with other Demon Kings. The ever shifting arcs and swirls of radiant light traced paths across the cavern roof, occasionally humming or pulsing when the magic behind the barrier was strengthened. The dancing lights were breathtaking to behold, brilliant as a rising sun, and Gwi-Ma despised them completely.
Pacing no longer sufficient, Gwi-Ma moved to the drawn curtains of his study, pulling the heavy fabric to the side just enough to create a sliver through which he could survey the devastated state of his kingdom below. Just months ago, the fields below had been filled with demons chanting and cheering in unison and Gwi-Ma had been at the peak of his power, his inferno pulsing in time with their chants. They had been feasting on the souls that Jinu’s wild plan had started to provide and, even with Gwi-Ma carefully rationing them, they had created a feast the likes had not been seen in Jeoseung for centuries. Now, however, the fields below lay barren and silent as a freshly prepared grave, the demons left still mourning the countless losses they had suffered. Only hundreds of his demons had perished in the battle at the concert grounds, however the Honmoon being sealed had taken a far greater toll than ever expected. With his people’s access to feeding grounds sealed almost outright, the months since had been harsher than Gwin-Ma's long memory could recall. Though demons can never die outright, without the constant supply of soul energy, even a small amount, they will soon begin to fade and simply cease to be. Even now, Gwi-Ma could see the shambling, half visible forms of such demons roaming the planes below him and he knew that it would not be long before they too faded completely.
Gwi-Ma’s fingers gripped the heavy weave of the curtains, straining against the bunched fabric until the purple markings that wove their way across his skin nearly disappeared entirely. Seeing his skin like this, nearly human in nature, Jinu’s treachery once again flashed across his mind, his decision to assume a human form and fight the Hunters for their fans. Though the plan had initially sounded ludicrous, it had been going well enough that Gwi-Ma had made the decision to invest into the scheme. And it had been working. The souls had streaked across the sky like shooting stars, their light feeding Gwi-Ma’s flame. Until Jinu had fallen for the only one that could seem to stop Gwi-Ma’s voice from reaching him.The lapse in control had been only minor at first, but in the end it had been enough to send the whole plan spiralling out his control, and with it, the victory that had been so close at hand. Old memories, forbidden memories creep into the foreground, rubbing against Gwi-Ma’s mind like a slimy eel in a stagnant river. Memories of when his skin had also been human, when he walked alongside the ones he fed on. Gwi-Ma’s fist slammed into the wooden frame of the window before him, clearing the memories and startling the attendants stationed at the door with the spontaneous outburst. Forcing his mind back to Jinu and the situation that he had caused, Gwi-Ma continued to examine all sides of the problem before him, but just ended up cursing the traitor darkly again. He had gambled on that traitor, gambled everything and he had lost.
Stepping back from his window and letting the heavy fabric fall back into place, a piercing wail from the foot of his palace walls reaches him. Normally, the sounds made by the starving who lined his walls, begging sorrowfully for souls Gwi-Ma simply did not have, would have been blocked out by the paned glass windows and curtains that stood between them. Even if he did hear them occasionally, he would have normally paid them no mind, as there was nothing he could do to help them. However, this time he stopped. Maybe it was the tone of the cry, or an excuse for a distraction from the dark thoughts racing in his head, but Gwi-Ma returned to the window. Throwing aside the curtains and pushing the window open with a crash, Gwi-Ma leant out over the sill in order to see the crowd below him. Resting his elbows on the sill before him, Gwi-Ma took in the motionless demons assembled below him.
Though most demons tended towards the thinner side, the ones that stood huddled below Gwi-Ma were gaunt and sharp. The hunger was written in every line of their ribs, and in the sunken hollows in their cheeks, both brought into shifting and changing relief by the ever present Honmoon glowing above. Their eyes had grown dim and sallow, the usual brightness and impish cleverness stamped out by the famine that Gwi-Ma knew was eating at their souls. A few still had energy enough to call piteously up from their place along the walls, but most simply lay motionless, others barely visible as their essence fought for existence. The demons before Gwi-Ma were starving. Worse, they were dying, and there was nothing that Gwi-Ma could do to stop it.
