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Kpop Demon (Zombie) Hunters AU Part(10/??)

I WAS ON THE EDGE OF MY SEAT AND WHEN I CLICKED AND THAT WAS THE END I- JUST- AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!

Okay okay okay- soooooooo many thoughts....

Don't think I didn't notice how Celine didn't answer Sangwoo's question about why she didn't go with the girls! She has guilt! 😭😭😭

Fantastic job making the school environment feel so busy and tense!

Celine watching the mother cry for her child aaaaaauuuuuggghhhh 💀

That absolutely stunning double-spread of Celine hiking through the woods! 😍😍😍

All the action shots of Celine being the badass we all know and love; in any AU, she's a badass 😎

The shot of her finding the temple! Wonderfully done! Really, this whole installment was just jam-packed with expertly-done staging (not sure if that's the right word), showing the passage of time and of her journey. Kudos!

That kid is creeping me out. Something about them just doesn't feel...natural.

THAT ENDING SLAMMED INTO ME LIKE A BRICK WAL!!! 💀💀💀

whumptober #12 sacred place

Currently: our crew is hiding out in Miyeong’s apartment while trying to track some wraiths and prepare for battle—Minji and Celine making lunch, Miyeong and Zoey doing a Heist TM of Zoey’s belongings, and Rumi and Mira stealing some of Mira’s mother’s books. Unfortunately, on the way out, they’ve been stopped by someone who seems to have business with Mira.

First is that she's glad she didn't try to talk Rumi out of bringing the sword, after all.

Second is that that's a stupid thing to think, because these aren't supernatural horrors in a dark alley, they're human assholes in the middle of the hall in the heart of the Kang chaebol empire, and she can't actually just sic Rumi on these guys, that's not how the world works.

Third is that, wait a minute. That's exactly how the world works, Park's goons literally have guns, is the entire point and purpose of this confrontation not the threat of physical violence if she doesn't comply?

Fourth is that Park's goons literally have guns, thanks so much for that, Kunwoo-sachon, you unbearable twit (and Abeoji had rolled his eyes, too, had said "what are we, some classless Yakuza outfit or silly posturing Americans?" but he'd still signed off on the KNPA bribe, hadn't he), and as much as Rumi is a badass, she probably has no idea what a gun even is and that's maybe not the best position to be trying to fight people with them from.

So Mira puts on her slickest, most dangerous voice, the one she and Jaeho used to practice with each other, snickering, hiding out from Abeoji's parties on roofs and in coatrooms and behind kitchens, and tries to talk the men's hands off their weapons.

"A moment, Rumi," calm, like she's totally in control here. "I'm sure Park-ssi meant no insult," and just a hint of contempt, for that, like she's doing him a kindness, letting him pretend he wouldn't be fool enough to act above his place. "He is a longtime employee of my family, and there's no reason for a simple conversation with such a reliable friend to escalate to anything unpleasant."

She can't quite tell if the intimidation hits, but Park does say, carefully, "... of course. I apologize for my... enthusiasm," apparently at least willing to see where she's going, now that she's not trying to leave.

"Mira," murmurs Rumi, letting go of Park but still very pointedly standing between her and the men. "We should not linger here."

She can hear it, the hope behind the words, the desire to fix this for Mira, to keep her safe, like her presence alone isn't the only reason Mira is still upright and not screaming. Mira reaches out, mostly invisible to the men behind Rumi's broad shoulders, and brushes her hand briefly against the small of Rumi's back, the most reassurance she can afford.

Her words, she keeps directing at Park. "We unfortunately have obligations of our own. However, I respect your concern for the company and its affairs. It's especially important, now, with so much of the family... unavailable to provide their opinions."

Park's eyes narrow, to Mira's immense satisfaction. Serves him right for trying to make threatening veiled insinuations to a Kang, like her family didn't basically invent the practice.

"With that in mind, I'm sure I can find time for you tomorrow, or the day after, if you wish to arrange a more formal meeting. But at the moment, I'm afraid I have other messes to clean up. So, if you will stand aside."

“I am so excited to take my meds,” she tells Miyeong, delighted as it washes over her again, pulling out the bottle just to shake it. “I’ve missed these babies so! Much!”

Miyeong snorts, bemused. “Glad to have been of service.”

She puts the bottle back away and brushes against TeeJay’s worn fabric as she goes. “Do you think there’s a non-traumatic way to get Mira some of her stuff back?”

Not that Mira doesn’t make the slightly oversized look of Celine’s clothes look hot, but the constant borrowing has to suck. She deserves something of her own.

Miyeong grimaces, and Zoey winces at the non sequitur. No one else is in her brain, right.

“That… She was there when that happened, wasn’t she?” she asks quietly.

Oh. Or that. Zoey forgot that Miyeong had been inside. “Yeah. We all were.”

“We could ask her to make a list, maybe,” Miyeong agrees. She forces an awkward little smile. “The smoothie stuff being out makes more sense now.”

“I didn’t put that away?” Zoey’s horrified for all of a second, thinking of the smell, before the rest of the situation slams in again and she remembers that slightly off milk was the least of Miyeong’s problems.

It makes her laugh, at least. “You meant to?”

They zigzag a bit more on the way back than they did on the way there—it gets late enough that Zoey half-considers suggesting they stop and grab some food before catching the next bus, but she’s also still very broke, and probably going to be fielding a call from her mom about the new card showing up in the mail.

(It’ll be just slightly less painful than the last conversation between them, where her mom nearly cried and then Zoey nearly cried and then her mom really cried and also yelled at her for being so stupid.)

She also sees the way that Park's nostrils flare, the way that fury rises in the twitch of his eyes, a petty, jealous wrath as base as any demon, and she realizes, with a jolt, that she did not need to remind this man that he is small and fragile. This is a man who is so aware of his weakness that it consumes his every thought, drives his every action, a rat nibbling the flesh of a bound man in fear and hatred of the free man's boot, and she knows before he speaks what he will say—

"I'm afraid our business cannot wait, Mira-ssi," and he folds his own hands behind his back, the type of man who would not deign to dirty them, and begins to step out of the way of his dogs, "Yang-ssi, Jeon-ssi, if you would please restrain our guests—"

Rumi is already moving.

The taller man is the greater threat, his reach the only advantage these two have on her, and she slams him into the wall with a forearm across his chest before he has even shifted from his obedient posture; his head rocks back a half-breath behind the rest of him and claps sharp against the plaster, eyes unfocusing. Rumi hooks her foot behind his ankle and pulls left, shoves right, and the dog recovers the presence of mind to grapple at her as he goes down, prying at her wrist and tearing her collar in his grip (these modern clothes bear weight no better than sweat).

These are only men, and there is no need to be cruel. Rumi twists easily from his hold, tosses him to the ground, and kicks sideways at his knee, a satisfying snap ringing out and assuring he is incapable of pursuit. It has been long enough seconds that the other dog will have gathered himself, and Rumi turns toward him—

Agony rips through her ribs in a flash of light and a crack of thunderous sound, and she staggers back, and—

Blood.

Blood, loud in her ears, iron in her mouth, on her tongue, when she coughs. Distantly, she hears someone shout her name, and for just an instant, she remembers the molten brand of fingers on her spine, molten like the raging fire under Rumi's hand, beneath her breast, where the skin gapes, ragged edges, around nothing; molten like the coals that seem pressed into Rumi's wet back, torn open, flesh screaming, where she cannot see.

She looks down at her own crimson hand, and thinks, dumbly, I have no time for this, and then, her vision flickering briefly, her mind not quite able to grab the meaning of the word but sure of its desperate import,

She stumbles forward, towards the blood, not certain of what she’s about to do but needing—“Rumi. Rumi. Oh God, Rumi.”

And Rumi tilts her head. She forces her body to straighten, eyes locking on Park. Voice tight with pain and low with threat, she says, “That was rude.”

A breath hiccups out of Mira and she thinks, wildly, of the wire cutters stuck in the bag full of her mother’s books, splattered all over the floor and soaking up blood.

Rumi moves.

It’s one breath, two breaths, three. Then they’re just shells, empty on the ground. Mira falls to her knees and scrambles for the bag.

“Mira!” Rumi calls, impossible Rumi, should be bleeding out Rumi, as Mira heaves, clutching at the wire cutters like a fucking safety blanket. “Mira, are you—“

Mira’s no medical professional, but she knows—pressure. Pressure first. She tips the rest of the books out and turns to press the bag into Rumi’s wound.

The breath punches out of her, a loud thunk of pain, but Mira would rather she not die so she pulls her free hand around to Rumi’s back and searches up the blood-sticky skin in search of—

“Please,” Rumi says, gently taking her hands. “Let me.”

