I frown at that figure on the ceiling, trying and failing to see any resemblance to myself.

“From such limited examples as merely a few stray verses of scripture, I can understand your confusion. Much of human knowledge of the divine -- or, rather, in this case, the damned is...surface at best.”

“But how do you all even know if I’m actually the Antichrist because that guy,” I point, “is not me. And all that scripture you spieled? That’s not me either.”

“Casting aside the obvious answer,” Death snaps, “which is the understanding of the omniscience of God.”

I don’t hide my eyeroll. “Sure, fall back on that one--”

“And the addition that there is much to be understood as artistic interpretation. You are, without question the son of Lucifer -- the greatest of the Fallen, and the very Emperor of Hell himself. And, as the Scripture said, you do great wonders in the very fact of not only your existence -- for how else could you escape the notice of all as a son of the formerly divine? -- but also in your ability to perceive and interact with that which is beyond humanity.

“But even moreso,” Death goes on, “one of the most important aspects of the Antichrist would be that he would not call himself such -- after all, how would calling one’s self the “Antichrist” sway any to your cause.”

I think that fact would be obvious, but I take it as a fair point.

“The Antichrist, as always, comes disguised, with one great secret -- one that he tells to no one: the Antichrist does not believe in God.”

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

Death looks at me and I feel the urge to vanish on the spot.

“You do not believe in God,” she says. “Your own shock and disbelief at every turn and your generally impudent attitude towards that which is holy exhibits as much, though you have not said so explicitly. And this is nothing new, is it?”

I am feeling very uncomfortable right now.

“I would wager that despite all appearances of piety when you were with your family...you do not believe in any of it.”

She’s spot on: fake it ‘till you make it had eventually become the necessary attitude when it came to me with my parents and them inevitably dragging me with them to church despite the fact that I wasn’t really sure I believed in God. The one time that I told my parents I wasn’t sure I believed like them, they got pretty upset. Honestly, I’m half-surprised they never called an exorcist: it’s bad enough their kid saw and heard things that weren’t there, but then he goes on and says he’s not entirely sure that their faith -- the thing that helped anchor and comfort them -- might mean nothing to him.

And then they’d died. I remember getting that phone call in the locker room at the studio. I remember freaking out and needing Coach to drive me to the hospital. It was the first time I’d ever really prayed. I prayed to God that I’d get to the hospital in time. I prayed to God that they not die. I prayed to God that, like any kid who lived with his parents, I wasn’t ready to say goodbye.

But, just as I figured: God didn’t listen, because God wasn’t there. Because there was no God.

Holy shit.

What if... I actually am the Antichrist?!?

“You are not the Antichrist, Hyun.”

Everything in my brain screeches to a halt.

Excuse me?