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Chapter Text

       1. City to Die In 

He supposed that once you gave something a name, awareness would dawn on it like a brand new day. Called it Wiryeseong or Namgyeong, called it Hanyang or Seoul, and watched as it became a city and home, and then a living thing. Watched as it, like all creatures roaming the earth, had its own mind and desire, as well as need and hunger. And watched as it hungered for human beings and their heart. For their greed and blackest part. 

Briefly he wondered if the studio was its gut. Someplace where everything it took, was never returned. Where everything that entered its belly, was never released. Where even if one managed to escape, they would never be the same, forever changed by their ill fate. 

Or was it its head? Where its ever-seeing eyes secretly watched over its wandering citizens. Where its ever keen ears quietly listened to their hidden intentions. Where its ever open mouth constantly called out to the desperate ones, only for them to sate its insatiable hunger. 

The train rattled as it moved, swaying those who were on board, either in the seat or on their feet. Jongwoo, still clad in the same clothes he wore on the day the pandemonium fell back into the pit, stared out the window, impassively studying the landscape of the metropolis through all the blurry flashes and rolling stills. 

“Seoul...” 

He knew better now. 

It's a city where money was the only god. Where one path diverged and humanity shattered. A dazzling land with the darkest nights. Once you're in its thorny embrace, it's forever. 

It's a city full of foreigners. Full of foreigners like him. Full of those who sought something they're missing, and missing something they'd left behind. Once you're an enemy in its eye, it's forever. 

It's a city where people came to live. And where he'd always thought was a place for one to eventually die in. Once you're in its wakeful mind, it's death sentence. 

       2. Desolate Town

The town was a bleak and loud place. 

Driveways that curved roughly through the blocks of bricks. Old structures consumed by age. Car horns blaring at ungodly times. Ear-splitting laughter in the dead of the night. Loud greetings early in the morning. Stale and sultry air, suffocating. Black cloud of exhaust instead of white haze of mist. 

A forest of a different kind. Invasive. 

During the first few weeks, Jongwoo found himself lost in the concrete jungle. Thrown off balance by the drastic change in lifestyle. Clueless as to how he should conduct himself in this modern civilization. Doubtful if he could still fit in this medieval society. 

There's a different kind of animal here, different kind of beast, prowling in the neighborhood and crawling on the street. 

Scariest creatures.

Ironically, it was an old nun from the local church who offered him kindness when he first came to the town, in spite of who he was. She let him sleep on the consecrated ground and join every congregation, in spite of who he wasn't. Told him everything about the town and provided him with food in exchange for his work around the church. Took him to places she frequented every now and then and introduced him to the townspeople they met on their way. As if he was her long-lost grandson. 

For some time, he lived off her generosity in one of the unused rooms in the church, under the watchful eye of the clergy, until he found a place he could virtually call his own. It was a small storage-unit-turned-apartment on the rooftop of a residence and an establishment, a home restaurant owned by one of the parishioners, who only rented him the place on the nun's firm suggestion. 

A fitting abode for an outsider like him, he would say. 

Eyes of others followed him around like a strange species he was. Forced smiles and feigned politeness. But they let him be and occasionally treated him like one of their own, because as long as he stayed mute, blind and deaf, whatever went on behind the walls of their dollhouses would forever stay a secret until the town and its entire population perished in the lake of fire. 

See no evil; hear no evil; speak no evil. Or so they said. 

Jongwoo found a job at the local supermarket, the one built upon the property where an orphanage had once stood tall before fire consumed it whole twenty-something years ago. The pay was low despite the cruel working hours, but it was enough for him to live by. It was enough. He'd let his mother know some other time. 

The town was a bleak and loud place. A different kind of jungle. 

It was also a cesspool of vice and crime. A birthplace of evil. 

       3. The Churchyard Boy 

The continual rustling kept his mind occupied and the storm within placated as he swept the leaf litter around the churchyard — the quietest and calmest spot at the consecrated ground where their eyes wouldn't constantly follow him around. 

He stopped only when Sister Jung called and beckoned to him with a smile on her face and a glass of water in her hand. 

“Here,” she said, proffering him the refreshment. “Drink this and take a rest. You've been working in the sun for too long now. It's very hot this time of year. You could've fainted!”

He smiled in response and quietly thanked her for the water, the glass refreshingly cold to the touch. 