“You’re—calm,” Mira manages, falling back to the floor, “for someone who’s gonna need to talk to that healing spirit.”

Rumi shakes her head. “I heal more quickly the worse the wound. This should be mended within the hour.”

Which… makes sense of why her father had been trying to summon “The Unkillable”. “Any other magic tricks up your sleeve?”

Rumi shakes her head with a little smile, as if she isn’t splattered with blood and pale with blood loss. “I can sing?”

Mira turns to fight the urge to retch some more.

“Mira!” Rumi yelps, so panicked, so kind.

Mira breathes. “We—there’s bodies. We—someone’s going to call the police. You’re on camera.”

"Are you injured, Mira?" She would not be the first not to notice, and she does not heal so well as Rumi. "I do not know the nature of the weapon that struck me, but—"

"No," Mira cuts her off, that same firm yangban control now fully returned to her voice, a strange contrast to her still-trembling hands. "I'm fine, we can talk about guns in a minute. I need—" She twists the bag in her hands, opens a side pocket to find her phone. Blood streaks the mirrored surface, and she wipes it on her sleeve. "— Eunjeong, probably. I don't know why I didn't think about this until now. They're all fucking dead, I'm not disowned, I'm not a target, I'm the goddamn heir unless Minsu wants to fight about it—"

Her hands steady as she presses the machine, and by the time she pulls herself to her feet, she's standing tall, her breath evening out.

Rumi busies herself by tucking the wire cutters into her own pocket, and collecting the books. The blood slides off them like water from oil, save for the dark red tome, which drinks it in, soaking Rumi's life into itself to the last drop.

"… fixer, why do you think I called you?" Mira is asking her phone, icy with contempt. A pause, and then, "Park Seonggi developed aspirations above his station. In my mother's absence, I was forced to correct him myself. … Yes, and two company men. Confused in their loyalties, but they have answered adequately for that, please speak to Mun-ssi about the usual package for their families. …. The downtown tower, yes, thirty-ninth floor, just outside the office elevator."

The longer Mira speaks, the more her posture changes, the more her lip curls into something cruel and ugly.

"No, of course there isn't, and you should consider me generous to take that as due diligence and not a questioning of my competence. Not that some plebeian clean-up crew would have the wit to use them if I did leave anything behind. … No. No more questions. You have your instructions. Do your job, Eunjeong."

She removes the phone from her ear, and shudders, the hollow cruelty sloughing off her like the blood from those cursed books, and looks down at the bodies, for a long moment.

Rumi does not know what to do, what to say, where to stand or put her hands. She shuffles the bloody bag on her shoulder. "…. Mira?"

Mira breathes out, sharp, and looks up.

She does not look at Rumi.

"It's fine, I'm fine," she says, eyes on the elevator. "I need to make more calls but we need to get moving, there's a bathroom down the hall, we can't walk out of here like this. I…" She plucks at the hem of her ruined shirt. "I don't know about our clothes. I'll think of something. Maybe Abeoji left some coats in his office we can take."

Mira puts the phone back to her ear, turns down the hall, and her posture shifts, again. "Security? Yes, this is Kang Mira. Yes, I'm sure you are. The office elevator is barred to entry until further notice, and I'll need to speak to your camera technician. Lee Eunjeong will be arriving soon, admit her— yes— I did not ask," as though the man on the other end of the conversation, perhaps the poor soul who had been so alarmed by Rumi's sword, is no more than a worm beneath Mira's shoe.

She wants to tell Mira how to get the blood out. How to scrub under her nails. How just because she does not feel clean does not mean she is not, how she could scrub until her skin was red and raw and not feel clean, how Rumi has not felt clean in—

Well.

She does not.

Mira probably knows, anyway, given the things she has said of what she has been forced to do.

Rumi waits while Mira goes out again, stripping off her own torn and bloody shirt and the now-useless bandages from her earlier wounds and using some of the paper… napkins? Towels? at the side of the sink to clean the blood from her torso. And her arms. And her face.

Mira returns with a coat in her hands—scratchy on the outside, but silk-lined. The sleeves hang awkwardly over Rumi’s hands, too stiff to drape properly.

“Let me help you,” she says, shrugging it back off, the moment she sees Mira start trying to clean herself.

Mira does not say no.

So Rumi keeps going.

Eventually: “A gun is—it pushes a bullet—a pellet made of lead—out with a tiny explosion. Like archery but worse. That was what they shot you with.”

“Like a cannon?” Rumi asks, wiping the blood from Mira’s face, careful with her jaw. The makeup comes with it nonetheless.

“Yeah,” Mira says. Her eyes close, and Rumi freezes, scared to have hurt her, but then— “Fuck. I hate this. I have to—I have to call—I—“

Which is to say, Minji leads Mira to a kitchen chair and starts methodically checking her for shock, a sensible reaction to her pale skin and thousand-yard stare. At the same time, Miyeong is collecting the bag and shoes into a tub and then disappearing into the spare room, and Celine starts water and sets out mugs, all three of them immediately doing obviously useful things in a calm and efficient way.

Zoey, for her part, does at least manage obviously useful, and sits Rumi down in her own kitchen chair to make sure that none of the poorly-hidden blood all over the two of them is hers. But there's nothing calm or efficient about the noise she makes when she sees Rumi's torso.

"It is— I am well, Zoey," Rumi tries to reassure her. "The healing is almost complete."

"You said within the hour," says Mira, from the other side of the kitchen. She doesn't sound like she's in shock, but she does sound scolding and scared, which isn't much better. "It's been almost two. You got shot from half a meter away and there was a giant terrifying hole through your chest. Let Zoey look."

Zoey makes another extremely unhelpful noise of distress.

"It was a terrible moment," Rumi says, taking Zoey's hands between hers, warm and healthy and alive. "But the moment is over, and it does not negate our success. We took no lasting harm, and we returned with what we went there for."

"Yes," says Celine, sounding pretty displeased about it, "I can see that you did. Zoey, if Rumi-nim genuinely doesn't need your medical skills, I would appreciate you placing that barrier pattern you were practicing yesterday on that tub, while I construct something more permanent."

Zoey takes another long look at the mushroom bloom of violent purple-green bruising covering the entire distal half of Rumi's left side, and the shiny knotted ground-beef entry wound somehow closing itself in the middle. It actually does look incredibly close to healed, if still probably quite painful and definitely quite gruesome.

Rumi pulls the coat back around herself to conceal it, a little sheepishly. "Truly, Zoey. I am touched by your concern, but there is no need for it. If the honored shaman feels it is important to contain the books, that should be our priority."

Minji, having finished her appraisal of Mira and given her ice for her jaw, walks over and tells Rumi, "We can multitask."

Zoey gladly hands Rumi over to someone less likely to let warm hands keep her from telling her patient to be less of an idiot, and takes a sharpie over to the tub, skin prickling at proximity to what is apparently a bag full of evil books (!), to start drawing hanja.

Miyeong and Celine come back into the room a moment later, Miyeong with less bloody, better fitting shirts and pants in hand, and Celine with her box of inks and a small wooden storage chest which Zoey really hopes wasn't holding anything Miyeong considers important.

Her voice falters, uselessly, as she looks down at Celine’s pants. They’re disgusting. Literally stiff with blood and sticking to her skin at the same time.

“Don’t be,” Celine says, her voice strangely gentle.

Mira wants to say, I was kneeling in the blood because I was trying to keep Rumi from bleeding out. She wants to say, I don’t even know the names of two of the people we just killed. She wants to say, When I said I’d do anything not to be alone with him again, I didn’t mean it.

She doesn’t.

She goes into the bathroom. She thinks about Rumi’s biohazard jeans, piled in Celine’s sink.

She picks up the old shopping bag and wonders who else remembered them.

And carefully, she shucks off her father’s jacket, then the pants, then her underthings—at least her fucking bra isn’t ruined, fuck—piling the more stained garments inside the less, and shoving it all into the bag.

There’s blood in her hair, too, not just on her skin.

It doesn’t feel like hers right then. Doesn’t feel like anything. None of her body feels all that real.

She pulls on the long, fuzzy sweater. It doesn’t seem like something Celine would own, much less pack. She wonders if it’s Miyeong’s, oversized and for bad days.

She wonders if she’ll ruin it too.

She goes back out.

“Shower’s yours,” Mira says.

Miyeong stops her story. Rumi, sitting, bloody, in that same kitchen chair, rises with a quiet “Thank you.”

Celine comes from somewhere to take Mira by the arm, leading her to the couch.

Then it’s Miyeong appearing, her hand over Mira’s so she instinctively opens it and—

Cold.

