Chapter Text
August, 2017
For as long as she could remember, Rumi had known that somewhere, very far away, lived the two girls that would kill her one day. Once, she’d taken that in as literal a sense as possible–that they (the two girls that would kill her one day) were single-minded murder machines, slowly encroaching on the compound one step at a time, knives in hand.
Sleeping hadn’t been the easiest thing, back then.
Eventually, she’d learned the truth: those girls (the ones that would kill her one day) weren’t actually murderers just yet, and so they were probably too busy doing normal girl things like hiding under their beds and chewing the bars on their windows to bother walking across the Jeju Strait on her account. Celine had chuckled at the idea, and assured Rumi they’d probably just catch a plane when they grew up.
And so, eventually, they'd done just that. Rumi waited impatiently in her old classroom, arms crossed neatly upon the big, glass table that had been set up for the meeting, and she resisted the urge to smooth down the ruffles on the pretty dress she’d been forced into. Dresses didn’t really agree with her–they always snagged when she got too nervous and crawled into the dark places under the main buildings.
Not that she was nervous right then. There wasn’t anything to be nervous about, really; she was only 15, and she’d long ago learned that 'one day' (as in the day two girls would kill her) was in fact pencilled in for her 24th birthday, so it’d be rude of them to do it today anyway. Schedules were discipline, and potential hunters would be nothing if not disciplined.
“And here we are.” A familiar voice drifted through the closed door, calm and quiet and easily overheard by someone who wasn’t entirely human. “There’s someone I’d like to introduce you both to. She’s...”
Celine seemed to hesitate, then, but Rumi suspected it was just for show. Celine never hesitated. “...she’s very excited to meet you, but I’m afraid she’s rather shy. Please give her a chance, hm? I know she’ll extend you both the same courtesy.”
Rumi rolled her eyes. She didn’t need the reminder.
Someone answered. “Oh, yeah, yeah, of course!” said one of the girls that would kill her one day. For a would-be murderer, she had a sweet voice, high and energetic and entirely out of place in the dull compound filled with dull adults who hated fun. She cheered, “Bring on new friend number three!”
“You haven’t even met her yet,” said the inevitable second girl. Her voice actually matched Rumi’s expectations perfectly: she sounded bored, and vaguely annoyed. She’d probably fit in just fine. “And what do you even mean ‘three?’ Who’s new friend number two?’
A short, disbelieving huff. “Obviously that’s Ms Celine, Mira.”
“How is that ‘obvious?’ She’s, like, a teacher. Teachers aren’t friends, Zoey.”
The door was pushed open to reveal Celine, dressed in what she usually wore for her business trips–slacks, dress shirt, and a pair of those heeled shoes Rumi used to nibble at when she was too young to know how gross that was. ‘Dressed to kill,’ as one of Rumi’s braver attendants had said.
She looked...strained, as she stepped into the room, and a possible cause for that strain were the young women bickering behind her. One was perhaps half a head shorter than Rumi, her hair a neat black waterfall tumbling straight down her back, and the other half a head in the opposite direction, making up for the difference with much shorter pigtails dyed a radioactive pink.
“Oh!” The shorter one, with the mismatched socks and bright, childish bandaids plastered up and down her legs, noticed Rumi immediately. She darted past Celine, nearly sending them both spiralling to the floor (“Oops, sorry!”) before all but throwing herself into the seat on Rumi’s right. “Hi!” she said, without even taking a breath. “I’m Zoey. What’s your name?”
Rumi blinked. The speed at which Zoey moved and talked made her feel like she’d been living in slow motion without realising it, and she wasn’t entirely sure she could keep up, just yet. She said, “Rumi.”
“Wow, that’s such a pretty name!” Zoey said. “Just like you! Pretty, I mean. I love your hair; it’s so long! Do you dye it yourself?”
it was all Rumi could do to shake her head.
Zoey nodded sagely. “Yeah, I don’t blame you. I bet that’d take...hours...” She trailed off, her eyes dipping back down from Rumi’s hairline to take in her face properly. Then further, to the arms resting on the table. Then even further, beneath the glass, to the bare feet restlessly bouncing on the floor. She actually squealed. “Oh my god, you have tattoos?! Full body tattoos? Is–is that even legal? Can I get some?”