They sat down on the bench, shaded from the glare and the scorch of the sunlight by the roof of the nearest block. Sister Jung gently chased away the silence trying to envelop them by regaling him with today's tales of the children of the parishioners during their weekly Bible lesson. Eventful as ever. 

“Today's kids, they're so creative with their excuses!” she complained near the end of her story, but the loving tone of her voice always belied her frustration. 

Always. 

“You know,” Sister Jung said after a moment's pause, “when I saw you earlier, I suddenly remember a little boy, very little, that I met long time ago. He came from the orphanage — you know, the one that burned down? But he survived. One of the few that lives. It's God's miracle, I tell you. That little boy, he used to play alone here at the churchyard during break time. We sisters often called him the churchyard boy. We're just teasing, of course.”

His ears pricked up at the subject of the tale, and he listened on in silence as Sister Jung continued. 

“But some of the sisters and priests here didn't like him. They thought he's, uh, he's strange. But I thought he's a very... curious child. Very clever. Didn't talk a lot but I always noticed his presence during lessons. There's something about him, you know. Something that draws your eyes to him. Like... Like magnets! But I might be mistaken. He's a handsome boy, after all.” A light chuckle escaped her lips before a small sigh ensued and the smile that adorned her features turned wistful shortly afterward. “I can't remember what's his real name anymore.”

“Do you know where he is now?” Jongwoo spoke, at last, after some hesitation. 

She sighed again, heavily this time, then shook her head. “The last time I saw him, he'd gone with Miss Eom. I always thought that he lives with her after the tragedy.” Another sigh. “Anyway, I'm just glad he survived the fire. I pray that he's doing well somewhere on this God's earth.”

He blinked at her and let silence consume whatever his response should and could be. 

Unfortunately, he's not as kind as her. Unfortunately, he's not as oblivious as her. Hence, he could never share her sentiment concerning the churchyard boy and the fire. Only able to pray that he remained underwater until the end of her god's earth. 

       4 . Ill Omen 

One particular night, Jongwoo dreamed of Moonjo and a small bird. 

The sparrow was bleeding. The red pooled in Moonjo's palms and trickled down his pale wrist. Jongwoo watched as the blood dripped onto the ground and turned the soil black. 

The sparrow was alive. Its fragile chest rose and fell with each painful intake of breath. Jongwoo saw Moonjo wrapped his slender fingers around its neck and before he could blink his eyes, he heard it, the clean sound of a stem snapping. 

The sparrow was dead. But blood was still oozing out of its open wound. Its red was still coloring the earth black. Jongwoo looked at Moonjo when the man extended his palms to him, wordlessly offering the dead bird in his hands. Jongwoo took it. 

The sparrow was warm. So small, and light, and warm. Jongwoo watched as its red blood began to seep in through his pores, slowly turning his skin black. As black as the earth beneath him. As black as the scales of the snake. 

When Jongwoo looked up at Moonjo again, the fair skin of the man and the white of his eyes both had turned black as well. 

       5. Conversation With Old Friend 

He stared at the young man before him with furrowed brow. 

“Jongwoo hyung, it's me, Changhyun. Park Changhyun. Remember? From military?”

He did. He did remember. He knew who the man was even before he told him his name. Knew who he was even before he told him which part of his old life had he come from. 

“I never thought I would see you here, hyung! What a surprise! So, you live here?” Changhyun asked, looking him up and down and up again with a broad, genuine smile on his face. 

“Yes. You?”

“Oh, I'm here for work. Well, more like as errand boy for my seniors.” Changhyun laughed. “Are you on your break? Let's have lunch together!”

After some consideration, he simply nodded, smiled and followed him to the nearest restaurant in the area. 

Impassively, Jongwoo listened as Changhyun reminisced about their days in the military, the good and the bad, about how hard his life as a private was at the time after his father's death, and how grateful he was during those days for Jongwoo's help. 

It's strange, listening to the younger man speak so highly of the version of Jongwoo he no longer recognized. Surreal, to know that he was once such kind of person in other's eyes. All the months at the cabin, in the city of David, living with the devil and escaping the pit, had bitten and chewed every little piece of his bygone self, swallowed and dispelled every little piece of his bygone life, until all that remained of him in the end was just... 

“That's why, hyung, if you're in a tough spot”—Changhyun produced something from his wallet and proffered him it—“don't hesitate to call me. I will do my best to help you out.”

