“Make him stop this ridiculous babbling,” Seokga hisses as the four of them—one god, one shaman, one gumiho, and one supposed K-pop idol whose hair rivals Seokga’s own (fucking idols, they’ve basically replaced the pantheon, stealing their worshippers)—creep through the SRC Flatliner’s shadowy second level, where the security room is tucked away at the end of the corridor’s corner. At this time of night, Kisa has promised that Officer Shin Korain will be on Deck 8’s bridge with the watch, ensuring the currents remain stable and no demons swoop in to attack while the captain is asleep. Korain is, apparently, the most capable security officer on board. The others aren’t even haetae, but bored souls who were dropped down into the security den because they were extremely bad at cleaning staterooms. “This is a stealth mission.”

“Eeeegreeek!” Baby Hwanin gurgles in Kisa’s arms.

Seokga cannot wait for him to regain both his adult body and memories so he can deck him. How—how does an all-powerful emperor get himself killed? Save for one, his natural powers were even more impressive than Seokga’s own: control over the heavens (Hwanin had liked to ruin Seokga’s good mood by turning a stormy sky sunny), the generation of a heavenly light that he insisted on using for dramatic entrances, the ability to fly, and—most bewilderingly—the capability to shape-shift into either a cloud or a star. And like all gods, Hwanin had also been able to teleport.

But Hwanin’s true power had come from the throne on which he sat. The throne in Cheonha Palace gifted Hwanin with abilities that no other god shared, and influence over the other deities to an unholy extent. The catch, of course, was that Hwanin had to be sitting on, or at least near, the throne to do things such as cross into other gods’ jurisdictions (like reincarnating Hani the first time around), play with time, grant immortality, astral project…The list goes on and on and on.

The security room’s iron door looms into view as they round the corner, its one small square window giving nothing away. The lighting on Deck 2 is nothing like the warm, expansive glow above: It’s hard and roughly contours anybody unlucky enough to be below. Glancing behind him at his companions, Seokga initiates a series of silent, quick signals using his hands. He does it very skillfully, he thinks, and the quick, capable motions from his days of Unruly-hunting are sure to impress Kisa.

She nods with a wise expression as if she knows exactly what he means, but a moment later her thoughts betray her.

—why—hands flapping—like—pigeons—

The red thread, winding past Hajun, shakes like it’s fucking giggling. At Seokga’s offended, but amused, expression, Kisa flushes blue.

“Here,” Somi whispers at the back of their line. “I’ll create a distraction. When they run out, you can run in.”