She twisted around to look at Mira, still lingering awkwardly by the door, pretending her chunky black boots were the most fascinating thing on the planet. “Mira, come sit down already! Rumi’s cool!”
Mira looked dubious, but at Celine’s quiet “go on,” she straightened her shoulders and meandered her way over to the chair on Zoey’s other side. Slumping into it, she jerked her chin up in Rumi’s general direction, “‘Sup?”
Her hair actually was dyed, if not well–lines of bleached blonde and natural black cut through the pink here and there, and the roots were starting to make themselves comfortable, unlike Mira, who was already shifting in her seat.
Rumi realised she was taking too long to respond, still a little dazed about Zoey calling her cool. She put on her normal smile, the one she did that looked the most normal (she’d picked it out of a magazine). “Hello. It’s nice to meet you, Mira. Zoey.”
Then she remembered Zoey had asked her a question. “I...don’t know how legal tattoos would be for a minor,” she admitted. “But, um, we don’t really follow national laws here, I don’t think. So maybe?”
Zoey gasped, eyes sparkling with delight, and even Mira seemed to perk up a little. Zoey said, “No laws?! Wait, can we drink?!”
Celine, by now settling in on the opposite side of the table from the three girls, breathed out a long, weary sigh. “Nobody’s drinking anything,” she said, firmly, though it was impossible for Rumi to miss the way her lips quirked minutely up at the corners when Zoey began to pout. “Now, with introductions out of the way...I’m sure you two have questions?”
Like a rocket, Zoey’s hand shot up as far as it could go, and she even lifted a little off her seat in her enthusiasm. “Oh, yes, me please!”
“Go ahead.”
“Is this a cult?” Zoey asked.
“No,” Celine said. “Is that all?”
Zoey shared a meaningful look with Mira, who mouthed something back. Then, Zoey said, “Um, it’s just, we’re in like, a walled compound on an island? With a big gate. And there’s people with robes everywhere? And there was chanting, and I know I’m not the best at Korean yet but Mira’s a genius who knows like ten languages and she didn’t–”
“Four,” Mira told Rumi, quickly. She shifted in her seat. “And my English isn’t great so, you know. Three and a half.”
“–she didn’t recognise it,” Zoey finished. She grinned. “Was it Latin? Are the cultists summoning demons?”
Celine blinked, briefly looking about as taken aback as Rumi was before recovering and saying, “Why on Earth do you look excited about the idea? No, Zoey, the priestesses aren’t summoning demons. Yes, Mira? Please refrain from using the word ‘cult.’”
“Okay.” Mira lowered her hand. “But I’m pretty sure idol training camps don’t have priestesses. You know, unless they’re cul...uh, c-words.”
"Yeah, exactly," Zoey agreed–then she raised her hands placatingly. "And like, for the record, I've got no problem with c-words! Huge c-word fan, here. If you're looking for a virgin sacrifice, look no further, you know what I mean?"
Rumi couldn’t help it; she laughed. Three sets of eyes shot to her as she tried, and failed, to smother the sound beneath her palm. She might have had an easier time of it if Zoey hadn’t looked so oddly proud of herself, and Celine had looked a little less betrayed.
“If you’re quite finished?” Celine asked, once Rumi had the giggles under control. "I appreciate the...offer, Zoey, but I'm afraid neither of you are being sacrificed. Nor, as Mira has pointed out, are you being trained as a prospective idol group."
She leaned forward in her chair, steepling her fingers. "So: why don't I tell you what you're actually here to do?"
October, 2025
With a gleeful whoop, Zoey bounded right over the compound's walls, blades of glittering starlight forming between her fingers with just a thought. She'd never admit it (unless it was to Mira or Rumi, obviously), but she loved horde nights. It was almost a shame that they’d be going away, soon.
She picked her first target, aiming her landing to perfectly cave in the chest of a faceless, emaciated demon, then swept her arms out in an arc and fired off a volley, scoring a perfect headshot for each and every one of its neighbours. There were dozens, maybe even hundreds more where those demons came from, but it wasn't like she could run out of ammo.