He stared at the business card for a moment before looking up at him with a weak smile. “Thanks, Changhyun.” 

After they parted ways, he threw the card into the dumpster at the back of the supermarket without a second thought and batting an eyelash, and pretended he never met and had the conversation with the young man. 

There's nothing Changhyun could do to help anyway. 

       6. Cat's Eye

The light gray cat looked up from the makeshift food bowl now licked clean and empty. It purred loudly when he stroked its head, and then nuzzled against his palm, eyes closed with contentment.

When the cat opened its eyes again, it compelled Jongwoo to stare.

The green around its eyes gleamed in the moonlight like the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling of room 303, like the tennis ball that went thump-thump-thump in the dead of the night. And the two vertical slits in the middle of its orbs contracted and dilated like the glass marbles that went round and round on its axis, like the black serpent's yellow eyes in the pale moonlight.

Fondness quickly turned into terror and Jongwoo panicked.

He was vaguely aware of the incessant high-pitched yowling, a sound like the damned wailing from the depths of Hell. Only the hotness on his palm as he grasped the animal by its neck, and the burn on his skin when it dug its claws in his flesh, and the clang of the pocket knife that followed once it escaped his clutch and fled.

Jongwoo blinked, and saw scratch marks on his arm, long and bleeding.

He rose to his feet, distraught. The stinging sensation pricked his skin and his conscience and no matter where he looked, the light gray cat was nowhere to be seen. There's only the ghost, standing from across the street, smiling at him. The light from the lamppost fell on one side of his face while darkness consumed the other, neatly cutting his features and smile in half, and into dark and light. Evil and good. Wrong and right. Future and past.

Death and life.

Jongwoo froze.

A vehicle sped by after what felt like an eternity, and when he looked at him again, the ghost was no longer there.

That night, once he'd laid himself down to sleep, he dreamed of the yellow eyes and vertical pupils. He dreamed of black scales and the hissing sound that gradually morphed into a continual tinnitus. He dreamed of the red sea and the storm that raged underwater. And he dreamed of the fractured moon, and the embers that rained down from Heaven.

From the bottom of the ocean, he saw the devil emerged, resurrected from the dead, back to earth.

And he's coming for him.

       7. Prelude Op. 30 No. 3 

The throbbing in his chest aroused Jongwoo from his sleep, disarray. Like the thump-thump-thump of the tennis ball, he could hear the pounding loud and clear in the dreadful silence of the night. Then came the pins and needles sensation, sharp and stabbing, as though something was pecking at his lungs.

Something that wasn't his heart.

Something that wanted out.

Jongwoo gasped, panicked. Blood soaked through his shirt as his skin began to break, tearing his flesh apart, the pain intense and searing. One by one by one, the cracking of bones filled his ears, its sound like an eggshell breaking, the kind one could hear when the little chick hatched from within.

Overcame with great agony, Jongwoo could only groan and grimace, helpless. A flash of black flew out of the gaping hole in his chest before long, and when he looked through the fog, then at the little bird now perching on the windowsill, a sparrow was singing into the night.

       8. And the Great Black Serpent Lives 

There was an apple tree, growing out on a luscious field. Its leaves were of the most brilliant tint of green. And its apples were of the darkest shade of red. It stood in the middle of the garden, right up on the hill, prominent and purposeful. 

The tree was wide and tall, fruitful, that Jongwoo could pick as many apples as he wished to and not ever worry about depriving the tree of its produce. Its crown could shade him from the blazing sun and the pouring rain, hide him from the all-seeing eye of God. 

There was a young man, tied up on its trunk. His arms were nailed to the limbs, spread out like Christ on the cross, head bowed and eyes closed. Flowers grew and blossomed from the hole in his chest, slipping past between the ribs, radiant and colorful. 

The man was lean and familiar, and dead, and Jongwoo wished he could turn back time to save him again, from the clutch of the devil and death. Bring colors back to his pale face and blue lips. Put the red apple back where it should be, and pray that it would beat inside him once again. 

There was a black snake, gliding down from one of its twisted branches. His scales glimmered in the dappled sunlight, like stars in the night sky. With a long hiss, he coiled around the cadaver, slithered across the blooming flowers, spiraling down until he reached the abdomen, before he fixed his yellow eyes on him. An ill omen. Vengeful. 

