The Scent of Malice

I'm back.

It was only after he escaped the wild hillside where he had died that Tae-jun finally felt it—his return.

The scenery of the mortal world, unseen in Hell. Roads, cars, streetlights, a sky not stained with blood. The things that now felt so unfamiliar filled his eyes.

The world where I lived as Ki Tae-jun.

He had always wondered about this moment. What it would feel like to come back. Would he rejoice that he could finally begin his vengeance? Or would he grieve that he could never be human again?

The stench is thick in the air.

The answer was neither.

The first thing he felt upon returning to the living world was not joy, nor sorrow—but a smell.

Right. This is what the world ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was like.

A demon senses the malice of another demon through scent. The stronger the malice a being harbors, the more potent the stench it gives off.

For demons living in the world called Hell—a realm of survival of the fittest where they devoured one another to grow their power and authority—this smell carried immense meaning. It was a kind of gauge for judging one's prey.

Time remaining...

Tae-jun looked down at the back of his hand. Red blood rose to the surface, carving out words in the Demonic Language. One hour. The span of Advent permitted to him.

One hour, then.

Within that hour, he had to feed. On some evildoer reeking of a vicious stench. Only then could he accomplish so much more.

At that very moment, a sedan came hurtling toward Tae-jun, who stood in the middle of the road. The closer it drew, the harder the stench vibrated in the air—the source of the smell was that car itself.

CRANG!

"...Ah."

He had considered dodging, but chose not to. Or rather, he'd assumed there was no need.

Yet in the instant the sedan crushed into him, Tae-jun thought to himself: honestly, he hadn't expected to be sent flying quite this far.

But this was the mortal realm. As Yeomra had said, he had descended bearing the burden of causality. The power and authorities he had amassed in Hell, his standing as a demon—none of it existed here. So there was no choice but to go flying.

Thankfully, being no longer human, he hadn't died.

Starting over from the beginning, then.

Feeling it for himself, it stung a little—but it was hardly a difficult task. Whether in Hell or the mortal world, vermin reeking of malice were everywhere in abundance. In Hell, demons; in the living world, trash wearing human masks.

If anything, this will be easier.

In Hell, he had faced High Demons, Demon Kings, even Demon Gods with terrifying power and authority. Baal, the leader of the Western demons and the last opponent he'd fought, had been overwhelming even among them.

But here—in the mortal world where he had descended carrying the burden of causality—no such strong beings existed. At most, there were humans, or the weapons humans built. What of it?

First, I devour whatever crosses my path.

The evildoers who gave off the scent of malice. Devour, devour, and devour again. Reclaim a certain measure of authority. Enough that nothing would be lacking when the vengeance began.

Shall I start with those ones?

His thoughts ended, and Ki Tae-jun rose slowly to his feet. Then he walked, step by steady step, toward where the stench throbbed. Whether the people inside the car were young or old—such things didn't matter. All that mattered was whether they were prey reeking of that foul odor, or the opposite.

I don't know why I'm smiling.

Demons have no hearts. So there should be no pounding, no racing of blood. And yet somehow, today, his chest seemed to throb. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Enough that a smile long forgotten across eons crept onto his face.

Is it because of this stench?

To say it again: Tae-jun was not human. Had he been resurrected, he would have been human—but Advent was different. He may have lost his power and authorities, but he was still a demon.

And what did that mean?

Simple. It meant he belonged to a superior species. Superior enough to survive being hit by a speeding car and get up, whole and moving. Superior enough to tear a car door apart with his bare hands.

"H-hiik...!"

"Wh-what the hell! What IS that thing?!"

"Just drive! Drive, you idiot!"

Tae-jun examined the ones inside the car, methodically. Faces, bodies, voices younger than even his middle-school daughter had been. Children far too young to be giving off such a stench already. And those children were staring at him, paralyzed with terror.

"...I'm not even surprised."

Had this been the Tae-jun of his living days, the situation might have genuinely shocked him. It would have been hard to accept that children this young were villains deserving of death.

But the Ki Tae-jun of now knew. That when it came to the malice a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠soul harbored, age meant nothing.

So there was no guilt either. Such emotions had worn away across the tens of thousands of years he'd endured in Hell.

All thanks to those bastards, no doubt.

Tae-jun dragged out the one in the driver's seat first. Then, without a flicker of hesitation, he snapped the boy's neck right there.

"Kk—kuhk...!"

With a crisp crack, the boy went limp.

But the horror did not end there.

Psssssssss...

The dead boy's body collapsed entirely, like flesh burned down to ash. His human form vanished without a trace, leaving behind only a jet-black bead.

It was called a Soul Stone—the thing Hell's demons killed one another to obtain.

Gulp!

