Page 75

Yeomra the Death God is no stranger to long, winding games.

Rather, he delights in them. It was Seokga the Trickster who introduced him to the concept of the game steeped in tricks, and death is nothing if not the end of one of these games.

Yeomrawang has been playing such a game for a very, very long time.

It started with discontent.

One could argue that in life lies the true suffering, and death is only the cool rush of relief of ending. And, subsequently, that death is rather boring .

If, hypothetically , Yeomrawang were to have heard this argument, he might have replied with something along the lines of, “But humans still cling to life when I take them, Seokga. The loss of life to death is the greatest agony mortals can suffer.”

And Seokga the Trickster, who is rather notorious, historically, for starting grand-scale wars simply for the fun of it, as well as being generally deceitful, spiteful, and a menace to society at large, would have replied with a long-winded and altogether convincing argument that the true purpose of Yeomra the Death God is to be nothing but a balance to existence—a boring tool to weigh out the suffering the other gods inflict, and if Yeomra did not inflict suffering but rather relieve it, was he really even a god?

The gods, after all, took much pride in inflicting suffering. Habaek the River God, despite his love of humanity (or human women ), frequently drowned nearby plains simply for the fun of it; Yongwang often capsized boats in his ships. Haemosu brought droughts and hot, scorched summers with no relief and sickness. Hwanung, the God of Laws, punished wrongdoers according to a list of laws that he frequently modified and updated, as to ensure that nobody really knew how to behave and could therefore be punished in gruesome ways. Even Samshin-Halmoni killed women in childbirth, sending them to Yeomra’s realm. And what did Yeomra do? Grant them a relief from pain. Where was the suffering in that? Where was the godliness in that?

While all the gods tormented and healed the world above in equal measure, Yeomra was confined to Jeoseung, shut away from the rest of the pantheon. While they travelled the worlds and laughed under the stars, Yeomra remained utterly alone in Jeoseung, save for Seokga the Trickster’s occasional visits (because Seokga found Yeomra’s loneliness amusing). “Is a god a god,” Seokga mused once, “if he exists underneath the others?”

“I would think so,” said Yeomra.

“But is a tree part of a forest if it stands alone?” replied the other with a thin, sly smile, steeping his slender fingers underneath his chin.

The personification of death is not meant to have an existential crisis, but of course Seokga the Trickster ensured that he did.

Slowly, slowly, Yeomra grew discontent in Jeoseung, discontent being the “balance” to the true suffering. His throne was no longer comfortable. His dark purple crown no longer seemed to fit perfectly atop his dark head. Yeomra grew to resent Jeoseung and longed to escape, although it was impossible. The realm clung to him relentlessly.

When the gods decided on their retreat into the heavenly kingdom of Okhwang, Yeomra too wished to join them, his heavenly kin to whom he wished to belong. Yet he was father to the dead realm, to Jeoseung, and Jeoseung would not let him go without a promise. Such a realm would not be content without a ruler, without an emperor—or an empress.

And so, after many years, Yeomra called for Gameunjang, the Goddess of Luck, and Fate, and Fortune. Curious, she came to his realm to hear his pleas.

“Please,” said the death god, “bring me fortune in the form of a successor. Somebody to rule in my stead so that I might leave and find myself a god in true.”

Gameunjang tilted her head. She pitied Yeomra, cast aside in the underworld. Yet she did not acquiesce, as it was not in her heart to let others guide fate. “I will not,” she said, and so it was that Seokga saw that a different approach was needed for Yeomra to earn a boon from the beautiful Lady Luck.

Heeding Seokga’s advice, once more did Yeomra call upon Gameunjang. Yet he did not broach his question, instead appealing to her heart, as tender and lonely as it was. The two deities were not unalike, as feared and ignored by the others in equal measures as they were. Indeed, fate and death are not dissimilar, and this Gameunjang began to realize it with each soft smile from the lonely God of Death, and each brush of his cold hands against hers. Again and again did she visit Yeomra in Jeoseung, blushing under his purple gaze and leaning into his embrace as a flower tilts toward the sun.