She blinks down at the ice cube melting in her palm. “What the—“

“You seemed a little out of it,” Miyeong says with a shrug, like that’s a normal response to have to that situation.

Well. Everyone else eats.

Miyeong tries. She really does. She stabs her chopsticks in and out of the bibimbap half a dozen times, arguing back and forth with the queasy knot in her stomach. But there's never been any question of who would win, in the end.

She hides her abstinence under her well-curated array of stupid stories, competing with Zoey to provide the most distraction and coax the most eyerolls and grudging smiles out of Rumi and Mira. Zoey takes the crown handily, of course, but Miyeong thinks she does quite well considering her "not involved in that goofy hormonal mess" handicap.

She collects the dishes before anyone else can, deals with her all-but-full bowl before anyone can see. The dishwasher is loaded and she's scraping down pans when she hears the television flicker on behind her, more of the drama they've gotten Rumi addicted to about a mob-owned soju distillery and three generations of messy romance. She leans back around the corner to see Mira in the center of the couch, Zoey and Rumi draped against her, and Celine and Minji slipping into the cramped corner over the sink to help her finish dishes.

"If you're going to contact that healing spirit," says Minji, pitched low enough to travel no further than the three of them, "sooner is better than later. Mira's wiring is mangled, it's not properly supporting her jaw anymore."

Celine nods. "I'll take her down to the river tomorrow. And get the whole story out of Rumi-nim tonight, if I can."

Minji nods back, and then she and Celine exchange a significant look. Miyeong can't quite read it, but it Minji must be satisfied with whatever she saw, because she brushes a hand absently along Celine's shoulderblade and says, "I'm going to go read for a while, then. Don't do anything stupid to your stitches."

"I won't," promises Celine, an easy assent, and Minji wanders off to the bedroom, where it's entirely possible that they won't see her again until it's time for another long night of torturing Miyeong with her warm, grabby proximity.

After a moment, as they're beginning to wipe down the counters, three-handed, Celine says, softly, "You didn't eat."

Miyeong glances back at the couch, the pile of traumatized young women increasingly merging into each other just out of earshot. "… no, I didn't."

"Still worried about them?"

It had been Celine, a few hours ago, who found her spiraling in front of the dresser in the spare room; who Miyeong had curled up against, disassembled enough to not feel guilty about imposing on her personal space; Celine whose sternum had received Miyeong's mumbled, aching, "God, they're just kids." It had been Celine who wrapped her good arm around Miyeong's shoulders and held her, tall and kind and steady, until she pulled herself together and went back out into the kitchen to be useful again.

Mira shuffles and Zoey rips her eyes away from her study of Mira’s hair and back to Lee’s and Hae-won’s confession. 

Zoey glances back to Mira, just to see if she’s comfortable. 

Mira’s eyes snap to her. “I um,” She fights back a shiver as Mira’s arm tightens on her shoulder. “I left my turtle on the table, he’s been a comfort for me through hard times not that I’ve you know nevermind it was stupid.”

Mira looks at her with such warmth it could probably melt a yeti. Her voice is a hoarse whisper, barely audible above the TV. It sounds like honey to Zoey. “TeeJay would be nice.”  

She remembers his name. 

Rumi perks up. “Worry not, I shall acquire the Honoured Turtle!” “Rumi, it’s okay.” Zoey nodded to the TV. “I don’t want you to miss this! Episode twenty nine is the best.” 

Leaving the couch was a mistake, the thoughts came in waves. You useless—no! No! Not going there! They need me, focus!  

What could she—Mira could probably use more ice, yeah she could do that! 

Heavily accented Korean crashes into her train of thought. “If you not surrender distillery, Mr. Lee nim, I will take by force.”  

There was something—

“You will never get away with it, Goncharov. We have true love!” The TV blares. Wait. Episode twenty nine. How could she forget? What was she thinking?! 

She races back, and almost slips on the tile. Stupid Zoey, stupid! You forget the one episode! She catches herself on the corner of the couch. Rumi lets out a yelp of surprise. On the screen, Goncharov flicks back his black coat to reveal a revolver.

Zoey’s fingers fumble for the remote. It almost slips out of her hands.

The music crescendos. Goncharov fires.

Zoey hits the ‘off’ button just as Hae-won jumps in front of Lee.

She knows that the drama they've been watching is not real- "Like a play," Zoey had explained back in the hanok, "except you can watch it any time"- but she also knows it still holds power. That seeing these modern plays with the actors' faces so close you could see their eyelashes, stirring music that came from invisible instruments, and "special effects" that were akin to magic, hold power. And right now she's feeling this one sinking its claws into her.

An ache stirs in the freshly-healed wound in her chest, burning to life as her flesh remembers what it was to be shredded by a projectile- a 'bullet.' Once again, she feels the blood pouring out, soaking the thin twenty-first century clothes too quickly and seeping through her fingers. A hand comes up to where the bandage is wrapped tight around her ribs, and even though her probing fingers find the tension of whole and unyielding skin, a corner of her mind howls with the memory of when they found nothing but that gaping, ragged hole left behind by the piece of metal flying faster than any pebble from one of the village kids' slingshots.

It is not a pleasant feeling.

Worse, though, is the image that hits her next, of Hae-won leaping, desperate, in front of Lee.

She did not see what happened next, but from the haste with which Zoey turned off the show, she can guess.

And while Rumi is no stranger to violence and death, it feels…different, when delivered with the suddenness of a lightning bolt. If that bullet had hit Mira instead of her, she'd have been-

Rumi's stomach flips.

-dead before she hit the ground.

An age of wonders, but not all are wonderous.

The silence becomes uncomfortable, suffocating, and she clears her throat; Zoey and Mira's heads swivel to her like horrified owls. "That…was very brave of Hae-won. Lee is very fortunate."

Like Mira; Rumi did not like thinking about what could have happened if she'd not been with her.

"Is he?" Mira says dully, voice flat as her reflection in the screen, not looking at Rumi. "He just watched Hae-won get shot."

"Yes," Rumi hedges. "But Hae-won is a protector. It is her duty. She chose to save Lee. If she…gets injured in the process, she is fine with that, so long as Lee is safe."

"Maybe- maybe a different show?" Zoey jumps in and clicks the television back on, rapidly flicking through channels so fast Rumi can hardly tell what's on them. She stops on a tournament of sorts- women holding bows that Rumi barely recognizes as such and shooting arrows at a target.

She would rather shoot arrows herself than watch people do it, and there is no music from invisible instruments, but Zoey's plopped back down on the couch and is staring intently at the screen, so she relents, lets the discussion of Hae-won's unquestioned bravery that Mira is intent on questioning drop.

Next to her, though, she hears Mira mutter:

It’s probably for the best, though, today, as it means that the rest of the city hasn’t yet woken by the time they reach the shores of the Han River.

“I was expecting somewhere more… nature-y,” Zoey admits, kicking a little at the litter at the base of the bridge before bending to pick it up.

The whispering magpie spirit croaks one of her caustic remarks, so Celine clarifies, “Healing spirits tend to find themselves drawn to sick places.”

Though Celine tries not to cast judgment from a place of ignorance, their current environment certainly qualifies. She’s glad that Mira could get a mask on in spite of the state of her jaw; even through one, the air here is filthy—and further, the buildings are all old enough and in poor enough repair that she wouldn’t be surprised if the spirit was putting all their energy to containing the effects of asbestos exposure.

With one last nip at Zoey’s ear, the whispering magpie spirit flutters over to disappear directly into a poster taped on a shop window—some cartoon tiger mascot selling a juice drink.

They will get no more guidance.

Celine returns, however uncomfortably, to what she has: Even water from a cracked bucket can be drunk, as long as it is drawn from the well.

Plainly: I don’t care how pathetic you are, go help.

She ignores the bridge, carefully kneeling as close to the water’s edge as the railing allows, and hums a few notes.

The water ripples in her mind’s eye—not awakening, but stirring in their sleep, agreeing that they’re in the right place.

Celine knows the next steps of the ritual. She’s gone over it a million times since hearing the spirit’s pronouncement. She still has to hide the shaking of her hands as she rises and turns to Zoey.

"A gift, always," Celine tells Zoey, when she drops the ancient brass in the water, "personalized if you can. The Chinese coins were Kkachi-ssi's suggestion, in this case."

"And we're… sure she wasn't trolling us?"

Celine has been holding herself stiffly all morning— she's paid little attention to her shoulder up till now, but perhaps, like Mira's jaw, the impending promise of relief is making her more aware of it— but Zoey's question loosens her, a little bit.