Chapter Text

       9. Flowers for Algernon

Carnation, Jongwoo thought to himself as he recalled the bouquet of flowers in the sparrow's chest, particularly the yellow patch in the center, bright and striking. 

The little spots of white oleanders looked pure and gentle, small and demure, against the carnations, he might have missed them if he didn't pay attention. 

There's also wolf's bane, as well as a splatter of red and blue salvias, creating a multitude of rich colors for the odd arrangement. 

As for the vine, the serpent, he couldn't quite recall the name of the creeping five-leaved ivy. But he remembered its poisonous berries, and how red the leaves would be came fall. 

Jongwoo bought a bouquet of purple hyacinths on his way back from the police department, and with the officer's permission, placed it under the tree where the dead sparrow had previously rested. 

       10. With Love 

There's a knock on the door. Hushed yet alarming. 

Jongwoo faltered in his movements, heartbeats quickening and thoughts racing, then turned around, cautiously. 

Another knock on the door. Clear and resonating. 

Jongwoo stood still in the entryway as the pounding in his ears intensified, and he stared at the door, pointedly. 

Another knock. This time deep and thundering. 

Jongwoo smelled seawater and resentment, with an acrid hint of blood and sadness, though faintly. 

Then came the silence, long and deafening. 

The door slowly and noiselessly opened, and Jongwoo watched as red sea flooded into the entryway in total silence, watched as its hungry wave devoured everything in tacit acquiescence. 

Jongwoo waited, helplessly, for the sea to devour him next. 

But it never reached him. The red sea. It never claimed his body nor did it ever sear his skin. Instead, it burned his right eye, blinding his sight for a considerable while. 

When Jongwoo opened his eyes again, he was met with a locked door and an untainted entryway. 

On the other side of the door, a box wrapped in glossy red wrapping paper with a white ribbon neatly tied into a bow on top sat innocuously on the floor, right in front of his apartment door. 

       11. Heart of the Sparrow 

Jongwoo stared down at the heart before him, cold and frozen in the box, bright red like the apples he had once picked for him, like the wrapping paper of the box it came in. It looked as though the organ was harvested fresh from the body, as though it was still beating if only he would look properly. 

What a poor creature, the sparrow. 

What a poor fate. 

His lips stretched into a wide smile and before Jongwoo knew it, he was laughing, his body rocking back and forth and his shoulders shaking as laughter kept spilling out of his mouth and filled the entire room. 

He laughed, and he laughed, until his eyes burned and his cheeks hurt, until his chest tightened and tears were streaming down his face like a river, endlessly and torrent. 

Sitting across from him, Seokyoon merely stared, wistfully and silent. 

       12. Beast of the Sea 

In retrospect, it made sense.

It made perfect sense why he hadn't dissolved into foam. It made perfect sense why the sea had spat him back out. And it made perfect sense why he wouldn't just die.

Jongwoo had seen it countless times before in dreams. Had seen how the devil rose up out of the sea, and had upon his head the name of blasphemy.

It's magnificent. It's menacing.

It's a portent.

But what of his legs and soul, then? Were they all nothing but an illusion? Was the sea merely lending them to him? Would it rob him of them all once the beast knocks on his door?

Deep inhale, heavy exhale.

If he was destined for captivity, then to captivity he'd go. And if he killed with the blade, then with the blade he must be killed.

An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth and all that.

       13. For Whom the Bell Tolls 

The ringing of the bells reverberated throughout the area, clear and appealing. Jongwoo sat quietly on the bench near the old church, and looked up at the weather-worn cross on top of the building, still upright and glorious against the blue background of the open sky. 

“Do you believe in God, hyung?” Seokyoon, who sat beside him, gazing up at the same cross, asked. 

A moment of silence. “Not really. My mom did. She's a Buddhist.” 

“I think now would be good. To start believing.”

His heart twinged. Inhaling deeply, he looked over at Seokyoon, then said in as casual a manner as he could manage, “Any suggestion on which God I should try believe in? Preferably the reachable one.”

The bells rang again, cutting through the silence that had begun to fall heavy between them. 

Slowly Seokyoon turned away to fix his mournful eyes on him. He stared for what felt like eternity before he smiled weakly, a knowing look on his pallid face. 

“You should start praying, hyung,” Seokyoon said after a while, his tone soft yet cautionary. “Start praying for your life.”

       14. Dream of the Butterfly 

Would it have been better, if he had never let the butterfly go? 