"Hey, the little ones don't count!" Mira called to her, voice a little strained as she used her own magic weapon to keep a cyclops demon's heavy club at bay. She did a tricky little manoeuvre, woldo twirling as she sidestepped around the demon, tripping it to the dirt and spearing it right through the chest. "We agreed, remember? No points unless they have a face."
Well, of course Zoey remembered: it was her rule, because Mira's strategy of wading into a pile of the most fragile demons she could see and just kind of holding her woldo out and spinning like a top until everything was dead had been absolute bullshit.
Still, she huffed out a breath, exasperated. She'd made that rule so she could finally beat Mira, not to make things harder for herself! She leapt onto the back of a skinny, impish demon that was unfortunate enough to end up in grabbing distance, and drove two blades directly into its skull. "There," she said. "Now we're tied. You stay here, and I take north?”
Mira pursed her lips, but she didn't object to the blatant opportunism. She'd always been one to pick her battles. "Whatever," she said, already turning to look for another target. "This one’s late, anyway. Rumi’s probably asleep by now.”
Maybe she was, but Zoey knew from experience that if her favourite priestess were to wake up in the middle of a horde night, she'd invariably creep out of bed and plant herself up against her window to watch the action. What kind of bodyguard/best friend would she be if she didn't put on a show?
From there, the fight continued. Demons poured out of the now countless tears in the Honmoon, all converging on the compound in tactically unsound chaos. Zoey did her best to keep count of her kills, discounting any of the faceless demons she took out, as promised–and really, there was no point in bothering with them anyway, since even the normie hunters on the walls were more than capable of fending them off in droves with perfectly mundane blades and crossbows.
No, her and Mira were the 'big guns,' and so they were meant for big targets. She spotted one then, an ogre thrice her size that appeared to have just uprooted a small tree to use as a mace. Everything about it was massive–tusks, biceps, and thighs that probably would have sent Zoey's mind off to concerning places in other circumstances
In these circumstances, the sight actually made her hesitate. This was easily the biggest demon Zoey had ever seen, and that was saying something. The smart move was to call for Mira, and fall back in range of the hunter's crossbows. The cool and sexy move was to say 'fuck it,' and deal with it on her own.
Instinct had Zoey glancing back towards the compound, to the second floor building just barely peeking over the top, the barred, reinforced windows hiding one very precious occupant. She had no idea how she knew, but it didn't change the facts: Rumi was watching.
"Fuck it," Zoey said.
From her perch on the windowsill, Rumi watched over the battle with the usual heady mix of amusement, pride and abject terror. It was Zoey's turn to show off, apparently–she didn't know if the girls thought they were being slick by consistently splitting the job so one of them remained in full view of her window the entire night, or if they were just shameless enough to do it anyway. Knowing them, it was probably the latter.
Well, if the goal was to impress Rumi, it was working. As she always did, Zoey moved around the battlefield like a well oiled machine, never stopping, never seeming to even need to catch her breath as she sliced through the tide of encroaching demons like a hot knife through butter. Elsewhere, on the battle's second front, Mira's own distinctive fighting style was no doubt just as awe inspiring, just as effective, just as deadly–she was a wall of death; calm, patient, and utterly unassailable.
For now.
Rumi didn't really know much about fighting. She'd watched the girls train over the years, and had greatly enjoyed swinging a sword around on occasion, 'winning' the odd bout against Mira and Zoey before settling down to catch her breath and let the pros fight for real. It just wasn't part of her world: everyone had a role to play, and hers didn't come until well after the battle.
She didn't know much about fighting, but she wasn't blind, either. The Honmoon was in tatters, tears opening up in greater numbers than ever before, vomiting out demons stronger than anything she'd ever seen before on the regular. Horde nights were lasting longer, and injuries were becoming less misfortune, and more occupational hazard.
So, once or twice a week, the sky would open up, and Rumi would forgo sleep to watch over whichever of her protectors felt like showing off that night. It was the least she could do for them, she thought.
For now.