I watch the wave of realization and horror crash across Hyun’s expression as he absorbs all that I have told him. And to think I offered him a particularly truncated version of the wealth of information on the subject. Obviously limited information was enough as Hyun appears to have arrived at the natural conclusion: he is the Antichrist.

Yes...the ‘natural’ conclusion. The conclusion to which, when the most bare of facts are presented is the one to which I, Michael, and any other would -- and, I would wager rightly should arrive. And yet...and yet.

He is not.

Before me, Hyun is internally panicking. I do my best to calm him and say, “You are not the Antichrist, Hyun.”

He stills. Something about it is...comic. The way his face is a hurricane, only for me to wink it out as one does a candle-flame. Everything goes slack and Hyun does not move.

The deep breath.

“What.”

How curious is the modern tongue: questions are presented as statements and answers are spoken as questions. Though perhaps it is a linguistic quirk unique to the young, as Hyun’s mentor, Sa-do, speaks in an understandable manner.

“No,” he points an accusing finger at me. “You don’t get to frown at me like you’re the one confused.” His voice rises in volume, a flush creeping up his neck. “You drag me to this place and tell me that God sent an angel to kill me because I’m the Antichrist. You proceed to tell me all the ways in which I am without doubt said Antichrist, before then saying it’s actually all bullshit?!?”

His voice echoes up into the dome, bouncing around the stone like a winter wind through a forest of trees. I would know, so often have I ridden along one, following it in older days.

I only ask, “Do you feel better?”

“No!” Hyun shouts, hands curled into tight fists. He grinds his teeth before shutting his eyes tight; he looks to all the world like a child, but a child would not be attempting to control their breathing. In through the nose, out through the mouth; it is slow, it is measured, it is methodical.

I have witnessed him perform this calming mechanism several times; I wonder if he is perhaps better suited to War than Death with his quick-flaring temper. I thought telling Hyun that he was not, in fact, the Antichrist would assuage him, but I apparently misjudged his overall emotional state.

Considering the weight of the truth, I wonder which, for him, would be considered worse: that he is thought to be the Destroyer of Worlds, or that, in truth, it is just that his life is not his own, and even his own death will not bring him peace.

“I shall elaborate,” I say, keeping my voice calm.

“Damn right you will,” Hyun chokes, eyes flying open. They glare accusation, and I go rigid in responding irritation.

Still, he should likely sit before he collapses as he has before. No, no, Hyun looks to be more enraged than shocked enough to lose consciousness.

“Do you wish to sit before--”

“If you don’t start explaining I might actually punch you in the face,” he says tensely through gritted teeth.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“That would be...nevermind,” I sigh, shaking my head.

Where to begin?

“As I have heard it said: do you want the long version or the short version?”

“I think I deserve the long version. Tell me all of it.”

“Alright,” I finally say. “Yes, you are the son of Lucifer and you do possess many of the...how would you say -- the hallmarks of the Antichrist. The most paramount of which being that final part: that you do not believe in God.”

“You gonna fight me on it?” Hyun grumbles, but he is not looking at me.

I frown at his euphemism, but press on, “You are, at face value and in word only, the Antichrist. And yet you are not. Though you are the son of Lucifer, you had no knowledge of this -- you mistook your ability to perceive the divine and the demonic as madness. You even took medication to inhibit that ability, though such things bear no effect.”

“Clearly,” Hyun mutters.

“I would say you could not have known--”

“I didn’t.”

“But you could have. At their core, besides a lack of the belief in God, the Antichrist is a deceiver, and a brilliant one at that. From what I have observed, you are, forgive me, not a particularly adept liar.”

“No offense taken?” Hyun frowns.

“And you keep mostly to yourself, which is in direct conflict with the Antichrist. They are the False Messiah, the False Prophet. They collect followers and disciples with honeyed lies, disguising damnation as deliverance. Whereas you…” I motion at Hyun, as if he is evidence enough for any more explanation.

“People think I’m little more than a hwarangdo athlete who miraculously managed to get into a good university and hasn’t flunked out, not some kind of second Jesus,” he says. “Got it.”

“I will say this: you are not unremarkable. No son of an angel -- even a Fallen one, could ever be called unremarkable. You should not think so little of yourself.”

The flush that had angrily spread up Hyun’s neck flees to flood his cheeks and ears; he rubs the back of his neck, looking down at the floor. His lips are moving, but whatever he says is soft enough that I do not catch it. But before I may ask, Hyun clears his throat and rocks back and forth on his heels, “I still don’t really get it. I’m not the Antichrist...but I should be, or…?”

I brace myself to tell him the truth. I remain unsure as to what is worse: the truth or the misunderstanding.

“You are--”

Knock. Knock. Knock. Thrice someone pounds upon my doors. I can feel the rap of the knuckles as if they were against the very walls of my own skull. Hyun hears nothing -- nor would he.

Death! calls a voice to the pale seals.

War.

Now is the boiling point. I must go.

“Perhaps it would be best if you could digest the information at your own pace,” I say, more to myself than to Hyun.

“Huh?”

“Wait here.” I cross to the glass door and enter the innermost sanctum. I wait. Silence. No one comes. I make the long walk to where my current pale volume rests atop the marble altar, pen beside it.

“Woah…”

Hyun is peering in through the half-open door. In less than a breath I am there, pushing the book into his chest until he is well-within the chapel, away from the sanctum’s entrance.

“What the--”

“Do not enter there,” I rumble in low warning.

“Why--”

“It is only there that angels may tread without restraint.”