Or would it have been better, if he had never caught it in the first place? 

Would it have been better, if he had never unsheathed the blade? 

Or would it have been better, if he had never asked for the tree to begin with? 

Sitting in the interrogation room, Jongwoo pondered these questions for what felt like eternity as the inspector babbled on about something while showing him pictures of a woman, all wrapped up in milky white cloth with a pair of outstretched wings on her back and a wreath of white lilies and daffodils on her head. 

A woman he was more than familiar with. A woman whose face he would never forget. A woman who was now dead. 

Nevertheless, it soothed his mind and eased his guilt seeing her resting on the luscious field garlanded with flowers of the most brilliant colors — belladonna, ragwort, wisteria, iris. It seemed as though she was merely roaming the heavenly garden instead of being displayed there simply for aesthetic reason. 

Like the butterfly she always was. 

Because this would be how he would remember her from here onward. Just a butterfly in the garden, free and bound to nothing but an everlasting dream. 

Once he arrived home, Jongwoo waited, for days on end, for a knock on the door and a box on the floor. 

       15. Eyes of Others 

He had seen them. Had seen the way they're fixed on and stared at him. Those trailing eyes of others.

He knew what they hid behind their smiles. Knew what they actually meant. Those scrutinizing eyes of theirs.

He could hear the flow of their most intimate thoughts, like the susurration of the stream. Could hear the curse in their soft-coated words, like the sighing of the trees. Could hear the thunder in their bright laughter, like the growling of the beasts.

A bringer of calamities.

A disturber of peace.

An ill omen.

You have no place amongst us.

Begone, evil spirit.

Leave.

But Jongwoo remained as he was — mute, blind and deaf. Remained in the desolate town, in the little room on the rooftop of a certain home restaurant. Never with any sign of leaving ever.

They were, after all, the one who brought this upon themselves.

Not him.

       16. Revelation 

“Yoon Jongwoo-ssi!”

Jongwoo paused in his tracks and turned around at the call of his name.

A man in his early forty nodded and smiled from a distance before he approached him, crossing the driveway in a few strides. “Sorry to, uh, suddenly ambush you here,” the man said, laughing softly and scratching his eyebrow.

“I know you,” he said after a moment. “You're one of the detectives for the case.”

The man's face lit up at his recognition. “Yes, yes, that's me. I'm Detective Kwon. Kwon Yohan. The other one, the one who talked to you that time, that's my partner, Detective Park. Well, we used to handle that case but now... Well, it got transferred to... other department.”

He stared for a beat longer, then asked, “May I know why you're here?”

“Oh, right, uh...” Detective Kwon looked around, humming. “Can we talk somewhere else? Someplace with a seat or...”

“I know a pojangmacha nearby, if you're fine with that.”

The detective immediately agreed. Before long they headed over to the pop-up bar a few blocks away from the apartment building and ordered a bottle of soju with a small plate of dried squid strips.

“So,” Detective Kwon began just after they finished their first round of soju. “I came here today because I'd like to make some things clear, regarding the cases.”

“Am I still in the suspect list?” he shot, nursing his empty glass before he poured the second drink, both for himself and the detective.

The bluntness of his question had Detective Kwon coughing in surprise. Nevertheless, he finished his second shot. “No, no, no. Not that. You're not a suspect or anything. Well, at least not in my suspect list.” He laughed. “Just, uh, just want to clear the leftover doubt, something like that.”

“But I thought it's not your case anymore?”

“It's not. But you know, me being a detective, once I got a case I can't shut off my thinking until everything's solved and explained. So, yeah, here I am, with you, poking around and probing into the case again even though I don't get paid for it anymore.”

Jongwoo quietly nodded and emptied his glass. Poured another shot for them both and raised his eyebrows at the man sitting across from him.

Taking it as a green light, Detective Kwon leaned forward. The amiable look in his face then morphed into a serious one when he opened his mouth again. “So, you knew both of the victims, right? Kang Seokyoon and Min Jieun.”

He merely nodded and hummed, zeroing in on his glass instead of the apparitions standing behind the detective.

“I did some digging on them both, try to see if there's any other people in their lives that could be potential suspect and... Okay, I also dug some intel on you.” Detective Kwon studied him, then harrumphed and quickly continued when he received no reaction from him.