"Despite appearances," she says, dryly amused, "she is a spirit of wisdom. Sabotaging an offering is an insult to both the mudang and the spirit in question, and that would be a very unwise move indeed."

Zoey gasps in mock offense. "You wouldn't dare hurt Suspicion-ssi."

"Not if the coins work, certainly," agrees Celine, without an ounce of sincere threat. "Music, please."

And when their harmonizing comes to an end, the river bubbles up, sudden and silent, and between one breath and the next, a spirit is standing in front of them.

He looks like an old man, stooped and gnarled, clad in a dark blue hanbok embroidered with loons and a willow tree and threaded through with gold that seems to actively move, every time Mira looks away, like bright lines of sunlight breaking on the bottom of a riverbed. He leans on a staff as gnarled as he is, and his long grey hair is tied back in an elegant queue and threaded through with strands of trailing algae and beads of wood and abalone.

Water drips off him, the ends of his sleeves and the turns of his elbows; it puddles around his feet, where he stops in front of Celine to peer up at her, though he himself seems perfectly dry. Celine looks a little pale, as she bows in front of him, nearly as deeply as she did when she met Rumi.

Zoey and Mira copy her, a little shallower, and Celine straightens, shifts her weight. "Honored spirit of the Han," she starts, low and formal.

"Granddaughter," greets the spirit, and his voice is lighter than Mira expected, almost young, though his tone— warm but measured, careful like he knows far more than he's saying— mostly just makes him sound like the shaman herself. "What can this humble old spirit do for Jang Celine of Jeju, this sunny morning?"

"You... know me," is Celine's startled response, apparently so taken aback that her manners desert her completely, which has got to be a pretty high bar for shock. The old man isn't offended, though; his eyes crinkle, as he looks up at her.

In practice - Minjj was fighting against her body hard to stay awake. It was immensely stupid because there was no need for her to be trying to sleep. She... wasn't working or on shift. She wasn't at the hospital. (She wished she was, that the others were still alive, that she was home.) If she got tired she could just take a nap. Minji dug her thumb into palm - balancing on the line of pain before the point of drawing blood. She needed to get used to sleeping without... without comfort again. The current situation was temporary - even putting aside the fact that she was hoping for Miyeong's suit to suceed. Mischievous and warm Miyeong fit with the centered and sheltering Celine. Clownfish and anemone. Once everyone was better, then they would move on to trying to find the wraiths and then eventually fighting. And it was only at that last part that Minji would become useful again. If someone got hurt - which she wouldn't be hoping for. Minji had learned before that she was meant for the hospital, for the emergency department where the rules were different, where her rough edges fit. In an emergency an eye for triage was useful instead of cruel. Blunt crispness and dark humor fit. Minji fit. (Where Minji couldn't bring anything to those she cared about. If she had just stayed at the hospital... No mistaking a slight cough for something innocent. Maybe then her father would have never gotten sick. Maybe her family wouldn't have been saying goodbyes across a virtual connection. Maybe then she wouldn't have been taking advantage that she was being exposed daily to be there to hold her parents hands as they died during the epidemic.)

Her? Called a healer? As if soothing a spirit’s rattled temper is the same as…

The river spirit smiles at her, the crooked smile of an old man who has won himself one more victory.

“We came with gifts,” Zoey says, smart enough to take the initiative as Celine falters.

“Your kindness is appreciated,” the river replies, sweeping a hand out so the coins are caught in his trailing sleeve.

“A token of our respect,” Celine manages, “for a spirit as venerable as you.”

Healer, he called her, as if it were the first and last thing to say. And yet she can’t accept it—fear still burns in her stomach at his gentle smile.

Why? What is so important about the fact that she cannot?

“Always playing by the rules, aren’t you, Granddaughter?” He laughs, the indulgent sound of water over stone. “You humans so love to talk in circles.”

Celine shrugs, one-shouldered, finally loosening up. “I merely did not wish to offend. My friend and I have an ailment to bring before you.”

She gestures, and Mira steps forward, carefully pulling the mask from her face.

“Let me see.” The river hums, stepping up to meet her. “She asks for you before herself. You must be very special to her.”

Mira gets an uncomfortable look on her face, and Celine cringes. Her first instinct is denial, not wanting to be misunderstood, but—the thought is pushed aside like a branch meeting the current, and Celine only braces a moment before allowing the spirit to draw the others forth.

However embarrassingly, Mira has become special to her in the brief time they’ve known each other. All of these people Rumi-nim has brought into her life have. She admires Mira’s strength and her kindness, and she enjoys the fact that she has gotten the chance to help her on her journey, even if just with borrowed shirts.

“Maybe,” Mira admits in a low voice.

The river clicks his tongue. “They did do their best to take your voice, didn’t they? Lucky for you, I’m a fan of metal.”

There's leftover bibimbap, but Miyeong pulls eggs and green onions out of the pantry anyway, heats up the cast iron, and starts making a scramble; Zoey walked her through it, at the beginning of the week, and she's taken quite aggressively to the idea of food she can neither mess up by cutting incorrectly or burn by walking away. It seems to work for her, well enough that Minji could probably leave her unsupervised and still expect to come back to something edible.

She sits down at Miyeong's tiny table, anyway, nursing a cup of tea until her throat feels warm enough, and her mind clear enough, to start an actual conversation.

"You came to bed pretty late last night."

"Celine-ssi didn't want to chase Rumi and her friends off the couch, so we went out on the balcony for a while."

Miyeong's tiny little balcony would barely have room for a chair even if there weren't a crowded little knot of potted plants jammed into both corners; the view isn't what Minji would call romantic, but the proximity would be, and she grins slyly at her friend. "So the courtship is going well, then."

Disappointingly but unsurprisingly, Miyeong immediately argues. "We've been over this, Minji, she's out of my league."

"That seems like her decision," Minji points out. Quite reasonably, in her opinion, but Miyeong just sighs at her as she tosses peppers into the pan.

"We don't even know if she's queer," says Miyeong, who is eternally stubborn.

"I feel like we do?" says Minji, who has eyes.

Miyeong's only reply is a canny "Hmm," a particular flavor of noise which means she's about to go on the offensive.

Minji tries to ready herself for it, but there's absolutely no way she could have prepared herself for what Miyeong actually says:

"And what about Celine-ssi and you?"

Minji stops her tea halfway to her mouth, and stares. "What about me and her?"

Miyeong turns away from her pan to start ticking things off on her fingers, which will probably be okay, since she hasn't put the eggs in yet. "You've been actively sitting on her every time she even glances at her shoulder. She's been letting you sit on her every time she even glances at her shoulder. You keep having little nonverbal exchanges where you look at each other and nod like you've actually exchanged information, as though you're on some kind of broody hyper-responsible telepathic wavelength together. You hand the kids off to each other like helicopter parents changing shifts. You keep wearing her sweatshirt that's four sizes too big for you instead of one of mine that almost fits. You offered to let her read your book. When Donghyun tried to touch your book you threatened to dump his beer on him!"

"Donghyun has hot sauce on his fingers ninety percent of the time that he's out of the hospital!"

Miyeong looks at her, folds down one single finger, looks at the five still upright, and then pointedly returns her gaze to Minji.

Minji puts her tea down, and stares into it for a long time, long enough for Miyeong to remember that she's cooking and flip around with a quiet curse to shift the vegetables in the pan and add the eggs.

"I…" Minji trails off, clears her throat, and tries again, quietly. "I'm not trying to make any moves on Celine-ssi, Miyeong. I am, in fact, in no position to be making any moves at all. I am barely standing upright."

Miyeong scrapes the eggs around the pan for a little while longer, before taking it off the burner, and looking at Minji with the same sad, sober eyes that identified Yeonggi for the police, all those years ago.

She'd try to act like it's nothing. After all, it's just a scrape; that barely qualifies as an injury. On the scale of 'does it need attention' a scraped knee is just barely above a paper cut.

(never mind paper can be downright vicious if it wants to be).

There'd be the expected gasps and "Oh my god!" from Huntrix, followed by Rumi rushing over and picking Celine up before she can maneuver herself back to her feet (how embarrassing...). The next thing Celine knows she's on Rumi's lap, Zoey's emptying her water bottle over Celine's knee, and Mira's flipping open the first aid kit.

This is unacceptable.

Of course she'll start insisting she's fine, start squirming and wriggling to try and get back to her game of Hunter Hopscotch; of course Rumi will just hold her tighter and say no, she's not fine, and she's not going anywhere until they get that cleaned and covered before it gets infected.

"It's not gonna get 'fected!" Celine will insist.

"If you don't take care of it, it will!" Rumi counters. "You were the one who taught us that!"

