#rumidemonhuntrix

Right now Zoey was focused on Mira's dark eyes - pinning her with a look, before she gripped the straps from Zoey's top loosely hanging off her shoulders. Suddenly she was jerked sideways and Zoey let out an indignant gasp, at being shoved out of Mira's lap. Laid down onto her back and Mira grinned slowly, unclipping her own seatbelt. Leaning to hover just above Zoey on hand beside her head - while the other went to work.

A featherlight touch that was doing more than any scratch or firm hold could have, tickling that sent shivers through Zoey's body causing her to squirm and Mira's mouth quirked up, grinning devilishly. It was the anticipation alone, sending her nerves on end now, as Mira slowly leaned closer and met Zoey's lips again. In a closed mouth kiss that was soft and subtle, as if she had all the time in the world. Just when Zoey leant into it, sighing a little at the tender touch a hand gripped her thigh, nails digging in. Pain radiated so perfectly, throbbing so good. The kind of overwhelming pleasure that had Zoey crying out involuntarily.

“I’m sorry, I was late,” Celine said carefully, without pretense. Rumi looked up to her with a frown, clearly not picking up what she was talking about. “To pick you up from school,” she added, making sure to look Rumi in the eye. “I was in an important meeting and had to finish that off this afternoon.”

“Figured,” Rumi mumbled after a moment, picking away at the dumplings floating in her bowl.

“It’s been busy lately. I’ve been working on a new project.” Celine paused, hoping for a reaction but Rumi's eyes remained distant as she played with her food. “I think you'll like it.”

“Sure,” Rumi replied curtly.

“What about you? You didn’t tell me how your lesson with the vocal coach went.” Celine's mouth twitched as she probed, wanting to gauge Rumi’s mental state.

“Fine, I guess. My vocal range is getting better. Miss Kim said it was the best she’d heard.” Rumi’s lips formed the ghost of a smile, finally looking up at Celine with the barest semblance of pride.

Celine softened her eyes, and painted a loving smile across her lips. “Your mother would be so proud.”

Unnatural silence hung over the table as Rumi stilled, laying her chopsticks across the top of the bowl.

“Right,” Rumi muttered, pushing her plate away.

Something was wrong—Celine just wasn’t sure what. There are no secrets at the dinner table, so she pressed. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, Cece. Just… not hungry.”

Celine knew deep down she needed to say that she was proud of who Rumi was becoming, of her talents. But she had no right, because Rumi wasn’t hers. She was just the stand-in, Miyeong was the one supposed to watch her grow. She would know what to do and what to say. She’d be able to comfort Rumi. Celine was too cold, detached. She had to be—it made her a great hunter, a good performer… but not a good friend, lover, or mother.

Despite the adoring fans and the industry doting on her, Celine had become, at best, a celebrity shut-in, hopelessly lonely without Miyeong and Dayoung. Interviews dried up, she didn’t spend nearly as much time in the office, and spent at least half the year at a villa in Gangwon-do, north of Inje. It was isolating for both of them, but necessary. Celine had made herself the only person Rumi could truly rely on, and it was intentional. There were no other options. Everything she did was to protect Rumi. 

But now it all seemed to be for nothing—that after all Celine had sacrificed, she never prepared Rumi for what was to come. Worried that the Honmoon would reject her outright, for being half demon. She never showed signs of it burning, of it hurting her, but still, Celine never wanted to risk it.

And now… 

Celine anxiously tapped the steering wheel as she watched the sun slowly rising in her rear view mirror. She pushed the pedal to the floor, the high performance coupe roaring as she sped toward the location Ha-yoon sent her. She was desperate to get there before the sun rose too high—as if she could outrun time itself.  

Every passing minute meant Rumi was in danger. Every second the chances of Celine finding her dropped, and the odds of finding her alive? The mere thought of it caught in her throat, choking, just as her destination came into view; a laundromat, on the left side of the two way street. 

Screeching to a halt directly in front of a humming, fluorescent ‘24/7’ lamp, the only other sign of life was a lone garbage truck further up the road, driving away from her. Sundays at the break of dawn aren’t typically busy along here, despite this particular street’s popularity. 