Tae-jun swallowed the finger-joint-sized Soul Stone without hesitation. It was a stone of such a meager grade that even the time spent eating it would have been wasted in Hell, but for now, it was rain after a long drought. His remaining hour of Advent time would stretch out, even if only a little.

"Cuh, kuhak...!"

"KYAAAAAAAH—!"

"Do something! Somebody DO something!"

"Let go! Let go of—! Kuhk...!"

Whether they fled or screamed until their throats tore, none of it could slip free of Tae-jun's grasp. The three who had tried to run died first. Two remained now.

One girl, wearing makeup and clothing far beyond her years. One boy, decked out in clothes plastered with luxury-brand logos.

Tae-jun, having devoured every last bead, asked the two of them.

"Want to live?"

"S-s-spare me, please...!"

"Please! Just this once, I'm begging—!"

"Then answer my questions."

The children who wanted to live nodded frantically. Fearing they might provoke the monster's temper, they didn't even dare breathe aloud.

"What year is it?"

"Yes...? I-it's..."

"2025! It's 2025!"

2025. Fifteen years had passed since 2010, the year Tae-jun died. Tens of thousands of years in Hell had amounted to a mere fifteen in the living world.

Not bad, of course. In fact, an ideal passage of time. He had been worried about what he'd do if far too long had gone by.

"I'm looking for some people."

"P-people...?"

"Ma Tae-sung, Joo Min-ho, Lee Gun-ha, Jang Gyeong-sik, Moon Tae-hee, Park Hae-na. A few of them should be pretty famous by now. A celebrity, a chaebol heir, a soccer player, a politician's son—guys who were into that kind of thing."

At Tae-jun's question, the two terrified children scrambled to rack their brains. The girl in particular seemed to remember something, and pulled out her phone first.

"Here! This is the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠person you're looking for... right?"

The six demons who had driven his daughter to her death fifteen years ago.

This was the portal-site profile of Lee Gun-ha—born into a military family, once a promising football talent—of them all. Showing him before the chaebol heir and the actress, it seemed he'd made quite a name for himself.

"A-and this one too!"

Another profile followed immediately. A woman this time. But this was unexpected.

He hadn't expected her to be the second name out of this girl's mouth. Fifteen years ago, she'd been nothing more than the daughter of a famous law firm's senior partner.

What a laughable résumé.

Her affiliation, her awards, even the titles of her published books. Knowing the truth of what she was, nausea rose of its own accord. Especially that commendation—the one trotting out the words "school violence," of all things.

So this is how they've all been living.

And yet Tae-jun felt a genuine, deep relief—and a rush of elation.

Watching the ones who had destroyed his family feast and prosper had been unbearable. But for Tae-jun, who had dreamed of this moment and nothing else, it was good news. What could be truer vengeance than snapping a bird's wings at the very instant it took flight?

Wait for me. Just a little longer. I'm almost there now.

His confirmation complete, Tae-jun devoured the remaining two on the spot. Whatever desperate echoes they left behind—you said you'd spare us!—meant nothing to him. There was no reason to show mercy to creatures reeking of such a stench. Their disappearance, before they could commit greater sins, would only make the world a better place.

Good. That should do for now...

Killing someone was nothing to him. What mattered was only that he had devoured six Soul Stones.

Open, Tomes of Blood.

Now it was time to check the results of his feeding. As Tae-jun intoned the strange Demonic Language—

—strands of blood writhed and wove together atop his palm, forming a book.

That book was a kind of gauge granted to the demons of Hell.

Until the moment just before his Advent, Tae-jun's grade had been Demon God. And now—a Lowest-grade Demon.

Yeomra, I'm lower than one of your foot soldiers now, aren't I?

Of course, he had steeled himself for this long ago. What demanded his attention right now was the authority. The single unlockable Lowest-tier authority.

Which authority should I unlock first?

Tae-jun fell into thought, methodically replaying his current situation. What ability did he need most urgently? How should he chart his course toward vengeance?

First, I focus on building my strength.

A Lowest-tier authority that would serve him well in the hunt.

That one will do.

One thing came to mind. Might as well unlock it right away.

Shadow Cloak, unlock.

Tae-jun intoned the Demonic Language once more. At once, his face writhed grotesquely for an instant—proof of Hell's authority melting into flesh and soul alike.

"...Whew."

A short breath. Then he snapped his fingers with a soft tap.

Ssssssssssss...

A jet-black shadow coiled around Tae-jun's body. This was the authority that deceived the eyes of others—the Shadow Cloak. More than sufficient for fooling human eyes.

Time to move.

The time granted to him was not generous. So he would have to move quickly.

Toward the goal he had chewed over endlessly for tens of thousands of years.

To meet that long-dreamed-of moment.