Celine does remember that, and she's about to say this is different (because she's herself and is fine) when she finally notices the scrape, shreds of skin flaking away from the raw, bloody mess, peppered with flecks of dirt and gravel.

And she notices it hurts.

Objectively, she knows she's felt worse pain and seen worse injuries, but the part of her that's three or four is terrified because that's her blood and it hurts!!!

She one-hundred percent didn't mean to start crying; she is a Hunter, after all, whose faults and fears must never be seen.

But Rumi, Mira, and Zoey promise they won't tell, so...just this once.

Of course, Mira, Rumi and Zoey would rush over to make sure she's okay. In my mind, for this story, Rumi did kind of....cause this to happen so she'd feel guilt and a sense of wanting to help Celine more than Mira and Zoey which I like to imagine, post reading this, would translate into being a touch overprotective, especially when Celine gets hurt.

Mira and Zoey aren't exactly....not overprotective but they're not on Rumi's level. I think Mira would be watching out for Celine but would probably be the most hands off when Celine does get hurt unless it's very obvious she needs help then she's rushing over but she doesn't go first thing to avoid overwhelming her or scaring her. Meanwhile, Zoey just panics and she knows a scrap won't kill Celine or badly injure her but she doesn't want to leave anything to chance---very similar to Rumi.

As for Celine, yeah, I can see her not wanting to make a big deal over her injury but sobbing the moment she sees it. I feel like some kids do this where they don't get scared and then they see it and panic. As for crying, I'd really like to think that all three of them are fine with her crying, they don't say a word about it or anything, but when she does it's Mira who jumps in and comforts her cause Rumi and Zoey don't know what to do.

Rumi: Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Zoey, mouthing: I don't know!

Celine: Ah-ah!

Mira: Shhh, shhh. It's okay, it's okay.

Celine: 'm--'m sorry. I don't--don't know why I'm crying!

Mira: You're hurt. It's okay to cry when you're hurt. Can you try taking some deep breathes for me?

Celine: Can't.

Mira: Breathing feels a little weird now?

Celine: Mmmhmm.

What could be a really fun angle here would be building off Rumi lowkey being at fault or at least having a hand in it, maybe got distracted by a honmoon tear or call from the label (one that she wouldn't normally handle, but the CEO is currently running around the penthouse trying to get out of taking a nap, so). She gets hit by guilt, yes, but also the realization that Celine did this for years.

Raising a kid, starting up a label, maintaining the honmoon...alone.

She can't- she can't wrap her head around it.

Did she ever thank her? Tell her how much she appreciated it?

...She doesn't know.

The pair watched the demon who looks like Rumi in stunned silence. The sheer audacity had them flabbergasted. This demon showed no fear nor malice toward them: she just gave them a casual wave and a soft "morning!" before moving to grab a glass of juice from the fridge. Like she lived there.

"Uh...what are you doing?" Mira asked, nowhere near as hostile as she probably should be but she was still too fucking confused to be aggressive.

The demon smiled in a way Rumi does all the time, minus the fangs. "Getting apple juice," she replied with way too much familiarity, holding up the glass as proof. This demon certainly did her research. Demon Rumi then finally seemed to notice them staring at her. "Why are you looking at me like that?" she wondered with a nervous laugh.

Zoey didn't say anything, which was the first true alarm bell for Rumi. The maknae merely pointed, directing Rumi's attention to the large mirrored accent wall behind the island. And her heart dropped.

"Oh no," the demon in the mirror replied with her voice, moved with her intentions to bring a clawed hand to her patterned cheek, breaths increasing into panic just as Rumi's were. "No nono nononono." The more her distress rose, the worse it got. The patterns all over her skin started to glow an angry hot pink. (They actually felt hot, too.) Her skin started to take on a darker shade of purple, the claws and fangs grew from something that could be written off as a trick of the light to actual claws and fangs. Her left eye - which she only now realized had somehow turned a sickly yellow overnight - started to glow like it had been set ablaze.

She always knew the possibility existed that they would attack her if they knew the truth about her demon heritage—that was the whole reason she’d kept it a secret—but it was one thing to strongly believe something will happen and to actually see it play out in front of you.

And those weapons looked a lot more terrifying when they were pointed directly at her.

“Where’s Rumi?” Mira demanded, “Why are you wearing her clothes?!”

Behind her, Rumi’s tail flickered and curled around one of her legs. Her mind was still going a mile a minute trying to figure out how she was a demon and why she was a demon all of a sudden. She didn’t remember doing anything that would have caused this, at least nothing was coming to mind.

Even with her mind working in overdrive, Rumi managed to get out, “I-I am Rumi. This—It’s all just—I’m not a real—“

“Okay. This has gone from kind of impressive to weird to just sad.” Zoey said, “You tried, you failed big time, just accept it so we can go on with our morning.”

“But I am Rumi! I swear! I don’t know why my patterns grew or why I look like this but I swear I’m Rumi!”

And she vanished in a puff of pink smoke.

The gok-do slammed into the mirror wall, exploding glass in every direction.

At first, Rumi wasn't sure where she was. Her brain was still firing too fast, her heart beating so quickly and her breaths coming so short she was dizzy and lightheaded. But as she blinked and got her bearings, she realized this place was familiar.

The garden rows that she used to run up and down as a child stretched before her, lined with plants with summer harvests waiting to be collected. And there, at the end of the row she stood in, was Celine, calmly pulling weeds as she would so often do on summer mornings.

Relief was the first thing she felt, washing over her and putting her soul at ease. That must have been how she got here: whenever Rumi had a nightmare she would seek out her mother Celine. Celine always knew how to put her mind at ease, how to comfort her when she was afraid. And right now Rumi had never been so lost, so fucking terrified. She was having the worst nightmare imaginable, so of course she went to Celine.

Then Celine turned, and froze when their eyes met. And all of that relief was replaced by panic. Because what if Celine only sees her as a demon, too? What if she also thinks she replaced Rumi and tries to put her down? The idea that the only safe harbour Rumi had was gone rendered her paralyzed, once again unable to move as her potential demise stared at her with an unreadable expression. But Rumi knew Celine. She knew how she hunted demons.

She knew she'd never even get a chance to see it coming.

So she just...crumbled. She sunk to her knees, curled up in a little ball, and waited for it to end. She barely registered the tears trailing down her cheeks, or how panic-stricken breaths had turned to sobs. She didn't want to die. She didn't even know why the universe suddenly decided she should. She was so scared and alone and she hated herself so much for being this...this thing that all of her loved ones wanted to kill and she just wanted her mom and...

A hand came to rest on her shoulder, gentle and cautious. When Rumi dared to glance up, she was met with Celine's concerned frown. Worry and fear were etched clearly on her face, but recognition was there too. "Rumi?" she uttered, clearly taking in Rumi's physical changes, "What happened?"

Then a sound came from the pocket on Celine's cardigan. One day, before they debuted, Zoey had somehow managed to get a hold of Celine's phone and set different ringtones for each of her charges' numbers, and Celine had never bothered to change them. (And would never admit that she liked the personal touch, especially knowing that Zoey had asked Mira and Rumi to pick a song.) And so now, both of them knew who it was without even having to see the ringing phone:

That was all Celine had to hear.

She didn’t care about Zoey’s call.

She didn’t care that Rumi had tiny horns that were pushing into her chin.

She didn’t care that Rumi’s claws were digging into her back.

She didn’t care that Rumi’s tail was wrapped around her leg.

And she didn’t care that Rumi was currently sobbing so hard into her cardigan that the fact that she was able to get any words out at all was a shock.

The only thing she cared about was getting Rumi inside, safe, warm….and maybe fed. Had she eaten that morning? It was still early so maybe not? But water probably took priority right now over food. No, it definitely did. So shelter, comfort, water and food. In that order.

Celine had years of demon hunting to thank for her ability to pick up Rumi without an issue and carry her inside the compound. Even though the girls all lived in the city, Rumi’s room remained untouched in case she ever needed it and, thankfully, Rumi hadn’t grown much since she left the compound so she easily fit into her bed.

“Can you tell me what happened?” Celine asked, brushing Rumi’s hair out of her eyes, “Did….it happen?”

“Mmmhmm.” The only reason Rumi wasn’t sobbing anymore was because she kept her eyes snapped up.

“I take it it went badly?”

“Mmmhmm.”

“Should I accept Zoey’s call or leave it?”

“….”

“Let’s return to that later then. Do you want some water? Some food?” Celine asked, “Do you want Bear?”

“Bear.”

“Okay. I put him up so he wouldn’t get covered in dust. Can you let go of me so that I can go get him?” That seemed to be the first time Rumi realized she was still holding onto the cardigan, her claws having now broken through the fabric.