Which begged the question: why would the demons bring their victims here? Laundromats are the stereotypical criminal front—if the demons were looking to be subtle, well… this wasn’t it.  Stalking out of her car, Celine shoulder checked the door, busting open the lock and barging right in, despite fully suspecting a trap. It didn’t matter if it was—even the slimmest chance of catching them with Rumi was enough for her to tear apart the entire block.

Inside the laundromat she only found rows of machines lining the white walls and settling in a doubled row across the center of the sticky, blue rubber floor; the only sound was the repetitive thrumming of a dryer cycling around over on the far wall. 

All appearances told her the story of a longstanding laundromat with literally nothing special about it—but one thing was clear. The Honmoon spoke of demonic presence there, barely a whisper, a graze of threads across her skin. And those threads felt weak. Warped, strained, barely holding reality in check. The absence filled the room, the temperature icy, despite all the heat from the dryers. Celine couldn't see any demons, or hear any cries for help, but that wasn’t a guarantee of anything. Quickly, she went through the customer area, looking for anything that would point her in the right direction. 

“Where are you?” Celine whispered, her throat hoarse from overuse and lack of sleep.  

If Rumi were still here, wouldn’t Celine feel it? Wouldn’t she have the intuition to know if her charge was near? She threaded her fingers into the bare remains of the Honmoon, feeling, seeking, but there was nothing here. The warehouse had a breach outside, the lingering presence of demons surrounding it, but this was just a laundromat. Why did Ha-yoon send her this address? If there was nothing here, why not give her more information? 

Curling her fingers inward, she called on the Honmoon, her twin swords nestled comfortably into her palms. Celine was more than willing to bring ruin to this whole block if it meant finding Rumi. 

It was barely a flutter of air. 

But it was enough.

Celine’s whole body pulsed with adrenaline, and she instantly dashed out the back door, tethering herself to whatever the Honmoon would give her. A demon was nearby, and by all the Hunters who came before her, she was not letting this one get away.  

The alleyway out back was a slim path—only large enough for two people to walk past each other comfortably—and reeked of old fish from the neighboring fishmunger. Her mind quickly put the pieces together; it was a great place to hide within a larger population. The stench of rotting fish would definitely overpower the sulfur of a tear, so they could go undetected by almost anyone. 

But not a hunter—especially not a hunter seething at the thought of them going unnoticed in the shadows as they consumed souls. As they threatened Miyeong’s daughter.

An athletic, slim man stepped out of the fishmunger, slinging a bag of garbage into a wastebin on the other side of the alleyway. He glanced over at her before turning back to go inside again. But she caught what he looked at—he’d seen her blades, and he knew what they were.  

Celine began to hum one of their songs—a simple tune that she was all too familiar with, something she learned when she was the only one Ha-yoon’s attentions were on. The demon glanced at her again, but didn’t seem panicked. He was well concealed; his clothes and appearance were distinctly normal, and there weren’t patterns anywhere on his exposed skin. But she knew. The flash of recognition, the deliberately casual swagger he carried himself with.

She huffed, anger boiling in her gut as she used her own energy to draw the Honmoon to this place—and it replied with a thrum of tension, filling the alley with power. Celine craned her neck, completing the short melody in a forgotten tongue, and the Honmoon pulsed lightly, his patterns clear as day from the silvery glow around them both.   

Celine had to strike, before he could raise the alarm lifting her arm she launched one of her blades, threw the air. It went clear through the Jeoseung Saja head and the demon was vaporized instantly. Racing over her feet barely touching the ground she pulled the blade from the brick it had indented in.

She slipped forward silently, heading for the stairwell, only to be met with two more demons, walking casually up them. When they spotted her, both seemed surprised, for the mere moments they were still corporeal as Celine’s blades unceremoniously ended their current trip on this side. 

The two behind them had no such hesitation, sounding the alarm as they charged up the stairs. Neither of them could hold a candle to Celine, who sliced through them with the same mechanical efficiency as the first. 

A cacophony of unearthly screams and roars erupted throughout the basement as Celine swiftly cut through the two guards at the foot of the stairs. Several–no, dozens of dokkaebi emerged from the doors lining the hall, hungry black eyes turning their attention to her alone. Exhaustion was quickly catching up with her, a byproduct of excessive demonic power, and having no sleep last night. But she snarled back—she wanted them to feel the same pain that burned in her chest since the moment she heard Rumi’s scream. 

