Chapter Text
One, two, forward, step, rainbow, sway, hand, turn.
Zoey stated each word in her mind to remind her body how to move. The words she sang aloud were automatic, as natural as breathing, but choreography required a bit more focus to drive into muscle memory. Mira’s choreo was always a challenge, but one she loved to conquer. Forceful without feeling forced. Sharp and punctuated, but still graceful and smooth. Confident, even dominant, but not overpowering. Sass in spades, with just a sprinkle of bitch energy for flavor.
Of course, by the time they were ready to actually perform, she’d have the dance worked so deep into her subconscious she could do it while sleeping, Rumi would make sure of it.
Zoey glanced over at Rumi, performing the moves in sync with her at the center of the formation. Even now, after repairing the Honmoon, saving thousands of souls, and revealing the secret she’d kept from them for so long, she remained as insistent on perfection in their performance as ever. At least now it wasn’t fueled by the creeping threat of her patterns turning everyone she loved against her. Zoey always smiled on stage, but the smile shifted for a moment, from the wide, excited smile of performance to a more content, warm one as she thought of their time together since. All the long, often painful conversations they’d had. Rumi had laid bare the lengths she’d gone through to keep the secret, the dangers and fears Celine had pressed into her very soul, but also the beautiful moments of hope she’d shared with Jinu, and the relief she’d felt when they’d stood together after their fight.
Oh Rumi, I told you I’m always on your side, didn’t I—
Woops, uh, slide and back, and fist, shift, pose. Hold pose. Hold pose. Ok, there, she thought, then finally wiped away the sweat that had been beading on her forehead since halfway through the song.
“Great take everyone. Zoey, think you got a bit out of sync at the end there,” Brian shouted from his chair out in front of the stage. Brian was the current production lead, in charge of organizing the lighting, set design, sound crew, and other teams for their live performances. And, for their practices, he was the one who recorded the mock performances for them to review.
“Thanks guys, think we need a quick break before the next run-through. Can we take five?” Rumi asked, more as a statement than a question, shining under the stage lights like a Goddess reaching down from heaven to bestow upon them a short rest.
“Yeeeessss,” Mira groaned, already walking offstage to the side doors, and the green room beyond.
“So I did, sort of, kind of, get a bit out of sync on that last one, but I totally have the choreo down. Just got a tiny bit distracted,” Zoey said, punctuating the reassurance with a double thumbs-up as she and Rumi followed Mira out the backstage doors.
“Oh, don’t worry. I was just thinking we all could use a break,” Rumi responded. She opened the green room door for Zoey, then followed her in, where Mira had already collapsed into the couch. The green room was a small, plain room that smelled of sweat and hairspray, painted a mint green as someone’s idea of a joke, with three vanities along the left wall, a couch and two chairs along the right, and little else except for a table with some water and snacks, a potted plant, and a couple posters on the back wall.
“I don’t think five minutes counts as a break, babe,” Mira answered from the couch, with the exaggerated croak of exhaustion thick in her voice. “I swear, I could squeeze enough water out of my top to irrigate the Sahara.”
“Gross,” Zoey laughed, picturing Mira walking through the desert squeezing out an endlessly dripping shirt onto the sand.
“I just want to make sure our reunion tour goes perfectly, so we can close out that chapter of our lives as just a rough couple of days, and nothing more,” Rumi answered. She sat at one of the vanities, casually sliding into the chair and adjusting strands of her hair that started fraying from the braid, but her pursed lips reflecting in the mirror and the tension in her shoulders gave away that there was nothing casual about how she felt. Mira sat up on the couch in recognition of the vulnerability behind what Rumi had expressed, watching as Zoey sat at the vanity next to Rumi, chair turned facing her.
“Hey, Rumi, you know, this tour could be a colossal failure and it would still have been nothing more than a rough couple days,” Zoey said, laying her hand against Rumi’s shoulder and lightly tracing the faint purple marks with her thumb. “We totally get why you were scared to talk with us, but things are better now. Great even. Super great. We’re back together, we love you, and with no more secrets the Honmoon is stronger than ever.”