“They’re coming, My Lord.” The voice rasped up across the distance, breaking through the inferno of thoughts that were Gwi-Ma’s constant companion. Focusing on the small water demon that had spoken up, Gwi-Ma saw now that he was pointing a lanky finger out across the planes that surrounded the palace. Gwi-Ma saw this, but did not immediately look to where the demon was indicating, instead letting his gaze rest on the single article of clothing that the demon wore. Though the demon himself was dirty and starving, and the shirt hung off his gaunt frame in a sorrowful fashion, the shirt itself had been cleaned and kept carefully. Despite the hardships that the kingdom as a whole had suffered at the hands of the traitor, Jinu, the demon before him wore his shirt.
“Why?” The question rasped past Gwi-Ma’s lips before he could prevent it. Taken aback initially, the water demon looked around, unsure of the question perhaps, or why it was being asked. Finally he pointed down at the shirt quizzically.
“This, My Lord? Why wear it?” The demon asked, shoulders hunched as though to hide the shirt from Gwi-Ma’s gaze. Taking his silence as confirmation, the demon continued. “Simply, My Lord, they let us belong somewhere.” Gwi-Ma said nothing again, still horrified by the lapse of control that had led to the question being asked in the first place. The demon that answered Gwi-Ma quailed under his stare and, while not the intention, Gwi-Ma still took satisfaction in the effect. Only then did he raise his eyes finally to see what it was that the water demon had pointed out. Rising above the horizon like a thunder head, the roiling plume of dust followed the path of a single rider. The dust was a direct result of the speed at which the rider and his mount moved, the black steed that carried him shining like obsidian under the twilight sky, both moving with the speed of death itself. Immediately, Gwi-Ma retreated into his study, letting the curtains fall back into place in order to hide himself, even slightly, from the impending doom the rider signified. The other Kings could have come themselves should the matter be of little enough consequence. The fact that the Kings had diverted a messenger of souls away from its never ending task signified that the missive about to be received was as final as the shepherding of a soul. There would be no avoiding this emissary of dread, nor the message it carried.
Turning, Gwi-Ma began to rush out of the study, already preparing instructions for any house staff that may remain. However, as his hand turned the knob of the solid oaken door that sealed his study off, he pauses and doles out a small portion of his dwindling energy stores to the water demon that had stood before him and had subsequently warned him of the messenger. Though the amount was miniscule compared to the veritable feast just a few weeks prior, Gwi-Ma could feel the relief permeate from the water demon as the energy sinks into him. A significant prize, but Gwi-Ma felt it was well deserved as the demon had not just given him a warning, but his answers had also provided Gwi-Ma with the seeds of a plan that could turn the tides back in their favour.
As expected, the emissary took little time to arrive, the rolling thunder of their steeds hooves arriving long before the figure in black sitting astride the horse was visible. Arriving before the stone dais of Gwi-Ma’s throne platform in a clatter of metal and hooves, the emissary observed the demon lord silently. Normally, when hosting a meeting of this calibre, Gwi-Ma would have taken on his true form, that of the raging eternal inferno. In recent days however, that form had grown pitiable and so Gwi-Ma opted to meet the messenger reclined on the stone throne that had been hewn directly from the plinth’s dark rock. It was not a comfortable chair by any means, but it served the intended purpose of being imposing to those before him, and allowed Gwi-Ma to hold the facade of ease during the meeting. The messenger cared for neither aspect, silently traversing the steps of the dias to arrive before Gwi-Ma. Reaching into a small pouch that hung from his hip, the messenger removes a single scroll, rolled to the size of a pinky finger, and hands it over to Gwi-Ma wordlessly. As Gwi-Ma takes the scroll, the messenger bows slightly and immediately resumes his steed and presumably his duties.
Before long, the emissary is retreating back over the horizon, while Gwi-Ma remains, unmoving, the missive still held delicately in his fingers. Breathing deeply, Gwi-Ma breaks the seal and lets the parchment unfurl. The edict is as expected. It is as simple as it is absolute:
The experiment has failed, your people starve.
A levy will be raised in 6 months.
If it is not met, your throne is forfeit.
Your people will be forfeit.
The Hunters must fall.
The Honmoon must shatter.