Yet even as the years passed, Yeomra did not dare to again present his plea…

Until Seokga, with a smile that bespoke mischief and cunning, whispered that it was time. For Yeomra held Gameunjang’s heart firmly in his hands, each beat belonging to him.

“What is love, if not a tool for power?” asked the trickster god with a dangerous gleam in his eyes.

Before Lady Luck, Yeomra once again presented his plea. “Gameunjang,” whispered the death god, “I grow lonely here without you. It is torment, cast aside to this underworld, with you so far above in Okhwang. Please, find a successor to take my place. Somebody to rule in my stead so that I might be forever beside you in the heavens.”

And this time, Lady Luck did acquiesce. So lonely was she in Okhwang, and so warm was she by Yeomra’s side. How could she refuse?

The creation of a Prophecy was no easy thing, even for the Goddess of Fate. And perhaps “creation” was not the right word for what it was Gameunjang did—reaching slender fingers into the stream of many possible futures, sifting around for the one of her choosing. Catching it like a fish in a net, breathing life into this one possibility until it stretched and yawned, a Prophecy born.

Lady Luck brought this Prophecy to Yeomra in the dead of the night, escaping the notice of the others, who watched the Dokkaebi wage war against the Imugi from their seats in the stars. “Give this to the Imugi,” Gameunjang told Yeomra. “Yet do not reveal the true purpose of this Prophecy. Speak only of a chance of future victory should they now retreat from their battlefield. Do this, and Jeoseung will relinquish its hold on you as it prepares for the arrival of another. With the Prophecy will come a new ruler.”

In all the futures Gameunjang had sifted through, only one future— one , in millions —held the possibility for the forging of a new divinity.

One soul , in millions, that held enough of a connection to the gods to…become one. A girl, not yet born, who would fall in love with a silver-eyed Dokkaebi.

Who fell in love with him, again and again, in every possible future.

Yet there was a price to pay for this Prophecy: with the girl’s forging came another great and terrible war, the continuation of the battle raging between the Dokkaebi and Imugi—the battle the gods had grown weary of.

But despite all, this was the future that she caught and gifted to Yeomra, who then gifted it to the Imugi. For impossibly, this Prophecy also heralded a victory against them.

The fate goddess told Yeomra what to do next. “Offer the Imugi shelter in your realm,” she urged him. “They will stay there, until the girl is found.”

“And I will be able to leave?” he replied skeptically.

“The Prophecy has been born, jagi ,” Gameunjang replied. “An empress is coming. Through wrath and war, she will be forged. Now, Jeoseung will release you, and you can join me in the heavens.”

And so it did, as Yeomra acted in the way Gameunjang directed. Delivering the Prophecy to the Imugi. Offering his realm as sanctuary. It was well worth it, earning a place in Okhwang with the rest of the gods, away from the realm he’d grown to loathe. And many years went by with peace.

Yet then, as things so often do, everything took a turn for the worse. Or so it seemed, as the gods gazed down at a realm devoured by serpents and a golden-eyed girl with a teardrop scar. As they… descended .

The death god and his lover became frightened. “If they thwart the Prophecy, we will be forever separated,” mourned Yeomra, who was not at all interested in returning to Jeoseung.

“Do not fear,” whispered Lady Luck to him. “For I will do all in my power to ensure this Prophecy comes to fruition.”

And so she did.

And now, now as Yeomra looks down upon the two bodies in the rain—one a young woman with a teardrop scar, the other a Dokkaebi emperor as still and cold as ice—he smiles, finally feeling the last remnants of Jeoseung’s hold on him disappear. He can almost see it…their souls descending to the underworld, hand in hand, tied to one another by a scarlet thread.

Good , he thinks. At long last, a new goddess has been forged.

With a soft sigh, Jeoseung opens its eager maw for her. It has been waiting for her for so very long.

Satisfied, Yeomrawang does not notice Seokga the Trickster chuckling under his breath as he, too, looks down upon Iseung, all too pleased with himself for singlehandedly inciting a bloody war, a riveting love, and such delicious amounts of pain and suffering—all through the discontent of one, lonely death deity and an infatuated Lady of Luck.

For what , Seokga thinks smugly, is the role of a mortal, but to be the plaything of an ever-absent god?