“Well, did some digging on you and I found out about your involvement in that studio murder case. I'm not gonna rehash to you which studio case and all that, because, well, I guess you already knew, but I'd like to fact check things with you about my findings. Can you... Can you do that for me?”

Jongwoo drank his third shot before he nodded.

“Okay, great. So, uh, you told us you knew Kang Seokyoon because the two of you used to stay at the same studio. And that studio, it's Eden Studio.”

He simply nodded, and said nothing.

“But Kang Seokyoon wasn't there the night the residents killed each other and the place caught fire. Apparently he moved out just a few days before it happened.”

He poured another drink for himself and the detective. The snack on the plate was still untouched.

Detective Kwon silently nodded his thanks for the gesture before he fixed his gaze back on him. “As for Min Jieun, you two were together during the time frame of the incident, right? And she's the one who alerted the officers in the neighborhood about you. Seems like you didn't answer her calls for a few days until she decided to call an officer she knew to check on you.”

Jongwoo nodded again.

He hummed thoughtfully, frowning and nodding all the while. “And then, that happened, and then you two broke up and went your separate way. Meanwhile, Kang Seokyoon went back to his hometown after the incident, and then none of you have met each other since. Correct?”

Another nod. “Seems like you have no doubt to be cleared, Detective,” Jongwoo commented, then downed his soju.

“Well, that's because I haven't reached the main point of my story yet.”

They exchanged a look with each other for a moment before Detective Kwon spoke again.

“See, I also found out about your former employer's murder case, Shin... Shin Jaeho? Yeah, him.”

His heart lurched at the name, and he tried very hard not to meet the hollowed-out orbits currently looking at him from a distance.

“About three weeks after the studio case, he was murdered brutally in his own apartment. Eyes gouged out, face cut up. It was gruesome. Savage.”

“It was,” he quietly agreed, and finished his soju. “I heard they've caught the murderer?”

“They did. Took them months to pin down a suspect. But yeah, they managed to find someone that fit the profile. And they arrested him right away. The case was closed. Public's reassured. The family's avenged. Justice's served. All's well that ends well.”

“Except that you don't think it is,” he said, matter-of-factly.

With his eyes narrowed, Detective Kwon slowly nodded his admission. “Something feels off about the case, you know. I check the guy they convicted for the murder and well, apparently there's no clear evidence at all. For the case and for the guy. They only arrest him because of his character and criminal record. And because they wanted to close the case already.” As he said the last line, Detective Kwon rolled his eyes and drank his shot.

“Anyway,” he continued, setting down his glass with a clear thud. “What about you? What do you think? About your ex-employer's case, that is.”

A moment of silence passed before Jongwoo took a deep breath and exhaled heavily. “I don't know. But from the way you're laying out all these information, it feels to me like you think his death is connected with the other two cases.”

Detective Kwon snapped his fingers, startling him a bit. “You get it! That's exactly what I thought. The possibility that they're connected.” A short pause. “Okay, this is where I'm gonna need you to listen to my... rambling for a while because everyone at the station thinks I'm out of my mind — even my partner — and because I think... I think that you might be in danger, Jongwoo-ssi.”

His grasp on the soju bottle tightened. “Danger,” he calmly uttered the word, masking his growing nervousness by pouring them both another drink.

“Yes, danger,” Detective Kwon said, his tone firm. “The idea was far-fetched to me at first, ridiculous even, but after I did some more digging, it's just... It makes sense somehow. You see, I think, that one of the studio residents is still alive.”

Something crawled up his spine and under his skin. Not sure if he wanted to know whether it was the alcohol beginning to circulate through his system or something else, Jongwoo instantly drank his soju. This time, it was the detective who refilled his glass.

“I know, it's a crazy notion,” Detective Kwon said, refilling his own glass as well. “Crazy and scary. I mean, they all died in the fire that night. The police found the bodies, all four of them, burned to crisp. But with all the intel I got, I've been thinking a lot. It might just be possible, you know, that notion.”

“And who that resident is?” he inquired even though he knew full well the answer. Perhaps he just wanted to hear the detective say it, hear the familiar sound of his name again. One that he had only been saying at nights in dreams lately.

There was a moment of silence before Detective Kwon said, in a voice that gave tonnes of weight to the name, “Seo Moonjo.”