She’s only ever seen a swarm like this once before, and that time she had three hunters backing her up. But it didn’t matter. She had to fight them all. Celine swung her blades in tight, controlled motions, keeping them tight against her body as they sliced through the minor dokkaebi with ease. Celine kicks a charging brute into the wall, flinging both her blades into its chest, annihilating it from the hallway. 

Charging forward, Celine heaves on the chains wrapped around her arms, her blades eagerly returning to her grasp, just before another brute collides into her back, its thorny arms tearing through her jacket. Instantly, she arches her chest forward, twisting herself around into a tumble while launching one of the blades into the demon’s face, the scent of sulfur pungently dispersing as the dust fell from where it stood. 

Narrowly ducking under another wrenching, clawed talon, Celine spins upward, her blades a whirlwind of crackling energy—four demons rushing her instantly vanquished by her swirling blades that embedded in the wall at the end of the hallway. And yet, there were more. Always more the only constant in her life. Always the unending tide of filth, unbidden invaders with one, sole purpose. 

Celine couldn’t feel the clarity that always came with fighting the demon menace. She always could clear her head. No need to think, no need to worry about what was outside. Her heart had always steadied, her mind always filled with that simple melody, her lips only singing the song passed down from the beginning of time itself. 

But her song faltered—she couldn’t stop thinking about Miyeong. About Ha-yoon. About Rumi. But she persisted. She breathed deeper, sang louder. Just the melody, the driving force behind the power of the Honmoon.

She didn’t want to be Celine in that moment—she wanted to be the finely honed weapon she was made into. Precise, intentional, directed. 

Instead, she felt every link on her arm, every ripple in the Honmoon as it helped her move, helped her see, helped her breathe. She felt every strike in her bones despite the ease with which the blade cut through her assailants. She was a lethal weapon forged slowly over a lifetime of horrors and triumphs. 

It was supposed to all be so simple, so easy. The blades whisking through the dokkaebi without so much as resistance, dust falling everywhere. It should push her mind back to the rigorous training, the torturous repetitions of Ha-yoon’s instruction, enveloping her in the familiar aches and sprains. Her voice shouldn’t falter, shouldn’t struggle to find itself. It should have been empowering. 

But all she felt was dread.

She scowled as her blade left her hand, driving through multiple demons before thudding into the wall beyond. She was the guardian of the Honmoon, the secret protector of humanity, sealing away these insatiable demons with her voice. She had fought alone for over a decade, driving home the need for strength, the necessity of power. Celine wouldn’t—no, couldn’t be stopped by a mere swarm. Too much depended on her success. She hadn’t lost a fight in twenty years; and that wasn’t going to change today. 

She managed to throw all thoughts out of her mind, gaining her rhythm, her song weaving the Honmoon into place, burning and sealing the dokkaebi all around her, its strength mimicking her own. Amidst the roars and screams of battle, she mistook the sound as another demon being banished from this side. But the second time— 

“Rumi?”

Celine barely froze, but it was enough for another gnarled spike to graze her cheek. Snarling, she cut through the dokkaebi four times before it vanished from existence, reaching through the Honmoon for anything to tell her more. 

It wasn’t Rumi. The Honmoon lacked her thrum, her distinct thread. But there’s a child there. 

Celine felt her anxiety rise with every passing second she had to fight. The demons were unrelenting, refusing to leave her a moment to breathe. She needed to find that child. If they had people held here, then someone might know where they hold others.  Weaving her way through the various rooms lining the hallway, she couldn’t help but dread they’d taken the child’s soul already. Demons were nothing if not effective at their task—and every second wasted was another second that child could be lost. 

“I’m here!” Celine shouted, hoping that the sound would draw out whatever demons remained, and give hope to whoever was held by them.  

The unending tide abates suddenly. An eerie silence fills the now empty hallway, marked and scuffed from the evidence of battle, small droplets of blood congealing amidst the sulfurous dust now coating the floor. Celine’s world felt muffled, quieted, broken by the distinct growl of a demon, charging her from behind. 

