Bait for the Tiger's Hounds

Sssshaaaaaaa—!

The rain came down as if it meant to wash the whole world away.

Everything around him was swallowed in blackness, and yet Kang Hyeong-seok could see a single red plum tree in full bloom. Drunk on blood, the blossoms burned so vividly that their color held even against the dark.

But this was no season for red plums.

A dream…

Even drowned in the downpour, the flowers spread in glorious full flower. Hyeong-seok dragged his eyes from the tree and cast them into the darkness beyond.

It was because this was a dream that he knew where he was.

Deep in the mountains. A forest.

Squelch. Squelch.

Rain hammered every inch of his body as he walked into that vivid darkness—darkness that seemed, somehow, to be calling him in.

And then he caught it: a sharp, coppery stench that even the smell of rain could not drown out.

A stench he knew well.

The reek of ghosts, and of blood. The very same odor that had poured off the Beomgwi—and it was stinging his nose now as keenly as it had then.

The tangled screams stabbed at his ears—and not one of them ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠belonged to anything still living.

As his eyes slowly adjusted to the dark, Hyeong-seok made out the figures shrieking from beyond it.

Chang-gwi. Every one of them.

People missing pieces of their bodies, painted head to toe in blood. People who had been devoured by tigers.

And at their center sat an immense, jet-black Beomgwi, utterly still, its yellow eyes rolling slowly in the dark.

Someone had said it once: the tiger is king of the mountains. His face twisting, Hyeong-seok found himself wondering whether that saying hadn't first been coined about a tiger that commanded a host of Chang-gwi—for a Beomgwi attended by dozens of them carried the air of a sovereign holding court.

Then it happened.

Tling… tling…

The clear ring of shaman bells sounded, and the Chang-gwi fell silent. The bells, however, were not Hyeong-seok's.

A shaman stood here.

Beneath the pouring rain, directly before the Beomgwi, was a figure shrouded head to toe in a black rain cape. A faint voice drifted through the downpour—but the rain was too violent and the voice too soft, and Hyeong-seok could not make out a single word.

What the…? Who is that man?

Keeping his eyes on the caped figure, Hyeong-seok moved forward, step by careful step. It was a dream. Tread softly enough, and it would never sense him. And yet, strangely, his mouth kept going drier and drier—as though his instincts were screaming at him to come no closer.

Squelch.

Just as he stepped onto earth so sodden it compressed into the shape of his shoe, the Beomgwi's yellow eyes moved. From the caped man—to Hyeong-seok.

No mere accident could explain it: those eyes were locked blatantly onto him. Cold rushed through his whole body, and in the instant his legs went rigid, he became aware of the other presences crowding the space around him.

Pad. Pad. Tak. Tak.

Things were closing in, giggling. Things that ran on four legs and reeked abominably of raw flesh.

…Chang-gwi.

Souls of man and tiger fused into one: human heads atop bestial bodies. They pressed in thick from every side, hemming him in entirely. These, too, were Chang-gwi—not the kind catalogued under Gulgak, Iol, or Yukhon, but ones steeped in venom so deep they could only be called dokgi: fiends.

Souls bound to the tigers that had devoured them, made into those beasts' hands and feet and set loose to roam in search of new victims. Now such creatures grinned at Hyeong-seok from the mud, from the branches, from the treetops, from the crevices between the rocks—grins without a shred of humanity left in them. And there were far, far too many.

The poisonous miasma and death-stench rolling off the Chang-gwi and their master was so virulent that Hyeong-seok's stomach began to heave—

Knock-knock-knock-knock!

—and the sound of knuckles rapping on something hard yanked his consciousness back into the waking world.

"Hahk—!"

Torn from sleep, Hyeong-seok gulped down air and turned his head toward the sound.

"Hyung-nim! It's me. Yoon-sang!"

Sssshaaaaa—!

Right outside the driver's-side window stood ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Yoon-sang under an umbrella, beaming as bright as could be.

