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Children of a Lesser God
Death: I Am A Poor Wayfaring Stranger

Death: I Am A Poor Wayfaring Stranger

Humanity has not invented enough foul language to give voice to my irritation -- both with this human and with myself. If nothing else, his reaction makes me further believe that he has no idea as to the truth of his own existence; in his mind, he is little more than an average university-aged human. And in my own observation I have seen...nothing. His parents who raised him were human, and for all intents and purposes, so is he. He exhibits no preternatural abilities or even a hint that he has some kind of ulterior motive to anything he does.

And yet...and yet...he can see me. And yet he can see the divine -- the demonic, too, I would wager given his earlier outburst. And yet even more than that, this feeling. The feeling of the oncoming storm, the groaning of the straining seals. And the orders of Michael, the corroboration of Gabriel. They said that Hell was restless. There has been, however, no sign of the boy’s father, nor any of his court.

I may have never met the Morning Star, but archangels are impossible to miss -- even fallen ones. None can hide from Death.

The human ignores me, though I know he both sees and senses me, as he always has throughout the past week. That storm is closer than before. Each day, the potential energy has grown greater and more potent.

And yet there is nothing. The city of Ulsan is quiet, the young human even quieter. If he is truly the end of worlds, he is more devious than all the devils and Princes of Hell. I suppose that is rather the point of the antikhristos, but the underlying malevolence and malice that defines such a being is simply...not there. Just as I, too, am not here for him. All I sense is anxiety and confusion and more anxiety. His heartbeat spikes every time he sees me, his fingers twitching as if to reach for something.

Perhaps it is the same chemical inhibitors he swallowed earlier. How human -- how so very human to attempt to hide the divine and the demonic from his sight. Again, the growing doubt: this boy is innocent -- part-inhuman he may be...but destroyer of the Earth, False Prophet? That he is not.

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After all, the boy talks with few to none. He goes about his day as a clock ticks the time, his primary interaction being with those he sees in nothing short of passing, and those with whom he moves about on the indoor ice. And yet Michael is so certain, and I do not doubt his word…

“And you always trust those winged idiots?”

War’s words echo from the past -- a different time, a different War. He had been tall, with hair darker than night and a smile that could ruin human countries. I sigh in remembering. So many Wars, so many come and gone by the folly of their own pride and doubt. By their own desires to meddle with the humans in ways more than their own existence as a neutral result.

Doubt is the enemy of any soldier, and any Horseman. I do not doubt Michael’s certainty in his own belief. I do not doubt the righteousness of his cause nor the goodness of his intentions. And yet I doubt the veracity of all -- for though the sword has been turned to this human’s throat, I am not here to deal the finishing slash. Whatever his fate, I am not here.

I turn from the stone steps of the educational institution and breathe in the winter air. The sky is steel-grey, flakes falling heavily; they have for some time, a white blanket already beginning to cover the earth. The first snow of the season.

There....beside one of the automobiles -- it is, in fact, the same automobile belonging to Hyun’s companion. Something in the snow. I approach cautiously, my scythe manifesting, ready, in my hand. My mount is at my side in an instant, snorting. I bring myself down closer to the ground, and the smell confirms what I suspected.

Aether.

Someone has cut an angel. It must have been here for the boy; one of Michael’s foot soldiers, I would wager. Possibly the General is trying to manipulate the situation to ensure my presence; it has not succeeded. Silver snorts, nudging me to get my attention. The bell is chiming its melody, and people are pouring out into the air. The current education-period has completed.