She reacted instantly, spinning around and launching her blade toward the creature, the tip inerrantly finding home in the center of its chest. She breathes deep, the blade snapping back to her palm as she turns around, where another figure stood. And they didn’t have patterns  

A young boy, no more than ten, stood before her terrified. Immediately, Celine whisks away her blade, horrified that the child may find her as much a threat as these demons. Kneeling down, she holds out a hand to him. “Are you all right?” she asks, heart still hammering from her fight.  

There’s probably a dozen teenagers, maybe twice that, in the room. Most of them don’t wait for her to speak; instead they rushed past her and out of the hallway, into the alley she came from. It was a chaotic mess, but she caught a glimpse of a familiar hoodie—one that Josie had been wearing last night.  

Celine rushed through the crowd, catching up to the shorter figure almost instantly. She spins the girl around, and to her relief, it was Josie. Her parents won’t have to suffer in secrecy. Thank goodness. The girl is frightened well and good, and whatever comfort Celine might have been able to muster the previous day has left her body. It probably didn’t help that she looked like she’d been in a fight. She could feel multiple cuts on her body still bleeding, not to mention they panic in her eyes, the glowing blades she had been flinging.  

“Rumi. Where is she?”

Josie blinked, flinching away from Celine as she stared at her. “I don’t know! They took her somewhere else, please,” the girl sobbed, trying to look away. 

Celine groaned, shaking her head. “Hang on,” she muttered, pulling her over to a room with a phone. “You know your parent’s number?” Josie didn’t say anything, just nodded and went over to the phone.

Celine waited for her to finish the call before getting her outside and on the street. If nothing else, she knew Rumi would want her to make sure someone got Josie. 

“Did you fight all of those… things?”  

Her body ached, the pain in her back overwhelming, but Celine persisted, putting on a stoic face. “I don’t know if it was all of them,” she admitted, but she knew the demonic presence was diminished enough to no longer be a threat. None of them were making moves, pulling themselves through the Honmoon to ambush any of the escaping adolescents.

Silently, Celine escorted the child up to the street. “Do you need me to wait for your parents?” she asked, even if she wanted to rush to her car and follow whatever thread of the Honmoon she could.

Josie nodded, and that was it. She knew Rumi would tell her to stay. So stay she would. She tried to ignore the dread welling in her throat, in her gut, telling her she’d failed already. That Rumi was gone already. She knew it couldn’t be true, the Honmoon would have told her already. But it didn’t stop her small spiral. Didn’t stop the bile at the back of her tongue.  

Almost fifteen minutes passed before a car screeched to a halt just a few meters from them, a panicked woman practically leaping from the driver’s seat. “Josie!” she screamed, not relieved but frustrated, sprinting to the two of them and embracing the girl. From the girl’s reaction, it was probably her mother.

“She’ll be okay,” Celine assured her, ignoring her bleeding back. 

She expected some kind of sage nod, or nervous thanks, but instead, the woman rushed over to Celine as well, and wrapped her in a hug too. Celine winced, and patted the mother before trying to get her off, hoping that she didn’t get too much blood on her.

“Oh, oh god,” the woman murmured, looking at her hands as she backed away. “Are you all right? The people, the ones that took–”

“I’m fine. Had worse.” Celine bit back the urge to tell the woman off.

The woman blinks, before staring a bit closer. “Celine? Celine Kang?”

“I get that a lot,” Celine said, pursing her lips. “No. Just look like her.”

Josie looked between the women and blinked again. “Are you Rumi’s eomma?”

Mira’s mother must have noticed the pain in Celine’s expression, from the way she started guiding her daughter away. “That’s Rumi’s eomma, and she’ll find her, ok? Lets get you home.”

Celine nodded before heading back inside, her anger burning her up. Why did she get to take her daughter home? She hadn’t even known she was missing until Celine showed up at their house. 

Something in the back of her mind clicked into place—why wasn't Rumi here? Why had Ha-yoon sent her here without any other information? Storming back into the empty halls, Celine began going through everything, thoroughly. No papers untouched, no clothes unchecked. It was easy enough to put together everything in context—the number of clients being how many souls had been taken, how many missing people suddenly accounted for, never being able to return home. Celine bit her cheek, fighting down her fury to keep herself in the moment. 

There had to be something she missed—something that would hint to where they took Rumi. Yes, she should be glad the others were saved, that they’d see their families again, that those demons were at least banished from here, but… still, no Rumi. Celine didn’t know if her baby was hurting, was crying out to be saved. Didn’t know if she was already too late.  

