Through that one open archway in the atrium is a large, circular room. Every bit of wall space is devoted to one thing: lots and lots of built-in bookshelves, filled with lots and lots of books. They’re all either red or silver, with big chunks of white and black ones sprinkled in there for good measure. Nothing is written on any of the spines to give a clue as to what is written inside any of these mysterious tomes.

“What are…?” I motion at them.

“Records -- documented evidence of our activities that we report to Heaven, usually to the archangel Gabriel.”

“Honestly, I figured you guys would have a war room with weapons and plans for the mass destruction of humanity or something as opposed to storage for paperwork.”

“We do,” she says.

I blink. She waits.

Oh my god…

“...did you just make a joke?”

She arches a brow before turning on her heel to stand in the center of the room and turn her face to the ceiling. I glance up. The entirety of the ceiling is painted in massively intricate scenes. Death’s eyes tighten, but she’s still looking at the ceiling, so I wait awkwardly. Every other time I’ve tried to break the ice, it’s pretty clear I was poking the bear and, you know, I value my head on my shoulders. That is kinda the point of this whole adventure.

So I wait -- I wait a while. Like...she’s really taking in that ceiling. It practically jump-scares me when she finally asks, “Are you familiar with John?”

“Uh...should I know him?”

That manages to tear her eyes away from the ceiling. “Truly,” she looks at me in total disbelief, “did you listen to nothing at any of the masses you attended?”

“Honestly? No, not really.”

Death exhales slowly in a groan she fails to keep quiet, “If you had listened, or cracked open the scripture, you would know that there are twelve references to the figure of the Antichrist in the New Testament -- the first four of which are in the Gospel according to Matthew.”

Oh.

“There is another in the Gospel according to Mark,” she continues, “two in the Second Letter of Paul to the Thessalonians; three in the First Epistle of John; one in the Second Epistle of John; and the final four in the Book of Revelation.”

“The one where you come in.”

“Yes,” she says, motions to the ceiling. “And if you desire to know Revelation, you need only look up.”

“That sounds like a drama trope,” I mutter. I still look up, again -- only, this time I decide to take the time and properly look. “So, what am I looking for?”

“In the most simple of terms: an apocalypse’s birth.”

“‘An’? As in...there’s been more than one apocalypse?”

Death sighs, “To go into all the details of apocalypse tradition and what I suppose humanity would call ‘mythology’ would take too much time, and I can wager most of it would be unintelligible to you.”

My pride stings a bit at that one. I get it: I must be a bit more brawn over brains, thanks to being an athlete.

“Therefore,” she points, “perhaps you could direct your eyes here.”

I follow her finger in a direct line to right below the dome’s highest point. Painted there is a shadowy figure, only the eye-holes and hair shown in white. The figure has four wings: two spread out, and two folded to drape across its front, cutting off everything save for the small v-opening at its chest and one hand held aloft, similar to those pictures of Jesus: pointer and middle finger pointing up, like it’s bestowing some kind of blessing. Unlike Jesus, though, two white horns rise out of the white hair.

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Following the horns up, my eyes reach the highest part of the dome, where two swords are crossed in battle, sparks jumping out from where the blades meet. But the angels holding the swords are painted in bright golds, faces and wings smeared in blood. It doesn’t take an art critic to see from their expressions that these two characters loathe each other.

One of the two bears fangs, burned-looking wings, and spiked-points like sun rays poking out from his hair. Lucifer? I suppose that would make the other guy Michael. He certainly looks like an angel that could kill someone.

“So the apocalypse is essentially the ultimate cage-match between good and evil,” I say. “Got it.”

I didn’t need an art lesson to figure that one out, honestly, but if Death sought to terrify me, this painting sure does the trick. Everything painted under the angel-duel and the weird figure beneath them is all the hellfire and brimstone imagery that I imagine when you say the word, ‘Apocalypse.’

“Again, in the most simple of terms: yes,” Death says, very slowly and carefully.

I think she wants to make like her name and strangle me.

“Specifically, however, that figure--”

“The four-winged shadow guy?”

“The Antichrist.”

“I don’t...look like that…” I poke my back and head for good measure. No horns; no wings. I let out a small breath of relief.

“Obviously,” Death says. She squints at the ceiling so closely her eyes almost shut. “Who is a liar but he that denieth that Jesus is the Christ? He is antichrist, that denieth the Father and the Son.”

“Um…”

“The first Epistle of John, Chapter two, verse twenty-two,” she adds for my benefit.

“That’s...not a lot of detail.”

“No,” Death nods. “But Thessalonians provides a bit more: Let no man deceive you by any means: for that day shall not come, except there come a falling away first, and that man of sin be revealed, the son of perdition. Who opposeth and exalteth himself above all that is called God, or that is worshipped; so that he as God sitteth in the temple of God, showing himself that he is God.”

She recites that entire quote without taking a breath.

“Right, so, the Antichrist...believes himself to be hot shit. Sounds like every university guy on the planet, to be honest,” I try to laugh. It comes out as a weak chuckle.

Her mouth twitches before she says, “Perhaps, however, Revelations would be considered most appropriate.”

Naturally.

“And I beheld another beast coming up out of the earth; and he had two horns like a lamb, and he spake as a dragon. And he exerciseth all the power of the first beast before him, and causeth the earth and them which dwell therein to worship the first beast, whose deadly wound was healed. And he doeth great wonders, so that he maketh fire come down from heaven on the earth in the sight of men, and deceiveth them that dwell on the earth by the mens of those miracles which he had power to do in the sight of the beast; saying to them that dwell on the earth, that they should make an image to the beast, which had the wound by a sword, and did live.”

She waves her hand, “It goes on in a similar manner about humanity giving life unto the image of the beast, marking their right hands or their foreheads as a sign of piety to the beast, and that no one who bears the mark or knows the name or number of the beast--”

“Six-six-six.”

“So you did pay some attention,” Death sounds surprised. “Yes, the number of the beast is six hundred threescore and six.”

I decide it’s probably best not to tell her my knowledge of that is less from the Bible and more from the British band, Iron Maiden.

“And I saw three unclean spirits like frogs come out of the mouth of the dragon, and out of the mouth of the beast, and out of the mouth of the false prophet. For they are the spirits of devils, working miracles, which go forth unto the kings of the earth and of the whole world, to gather them to the battle of that great day of God Almighty.”

I think it is safe to say that almost everyone in my generation has seen or read Harry Potter, and vomiting up slimy things didn’t look or sound fun. My stomach does a little flip at the implication.

“And the devil that deceived them was cast into the lake of fire and brimstone, where the beast and the false prophet are, and shall be tormented day and night for ever and ever.”

Well...fuck me.