Chapter Text
It was just like any other day in the demon realm. Dark skies swirling with thick mist, jagged obsidian stones rising like mountains in the distance. Humid air that turned into scorching heat the closer you got to the demon king’s throne.
Gwi-Ma’s throne.
Jinu stood in front of the demon king—a formless streak of purple and pink flame, taking up the center stage of his vision. He had been summoned to face him, which can only mean one thing: the demon king had a task for him.
“Jinu,” he began in that booming voice of his. “I have a brilliant idea.”
Jinu bowed his head low, intent on listening. For as long as he knew it, the presence of the Hunters on the human world up top had always impacted the amount of souls the demonkind can get their claws on. The Honmoon, that pesky barrier, restrained them so only few demons could get through at a time. It had always been Jinu’s number one priority as Gwi-Ma’s right-hand man to get rid of the Honmoon and the Hunters who maintained them, but any and every plan always ended up in failure, no matter how hard he tried.
It seemed Gwi-Ma got sick of his incompetence and decided to take matters into his own, fiery hands.
— — —
His first task was to go to the human world and find people to play ddakji with.
Jinu was not unfamiliar with the toy. He played it with other boys his age, before his father died. Before he had no choice to support his family all by himself—
Jinu exhaled, staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. The sight of his fair skin and brown-colored eyes awakened unwanted memories he wanted to bury for good, causing a twinge of pain in his chest. He had gotten so used to the pale lilac skin and golden, slitted eyes, he had forgotten what it felt like to be human. To look human.
He slid his eyes to his entire form. Slicked back hair, neat suit and tie, briefcase full of money in hand—an attire Gwi-Ma all but forced him to wear. To reel in the targets, he would say. He figured the people Gwi-Ma was targeting would lower their guard and let him in if a pretty face in a nice suit offered them some help. Deeming himself suitable enough, he pushed the subway station’s bathroom doors open and stepped outside.
Immediately, he set his sights upon a disheveled man sitting on the dirty floor. Remembering what Gwi-Ma said, he kneeled next to the man, eliciting his attention.
“Hello, sir,” Jinu greeted, wearing his best smile. “Would you like to play a game with me?”
— — —
The sound of screams rang through the air.
Jinu stood in front of the large window overseeing the vast room below, where another one of the games will take place. The fifth game hadn’t even started yet, but he could already hear the screams of the players as they were thrust into yet another life-or-death game.
All for a second chance at facing the world.
If his memory served him correctly, there should be around 30 players left. Today, that number would dwindle even more.
The sound of a door opening snapped him out of his thoughts. Quickly, he picked up the black mask he left on the table—the mask Gwi-Ma gave him—and put it on. As soon as he turned around, five men walked in, all wearing elaborate animal masks studded with jewelry, obscuring their eyes.
“Welcome, gentlemen.” Jinu bowed deeply, his voice obscured by the mask. “Please, take a seat.”
The five men ignored his greeting and scattered around the lavishly decorated room, each picking one of the five plush chairs adorned with silks and carpets, complete with a small table filled with expensive wine and small snacks. Demons disguised as naked women in full body paint kneeled beside each chair, posing as footrests, while demons dressed as waiters stood around them, some of which began pouring them a glass of wine.
Jinu frowned at the sight, lips curled in distaste. How repulsive.
“So,” one of the men spoke up. “When will the game start?”
Jinu turned his head to face the man. Despite the mask covering part of his face, Jinu recognized him—Oh Ilnam. The man Gwi-Ma told him about. A wealthy business tycoon with too much money on his hand, to the point where he decided the world was his to do as he pleases. It only took a little push, a tiny whisper, from Gwi-Ma to convince him to create this hell on earth—the Squid Games, as he called it.
The rest became easy. Oh Ilnam, using all his wealth and power, built this game venue in just under 6 months. Disguised as a human, Jinu roamed all around Seoul, seizing desperate people off the streets to turn into players, while several other demons, exploiting moments when the Honmoon was weaker, crossed over to the human world and donned a pink suit with a black mask to hide their grotesque true form.
“They want entertainment. So we will provide what they want. In return, we can harvest as many souls as we want.”
True to Gwi-Ma’s words, Oh Ilnam and his little band of wealthy friends—the VIPs, they dubbed themselves—never questioned the true nature of the Squid Games. They thought they were the ones in charge, not knowing the visage hidden beneath the black mask of the pink guards, waiters, and human furnitures stationed around them. Not knowing who is truly pulling the strings. All they care about is entertainment.
So, be entertained, they shall.
“The game will start soon.”
— — —
Years passed, and Jinu dulled into complacency, bound to his role. The Front Man, Gwi-Ma called him. With each new wave of winners, a few of them started to join their cause, stepping into the recruiter’s role he had filled during the first game. Gwi-Ma himself started to spread his influence through Oh Ilnam, with more Squid Games-like death games being held in other countries outside South Korea.
Jinu stood at the top of the stairs leading up to Gwi-Ma’s throne. As the Squid Games claimed more souls each year, Gwi-Ma’s form grew even greater, reflecting the strength he gained from devouring millions. In this distance, Jinu could feel the heat prickling at his skin.
“I have a surprise for you, Jinu,” Gwi-Ma started. “I will show you after this year’s harvest is over.”