“I wondered when you’d come back in,” a voice says from behind her. Far enough away to not be in her blade’s reach, but close enough to not need to shout.

Celine’s blades found her fingers instantly, and she whirled around ready to fight. Instead, she saw a man–a demon–standing down the hallway, leaned up against the wall, arms crossed. His voice unmistakable, he was definitely the one from the phone call—the one that seemed so long ago now.

“What have you done?!” Celine demanded, stalking toward him cautiously. He was too casual, too at ease—too confident. 

The demon shrugged. “Personally, I didn’t do anything. I just man the front. You cleared out the real players.” He didn’t move, didn’t react to her approach. “And I’m the prettiest of them, so I get to do all the talking.” He flashed a grin, one she could practically hear from the phone speaker so many hours ago.

Silence fell, the single phrase cutting through all the other noises—“Good luck, Celine”—played over in her mind. It had to be the same demon she’d threatened over the phone earlier. Weapons in hand she turns back charging towards it as the last of the surviving teenagers exit. If it was in any way frightened by her, it doesn't show. Just a sadistic grin on its face even as she stalked toward it, blades in hand. 

“I told you I’d find you,” Celine growled. 

“Hunter, you must be exhausted," it chuckled, moving from the wall. “All alone… well, you’ve been fighting alone for years, haven’t you?”

Celine’s heart seized up; she could see the mocking recognition in its expression as a sadistic smile grazed its face. It sauntered over closer to her, not a flicker of fear in its face—it thought she was weak, tired; that she would let her emotions get the best of her. Her eyes narrowed, her grip tightened. That was never happening again. 

“Heard from some ‘friends’ that you pretty much fail to protect anyone you care about. Bandmates, lovers, and now a child?” He snorted, unfazed by the dimly glowing blade held aloft in line with his eyes. “What a pathetic excuse for a hunter.” 

Celine was tired. She was tired of her thoughts, tired of his words, tired from fighting demons, tired from closing a massive rift. But most of all, she was tired of everyone telling her lies.

Without so much as a sigh, her blades vanished, and Celine struck out with a left hook, her clenched fist slamming into the demon's jaw. The dokkaebi recoiled into the wall slumping down in front of her, letting her easily yank him up by the hair, then crack his head against her knee. 

She didn’t have to see his face to know that the smug smile on its face had been wiped away. Satisfying as that was to know, she kept at it, kicking it in the gut until it curled into a fetal position. Crouching above the creature, Celine looked it dead in the eyes. She couldn’t even muster a smile. 

“You seem to like talking. I have a few questions for you” 

-

When she thought about it over the years, something didn’t add up. Demons were supposed to be unfeeling, unable to experience pain, fear, anguish—that’s what she’d been taught. And yet they cried out when smote by hunter’s weapons, they struggled and whimpered when contorted or struck with a boot. 

Celine had only seen a demon be successfully tortured once before, from a distance. She knew she wasn’t supposed to be watching, but a twelve year old’s curiosity can’t be sated once it’s latched onto something. Ha-yoon had strung up one of these supposedly ‘unfeeling’ creatures and spoke to it. Celine never found out why she did that; Soo-yin found her before Ha-yoon had completed her task.  But if demons weren’t able to feel, then what practice of torture would even work? 

Snarling and snapping its fangs at her, the stone cold, brooding eyes had vanished. Its skin now purple, patterns of vibrant silver pulsing with every tug at its restraints. The glamour hiding the claws, the fangs, gone; this was the real beast behind the human mask. Celine stepped forward, her body trembling, with disdain and disgust for the creature. One that had taken her baby, it took everything in her to not end its miserable existence already, but she needed information, vengeance would have to wait. 

Celine could feel the Honmoon groan, holding the creature in place. Disgust still filled her gut, her instincts screaming at her to destroy it, banish it from this side. But morbid curiosity overrode her training. If they didn’t feel, why did they wince? Breathe? Sweat? 

What if they were wrong? 

She paused, considering the situation. Whatever they did, whatever they were—they were still the enemy, and Rumi was still out there. Celine didn’t really care why, they still chose to take souls. 

And this one in particular had mouthed off long enough.