“And the fans all thought it was just theatrics. Just like, a stunt for the performance,” Mira added, rising up from the couch to approach Rumi’s side opposite Zoey. “And they think your patterns are some absolutely metal tattoos with killer special effects.”
“They do actually look really cool under the stage lights,” Zoey seconded.
Rumi laughed and looked down to wipe her eyes. A golden shimmer rippled across her patterns, like the sound waves of their voices were bouncing across her body, filling her with warmth. “You’re right, you’re right. I’m sorry. I think I’m just extra nervous from our last time on stage. Or, at least the last planned one.”
Zoey leaned in and squished her face against Rumi’s shoulder, where her hand had just been. “Don’t apologize, you have every right to be nervous. Just… make sure it’s a healthy nervous, and not a ‘imagining the worst thing that could never happen outside a nightmare’ kind of nervous.”
Mira mirrored Zoey, but with more poise and grace, laying her head on Rumi’s other shoulder like a gothic princess. “Personally, I think seventeen takes is enough to review, but if you need it to feel confident, we’ll happily do a hundred more.”
“I do think the team will want to go home eventually though,” Zoey countered with a goofy smile.
“Alright alright,” Rumi answered, unable to stop herself from laughing again while her arms we squished between them. “We can call it for tonight. Let's just get the recordings before we head home.”
“Sick, I’ll order takeout,” Mira said, pushing back her chair with a spin as she got up to grab her phone.
“I'll let the team know,” Zoey offered, starting to stand up before quickly returning to whisper into Rumi’s ear. “You know we’ve always got your back, whatever you need. We love you,” she whispered, then gave Rumi a quick peck on the cheek that brought another gold shimmer reverberating through her patterns. With that, Zoey stepped out of the green room and walked back to the stage.
She’ll be alright. This tour, she’ll see everything’s back to normal, Zoey thought as she skipped backstage. She pushed open the stage doors, and—
“Everybody out. Now. Get lost,” Zoey heard a voice shouting. It was coming from the crew section, but it definitely wasn’t anyone she recognized.
“This is a private studio space,” she heard Brian respond, frustrated and confused. “We’re booked for the full day, just what is it you think—”
“I think,” the voice continued, while Zoey slowly approached the back corner of the stage. “That I am giving you the generous opportunity to leave. You and your team would be wise to take it.”
Those don’t sound like the words of another band, Zoey thought. She cautiously peeked around the corner. The stage lights were bright, almost blinding, but underneath them she could see Brian standing with his back to her, hands on his hips, staring down a group of about seven. Most of the unexpected guests wore pretty normal attire: slacks, button-down long sleeved shirts, some with a sweater or vest, but not the one at the front. She stood taller than the rest, not just because she was actually tall, but more because she walked with an air about her that made everyone else in the room seem to shrink around her. She wore some form of thick, durable material, maybe leather, but while the bottoms were more reasonable—heavy-duty work boots and torn-up pants—the top was a nonsensical mess of straps, rivets, and metal rings that hung tight to her chest off one shoulder. It looked like it might have once been scale mail, but had been destroyed and patched up so many times that what was left could barely be called a crop top. With her arms, stomach, a full shoulder and much of her upper chest bare, she was making no attempt with her attire to hide what she was.
She was a demon. Her patterns were unmistakable, even behind the stage lights, burning in dark orange and red along her arms and under the straps of her top like the embers in a bonfire. She lacked any protruding teeth and it seemed for now her claws were hidden, but she’d also made no effort to hide her solid white horns, which grew out from the back corners of her head and curved forward just above her hair until they pointed upward at the front, as if the horns themselves were a crown, missing only a centerpiece before it could rest upon her dark, smoky violet hair, which she left short and unkempt. Unusually, she also had a tail, which lay still hanging down behind her as if pretending to be a costume piece. Were she not currently glaring at Brian with a venom only someone barely restraining themselves from murder could manage, she might’ve been attractive.