“Sorry! Sorry! I’m sorry!”

“No, shhhh. Shhh. You’re okay, Rumi. You’re okay. You know I have 100 cardigans and I have plenty of money to buy more.” Rumi let out another sob, “Just breathe, Rumi. Breathe.”

From her pocket, Rumi could hear another ringtone.

Mira.

Celine glanced down at the ball of stress and sadness on the bed next to her. Rumi was still tucked into herself, claws gripping Celine's arm (but now with a careful tenderness, enough to grip but not puncture fabric or skin). Her tail had ended up wrapped around Celine's middle, the soft fur and striped pattern reminding Celine of an especially clingy cat. A single golden eye peered up at Celine from the shadows created by Rumi's current posture, and despite the unsettling inhuman-ness of it the sight still tugged at Celine's heartstrings. The iris was like molten iron, burning gold and red and emitting a soft light, but the tears pooling in it reminded her that it wasn't physically hot.

"My priority is you right now," Celine stated softly, running a gentle hand over Rumi's shoulder, "We can deal with everything else later."

"But..." Rumi swallowed tightly. Celine felt an involuntary shudder travel through Rumi's body. "They think I... They thought I replaced..."

"...I see."

The ringing had run its course, but only seconds later it started up again. On top of that, she could feel it buzz the way it would when receiving texts, and it was practically performing morse code in her pocket.

"I'm not going to leave you," Celine promised. She bit her lip, her hand shifting to thread her fingers through Rumi's hair. She gingerly ran over the horn sprouting from Rumi's skull, pushing some of the hair aside to ensure it hadn't done damage when it broke through. "Do you remember how this happened?" she tried again, "Anything unusual? A demon bite, or...some sort of curse?"

Rumi shook her head. "I just...woke up. I didn't even feel different. I..." she let out a shaky breath and curled further into herself. "I don't know," she whined pitifully.

"Ok, it's ok," Celine assured her, "We can figure this out."

"I don't... I was so close," Rumi continued sadly, "There was so much gold but now... How can I show my face now? Mira and Zoey want to kill me and I look like a monster and I couldn't sing to begin with and-"

"Hold on: you couldn't sing?" Celine asked, a sense of urgency beginning to rise in her voice, "What do you mean by that?"

Rumi froze, her body going stiff under Celine's hand. "I...I couldn't sing Golden," she revealed, "Th...the other night, when we had to cancel the song debut... I couldn't reach the high note and I...ran."

Celine sighed. She had been informed about Rumi having issues with that performance, and about how she had disappeared and didn't return to the set. She had been meaning to check in about that, but she wanted to give Rumi a bit of space. Huntr/x might have fallen under her label, but they were also grown adults with their own manager and responsibilites. It wasn't Celine's place to micromanage everything.

A sharp ringing pierced the air, causing both of their heads to snap at attention toward the door. Where, beyond the door, the landline was ringing. Celine sighed. That phone never rung, since so few people actually knew the number, so she had a suspicion about who was on the other line.

“Zoey-Zoey had this idea to go to this guy named Han for special tonics that were supposed to help my voice. I didn’t really think—I mean I thought…I thought they might be able to help but I didn’t really think about them much.”

“Okay. And I assume you took one last night?”

“Mmhmm. It was just grape juice when I peeled back the label but I like grape juice so I took it. Then I woke up and…” Rumi’s tail wrapped tighter around Celine.

“And you looked like this. It sounds like those tonics definitely had something to do with this but this is good. This is really good, Rumi. I have people in Seoul who can find this guy and fix this. You’ll be back to normal so soon and then we’ll figure out what to do about Zoey and Mira.” The use of Zoey and Mira’s name made Rumi flinch. Celine made a mental note to keep them out of the conversation for a bit, “Now that we know that, how about this? You feel like you can walk?”

Rumi nodded.

“Good. You come into the main room and lay on the couch, you can watch some tv, and I’ll get some food for both of us and call about this Han guy.” Celine told her, “Some demons, including half demons, can disguise their demon forms with concentration. If you can relax, maybe you can try and appear more human. It’s not a permanent solution but you would at least be able to walk around Jeju Island.”

“I-I’m sorry, Cece.”

“Sorry for what?”

“I should have kept it together longer. We were almost there and now Mira and Zoey want me dead and the Saja Boys are going to take over and everyone’s gonna die and it’ll be because I’m a good for nothing—“

“Hey!” Celine grabbed Rumi’s head and pushed it towards her. She’d heard those words too much in her own mind to let Rumi finish that sentence, “Listen to me, this is not your fault. It’s a set back but it’s one we’ll work on together. You’re not alone in this, Rumi.”

“…Thank you… Eomma Celine.”

“Always. Now, go find Bear and get to the couch. Oh! And no rom coms please.”

For the first time that morning, Rumi laughed, “They’re good. You just don’t know how to judge acting.”

“You know I’ve acted right?”

She was brought out of her thoughts by the landline ringing again. She glanced over at it, then down the hall to Celine's closed door. She bit her lip, wincing when she forgot how sharp her fangs were. She tried to ignore it, but each ring felt louder and more oppressive, and before she could think logically...

She was suddenly standing by the phone. She didn't even remember getting up, or walking to it. The dissipating pink dust surrounding her was her only clue, and she suppressed a groan. Yet another thing she needed to get a handle on, it seems.

But still... She really did want to answer the phone. Maybe her body knew something her brain didn't. Or...perhaps it was her heart beating out her mind.

She picked the phone up from its holder.

"Celine? You there? Is everything ok?!" Zoey's frantic voice filled the silence of the room, and Rumi felt her breath hitch just hearing it.

"Celine! Something's happened! We think Rumi's in danger and we need your help!"

"Z...Zoey," Rumi stammered, "Zoey, it's ok!"

"RUMI?!" Zoey and Mira, now. Zoey must have her phone on speaker.

"Wait... How do we know it's really you?" Mira demanded, suspicion and fear making her sound harsher than normal, "Demons could have gotten to Celine. Why are you on Jeju, Rumi?"

Rumi could feel her brain buffering, picturing the little spinning beach ball of death. Why was she on Jeju? She couldn't really answer that truthfully for herself, let alone come up with a convincing lie for Mira. "I... Last Christmas I adopted a sea turtle from the WWF for Zoey. She named the plushie representing it 'Myrtle'. And that same year I adopted a polar bear for Mira and she secretly named the plushie 'Snowball' but in public she calls it 'Odin' because it sounds cooler."

"I...I do not," Mira stammered in the background.

"Ok, that's definitely Rumi," Zoey agreed, "But why are you on Jeju?"

"It's...a long story?" Rumi said with a wince.

"Well you can tell us soon in person," Mira told her, "We're almost at the ferry. Should be a few hours."

That's when Rumi registered the sound of a car engine that was probably going a little too fast to be legal in the city. And her panic spiked. "Wait! No! You have to stay in Seoul!"

"What? Why?" Mira demanded.

"What if the Saja Boys try something?" Rumi argued, "People could be in danger. You need to stay there and make sure the Honmoon doesn't get any weaker."

"But what about you?" Zoey asked.

"Don't worry about me," Rumi assured them, frowning as she glanced down at her free hand and all it's patterned, clawed glory, "Focus on keeping people safe. I'll figure things out here with Celine and get back to you guys as soon as I can."

It was quiet for a concerning amount of time, the only sound coming from Mira's aggressive driving.

"Guys?" Rumi tried anxiously.

"Why are you on Jeju, Rumi. We just saw you last night so you would have had to leave right after we went to bed," Mira challenged.

"I..." Rumi gulped, her grip tightening on the phone. She felt her patterns begin to glow hot as she floundered, unable to come up with something convincing. "I...I'm here because-"

The phone creaked, then let out a loud crack as the plastic crumpled in her grip. Rumi dropped what was left of the device with a panicked gasp, trying and failing to calm her breathing.

Meanwhile, back in Seoul, Zoey turned to Mira. The dial tone droned on from the phone she held between them, speaking louder than anything "Rumi" could have said.

"Do we...do what she said?" Zoey wondered tentatively, "She was right... What if the Saja Boys are planning something and they wanted us out of the city?"

Mira sucked in a deep breath and exhaled sharply through her nose. She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, willing the red light to change if it valued its life. Ahead of them, they could see the turn off to the ferry dock.

"Right now, I couldn't give less of a shit about the Saja Boys," she growled, taking off a little too sharply and squealing the tires when the light changed.

The ferry to Jeju Island was large enough that both Zoey and Mira could simply cover their heads and they could avoid detection. The last thing they needed was someone getting a picture of them and thinking they were going to Jeju Island because Celine died or something---Bobby would not like having to deal with that story.