“Want to know how we keep you out?” Celine asks, pulling up a folding chair and sitting just outside the dokkaebi’s reach. It snarled, snapping at her, but retreated as the Honmoon’s strands burned into its neck. She noted the pained grunt, adding it to a slowly growing list of things she didn’t understand yet.

“Our voices ignite the souls of common people. Hunters bring people together, bind their strength to the Honmoon and to themselves.” She took a moment, staring at the demon, looking for some kind of reaction.  “Demons turned their backs on those connections, begged for power or prosperity instead of standing with the people around you. Too weak to face your own mistakes, too frightened to accept consequences.” Celine crossed her legs, watching as the demon struggled against the silvery restraints, the Honmoon unbending to its struggles. 

“I hear you all forget what you’ve done, become the mindless slaves of Gwi-Ma. That you don’t feel, you don’t experience joy or fear, guilt or pain.” Celine tugs on a strand of the Honmoon, tightening it around the dokkaebi’s neck. “But you seem to be in pain right now. You wouldn’t do something like that for my pleasure, so… I have a theory.” Celine paused, finally putting the pieces together in her mind.

Miyeong wasn’t tricked, wasn’t seduced somehow. She touched a demon with the Honmoon, and they remembered who they were. Remembered they were human once. And she grew close with him, treated him as an equal. She probably even tried removing his demon side.

How could Celine have been so blind? She was always the social butterfly of their group, of course they’d try and use her. Headlines called her a Maknae with a heart of gold. How desperately short of the truth they were. It was never gold—it was brighter than the heavens, worth more than the sun itself.

Damn these demons. 

 “When you come in contact with the Honmoon, you feel everything.” 

The demon squirms in his restraints, his face scrunched in pain, his discomfort becoming more apparent with every passing second. Celine paused, analyzing him, curious. Is he…?

She thinks of Rumi. How it felt to hear her scream for her eomma. How Celine’s helplessness overwhelmed her. How the Honmoon cried as her world came crashing down, again.

The dokkaebi writhed, pained grunts and snarls accompanying tears. Pain. 

“You… you can feel my pain?” 

Something twisted rose in her gut, a sick pleasure she never knew she could feel. Demons could feel everything she did, as long as they were restrained by the Honmoon. A delighted fury boiled over as she slowly stood up, taking two steps over to the demon, just outside the range of its teeth.  

“Good,” she declared, and a surge of strange pleasure washed over her. She couldn’t help it. 

Celine smiled. 

“Suffer.”

Curling her finger in, she let out a deep breath, and re-ran every moment she remembered of Miyeong, of Da-young. She remembered first meeting them. Remembered training next to them for years, remembered learning the music from Ha-yoon, the techniques from Rae-na, how to deal with the media from Soo-yin. She recalled their first hunt, how it nearly killed all three of them, how it bonded them in the aftermath. 

The demon quirked its head to the side.“What are you doing?” it asked, breathing easier, the pleasant memories washing over it, through the threads of Honmoon.  

Celine smirked, looking directly into its eyes as she recalled every second of Da-young’s final moments. Re-lived Mi-yeong’s final hours in that cold hospital. Replayed every burning piece of inadequacy, of rage, of frustration she’d felt raising Rumi all these years. Reminding herself of how much love she’d lost, and how much she could still lose.

It wasn’t an immediate reaction. The demon started breathing harder, staring back at her, but as her own tears fell, anguish rolled through the Honmoon from him. She felt his pain, how he felt everything she felt tenfold, the absolute desperation she still had. Celine tugged on the threads, pulling it back to the wall, almost laughing as she wept. 

“Feel that? That’s one person’s life. Remember how you chose to forget everything now? Remember how you chose an easy path out, to let others suffer instead of yourself?”. Celine’s voice warbled through her tears, through her own pain, but she held the dokkaebi steady. “You tear people out of this world, and this is what everyone who loved them feels. This is the reality of the world we choose to live in. And you, you cowards, you just add to that pain!”

Celine yanked the cords tight, choking the demon, the sizzling flesh leaving an acrid, sufuric smell behind. Every bit of emotion she poured into the Honmoon, it amplified the strands. The demon screamed out in agony, long enough for Celine to stop crying and the tears on her cheeks to have dried. She loosened her grip, noticing she’d let time get away from her—and she was still on the clock. The demon’s breath staggered, trying to steady itself, the Honmoon leaving visible burns all over its body. Good.