Brian could apparently also sense the danger, as when he responded his voice had lost all sense of frustration. “Listen, I’ll call the studio manager, and he can help us sort this out. There was probably just a—”
The demon’s eyes flared, the bright amber rings like fire as she grabbed his shirt and effortlessly dragged him forward. “You should be calling your wife, but you won’t, because she hasn’t loved you in years. You can see it in her eyes: she’s cheating on you, and no promotion can fix that, but it is why she hasn’t left you yet. You’re a weak, pathetic man whose only value left in this world is a small rectangular piece of plastic. But I can give you a purpose,” she growled, loud enough to be sure the crew heard, but quiet enough that words felt made for him. She tossed him back and he stumbled against his chair, recovering like someone who forgot how to stand.
“Let’s… let’s pack up everybody. See you tomorrow,” Zoey heard Brian say, as if in a trance, but she was already running through the doors.
“No packing, just get out,” managed to slip through the gap before the door shut. Zoey ran to the green room and burst open the door, causing both Rumi and Mira to jump in surprise.
“Demons in the studio! They just forced the crew to leave!” she rushed to say before either had the chance to react.
“What? But it's not even a concert date, what’re they—?” Rumi puzzled, but before she could continue Mira jumped up from her chair.
“YES! Finally something fun! Let’s go kick some demon buuuuuutttttt!” she yelled, already up and running past Zoey. Rumi quickly got up to follow, but kept pace with Zoey to talk.
“They came right for us? No disguises, no ambush, not trying to slow us down, just right for us?” Rumi asked as they ran.
“Yeah, seems so. Maybe they just gave up on all that after the Saja Boys plan failed?” Zoey theorized.
The pair rushed through the doors and onto the stage behind Mira. The demon leading the group had been speaking to the others, but turned to face them upon hearing the trio enter. The rest fanned out behind her, readying themselves for a fight.
“Oh, good. Saving me the trouble of hunting you down,” the demon leader shouted, grabbing a camera by its tripod and throwing it out of her way, all the way to the wall like it was a plastic toy. She then looked over her right shoulder at another and said with a smug, toothy smirk, “Toldya the disguises were a waste of time.”
Mira laughed, her gokdo already out and laying casually over her shoulders. “You. Hunting Huntrix, and you brought like, six dudes?”
“Yeah, she has a point. I kinda figured there were more of you,” Zoey said, putting a hand on her hip and manifesting several shin-kal with the other. The demon responded with a wicked grin, like they’d be hoping for that exact statement to be said. Shadows began to shift around her, pulling, reaching towards her in unnatural ways no arrangement of lights could reproduce, until the shadows themselves began to lift from the ground as a thick, black smoke. The lights dimmed and sparked erratically around them, causing Zoey to take a half step back in surprise. The smoke thickened and swirled around her feet like a pet greeting its master, dense like a fog of paint, then rose to meet each of her hands hanging by her sides. It spun tighter and tighter around her fists, save for a column which extended forward, before bursting outward and dissipating into the air. In its place, the demon held a long sai in each hand, blacker than the darkest steel, like the void of space had been compressed into a weapon.
“More? We can certainly do more,” she answered with a grin, then put the tip of one of the sai to the ground. The Honmoon wavered at its touch, like it was bending to avoid getting too close to the blade.
“What are you doing here? Why attack us now?” Rumi demanded, but the demon ignored her, turning back as she dragged the blade tip along the ground and swung it toward the back wall. The Honmoon reacted immediately, shaking the whole room like a small earthquake as a tear ripped open along the blade’s path, extending to the back of the room. Red and pink flames licked the surface air from the tear, and hordes of demons began pouring out on both sides of the rift.
This time it was Rumi and Mira’s turn to flinch back in shock. “How is that possible?” Rumi whispered, looking over to Mira at her left, then at Zoey on her right.
“I don’t know, it should be strong here!” Zoey answered.
Mira, ever the practical one, cut in. “Doesn’t matter this second. Deal with them, then we’ll deal with that.”
The demon leader faced them once more, then gestured to the mob of demons on each side, first to those on her right, then her left. “You lot, keep Grumpy busy. You lot, deal with Crazy. I want the traitor.”
“Which one of those am I?” Mira said, unable to resist the opportunity to taunt.
