Antichrist.

Famine's fluttering around me, never actually touching me directly, but clearly wanting to. She's weird, but I appreciate the gesture; it is, after all, the thought that counts.

"He can't be serious," Coach goes to Death’s side, speaking in a low voice that he probably thinks I can’t hear. "Can he? Hyun's not the antichrist--"

"May I speak with Hyun alone?" Death asks without answering his question, looking at me directly. She's talking about me, but the question is still for me. I can't get a handle of her expression; she still just looks pissed.

Coach starts arguing about how he should hear what's going on as he's basically my guardian right now, but Death ignores every word he says. I want to know the truth, but I’m not too sure I want to get those answers in front of everybody else. There’s too many people; I feel stifled and exposed at the same time. I look at Death and dart my eyes between her and the door, putting my hands together in a pleading gesture, "Please?"

She waits a moment, and nods. I realize that I think I just made a deal with Death; I have a feeling this might not end well for me.

“Alright! Let me show you around!” Famine takes Coach’s arm before immediately letting go like she’s been shocked, waving her arms wildly, “Whoops! Sorry! Here,” she reaches over to the nearest counter, “have a cookie.” Before Coach can say anything, she’s plucked several from a plate and pushed one between his teeth. With her free hand, she carefully bunches a handful of Coach’s dobok at the elbow and pulls him out the open black doors behind her.

Death and I stand there in awkward silence.

I decide to break the ice with the elephant in the room, “So…antichrist.” My voice cracks on the word.

I’ve been called many things, but antichrist is a new one. As much as I already dislike War, he didn’t say it like a joke; he said it like he meant it and was absolutely certain about it. And given all the other Horsemen’s non-reaction...I guess it’s safe to say that me being the antichrist is apparently common knowledge between them.

As the resident antichrist, I wish I had gotten the memo a bit sooner.

I have no idea what my face looks like, but Death watches me with her head cocked to the side, like she’s deciding where to start -- or how much she should say before I pass out.

“You are not well-versed in biblical lore,” Death finally says.

“I haven’t been to church since I was a kid and my parents dragged me.”

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She sighs, “Come with me.”

I snag a cookie and follow Death out of Famine’s kitchen. Now that I actually get the chance to properly look at it, the atrium, as Conquest called it, is bright. The entire ceiling has a frosted white glow, like someone put fire inside sea glass. It’s so bright that I can’t even see where the dome reaches its highest point. In the center of the floor is a massive gold symbol-thing that I’m guessing is the sigil Conquest mentioned earlier. But other than that, it’s clean, barren.

Lifeless -- not like my old family home, where embarrassing baby photos and family portraits had decorated most surfaces alongside at least one crucifix. But this place...it’s not really gloomy so much as...identity-less? Empty.

At least Famine’s kitchen has some character, what with its walls covered in built-in shelves filled with colorful cookbooks, and black countertops showing off shiny pink appliances. I even saw a pillow big enough for a horse in the back corner--...oh...that probably actually is for her horse. I wonder if her horse is as big and scary as the one Death was riding.

This massive space is an empty hexagonal shape of white marble, interrupted only by five doors, one archway, and a column at each of the six corners. The four biggest doors are all different colours: red, white, the open black ones that are Famine’s, and one whose pale colour is something like silver, but not quite. Colours ripple around it as I walk, like the iridescence of an oyster shell or a soap bubble against concrete.

If I had to guess by everyone’s colour-coordination and the fact that the black doors are Famine’s kitchen, I’d say that the red is that asshole, War’s, the white is Conquest, which would make the weirdish-pale ones Death’s.

The only other door is a simple one of white-washed wood with no other decoration on it. But we’re not walking towards it; Death, instead, leads me toward the archway.

“So...I’m guessing those are all your respective rooms?” I motion to the white, red, and pale doors.

“Yes,” Death replies.

“How come they’re not open like Famine’s?”

“Is your private room always left open to others?”

“Ahh.” I finish the cookie. “So, what’s through there?” I nod at the plain door.

“The stables.”

“Your horses are in there?”

“Obviously.”

“Do I irritate you?”

“Does the sun rise in the East and set in the West?”

“Then--”

“You confound me,” she stops to whirl around and face me. “You frustrate me, therefore, yes, you are an irritant to my existence, especially when you ask idiotic questions to which you may reasonably conceive the answer.”

I blink. “Feel better now?”

“Hardly,” she exhales, pinching the bridge of her nose before turning back around and continuing our walk.

“So...could I maybe meet your horse?” I try to change the subject.

Death snorts, “My mount would likely eat you before you had a chance to scream.”