It wasn’t unusual to find the town in the midst of yet another storm, rain slamming at the windows that had been bolted shut. All clothing taken from the lines and stowed safely inside, the streets empty of the hustle and bustle that one would expect to find midday, and yet who could blame those who sat indoors, watching the storm with mournful eyes, preferring to stay warm and dry rather than trudge the mud strewn paths that led to the market place where one man now sat.

    He was a rather tired looking man, his face drawn tight yet not evading the wrinkles that seemed to haunt those of old age. His dark eyes staring ahead, unfocused and uncaring as the wind slashed at the door to his small parlour, the water seeping through the crack above his window that he had not bothered to fix in the seven years he had owned the shack he called a business, though what the business was no one could tell as none had dared to venture inside. Which may have been for the wiser as inside was full of what some could acclaim to witchcraft, though it was on this day that a traveler, a poor worn down man, had stumbled upon the town.

    His bags had grown heavy, his body weary and his mouth in need of a slow cold drink. Yet every shop he had come across had been bolted and locked tight, refusing the young man the refuge he seeked. That is until his eyes fell upon the lit windows of the Dreggers Shop.

    The thought of rest spurred the man on, as he took no notice of the items in the windows, the most shocking of all being what some housewives had assumed to be a shrunken head, but the man could care no less as he stumbled inside, his bags slipping from his shoulders to his elbows as his eyes fell upon the dusty old man who had stood, eyes focused on the man before him as a sneer curled on his lips.

    “What do ya think ya doin’ here?” He drawled out, his voice hoarse and low as the young man set down his bags, fingers fumbling with the latch that rest at the top of his cloak, “I ain’ open!” The elderly man continued, eyes narrowing as the traveler set down his cloak, revealing a shock of white hair though his face was one youth. Skin smooth, yet darkened from months of traveling, his almond shaped eyes, the color of ink and yet so bright, and his supple lips that curved into a sinfully sweet smile.

    “Not open?” The traveler asked, his voice quiet and questioning as he adjusted the loose white shirt that he wore, dry despite the heavy rain which would have fought it’s way through any others cloak. “But your light is on, sir, and your door open.” His brows had creased, arching over his eyes in an elegant manner as he awaited an answer, shoulders slumped from exhaustion and tongue darting out to wet his drying lips. Oh, how he wished to rest.

    “Don’ mean I’m a takin’ in no stranger!” The elderly snapped, taking the traveler aback, his tanned fingers curling around the edge of cloak which he had yet to sat down, it hanging limply from his grasp, dripping onto the floor. “Ge’ on! Someone else may take yer kind in!”

    It was this that had the young man stepping forward, eyes staring into the elderly's, begging the man silently. “Please do not send me out, I only need a few moments to gather myself before taking back to the night, I will even buy something if that will allow me to sit for just a moment, a single moment.” His hands trembled as the man watched, light eyes peering into the young man’s endless pools before a sigh resounded through the room.

    “Jus’ a moment,” the man muttered before turning to slip back behind his tables, eyes on the traveler who sighed deeply and sunk into an empty chair, not minding the fine layer of dust that covered every inch of the wood. “Dun’ be gettin any funny ideas either!” The man spat as the traveler let his gaze wander, lingering on items that piqued his interest before moving on.

    “Oh, no, don’t worry sir. I am quite too busy to trouble myself with a petty crime.” The young man said with a wave of his hand, causing the owner to glower.

    “That so?” He growled out, watching as the boy stood and retrieved his bag, setting it on the table before him and cracking it open. “Someone like ya busy? Doin’ what? Searching for fame? Eh?” His tone dripped with sarcasm, causing the traveler’s expression to flicker for just a moment. The smile disappearing for a second, not long enough for a soul to decipher what was behind it before the young man spoke again.

    “No, sir, I am out to right my wrongs.” He said quietly, his hands delving into his bag as he searched.

    “A wrong? What did ya’ do?” The elderly wondered as the boy continued to search, acting as though he could not hear the words that were spoken very loudly. “Did ya’ kill a man? Steal from a god? Oh- did yer bother a sleeping eriad? I hear dem girls don’ like just no man touchin’ them.” The crude man spoke before bursting into a long reel of laughter, the traveler having found what he was searching for and holding it on his lap as he turned to face the man who grinned, a grin that was lacking many more teeth than it held.

    “A wrong much worse than those you have mentioned,” The traveler said, standing and making his way towards the elderly who had began to laugh again.

    “Course ya did boy, course.” He gasped out, wiping a tear from his face, smearing a line of dust across his cheekbone as he did so. “Nothin can be a-worse than angering a god!”
    At this the traveler laughed, holding out his hand that was clenched in a fist, “Oh yes, there is, haven’t you heard my story?” He asked, voice sweet and soft as it had been when he had entered, through his eyes had dimmed, no longer bright as they gazed upon the elderly.

    “What story boy?” He asked, voice hard, as though demanding the young man who laughed now.

    “The story of a man, who angered not a god, but a devil.” The traveler whispered, leaning forward as his fingers slowly began to uncurl, the elder's eyes growing as two vines of ink had began to climb the young man’s neck, curling just under his jaw as his lips curved into a smirk. “You’ve heard of me, right? The almighty Kim Jongin, the man the gods fear.” He whispered, fingers slamming upon the table as the stone in his hand burned bright, blinding the man for a moment before it faded.

    Though when the light was gone so was the traveler, who had left behind none but a dripping cloak and a dead man, whose eyes spoke of an untold horror.