“Oh you’re definitely Crazy,” Zoey jumped in. “But that means I’d have to be the traitor, because I’m definitely not Grumpy. No way.”
“Rigghhht because you’re from Cali! God I didn’t realize demons had such strong geopolitical opinions,” Mira continued.
“Guys, guys, we can each be whichever we want to be,” Rumi joined. The grin had vanished from the demon leader’s face by now, replaced with an annoyed glare. “She just totally doesn’t know what our actual names are.”
“Why would I bother?” the demon barked out, eyes like rings of molten gold, smelted by the pure force of her hatred. “I’ll let the mortician sign your death certificates!”
“Oooh this one’s fun,” Rumi replied, to which Zoey agreed, “Mhm! Love some good banter.”
“Yeeaaah, I hate to be a downer, but the local registrar signs the death certificate, not the mortician,” Mira corrected. Both the other girls grimaced.
“That’s it, I’ve had enough of this,” the demon shouted, then pointed up at the ceiling and snapped her fingers. The stage lights sparked and burst in an explosion of glass as the entire lighting truss cracked and dropped from the ceiling.
Each of the girls lunged out of the way of the impact site, tumbling into a roll to end on their feet, still combat ready. Zoey checked to her left—Rumi and Mira were still safe. The wave of demons rushed at her, forcing her focus back to the incoming threat. She threw a bundle blades in a fan from each hand, taking out the first and second lines in a sudden gasp of magenta dust that quickly disappeared, but no sooner did she conjure more shin-kal into her hands than the rest came bearing down on her.
“You didn’t really think that’d work, did you?” she heard Rumi ask. A couple quick horizontal slashes took out another pair, and she narrowly avoided another pair’s claws with a backflip, throwing out more blades as she landed. They were dropping so fast, but there were so many more coming.
“Didn’t it?” she heard the demon answer. She could hear the demon grunt behind her as it vaulted the debris to get to Rumi. “It wasn’t supposed to kill you. Then I wouldn’t have the pleasure. I just needed it to keep you apart!” The growl of exertion on the final word confirmed that their fight had begun. Zoey jabbed a blade into a demon on her left, then kicked off a demon at her right to jump away for some distance before sending another quick flurry of blades at the group. More kept coming. Rumi should be done soon, then she’d get some backup.
She twisted to dodge clubs on both sides and swung at their wielders' midsections, then ducking a pair of claws before retreating back with another few knives thrown from a roll. The mob of demons charging her was almost a single mass of blades, clubs, claws, and teeth, difficult to even distinguish the individual members by how many were in the assault. More blades, thrown almost without aiming, as it was near impossible to miss.
Back behind her, Zoey heard a gasp from Rumi, and her head spun toward her. Rumi was on the ground; it looked like she’d been kicked or thrown off her footing, but she didn’t look to be bleeding. The demon was approaching her, but she couldn’t come to help quickly with the fallen equipment blocking her path. Was Rumi losing?
Zoey quickly bent backward to avoid a horizontal swing of a club, stabbed forward to deal with the wielder, then spun to throw the blade back at the demon leader. The shin-kal landed on target, firmly in the demon’s upper arm. The leader staggered and growled in pain, her tail thrashed wildly for a moment, but she didn’t disappear. Zoey threw the rest of the blades in her hands at the mob approaching her, then took another few steps back, eyes split between the swarm attacking her and the leader that should already be a cloud of magenta dust.
The demon leader hissed and a sai disappeared into smoke as the hand that had just held it reached up to grab the back of the shin-kal. A grunt and a quick tug, and the demon pulled it out of their arm. The wound was a vibrant slit that shined brightly with every color imaginable, like the colors of the shin-kal itself but far deeper than the blade’s length, deeper even than the width of the demon’s arm. It leaked pitch-black liquid that somehow still reflected gold and purple and crimson off its surface. A moment passed where Zoey returned her attention to her attackers, slashing at some, throwing blades at others, and kicking one into the rest to buy time. When she returned her focus, the wound was already growing wider, like an eye beginning to open in the demon’s arm by eating away at the flesh around it, but the sai had also begun reappearing in her hand.