Jongwoo inhaled deeply. There's a tightness in his chest which prompted him to down another round of shot and immediately refill his glass before emptying it again with another quick shot. When he tried to focus back on the detective, the man was looking intently at him, as if he was studying his reaction to the particular name.

“He's, uh, he's the scariest of them all,” he managed to say, a hasty attempt to swat away any suspicion from ever taking root in the other man's mind.

Detective Kwon didn't say a word. Just looked at him, then poured him another drink. “Well,” he said after a short silence, “I guess he really is the scariest of them all.” When Jongwoo shot him a questioning look, he elaborated. “I looked into the residents. Each and every one of them. An officer I met around the neighborhood told me stuff they knew about them, about the orphanage and the landlady and—”

“Was it Officer So?” he interrupted.

“Wha- Oh. Oh... Yeah, Officer So Junghwa. Yes, it was her.”

“She's a good police officer. She's the only one who believes me.”

Detective Kwon merely hummed at that before he continued from where he was cut off. “So, Officer So told me stuff she knew about them, as well as things she suspected, and I decided to go and poke around for more information on them. Especially on Seo Moonjo.” He scoffed. “Guess what? Turns out that Seo Moonjo was not his real name! Remember the pension murder case? He's been using fake name during that time. And he's been faking his identity even before that.”

As Detective Kwon went on about his findings on the dentist and speculated about his survival from the fire, Jongwoo downed his umpteenth shot.

On the other side of street, right across from the pop-up bar, the ghost appeared before his eyes. He stood in the shadow cast by a building, engulfed in wild and angry flames just like the night they said goodbye.

Jongwoo watched with bated breath as the ghost tilted his flaming head at him before he pulverized into blackness, only for the devil, the dentist, to step out from the shadow and into the moonlight, the wide smile adorning his sickening and beautiful face.

“Jongwoo-ssi?”

He flinched at the sudden tap on his shoulder, almost knocking his half-full soju glass. “Y-Yes?”

“You okay? The soju's getting to you now?” Detective Kwon asked as he munched the nearly forgotten dried squid, face slightly flushed now from all the drinking.

“Y-Yes, I'm okay. It's the, uh, soju,” he replied, blinking several times and fidgeting in his seat. When he looked back at the other side of the street, neither the ghost nor the devil could be seen.

“Hmm. Anyway, as I was saying, something bothers me, though,” Detective Kwon rambled on, oblivious to the nervous state his company was in at the moment. “Like, if we look at the pension murder and the studio one, they're not really... showy, if you know what I mean? Meticulous, yes. Very thorough, too. And it's also more, uh... I don't know the word. But there's no body. No parts of body. Nothing that comes out of body. Just reports of missing persons. Lots of missing persons. But this murder, these killings, they're different from his usual M.O. They look like a, like a painting. Like, they're for a show, you know? Like—”

“Detective,” he called after another session of fidgeting, cutting the man off for the second time. “I think- I think you should drop it.”

“What? What do you mean? Drop what?”

“I think you should drop this case.”

Detective Kwon chuckled. “But I've already dropped out of this case. Remember? They transferred it to other department.”

“Shut off your thinking about this case, then. Stop digging and poking around. Stop probing into it. Stop thinking about it. Just stop.”

The man frowned, then straightened up. “What? What are you talking about? Hey, listen, you're in danger here. If he's actually still out there—”

“If he's actually still out there, there's a big chance he already knows you. Knows your name. Who you are. Where you live. How much you know. He'd be coming for you, Detective.”

Detective Kwon looked him in the eye, and silence ensued. He seemed like he was trying to search something in his face, something that even he couldn't quite tell what himself. “Are you trying to scare me off?” he said after a long pause.

Jongwoo was quiet for a brief moment before saying, “No. I'm giving you a heads up.” And with that, he pulled out some money from his wallet, placed them on the table and rose to his feet. “I have to go. My shift starts early tomorrow.” He gave Detective Kwon a nod of goodbye before he walked out of the pop-up bar, only to be stopped by the other man when he called to him seconds later.

They exchanged another looks with each other, and he could see the glint of realization in the detective's eyes. But of what, he couldn't be sure. Didn't want to be sure.

“Are you...” Detective Kwon frowned, never finishing his sentence.

Jongwoo turned around and left, giving the detective no chance to reconsider.

       17. A Wild Little Thing 

It wasn't death Jongwoo was afraid of the most, no.

If anything, he found death liberating. A cheat code for the game called life. A sure path to absolute freedom.