"Rumi or...something like Rumi is on Jeju Island and we need to figure out what is going on. First that demon pretends to be her this morning and teleports away before we can kill it, then Celine isn't answered our calls or texts and then we do get in touch with Rumi and somehow she's made it to Jeju Island in the middle of the night without either of us waking up or telling us? Something is wrong and we need to figure out what."

"I know. I know. You're right. We need to figure out what's going on with Rumi. The Saja Boys don't matter if our group falls apart."

Mira must have finally sensed how stressed and scared Zoey was because she extended a hand forward and rested it on Zoey's wrist, "Our group won't fall apart. It's Rumi. She may do...a lot that we don't fully understand but she wouldn't do any malicious or stupid."

"You're right. It's Rumi. Rumi's our leader and our friend. Once we see her face to face, we'll figure out what's going on and get a good, solid, honest answer."

---------

"They're coming here?" Celine fought to keep the sharpness out of her tone, "They called you almost an hour ago so they're probably on the ferry by now." Celine had a hand in her hair and she was biting her lip so hard that Rumi was positive she could see blood. She'd never seen Celine this stressed.

"Are we going to run?" Rumi asked.

"No, I have a better idea." Celine told her, "We'll tell them that this is one of Gwi Ma's tricks." She explained.

"What?"

"Gwi Ma has grown more powerful with the help of the Saja Boys and one of his tricks has been to turn you into a demon. I'll tell Mira and Zoey that once you girls turn the honmoon gold you'll go back to normal and you will! It works perfectly!" Celine was smiling now, like she'd just figured out the solution to all their problems.

"You want me to lie to them again?" Rumi asked.

"I know it hurts Rumi, but this is the best option for you and for Mira and Zoey. It keeps them from hurting you and keeps your group together. Long enough to defeat the Saja Boys and turn the honmoon gold."

For a moment or two, Rumi didn't respond. Instead, she stared down at her patterns. By now they covered her completely and the ends of her hands and feet were turning purple like a demons. She flexed her claws once or twice and allowed her tail to twitch behind her.

This.

This was what she fought for years to keep Mira and Zoey from finding out.

Now they knew.

Now they wanted her dead.

No part of Rumi wanted to die or wanted Mira and Zoey to kill her. Despite her sobs earlier that morning she had been honest when she told Celine that.

But she was too tired to keep lying to them.

Too tired to come up with another lie she had to keep on top of.

And she loved them both too much to add another lie to the list.

Writing fatal injuries in a story requires a delicate balance between realism and narrative impact. The portrayal of these life-altering events can evoke strong emotions in readers and shape the trajectory of your characters' journeys. In this blog, I will explore the intricacies of depicting fatal injuries in a manner that feels authentic, engaging, and respectful to the gravity of such circumstances. By understanding the nuances of fatal injuries, you will be equipped to craft compelling narratives that resonate with your readers.

Writing Fatal Injuries

When it comes to writing fatal injuries, it is crucial to approach the subject with care and accuracy. Fatal injuries carry immense consequences for your characters and can shape the trajectory of your story. By delving into the intricacies of portraying fatal injuries authentically, you can ensure that the gravity and impact of such events are effectively conveyed to your readers.

Choosing the right injuries for your story

Selecting the appropriate fatal injuries for your narrative involves considering various factors. Ask yourself: What purpose does this injury serve within the story? How does it affect the characters and the overall plot? Conduct thorough research to identify injuries that align with your story's context and resonate with the emotional journey of your characters.

For example, in a historical drama, you may research common fatal injuries during a particular era, such as battlefield injuries, diseases, or accidents prevalent at the time. In a crime thriller, you might explore the portrayal of fatal gunshot wounds or traumatic injuries resulting from violent encounters. By aligning the injuries with the context and themes of your story, you create a more immersive and believable experience for your readers.

Researching the mechanics of fatal injuries

To portray fatal injuries convincingly, it is essential to delve into the mechanics behind them. Understand the specific anatomical structures and systems involved, as well as the forces or mechanisms that can lead to fatal outcomes. Explore medical resources, consult experts if possible, and gather insights into the physiological and psychological implications of such injuries.

For instance, if your character suffers a fatal stab wound, research the anatomy involved, the potential organs affected, and the potential consequences such as internal bleeding or organ failure. By understanding the specific details and implications of the injury, you can describe the physical and emotional toll it takes on the character with greater accuracy and depth.

Depicting the immediate aftermath

When writing about fatal injuries, vividly describe the immediate aftermath to capture the intense emotions and physical realities. Consider the sensory details, the shock and disbelief experienced by characters, and the chaotic environment that often surrounds such events. Balancing realism with the needs of your story, create a scene that immerses readers and evokes empathy.

For example, if a character experiences a fatal car accident, you can depict the chaos at the scene, the character's disorientation, and the reactions of witnesses. Emphasize the sensory details such as the sound of screeching tires or the smell of burning rubber, creating a visceral experience for your readers.

Emotional and dramatic impact on the narrative

The impact of fatal injuries extends beyond the immediate moment. Explore the ripple effects on other characters, relationships, and the overall plot. Delve into the emotional responses, grief, guilt, anger, or determination that arises in the aftermath of loss. Utilize these emotional arcs to deepen character development and drive the narrative forward.

For instance, the loss of a loved one due to a fatal illness might lead to grief and strained relationships among the remaining family members. The emotional journey of a character grappling with guilt and seeking redemption after causing a fatal accident can become a central theme in your story. By delving into these emotional arcs and their consequences, you add depth and resonance to your narrative.

Writing Minor Injuries

While fatal injuries may capture our attention with their dramatic impact, it is equally important to pay attention to the portrayal of minor injuries in your writing. Minor injuries, though less severe, can still significantly affect your characters and contribute to the authenticity of your story. In this section, we will explore the art of depicting minor injuries, ensuring that they are not overlooked or trivialized. By delving into the nuances of minor injuries, you can add depth and realism to your characters' experiences.

Types of minor injuries to consider

When crafting your story, it is essential to consider a range of minor injuries that can occur. These injuries can include cuts, bruises, sprains, minor burns, or even minor fractures. Each type of injury carries its own unique characteristics, associated pain levels, and recovery processes. By understanding these distinctions, you can create accurate and believable depictions that resonate with your readers.

For example, a character who sustains a cut on their hand may experience sharp pain, the sight of blood, and the need for immediate first aid. On the other hand, a character with a sprained ankle may struggle with mobility, experience swelling, and require rest and care for a few days. By paying attention to these specific details, you can enhance the realism of your storytelling.

Conveying pain and discomfort

When writing about minor injuries, it is important to effectively convey the pain and discomfort experienced by your characters. Consider describing the sensation of pain, the throbbing or stinging feeling, and how it affects their daily activities or interactions. Showcasing the emotional impact of pain, such as frustration, irritation, or vulnerability, can deepen the readers' connection to the character's experience.

For instance, if a character suffers from a sprained wrist, you can describe the dull ache that persists, making simple tasks like typing or holding objects challenging. By capturing these small but significant moments, you immerse readers in the character's struggle and create a more realistic portrayal.

Balancing realism with narrative pace

While it is important to depict minor injuries realistically, it is also crucial to strike a balance with the overall pace and momentum of your story. Consider the significance of the injury within the larger context of your narrative. Some injuries may require more detailed attention and impact the plot, while others may serve as background elements. Adjust the level of detail and focus accordingly, ensuring that the portrayal of minor injuries aligns with the narrative's flow.

For example, a small cut on a character's finger may not require an extensive description unless it becomes infected or triggers an unexpected consequence. By aligning the portrayal of minor injuries with their narrative relevance, you maintain a consistent pace while still acknowledging their impact on your characters' lives.

Writing Bloodshed And Realistic Blood Loss

When writing about wounds and injuries, it is essential to consider the amount of blood loss your characters may experience. Realistic portrayal of bloodshed can enhance the authenticity of your scenes and immerse readers in the gravity of the situation. In this section, we will explore the factors influencing blood loss and techniques for accurately depicting it in your writing.

Understanding blood loss and its impact on the body

To authentically portray blood loss, it's crucial to have a basic understanding of how the human body responds to injury. Research the circulatory system and the role of blood in transporting oxygen and nutrients throughout the body. Consider the different types of blood vessels and their potential for bleeding when injured. This knowledge will help you create realistic scenarios and determine the appropriate level of blood loss for specific injuries.

Factors influencing blood loss in different injury scenarios

The amount of blood loss can vary depending on the severity and location of the injury. Factors such as the size of blood vessels, the rate of bleeding, and the body's ability to clot play a significant role. For example, a deep laceration in an artery will result in more substantial blood loss compared to a superficial cut on the skin. Consider these factors when describing injuries and their resulting bloodshed.

