Cursed from the Moment of Birth
The first sound Heuk-yo heard upon birth was the bellow of some ancient elder.
"I have seen it! I have beheld the future! After the great betrayal of Han Bing, there shall be no spawn like you! Seed of evil! Demon God of schemes and treachery! Your birth dooms the world to ruin!"
"Yet we shall stand against you. We will cast you into prison and render you powerless! You shall languish in chains for eternity!"
With those words, Heuk-yo became a criminal. She was scarcely able to distinguish up from down in those days. The sub-god was awakened only to be confined in a celestial prison, sentenced to life imprisonment. Eight billion four hundred million years—an aeon of torment. She grasped its meaning only as the second day dawned.
As a god, she naturally gained boundless intellect and wisdom. The structure of the cosmos and the laws of all creation flowed into her like a river. Even the material of her confining prison became transparently clear. It was a formidable cage. An absolute darkness admitting not a single drop of water, not a photon of light—a law of utter constraint incarnate. Here she was doomed to rot until the end of the world, through endless eons.
"Urgh..."
"But I don't want that."
Thus, over the first ten million years, Heuk-yo bored a tiny hole in her prison. Peering through it, she glimpsed faint light and sounds from beyond. The moment inside and outside were severed, the prison ceased to function as one. With the wisdom of the abyss in hand, even altering the flow of air opened countless possibilities.
"Not like I had anything better to do."
During the second ten million years, Heuk-yo devised a sorcery—what the outer gods called an avatar. She crafted a minuscule clone, too insignificant to be detected by any. The prison, so certain nothing could escape, was rendered impotent by this single spell. Now Heuk-yo roamed freely beyond its walls.
It was then she realized it: all outer gods were utterly engrossed in something. Some embraced galaxies and the void in vast bodies, endlessly expanding. One became a blazing star in the Scorching Heavens galaxy, scorching its southern wing in flames; another delighted in creating copies of itself to dominate. Soon Heuk-yo understood why.
She had escaped, yet there was nothing to do.
"...This is it, huh."
An avatar was little more than a trifle. Schemes and intrigue required time to ripen. For now, all Heuk-yo could do was observe. The fledgling outer god quietly took it all in. This took a third ten million years.
And so Heuk-yo learned arrogance.
"They're all just brute beasts with raw power."
"Everywhere you go, it's the same. Brainless fools obsessed with showing off."
They fought, betrayed, quarreled, clashed, and strutted about their superiority. She was innately different. In this cosmos, she alone could think. It dawned on her then: whatever she pursued must be an expression of herself—a rule demonstrating how she, the wise and profound Heuk-yo, fundamentally differed from those idiots.
Thus,
"I'll restrict my own power. I'm no mere muscle-bound beast."
"So I'll descend to the lower realm."
Heuk-yo resolved to do what others would not.
The lower realm at that time was called the Central Plains. Heuk-yo sent down an avatar in her likeness. Pondering her form, she manifested as a young woman. Gazing into clear water, she found her appearance quite pleasing.
"This'll do nicely. Now, to act as myself."
She recalled those she despised most: the outer gods who strutted about, sealing her away at birth.
"Wicked spawn, we offer no pity or mercy—only eternal torment!"
Heuk-yo's world consisted solely of such things. All existence brimmed with malice and vainglory; she alone stood apart, pure and independent. And so the woman smiled faintly and spoke.
She veiled her glaring red eyes in soft brown to avoid undue attention.
"I'll make the first person I meet in the city my fated one. I'll watch from the side as they meet their ruin."
And the woman set off for the city—known then as Jangan.
The first she met was an aged merchant. His eyes widened at the sight of her.
"Y-young lady, where do you hail from?"
Heuk-yo saw his station at a glance—no divine wisdom required. Fine silk robes, gold rings crammed on his fingers. Potions clinging desperately to his sagging, withered skin. Cheekbones thrust high by unchecked greed. Sure enough, her gaze caught the old man's ugly desires.
Heuk-yo smiled sweetly.
"Does it matter where I'm from?"
In two syllables, her voice attuned perfectly. She innately possessed the power to whisper into others' hearts—speaking in the tone most pleasing, most soothing to them. Thus manipulating their minds effortlessly. With a voice deeper than a well, softer than silk, she mocked him.
"All you want is to breed with me, isn't it? Come now, flaunt your useless wealth. Perform for me."
"Yes... mistress."
The old man's eyes glazed over. Sixty-five years old, he had lived his life mad for money. Disguised as his servant, Heuk-yo watched his life ebb away. His end was pathetic. Lusting after another's inheritance, he hired assassins—only to be slain by them. Even the killers couldn't resist greed.
"You're no different from the outer gods. To be expected of lower-realm vermin."
Heuk-yo sneered at him. Then she sought her next "fated one."
The second was predictably the old man's son. He inherited her as part of the estate. But their time together was short. After a few years, he lost his reason and lunged at her, dosed with some worthless aphrodisiac, extinguishing the room's lights before pouncing.
It was utterly pointless, of course.
"Pathetic wretch."
Heuk-yo smashed his face into the floor and ground her heel into it. Amid the satisfaction, profound disappointment lingered. How could even lower-realm folk be so identical? Were they all just idiots strutting, boasting, and forcing themselves upon her?
Ah, I truly am exceptional.
What shall I do next to mock these fools?
A whim struck: live as the mortals did.
She found a suitable home. Lower-realm vermin formed things called "families." Here, they were known as clans. Slightly altering her form, Heuk-yo infiltrated a reputable one.
"Come here, child."
"Who are you?"
"From today, I'm your daughter."
A hypnotic gleam in her brown eyes, and she seamlessly became their girl—from age five until adulthood. Yet even here, she found cause for mockery.
"Your betrothal is set. Your father chose a fine house, so no complaints—go serve him well."
A political marriage. A forced bond for ties to a strong martial clan. Her "father" was just the sort to wed his unheard-of daughter to a stranger for gain. Heuk-yo knew what to call it.
"So you traffic even your own daughter? Impressive."
Sneering, she departed for the appointed clan—after duly punishing her "temporary parents."
En route, she mused: it would be much the same. Political marriage, decent looks, vermin lusts. Her next "fated one" would strut, boast, and force himself upon her.
"Boring..."
The carriage halted. This was her new home. Stepping down, elegant calligraphy greeted her: Jang Clan Manor.
"Miss, we must go in."
"I know."
Time to end this. It was tediously monotonous. If this one displeased her too, she'd return to prison and find a new hobby.
With that thought, the woman endured the dull, pretentious wedding rites. Entering the bridal chamber, she finally faced her husband.
"...Hmm."
His first impression was... unique. He looked at her and said nothing. Unlike the city's other men, he made no show of strength or wealth. He had no such intent. It was a first for Heuk-yo: a man fighting his instincts upon seeing her, steeling himself inwardly—perhaps she's not ready; I must be gentle—vowing care in his heart.
To confess: it suited her tastes, just a little.