Rumi had begun to stand, prompting another angry growl from the leader. Zoey had taken away the leader’s advantage momentarily, so she returned her full focus to the demons rushing her. Their numbers were thinning now as the tear in the Honmoon began to mend itself, choking the flow of reinforcements. Behind her, she could hear the leader breathing heavier as the wound got worse and the fight dragged on with Rumi. She sidestepped a thrust and stabbed down into the attacker’s shoulder, then threw out a couple more fans of blades, enough to actually buy herself a moment to breathe.
“I got you Rumi!” Zoey heard Mira yell from the other side of the room, then turned to see Mira several meters in the air, spinning into a kick firmly against the back of her gokdo. Rumi was pinned with her sword locked between the blades of one sai, while her free hand gripped the wrist of the demon leader, fighting to stop the blade from pushing down into her shoulder. The gokdo flew through the air, straight and fast like a guided missile, and plunged itself right through the leader’s back.
Zoey returned to her fight, now only dealing with the remaining stragglers that had waited, hoping to find an opportunity that never came. A few more throws, and she started making her way over the lighting rig to center stage. Rumi kicked the demon leader away from her, and they stumbled back and fell to their knees. Zoey cautiously approached from behind as the leader hunched over and coughed up more of the viscous black liquid. Mira had finished on her side as well, apparently using her fists when her blade was no longer available, and approached from the opposite side. The three stood in a circle around the demon leader as she briefly looked up, with the same fiery amber rings in her eyes, burning with never-waning hate.
“This isn’t… over,” she sputtered. She struggled to gather the strength to rise, but failed and collapsed to her side. Her markings and her eyes faded, and for a moment nothing happened. No dust, no disappearance. Just the body of a demon, leaking black fluid from rainbow wounds. Time passed, and then the body began to darken all at once, until the blue-grey skin and burnt orange patterns matched the oily black liquid inside, like a mound of void that gradually sunk into the floor. It didn’t dissipate like smoke; it was like it dripped into the Earth from cracks in the ground that didn’t exist. First a mound, then a puddle, and then finally dripping away into nothing. The trio watched in silence, even after that last bits of darkness had disappeared from the floor, until Zoey voiced the question on everyone’s mind.
“What the heck was with that one?”
“I don’t know,” Rumi answered. “It was stronger than usual. Stronger than the Saja Boys. A lot stronger.”
“And ripped straight through the Honmoon like it was paper,” Mira added. “You okay?”
“Yeah, just knocked around a bit,” Rumi confirmed.
“What do we do?” Zoey asked. The question hung in the air for a moment. What could they do? How would they even know? This demon didn’t match how every other demon responded. To their weapons. To the Honmoon. It didn’t even die the right way.
“For now, let’s just go home,” Rumi offered. “I’m sure we’re all hungry after all that. We can talk about what we know and how we react tomorrow, once we’ve had some time to think.”
“Yeah, okay.” Mira agreed.
“Wanna watch a movie?” Zoey asked as they started back to get their belongings. “I heard they’re working on a new live action Ninja Turtles movie and I want to get caught up on all the old ones before it comes out.”
“You’re ridiculous,” Mira scoffed, though she didn’t refuse.
“You love it,” Zoey confirmed, smiling as the door to the studio shut behind them.
Li’zanra Vehelka N’thilkivet Meysjau sat sideways, her legs hanging off one arm of her throne, supporting her head with her forearm propped up against the other. The throne, the floor, the walls, everything in the room was all made up of the same polished black obsidian, speckled with flecks of white such that the room looked like panes of glass stolen from the human world’s night sky. The room was far enough from the outside to create complete, unobstructed silence, and to allow one’s uncertainty build with each step further on the long walk into the darkness when summoned. It was meant to intimidate, to make those inside feel small and insignificant. It was also meant to give nothing much of interest to look at but her. She was the full moon in this sky, and she would have every demon’s undivided attention.