Techniques for accurately portraying blood loss in writing

There are several techniques you can use to convey the realistic impact of blood loss in your writing. Describing the color, consistency, and flow of blood can provide vivid imagery. You can also include physical symptoms such as dizziness, weakness, or fainting that may accompany significant blood loss. Additionally, consider the emotional response of your characters and how they react to the sight of blood or their own injuries.

By incorporating these techniques, you can create scenes that evoke a visceral response in readers and enhance the authenticity of your writing.

Bruises: Colors, Progression, and Pain

Bruises are a common result of injuries, and understanding how they form, change in color, and cause discomfort can greatly enhance the realism of your writing. By accurately describing bruises, you can bring depth to your characters' injuries and portray their healing process convincingly.

Understanding the stages and colors of bruises

Bruises go through distinct stages of color as they heal. Initially, they may appear red or purple due to the broken blood vessels beneath the skin. Over time, the color changes to blue, green, yellow, and eventually fades to a brown or yellowish hue. Understanding this color progression can help you accurately describe the age of a bruise and the healing process.

For example, a fresh bruise might be vivid purple, indicating recent trauma, while a fading bruise may have a yellowish tinge, suggesting that healing has begun. By incorporating these color details, you can add realism to your characters' injuries and track the passage of time within your narrative.

Depicting the progression of bruises over time

As bruises heal, they often change in appearance and size. Initially, a bruise may be small and localized, but it can gradually spread and become more extensive. Describing this progression can provide a sense of the healing process and the passage of time within your story.

For instance, a character who sustains a significant blow to the face may develop a bruise that starts as a small spot near the eye but expands to cover a larger area over the next few days. By accurately portraying the progression of bruises, you enhance the authenticity of your characters' injuries and their recovery.

Conveying the pain and sensitivity associated with bruises

Bruises can be painful, sensitive to touch, and affect a character's movement and daily activities. Describing the pain and discomfort experienced by your characters can create empathy and immerse readers in their physical ordeals.

Consider conveying the tenderness of a bruise when pressure is applied, the throbbing sensation, or the limitation of movement due to the pain.

Remember The Side Effects

Injuries, whether minor or severe, often come with a range of side effects that can significantly impact your characters' lives. These side effects can extend beyond the physical realm and encompass emotional, psychological, and social aspects.

Physical side effects

Injuries can have profound physical side effects that go beyond the immediate pain and discomfort. Consider the potential consequences such as limited mobility, impaired coordination, chronic pain, or the need for assistive devices like crutches or braces. Describing these physical side effects can add depth to your characters' struggles and provide a realistic portrayal of their healing journey.

For example, a character who sustains a leg injury may experience difficulty walking, require physical therapy, or have long-term complications that affect their day-to-day activities. By addressing these physical side effects, you create a more nuanced depiction of the aftermath of injuries.

Emotional and psychological side effects

Injuries can have a profound emotional and psychological impact on characters. They may experience fear, anxiety, trauma, or a loss of confidence. Consider how the injury affects their self-image, relationships, or mental well-being. Explore the emotional journey your characters undergo as they navigate the aftermath of their injuries.

For instance, a character who survives a near-fatal accident may develop post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) and struggle with recurring nightmares or panic attacks. By incorporating these emotional and psychological side effects, you can deepen the complexity of your characters and their responses to traumatic experiences.

Social implications and changes

Injuries can also lead to significant social changes for your characters. They may face challenges in their personal relationships, encounter stigma or discrimination, or experience changes in their roles or identities. Explore how the injury affects their interactions with others and their sense of belonging in the world.

For example, a character who sustains a facial injury may encounter judgment or stares from others, leading to self-consciousness or isolation. By addressing the social implications and changes resulting from injuries, you can create multi-dimensional characters and explore the impact of their injuries on their social dynamics.

By incorporating these various side effects into your writing, you bring depth and authenticity to your characters' experiences and showcase the wide-ranging impact of injuries.

Conclusion

Writing authentic wounds and fatalities requires attention to detail and a deep understanding of the physical, emotional, and psychological aspects involved. By following the guidelines and exploring the subheadings discussed in this guide, you can create compelling and realistic portrayals of injuries in your writing.

Remember to conduct thorough research on the specific injuries you want to depict, understanding their mechanics, symptoms, and potential outcomes. Consider the immediate and long-term effects on your characters, both physically and emotionally. Incorporate sensory details to immerse readers in the experience, describing the pain, bloodshed, colors of bruises, and the progression of healing.

Additionally, don't forget to address the side effects that injuries can have on your characters' lives. Explore the physical limitations, emotional struggles, and social implications that arise from their injuries. By delving into these aspects, you can create well-rounded characters and compelling narratives that resonate with readers.

I hope this blog on forging epic battles will help you in your writing journey. Be sure to comment any tips of your own to help your fellow authors prosper, and follow my blog for new blog updates every Monday and Thursday.  

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks? 

Celine: Rumi, I raised you better than this.

Rumi: It's not what it looks like!

Celine: It looks like you're sneaking alcohol.

Rumi: Well, it also looks like someone was being sneaky about where they stashed alcohol.

Celine:....Many people have an alcohol drawer in the bottom of their desk.

Rumi: I don't.

Celine: Because you don't need one. And it fosters bad habits.

Rumi: Oh! You want to talk about bad habits now?

Celine does not.

Celine, deflecting: I also raised you to not snoop.

Rumi: I was also raised to take care of my body and not deliberately do things that would damage my liver!

Celine: And I have noted your good habits and commend you for them.

Rumi: ...

Gwi-ma, as the interior voice of shame, can only voice the shame that already exists within someone. During times of emotional crisis (ie Mira and Zoey) or when someone has done something that they ought to be ashamed of (say, ommitting certain facts about an event leading to them gaining a benefit they might not otherwise have), his voice gets much louder.

And it isn't your fault, if he controls you. You didn't have a choice.

And if you didn't have a choice, then what do you have to be ashamed of?

So while it may be a comforting lie for Jinu to tell himself that Gwi-Ma controls people, it's probably more accurate for Gwi-Ma to be talking to them, suggesting courses of action or giving justifications for giving in to your worst, most selfish, shameful impulses.

And when you do give in, the shame from that moment will haunt you forever. You could have chosen differently, after all, but you were weak and selfish, and you deserve everything that happened to you.

It’s Rumi who notices that she’s off, and Zoey who seems to pull her favorite sweatshirt out of nowhere, and the idea rattles around in Mira’s head for a while longer—she can accept that she’s hot, she can enjoy the attention, how would she ever be an idol if she didn’t? Just—

She’s never been one to think too much before she speaks, and it’s only after she’s asked if the comparison might make Rumi and Zoey feel less that that she realizes how condescending it came out

But Rumi bursts out laughing and doesn’t seem self-conscious as she says, “Are you kidding? I’m everyone’s type. And Zoey’s gorgeous.”

Zoey turns five shades redder and stumbles something out about how no, she doesn’t mind, and they’re not wrong and now Mira’s feeling less gross and more actually flattered and

She'd try to act like it's nothing. After all, it's just a scrape; that barely qualifies as an injury. On the scale of 'does it need attention' a scraped knee is just barely above a paper cut.

(never mind paper can be downright vicious if it wants to be).

There'd be the expected gasps and "Oh my god!" from Huntrix, followed by Rumi rushing over and picking Celine up before she can maneuver herself back to her feet (how embarrassing...). The next thing Celine knows she's on Rumi's lap, Zoey's emptying her water bottle over Celine's knee, and Mira's flipping open the first aid kit.

This is unacceptable.

Of course she'll start insisting she's fine, start squirming and wriggling to try and get back to her game of Hunter Hopscotch; of course Rumi will just hold her tighter and say no, she's not fine, and she's not going anywhere until they get that cleaned and covered before it gets infected.

"It's not gonna get 'fected!" Celine will insist.

"If you don't take care of it, it will!" Rumi counters. "You were the one who taught us that!"

Celine does remember that, and she's about to say this is different (because she's herself and is fine) when she finally notices the scrape, shreds of skin flaking away from the raw, bloody mess, peppered with flecks of dirt and gravel.

And she notices it hurts.

Objectively, she knows she's felt worse pain and seen worse injuries, but the part of her that's three or four is terrified because that's her blood and it hurts!!!

She one-hundred percent didn't mean to start crying; she is a Hunter, after all, whose faults and fears must never be seen.

But Rumi, Mira, and Zoey promise they won't tell, so...just this once.