Celine took a deep breath, before holding up her phone with a picture of Rumi on it. “Now. Where is she?” she said, quietly, but firmly. Her jaw tightened, her gaze fixed on the dokkaebi as it tried to collect itself. 

The fervor, the strength, the willpower seemed to have left the demon, but all it did was growl, fangs bared at her question. As if it was a challenge, to get her to just kill it. It didn’t want to answer questions, it just wanted her to be done.

Wrong choice.

Celine picked up a piece of a broken hangar frame, the tube of steel sheared off at a savage angle. She didn’t have time for defiance. She had to find Rumi.. Every minute that went by without Rumi in her arms was a minute she was closer to never finding her. 

And her blades were the only way to vanquish these creatures.

So she stabbed it. Right in the gut.

Holding tight on the threads of the Honmoon, she pulled the strands taught again as she slammed the metal into the creature again and again, making sure to think of Miyeong, of Rumi, with every strike. The dokkaebi howled in pain, straining for any kind of relief. And none came. Celine made sure of that. 

She felt herself fading. Her emotions were quieting, her body slowing. The Honmoon was weak here to begin with, and every passing moment was another that she had to focus on keeping the Honmoon in place. She pulled the demon to the ground, glaring as she tossed the useless piece of metal away, and started just hitting the creature’s face. 

As if the Honmoon could hear her pain, it started soothing her. Playing the soft, uncertain strums of someone learning chords on their guitar. The same sounds she heard when Miyeong was learning. The same music Rumi makes as she learns. A gentle, carefree giggle as she sings a song Celine taught her, a sound only a child can make. A sound that her child should make.  

Her child.

Rumi’s smile flashed to the forefront of her mind, racing around the house, jumping on the bed. Proudly showing Celine new moves she’d been practicing, trying to impress her with the things she’d learned from dance class. The Honmoon rumbled, giving her strength, focus. The energy crackled from the strands, surging from Celine’s heart into the threads. Celine could see all pain and guilt tearing the creature apart. All the love it had turned its back on, and forgotten it, now remembered it all—and was no longer numb to it. 

The horror in its eyes visceral, face contorted in agony as it was haunted by its own faults, its own fears. 

“Tell me where she is!” Celine shouted, hauling the demon to its feet by the threads around its neck. 

“Stop, stop!” it begged, squeezing its eyes shut.

Celine realises her grip slightly, loosely holding on, and letting the demon eyes still holding on tight ready to strike

“There’s a second spot. Where they take difficult ones.”

Celine could help but feeling a tinge of pride that Rumi had given them enough trouble they had taken her somewhere else. This did nothing to quash her wrath as the creature heaved out gasping breaths, offering no further information. 

“Where?!” Celine demanded, her tone forceful, unwavering. 

“Another laundromat, in the town north of the city! Same name as the one next door!” he grunted out through strained breaths. 

Celine stood up straight. If only she’d been paying closer attention, she could have put the pieces together sooner. Avoided all of this. Saved so many people. She was too preoccupied with her line of defence around their home while juggling a full time job,and Rumi hadn’t ever been trained to use the Honmoon to feel where it was weak, where it was unsafe.  She was supposed to be training Rumi to be the next generation of Hunters—how could she have let this happen? 

“That’s all I know, I swear.”

Celine stepped away, her hands slowly letting go of the Honmoon.  

“That's all I know, that's all I know,” the demon muttered manically. 

Celine lets her shoulders drop and uncurls her fingers while maintaining eye contact. There is relief on the demon's face as the Honmoon recedes. 

“I believe you.”

She considers for a moment, before letting the strands of the Honmon go, the demon now free of its restraints. But it doesn’t move. Doesn’t lash out. All of her pain, all of her mourning clearly having the desired effect on it. 

Celine sighs, exhaustion rolling over her, as she summoned her blade and thrust it unceremoniously into the creature’s chest, the demon disappearing into a pile of dust. 

Another drive, another place. The effort was getting to her, her body aching, eyes burning. As she walked back out into the sunlit surface, she couldn’t feel the Honmoon’s comfort again. Couldn’t hear the light strums, the laughter, the calm.