But, secretly, it was also just one of the easier modifications to make, requiring only a couple souls worth of energy to shift the cave walls and alter their type. Her other living quarters were even less extravagant. Just enough space to give her privacy from the other demons, and just enough furnishings to die in peace. It wasn’t a palace, but nobody had a palace in the Underworld, not even Gwi-Ma. Palaces required material, construction, designs and modifications, and maintenance against the winds and biting sand, all of which took energy, which took souls. Gwi-Ma could feed off hate and shame and whatever else, siphoning the energy even from this side of the Honmoon, but everyone else needed to enter the human realm to feed, which usually meant souls. And they were starving.
Every time they got a foothold. Every time a new chance arose. Every time things got just a little bit better. The hunters were always, always there to destroy everything. It was like a game to them. Fun. Slaughtering demons in droves was fun to them. Gwi-Ma was evil, but the hunters—the hunters were something worse. Something she didn’t have the words to articulate. And that was why, from the moment she could speak, her mother had given her a clear purpose. A mantra.
Kill the hunters. End our pain.
Every time she went to sleep, and every time she woke up. Each day when she started training to fight, or to harness the Underworld’s energy, and each day when her training ended. Every time she died, whether from hunger, from wounds inflicted during sparring, from Gwi-Ma, or now the hunters themselves, and every time she woke up, falling back down onto the Underworld sand, alive once more, the words replayed in her mind.
Kill the hunters. End our pain.
This first attempt—first real attempt anyway—did not go as desired. She’d let her emotions get the better of her, and she got sloppy.
All that training, and you fail anyway. What a disappointment you are.
I had things under control. It was the first attempt anyway, I’ll learn faster now that I’m fighting the real thing.
And they will learn how better to kill you too.
Li’zanra grit her teeth. For a while the plan, or at least the outline of a plan, had been going well. She’d successfully improvised a way to split the hunters up to limit teamwork, and as expected Princess Traitor was susceptible to getting her blade caught in the sai, leaving her exposed. She fought with the power of a demon and the agility of a hunter, but with the confidence of someone who was sure they couldn’t lose. That easily exploited attitude might not be present next time, however, seeing as she’d been losing up until Crazy, knife-throwing bitch, came with the assist.
God that damn knife was debilitating. Painful, yes, but pain she could handle. Pain was a familiar constant down here. She’d had to learn young to set pain aside if she wanted to get anything done, and compared to the constant, gnawing, scraping, biting pains of hunger she felt every moment, a mere stab wound was like a love tap. No, the real issue was how it had affected her arm. From the first cut, swinging her blade felt like dragging her arm through mud that only grew thicker and denser with each passing moment. It wasn’t that she couldn’t exert the same force as normal, like a paralysis, it was like the wound itself had become sentient, and was pulling against her force, slowing her down.
Next time, she’d be more in control. Next time, she’d keep them further apart.
She looked down at the demon kneeling before her. His eyes couldn’t meet hers, and he trembled more with each passing moment she remained silent. He was a small and frail lesser demon, younger than even she was, at least if you didn’t count his human years. Deep red skin, patterns already covering his body head to toe, and both upper and lower sets of teeth big enough to keep his mouth from ever fully closing. Even his claws managed to look pathetic just being attached to him. He’d already been warped so much in such a short time, not even able to remain a Jeoseung Saja for a full century; he wouldn’t last long before becoming one of the faceless.
“How could you have thought you signed the death certificate? You were a mortician for thirty years!” Li’zanra demanded, her voice cutting through the silence. At the first syllable Tae-ho jumped up, like her voice carried electricity through his body, but he quickly bent his head down even lower than before.
“Bu–But, I remember, um… there’s pieces. I uh–um, I’ve lost so much, but—I gave people papers, and I signed them, and uh… well actually they might have been receipts now that I think on it more, but—”
“You want me to believe you just happened to lose the piece of you that remembered one of the core responsibilities of your job? And then, what, copied down a guess anyway?”
“Well—uh, I-I, um—”
“You humiliated me. The story of my triumph will now be forever marred by your mistake!” she rebuked him. Her words were laced with venom, but only grew outwardly angry at the end, before she stopped herself.
No. Gwi-Ma runs on emotion, not you. Don’t give him the tools to manipulate you. Not like Sevik’nos did. You have to be stronger. Cold, calculated, firm. When her anger subsided, not absent but capable of being acknowledged and set aside, she continued, “but mistake isn’t quite right, is it? I’m curious, what did he offer you? For you to betray my trust over something so small?”