Only then did it sink in that he was truly, fully awake. Hyeong-seok heaved a heavy sigh and unlocked the car.

Clack.

Yoon-sang folded his umbrella and climbed in through ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the passenger door—and the smile drained from his face the instant he saw Hyeong-seok's complexion.

"H-Hyung-nim? Are you all right?"

"Yeah. I'm fine. It's nothing."

"You don't look like it's nothing. Shouldn't you be seeing a doctor?"

Hyeong-seok scrubbed a hand over his face to drive off the last of the sleep. He had broken out in a cold sweat, and his palm came away damp.

Pat, pat, pat.

Yoon-sang dug a pack of tissues out of his bag and held them out, worry written all over him.

"Here, wipe your face. You're sure you're okay?"

"It's nothing. I had a nightmare."

Yoon-sang plainly didn't believe him. The way he saw it, Hyeong-seok was a shaman of real power—and a nightmare that ambushed a man like that in the middle of hunting down ghosts did not sound like any ordinary dream.

Frankly, Hyeong-seok thought so too. Of all times to be seized by such a nightmare—now, with everything hanging on this.

Everything he had seen in the dream was vivid enough to grasp with his own hands. He could not simply wave it off.

…A revelation?

His Momjusin had commanded him to save himself. Once before, Hyeong-seok had taken up the shaman bells and pulled himself free of a Chang-gwi. Now he was being told to save himself from the Beomgwi that wielded them—to break with the Chang-gwi once and for all.

That, he suspected, was what his Momjusin had truly meant to say to him.

Hyeong-seok was pushing out a slow breath, still sorting through his thoughts, when Yoon-sang glanced back toward the rear seat and forced some brightness into his voice.

"Oh. So you're on your own today, huh."

"Hm?"

"That noona from last time, I mean. Man, she was crazy pretty."

So that was the image Shin Jeong-ah had left on him. Fair enough—she could give that impression. Even by Hyeong-seok's standards, she was strikingly beautiful.

"Just me today."

"Aww, shame. Thought we were kind of hitting it off."

Hard to say. Since the dokkaebi incident, Shin Jeong-ah had seemed to be keeping her distance from him—but it wasn't as though they never spoke. They'd exchanged a few short conversations, and not once had she brought up Yoon-sang.

There was no reason to mention that. Without a word, Hyeong-seok started the engine and buckled his seatbelt.

Vroooooom!

He flicked on the wipers, and the car pushed out into the sheeting rain. As it rolled forward, Yoon-sang fished a triangle gimbap out of the plastic bag cradled in his lap and held it over.

"Hyung-nim, you haven't eaten, have you?"

"Hm?"

"When you texted me your location? I pulled up the map and saw it was here, and it looked like you were resting in your car. So I grabbed some food on the way."

Rustle.

Yoon-sang held up the heavy bag, smiling with obvious pride.

Kindness Hyeong-seok had never seen coming. A breath of a laugh escaped him; he peeled the wrapper off the gimbap one-handed, using his teeth, and gave his thanks.

"So where are we headed, Hyung-nim? Banya Temple?"

"No. Something else came up first."

"…Where?"

Yoon-sang asked again, face suddenly grave—wound tight, maybe. Hyeong-seok took an enormous bite of gimbap before answering.

"The big supermarket."

"…Huh?"

"We need to grab a few things."

If the dream truly was a revelation, and the Chang-gwi he had to face were as numerous as the ones he'd seen, then walking in unprepared would be no different from strolling into a tiger's den. There was a great deal to prepare. Just as salt or glutinous rice was needed to drive out stray spirits, the Chang-gwi called for tools of their own.

"Uh… sure."

Yoon-sang, who understood none of this, stared down at the convenience-store bag in his lap with a sheepish look. Did I buy all this for nothing? His eyes said exactly that.

"Hup!"

Clunk-bang!

