“Excuse me,” says Seokga and, with that same nasty smile, makes his way toward Somi. The gumiho’s eyes widen as she looks up, clocks the six-foot-three trickster god shouldering his way toward her.

And, there. She freezes, a deer in the headlights, prey cowering before predator. He can practically smell her terror, rolling off her in waves as those big brown eyes widen even further. Somi tries to smile but oh, how clearly Seokga sees right through her act. She’s just as much of a coward as she ever was. That nervous, trembling café worker isn’t too far beneath the surface. A bumbling teenager in a woman’s skin.

“Hello, Somi,” Seokga sneers, shoving aside her conversation partners.

She attempts bravado. It’s laughable. “Seokga,” she greets, drawing her shoulders back. He has the feeling his name is supposed to drip with disdain, but all he hears is trepidation. Good.

“I hope your death was painful and bloody,” he drawls.

Somi swallows and he feels a surge of triumph when she flinches. If he had to guess, some truth hit home. He doesn’t care. Perhaps a better man would stop now. But Seokga has never been a better man. He has only ever been a wicked, wicked god.

“And I hope,” Seokga whispers, cocking his head, “it’s nothing compared to this.”

In one swift snap, Seokga has transformed his cane into the long silver sword he has carried for thousands of years. Partygoers shriek, and Seokga snorts in disgust. He’s never really understood how Jeoseung works—hasn’t really bothered to understand it, at any rate—but he knows one thing.

Even if he can’t kill those who are already dead, he can hurt them.

“Seokga!” That’s his therapist, rushing toward them as fast as her aging body allows, rubber-duck dress flapping. “Seokga, please, you cannot bring out your sword during a garden party, you cannot stab somebody—”

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” That’s his brother, howling his heavenly emperor head off in outrage. The music grinds to a halt.

Somi’s eyes are wide. Seokga’s blood is boiling, hotter and hotter. All of the frustrations, the heartbreak, of the past day has reached its tipping point. He knows what Dr. Jang will say. He’s projecting his own self-hatred onto Somi who, admittedly, played a rather small part in the Dark Days. He’s letting his grip on his anger problems slip, he’s giving in to the darker parts of his nature, he’s subconsciously imitating the rage his father showed when his sickness began. He’s attempting to compensate for his complete lack of a sense of control by being entirely in control of someone else’s pain.

Oh, well.

He grins in a way that has the frozen gumiho paling…

“Seokga?”

The trickster god freezes. Slowly, so slowly, he turns his head over his shoulder.