“Wha–?! No, I-I-I would never, I’ve been–I’m perfectly loyal, I wouldn’t—” Tae-ho stammered, but Li’zanra had already heard enough. With a curl of the claws in her free hand, the lesser demon began to float into the air, unable to resist.
Nothing. I offered nothing but my favor. My approval. How easy it is to turn your most loyal against you.
Thank you for your valuable input, you’ve ruined the one thing I was looking forward to, now please butt out of this, she retorted in her mind.
Not feared enough to compel support. Not respected enough to earn it. Not loved enough to be offered it. Even your mother served me until her last days, when I had no more use for her.
Li’zanra sat up, immediately scowling. Her tail flicked in anger, lashing against her throne hard enough to leave a scratch in the stone. The air crackled and sparked with energy, like electricity, but more fundamental, like the space between each particle of air could at any moment crack and split open, shredding apart anything nearby.
You have no right to speak of my mother.
Do you think her unique? Is this one before you unique?
That’s not the point, it doesn’t matter—
No. All bow to me before they so much as acknowledge you.
I know, Li’zanra answered. Her teeth were clenched together hard enough to nearly crack. Her glare was murderous, eyes and patterns glowing like the magma still bursting from a volcano against the night sky surrounding her, but she wasn’t looking at Tae-ho anymore. Not really. He was in front of her, yes, but all she could see was the moment Gwi-Ma had taken her mother, pulled her up to the top of his miserable pyramid, and burned her away into nothing, consuming the very essence of her being. Her claws started to close. She could feel the weight of bones resist her, like everything resisted her.
Once I grow bored of your failed attempts on the hunters, I will consume you as well. You are too weak to stop me.
I know, she answered again. But she’d prove him wrong. She had a plan, and then nothing would resist her. Not anymore. She hated losing, she hated dying, and she hated being dismissed as an afterthought. Bones cracked and splintered under her claws. Somewhere she heard Tae-ho screaming in agony, but she didn’t care. She hated Gwi-Ma, she hated her mother for serving him, and she hated living in a world designed for suffering, watching a better one from behind a wall through which she was not allowed pass. Tae-ho’s screams stopped. She’d torn apart the muscles needed for speech, so all he could manage was a tortured, desperate gasp.
But most of all, she hated the hunters, who were responsible for all of it.
None will come to your aide. None will mourn you.
“I KNOW!” she screamed. Tae-ho dropped to the ground, his entire body limp. Bent, crushed, and shattered so badly everywhere that he couldn’t move so much as a finger, even if he’d wanted to. He leaked black fluid from his mouth onto her floor, but the damage hadn’t broken skin, so he didn’t bleed anywhere else. He hadn’t been shredded inside, just had his muscles ripped and his bones crushed. He’d die, slowly though. Probably from starvation before internal bleeding. And then he’d wake up anew, falling back against the sands of the Underworld, ready to suffer once more.
He will always obey me over you. Because you are weak.
That’s not what this is about. I got my point across. Now leave. Show’s over, I’m done.
Which is why you will never stand against me. You lack the resolve to carve your name deeper than can fade from memory.
He’s baiting you again. Don’t take the bait. You need to stop, Li’zanra told herself, letting out a deep exhale and trying to steady herself. Her heart was pounding out of her chest and there was a pressure behind her eyes that made her feel like vomiting. I let him get under my skin again. I got carried away. She took a deep breath, held it, then exhaled. I need to get some air. Need to get away from everyone. Could play for a bit, usually helps get the bastard out of my head.
Another deep breath. Hold. Exhale. She returned her attention to the demon in front of her.
“I’d thought you were smarter than this, Tae-ho. You know you can’t lie to me. I was good to you. I helped block out the voices for you, but it’s clear you need the voices, lest you try to think. I’m not angry because it was a big deal, I’m angry because it wasn’t.”
Realizing she was starting to yell again—starting to get emotional, Li’zanra stopped herself. She paused, then began again.
