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Rumi’s greatest fear confronted her when she least expected it. It wasn’t a dark and stormy night, it wasn’t after a hard-won battle, and it wasn’t a scene of desperate pleading leading to death or banishment. About the only thing she had pictured correctly was the alley.
It was a bright summer day, with a lovely warm breeze. The kind of weather that had Rumi wishing once again that she was still normal enough to wear short sleeves instead of the suffocating weight of not only a long sleeve shirt but a hoodie on top; necessary to smother any harsh violet light her patterns threw off when her emotions ran away from her. They were heading back to the penthouse, using the alley to stay out of sight, after a lunch sourced from various street vendors. She could still faintly hear the hustle and bustle of the main streets behind her when the architect of the end arrived like the infamous Drop Bear that Zoey had warned them about during their Australia tour.
“Hunter!” The figure exclaimed in English for some reason. Rumi assumed it was a woman from the high pitched if scratchy voice, though it was hard to tell with how covered they were; a full length black pleather trench coat, tuxedo t-shirt, high waisted blue jeans, crocs, sunglasses, face mask (which oddly didn’t cover the clearly caucasian nose), and trilby (most people called them fedoras but when she had caught Zoey doing so Mira had insisted that “Indiana Jones had a fedora, and that is not a fedora!”). Most worrying was what appeared to be a katana strapped to their side.
“I have caught you at last, demon hunter!” the figure declared, dramatically reaching up to pull their mask down. The effect was ruined somewhat when the ear loop hooked onto the temples of their sunglasses, causing a brief delay while he (the now visible, and extremely patchy, facial hair was an important clue) tried to unhook the mask without removing the sunglasses.
He failed.
Casting both aside, the (young?) man squared his shoulders prepared to resume his speech just as the alley echoed with the rattling slurp of Zoey’s now empty boba cup.
“Zoey!” Mira whispered chidingly.
“Sorry!” The maknae cringed in embarrassment, “Please, continue”
“Thank you,” The man returned with a polite nod, “M’lady.” All three hunters fought the urge to cringe with varying degrees of success. Rumi, with her childhood full of PR training, managed the best. Zoey’s smile grew strained. And poor Mira actually gagged. The man paused once more, “Where was I?”
“‘Caught you at last,’” Rumi reminded him.
“Right! I have caught you at last, demon hunter! Your foul corruption of the Honmoon has gone unpunished long enough!” Rumi’s face paled dramatically as the weirdly dressed man continued with his squeaky voice, “How so loathsome a being has infiltrated the divine mission of the hunters is beyond me! Reveal yourself and face judgement vile beast!” The man tried to draw his sword and point dramatically at the purple haired singer but at first the curve of the blade caught the inside of the scabbard.
As he struggled to figure out the right way to draw his weapon Rumi realized with crushing certainty that this man was a moron. He was every awful stereotype that sword YouTubers mocked. (There were only so many people who actually cared about real sword fighting, so sue her!) He was pathetic and, in an effort to be helpful and dismiss his claims, Mira and Zoey would almost certainly suggest she simply show a bit of arm. She was stunned, and felt faintly betrayed by the very concept of irony. ‘Is this how I die? Brought low by a joke!?’ She felt like laughing, she felt like crying, the twin impulses mostly manifested with her entire body freezing and a thankfully too quiet to be heard whimper.
“Aha!” The trilby-clad man called in triumph, holding his now slightly twisted and bent blade. On a closer look it was clearly something picked up at a mall, probably intended for cosplay or as wall art. It looked like he had for some unknown reason taken a rock bashed the edges, maybe an attempt to sharpen it? As a weapon, it was rather pathetic; but this was a normal human, it’s not like she could use her own sword, and if he so much as caught her sleeve…
“Wait,” Zoey cut in, and Rumi was hit by the admittedly quite common urge to kiss the younger woman, albeit this time gratitude. “You know about the Honmoon, so you should know that we’re all demon hunters, how would that ‘corrupt the Honmoon’?” The urge to kiss Zoey didn’t entirely vanish, (it never truly did,) but it did diminish somewhat.
“Well, uhhh.” Okay, so maybe Zoey was onto something, as the man briefly froze. “The hmmm, yes you all hunt demons and so could be called demon hunters. But I’m more talking about the demon acting as a hunter… the demon demon hunter as it were.”
Mira’s wry voice was particularly amused as she followed the train of logic, “So does that make you a demon demon hunter hunter?” Rumi wasn’t sure if Mira was having fun with the English wordplay or legitimately confused. Mira’s English was usually pretty solid, her parents had insisted on it, but this was starting to get confusing even for Rumi; and she had been raised with English Evenings, as Celine called them, every day after school.