Jinu did not know how to feel about the surprise. So, he donned the black mask—more polished, this time, equipped with a voice changer technology to further obscure his voice—and stepped into his role.
It had been 27 years since the first Squid Games was held. The year is 2015. As technology advanced, it allowed more creativity for them to transform the innocent children's games into the most absurd death game possible. Like this one.
Jinu watched from the monitor as a giant statue of a child in an orange dress rotated its oversized head completely, eyes moving frantically as it scanned for movement. Out in the corner of the screen, Jinu saw a woman trip over and fall as she failed to keep her balance. In the next second, red bloomed from her head.
How… innovative. Jinu did give the other demons complete freedom to design the games. His only request was to make it as entertaining as possible, a request he forwarded from the VIPs. But this was beyond his expectations. Gone was the innocent excitement associated with playing Red Light, Green Light—all that was left was fear and death.
“The hibiscus flower has bloomed.”
And bloom they did, red and stark against the sky blue background.
Jinu took his eyes off the monitor and picked up his old bipa. Amidst the cries of terror emanating from the speakers, Jinu sat down on his chair and silently plucked the strings.
— — —
Five days passed in a blur. Out of 456 participants, only eight people were left. Tomorrow will be the sixth and final game.
As he watched the slumbering players through the monitor, Jinu felt the telltale whispers forming in the back of his mind, signaling Gwi-Ma’s voice about to reach him.
“Player 132. Bring him here.”
Player 132, real name Hwang Inho. A man in his late thirties. A former police officer, fired from his position after taking a bribe to fund a transplant operation for his pregnant wife.
After telling a pink guard to come fetch the man, Jinu donned his mask and waited.
As the elevator to his room opened, Jinu’s body seized and contracted, like a puppet suddenly being pulled apart by its strings. The patterns hidden underneath his black coat shimmered bright pink, before completely fading in an instant. The last thing Jinu saw before his consciousness faded was the disheveled figure of Hwang Inho, tentatively stepping inside the room.
Before he knew it, he was alone in his room again, his guest nowhere to be seen.
Panting, Jinu glanced at the clock. Ten minutes had passed.
“Was that the surprise?” Jinu asked to the empty room.
“No,” came Gwi-Ma’s voice. “But you may consider that a preview for it.”
Scoffing in disbelief, Jinu took off his mask and stood up. “What happened? What did you do?” He asked, glancing at the monitor. Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed a lone figure walking in the vast room of the player's quarters. Turning his head to look properly, Jinu recognized it as Hwang Inho.
“Watch closely.”
So, Jinu watched as Inho walked towards his bed, before stopping in his tracks and glancing at the player sleeping beside him. Then, he slowly approached the sleeping man.
It only occurred to Jinu that Inho was holding something in his hand. As he watched Inho come to a stop beside the sleeping man and hold his hand high up in the air, he realized that the object was a knife.
It felt like an eternity passed before Inho brought the knife down, striking the oblivious man in the carotid artery. The man was awake in an instant, but not for long as blood gurgled out of his mouth and exposed throat before he was slumbering again, this time never to wake up.
Before long, the room was filled with seven dead players and one murderer.
“You made a deal with him.” Jinu said, matter-of-factly.
“Well, looks like we have ourselves a winner, don’t we?” Gwi-Ma gloated, ignoring him.
Without bothering to put on his mask, Jinu stormed off to the player’s quarters. He slammed the door wide open, startling the lone player into spinning around, knife held defensively in front of him, until he realized who was approaching.
“O-oh, it’s–it’s you—” he stuttered. He must’ve been taken aback by the fact that Jinu wasn’t wearing his mask. “I– I did what you asked— I killed them all—”
Jinu raised an eyebrow. “What I asked?”
Hwang Inho froze, a look of horror overtaking his features. “What– y-you told me to kill them—” Suddenly, he dropped his bloodied knife and hastily took anxious glances all over the room. “What…? Who said that?”
Jinu stayed silent, observing the clearly unraveling man in front of him.
Inho clutched his head, as if fighting off a terrible headache. “No, no, that’s not true! You told me to kill them, I was just—” He began blabbing at thin air like a madman.
Jinu watched the sight before him in morbid fascination, before he noticed streaks of purple patterns appearing on the man’s neck, leading up to his cheek.
Ah, he understood. Gwi-Ma speaks to him.
As the hysterical man’s frenzy continued, the patterns kept spreading across his body, now radiating in a bright pink color, while his body contorted like a puppet on a string. At the same time, flares of purple smoke appeared around the man, as if he was burning from the inside.
The ground beneath Inho flashed bright pink, and in a show of bright lights, Jinu could see the blue shine of the Honmoon materialize itself on the ground around him, as if trying to resist something from crossing over. It wasn’t long before the Honmoon’s blue shimmer turned pink and it singed.
Taking a step back and shielding his eyes, Jinu could only listen to Inho’s agonized screams, before it faded at the same time the lights dimmed. The air was scorching hot, as if something burned. Slowly, Jinu lowered his arm and opened his eyes.
In the center of the chaos, Hwang Inho stood. He raised his head, and Jinu caught sight of violet eyes staring back at him.
Jinu’s breath caught in his throat. “Gwi-Ma…?”
The man raised a hand in front of him, curling and uncurling his fingers as he turned it over, studying it. Then, he lifted his head further and smiled at the dumbfounded man standing before him.
“Surprise, Jinu.”