“I trusted you enough not to listen, and you knowingly betrayed that trust over something so small. So trivial.” Li’zanra stood up and walked toward the mangled demon, stopping just next to him and staring down at the gasping, crumpled body before her. She didn’t crouch. He didn’t deserve her lowering herself for him. His eyes looked up at her, but his face could no longer hold an expression. It was too damaged. Disfigured and deformed beyond recognition. “Now that I am listening, all I can hear is how badly you regret making that promise to Gwi-Ma. But you don’t know what real regret feels like, Tae-ho. Not yet.”
With that she snapped her fingers, and all traces of Tae-ho disappeared from the room in a cloud of ruby smoke. She teleported him somewhere far away, where nobody would stumble upon him without already knowing where he was. She’d decide what to do with him later. Another deep breath. Calm down.
“You can come out now, Nari,” Li’zanra said, facing toward the hallway. Nari was technically older than her, but he’d been born from the soul of a teenager, and had maintained much of that young, uncertain personality the previous owner must have had at the time, despite the many decades he’d spent in the Underworld. His small frame appeared in the entryway. He had blue skin, but darker than her own, small horns and protruding teeth, patterns across most of his body, though less than would be expected for his years, and a single large eye making up most of his face.
“You forget, I can feel you there, even when I can’t hear your heartbeat due to… distractions. Walk with me. What brings you here?” she ordered, walking past him and starting down the hallways toward the exit of her home, back to the surface of the Underworld. Nari quickly followed, and Li’zanra resisted the urge to investigate why his heart started pounding. Unlike Gwi-Ma, she kept her promises.
“I just, see um–I had a couple ideas? Like–just brainstorming, nothing um, like–you know, uh… for our next attempt?”
Li’zanra stopped and turned toward him, and Nari took a couple more steps forward before realizing and hurrying back to where she stood.
“You’re nervous. More than usual. Why?”
“Oh–oh it’s nothing, I’m—uh, so—if you’re busy I can just, uhh—actually just forget I was here, I’ll come by later,” he stammered, but immediately went silent when Li’zanra lifted her hand.
“You’re afraid I’ll be angry because you still serve Gwi-Ma, is that right?”
Nari didn’t answer other than to look away and squirm slightly, with a small squeak as though he were the one who’d just said something he ought not to have said, but it was all the confirmation she needed.
“Nari, you’d told me that years ago, I didn’t forget. Look at me,” she requested. She spoke softly, but by Nari’s immediate obedience it would be more believable that she’d shouted the words in a blind rage.
“I like to believe I’m pretty reasonable. I know that, for now, I’m powerless compared to Gwi-Ma, but I’ve never asked you to be loyal only to me. I don’t need, or even want your soul. All I require is your honesty. When Gwi-Ma lends his power, I can use it, but I can’t trust it. I need to be able to trust you. You are incredibly valuable to me for your experience, yes, but more so because you’ve never lied or hidden things from me. As long as that doesn’t change, you have nothing to fear from me.”
Li’zanra let the words settle, leaving an admittedly uncomfortable silence in their place, but one she hoped would convey her sincerity. After a few moments, Nari nodded to convey he understood. His heart slowed down to a more normal pace. He was still clearly nervous, even ignoring his heart rate, but it was a healthy nervous, not an ‘imagining the things she could do beyond his worst nightmare’ kind of nervous. An acceptable amount of nervousness.
“Alright, good. Now let’s hear what notes you have. It was a solid attempt, but never really expected it’d all work out first try anyway. I’m sure there’s lots we can improve on,” she said, smiling as she continued to walk toward the exit. Nari followed, and for a moment he seemed to forget about their situation, filled with nothing but excitement that someone wanted to hear his ideas. Li’zanra quickly added, her smile growing as she thought of the plans to come, “Oooh, start with anything you’ve got on how to deal with Crazy. I have a hunch that she’s a weak link we can exploit.”
This is going to work, eventually. I’m ready, I know it. No matter what Gwi-Ma says, this can work. I can beat them. One of these times, I will beat them. And then, we’re free, she thought, stepping out from the cave to the surface of the Underworld.
Kill the hunters. End our pain.