“Yes, I suppose so…” The trenchcoated man’s brow furrowed, “but I fail to see how that is relevant, my task is simple, to take out the… fell? I think I already used that one….”
“Wicked?” The lyricist offered absently as she poked around for any missed bobba pearls. And Rumi was really wondering what it would take to actually put Zoey on the no-kiss list. Because apparently even actively helping the man who planned on killing her was apparently not enough. Mira at least was on her side!
“Rotten?” Mira’s betrayal followed less than a second later. Apparently betrayal wasn’t a deal breaker for Rumi, as her immediate thought was how sexy the proud look on Mira’s face was as she matched Zoey’s suggestion almost immediately.
“Oh, perfect!” The man grinned maniacly, “My task is to send the rotten cur back to Lord Gwi-ma’s side! Have at thee wicked temptress!” He bellowed as he clumsily hopped forward, and… attempted a jump attack? Rumi’s reflexive attempt to step in and parry the blade was textbook perfect, and she neatly caught the flat of the blade with the outside of her forearm just how Celine had trained her. Of course Celine had expected an opponent to be so brainrotted from pop culture that they bashed their sword with a rock and, in attempting to sharpen a cheap mall sword, accidently created the perfect surface to catch and tear a loose sleeve.
What surprised Rumi the most was how her sleeve tore. The pure strength with which the man pulled back was as inhuman as her own panicked pull. The weave of the cloth actually held strong, it was of high quality and well woven. But the hoodie was old and well worn, and the stitching was not nearly so resilient. There was an almighty RIP! And Rumi was bereft of her most important protective layer. Her emotions, already running hot from the fear of exposure, spiked at the loss. Her patterns burning hot and bright through the damaged cloth of her much thinner shirt.
At least she'd feel a little cooler before she died. Stupid summer weather.
“Ha ha! See what power Lord Gwi-ma has granted me!?” The previously hidden marking blazed over his face as he raved, “I shall be your downfall! And with your death the Honmoon shall be cleansed anew! I stri-!” A whuff of air escaped him, displaced by the half-meter of glimmering Soul Steel blade occupying the space where his lungs used to be.
“Are you okay?” Mira’s tone was gentle as she turned towards Rumi, who nervously eyed the glowing weapon for the half second it took Mira to notice and dismiss it. “Rumi, it’s okay. We already knew.”
“Wha-what?” Rumi congratulated herself on that one. Honestly after the whiplash of the last few minutes her brain managing language at all was an accomplishment. Sure the question had come out in English, probably because they had just been using it with the demon, but in retrospect that wasn’t the worst choice to reduce the chance of anyone listening in. Apparently the other hunters had the same idea because they continued in the same.
“We already knew you were a demon. I mean come on, you walk around in pitch black rooms with glowing eyes.” At Mira’s calm statement Rumi felt her entire worldview crack.
“Oh, and your teeth!” Zoey continued, “You have like two extra premolars and two less molars, and they’re all sharp! The premolars at least! Remember when you bit your cheek? That’s why it bled so much!”
“Plus there was that time that I accidentally walked in on you half naked.” Mira added calmly
“You told me you didn’t see anything!” Rumi hotly contested.
“No, I told you I wasn’t wearing my glasses,” Mira returned, “and I wasn’t; I was wearing contacts. It just seemed like you were ready to flee the country if we brought it up. So we just… waited.”
“...half.” Rumi quietly confessed. “I’m half demon, I didn’t make a deal or anything.”
“Oh thank god,” Mira relaxed, and Zoey took the chance to strike! “Ack, fuck! Why are you attacking me?”
“You killed the demon demon demon hunter hunter! Which means you’re the demon demon demon hunter hunter hunter!” It was a testament to Zoey’s rap ability that, even mid grapple, she maintained consistent word flow. “If I take you down, I become the demon demon demon hunter hunter hunter hunter! The title shall be mine!”
“Rumi, help!” Mira called as she toppled. Rumi stared for a few seconds, half expecting a cartoon cloud of dust. “Ow, Zoey! Not the hair!”
Right, first she helps Mira, then she sees exactly how right Celine was about her ‘nothing can change until your patterns are gone’. She was wrong about Mira and Zoey accepting her patterns, she might be equally wrong about them accepting her affections too. With a smile on her face Rumi jumped into the fray to help free Mira from Zoey’s freakish grappling abilities.
“Oh no, Mira, I’m being attacked by the demon demon demon demon hunter hunter hunter hunter hunter!”
“Serves you right, you menace! Let! Go!”
“NEVER!”