Yeomra rolls his eyes, and Kisa dearly wants to punch him. “He was able to fight off Jang because Mireuk wasn’t present. He relied on the strength of Hwanin to get through imprisoning him. The Mad God is manipulative, and once Seokga is in front of him, all the fight will drain the fuck out of him. If Seokga tries to free his father, it’s a Divine Crime against the pantheon and all of humanity. Worse even than his coup. We need to extract him before he wakes up. I’ll take Jang. The two of you take Seokga. We clear?”

Kisa clenches her jaw. “Fine,” she snaps.

“Crystal,” says Somi.

“Let’s go.”

The tunnel is long, riddled with murky puddles and stale, stagnant air. Kisa exchanges fearful glances with Somi as they follow Yeomra through its length. When it finally ends, Kisa presses a hand to her mouth. Another cavern looms beyond, a ravenous maw with a tongue of rock—on which a man is bound with chains that are, nauseatingly, the exact color of human bones. It’s the shackles that catch her eye first, but when she realizes who they bind to the protruding rock, Kisa feels a terror that is unlike anything she’s ever felt before. Her bladder threatens to loosen as she stares at the Mad God, clinging close to the shadows, sticky sweat pooling on every inch of her trembling skin.

The Mad God. Mireuk. Creator of life and, later, the sufferings that come with it. Rape. Murder. The gruesome and the horrifying. He lies spread-eagle on the rock, his face almost as skeletal as his chains, so gaunt and haunted. His matted black hair is long, tumbling from the rock and spreading on the ground below. There is a stench of waste, of a long-drawn death, that permeates the air now, mingled with the horrid reek of a body that has gone unwashed for centuries upon centuries upon centuries. Her throat works, and then she’s pivoting to quietly vomit all over Yeomra’s heavy black boots before she can stop herself. The CEO fixes her with a look of great disgust and betrayal.

Beneath the cavern’s tongue, Seokga lies, a crumpled heap. Above him stands Jang, a maniacal gleam in her eyes as she stares up at Mireuk. “Your Majesty!” she cries, and although she’s still clad in her ridiculous Hawaiian set, she somehow manages to be as terrifying as she was in her tiger form. “Your son! I have brought him here, to you. Your freedom is imminent!”

“Ah…” Mireuk’s voice is not the thunderous, powerful thing Kisa expected. It’s little more than a reedy rasp, hoarse from disuse. He does not sound like an all-powerful deity, nor does he sound like the mortal realm’s most dangerous villain. Mireuk sounds weak. “Jang Heejin. You’ve done so well, my little tiger.”

Jang beams. “Anything for you, My Emperor.”