Between the two of them, Yoon-sang and Hyeong-seok wrestled the sacks into the trunk.

Maesil. Green plums. They had scraped up every last maesil the mart carried, and another whole mound of maesil juice and lemons still sat on the floor waiting to be loaded.

"Hyung-nim, I'm seriously dying of curiosity here." Shooting footage of the plums and lemons on his phone—for a stream later, maybe—Yoon-sang broached the question gingerly. "Why on earth did you buy all this?"

Thunk!

Setting a crate of lemons down beside the plums, Hyeong-seok reached for the maesil juice.

"Chang-gwi love anything sour."

"…Huh?"

"It's lore. Passed down. That's why maesil is the main tool against them. Oleaster berries work too—though that's how they do it on Jeju Island."

So the old tradition went. Chang-gwi craved sour things, the stories said—so badly that the sight of maesil or oleaster fruit would send them into a mindless frenzy.

Exploit that, and you could lure a Chang-gwi to you, or hold it transfixed long enough to make an escape. Above all, it addled the creature's senses and opened the gap you needed to hunt it.

Yoon-sang only blinked—he had plainly never heard a word of this. Which made sense. In an age when the tigers were long gone, who still feared the Chang-gwi, let alone knew the first thing about guarding against them?

"Then in that case, wouldn't Churu work too, Hyung-nim? Tigers are just big cats, right?"

Hold on. Would that actually work?

Hyeong-seok genuinely gave it a moment's thought. Then he shook his head, brow furrowed.

"No. We're not gambling."

"You don't think it's a good idea?"

"Churu isn't in any of the texts."

"…Oh."

Sheepish, Yoon-sang unzipped his pack and began loading in plums. Hyeong-seok watched the bag swell little by little, his expression pensive.

Let ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠nothing happen to this kid. Please.

Yoon-sang had a part to play in this. But it had to be apart—not at his side. What they needed to find was the Beomgwi's lair. Whether Yoon-sang found it or Hyeong-seok did, he couldn't say; either way, interference was bound to come. And when it did, those plums would be what kept Yoon-sang alive.

"All packed!"

"Take some maesil juice too."

"Yes, sir. On it."

Yoon-sang stuffed maesil juice into one pocket of his pack and lemons into the other. Satisfied that everything was ready, Hyeong-seok climbed back into the car and keyed Banya Temple into the navigation.

It was time—really and truly time—to go tiger hunting.

"Phewwww!"

Yoon-sang blew out a breath that puffed his cheeks, then squeezed his damp hands open and shut. Beside him, Hyeong-seok turned the engine over.

The motel where Kim Jae-sik was staying.

Changed into her shaman's vestments, Park Mi-ryeong was pressing talismans to the walls one by one. Brushed in red cinnabar ink, each bore the power to hold ghosts at bay.

Sssshaaaaa…

She had scattered glutinous rice flour across the doors and window frames as well. That done, she pursed her lips and whistled.

"Fweeeee—"

This motel, too, was a place of ill fortune. No one had ended their own life within these walls, but too many people worn down by the world had passed through. The negative energy they left behind clung to every corner—and it was exactly that which drew stray spirits in.

Having scoured and purified it all away, Park Mi-ryeong murmured, tension etched into her face:

"Elder… will this be enough?"

She was the only person in that motel room. So whoever she was speaking to, it was no person.

The Great Dokkaebi. A Dokkaebi so vast it could tear wicked lesser ones apart with its bare hands—that was the god she served.

Doom-doom-doom… du-ung.

She beat the drum painted with the Dokkaebi's likeness, careful to keep the sound low—and then her gaze snapped to the window. Drumstick frozen in mid-stroke, she opened her mouth.

"Yes. Understood."

The Dokkaebi had told her.

They were coming.

Four-legged Chang-gwi were racing toward this motel—toward her and Kim Jae-sik—flying at it like slabs of raw flesh hurtling through the night.