What he was afraid of the most was something that others craved, something that he craved. It was a cause for celebration. The root of all tragedies. A source of connection. The seed of all sufferings.

It was a highest form of kindness, as well as violence. A medicine and a poison.

What he was afraid of the most was a force as strong as anger. As intense as hatred. A force that once it reigned over one's heart and shrouded one's head, would open the doors to all sorts of madness.

It was a gift from their animal ancestors. The purest and the rawest.

Therefore, he remained silent when Seokyoon asked him if he would still answer to him, after all he had done, if he would still go to him, after all he had done.

Because a part of him would readily say yes.

Because the seed did live through in the end.

And grow into a tree which bore the reddest apple.

Because with love, came acceptance, and a prospect of forgiveness.

       18. The Glory of Becoming 

She said Jesus sacrificed himself so that humanity could have salvation. That he died for the sins of the world, and that the crucifix was a reminder for mankind of his love and selfless act. 

Could the world really be redeemed with just a death of a man? 

There's an air of solemnity in the curves of the features if he looked beyond the peaceful, angular visage. The eyes were closed but he had a feeling somehow that they could still perceive everything even though they had long since died. 

If they were to open now, would he see sorrow in those eyes? 

Sitting in a pew of the old wooden church, Jongwoo continued to study the Christ on the cross. 

If those eyes could still see even from behind the veil of the eyelids, they must have seen it, then. Them. They must have seen the woman from the orphanage through all of her facades. Must have seen the young twins and the sins they were amassing. Must had seen the little boy for what he truly was. 

And those eyes, they must have already seen him, too, and who he was becoming. 

Chapter Text

       19. The Wrath of the Lamb

It was Satie's, the piano piece that was playing from somewhere inside the apartment. One of the many pieces that serenaded the cabin as the night gradually grew old and black. One of the many pieces that lullabied him as the dark plunged him into a different kind of hell.

“Painfully, sadly, gravely,” as Moonjo had said when he explained the piece to him that one time.

Grasping the doorknob, Jongwoo produced a pocket knife from inside his jeans pocket, willed his heart to slow down its pounding lest he heard it, and then, slowly and quietly, opened the door.

As he tiptoed inside, a scent of seawater and resentment, with an acrid hint of blood and sadness, drifted in the air, though faintly. His steps faltered before it came to a brief halt when Seokyoon shot him a stern look from the other side of the room, one finger over his lips, a clear sign of warning.

The piano piece became more distinct the closer he was to Seokyoon, and when the young man turned his head away in a particular direction, he followed suit, slowly with caution.

There, standing in the middle of the living area with hands in the pockets of his black trousers and his whole back to him, was the ghost himself, clad in his pristine white dress shirt, looking every bit the same as the night they first met on the studio rooftop.

Jongwoo swallowed. And as if he could hear him, hear every breath he exhaled, hear every heartbeat in his chest, the ghost moved and turned, an ever-growing smile adorning his sickening and beautiful face. His eyes automatically found his, and their gazes locked on each other before long, as though there was nowhere else to look.

His breath hitched. His heart soared. His mind screamed. His stomach churned. Those eyes, those dark eyes, they were very much alive.

“Hello, Jongwoo,” the ghost spoke.

A million emotions surged up within him. They swirled and raged like a hurricane and Jongwoo no longer knew which one was desire and which one was need; only that he wanted to kiss him and kill him. Pull him closer and push him off the rooftop. He wanted to touch him and hurt him. Count all of his scars and make them bleed again. He wanted to hold him and break him. Come inside of him and drive a knife through his heart. He wanted to cry and he wanted to scream. And cry and scream he did as he lunged forward with the knife in his hand, flying right toward the ghost and the lover, the dentist and the devil.

With an open smile, Moonjo welcomed him like a long-lost lover, but unlike the last time on the pier, he fought back, pulling the two of them into a long and wild dance of death that turned the place upside down with all the thunk and the clang.

His cry and scream mingled with a breathy laughter, together into a tangled wire. Pain gnawed at his consciousness, ablaze, as the apartment spun round and round like glass marbles. There's a ringing in his ears, a buzz, distant yet near. Dazed, he saw the creeping smile and red, splattered across the space. His body ached, and so did his head, and he felt himself falling, down from the earth into the fiery pit below, sapped of all strength and desire.

Breathing laboured, his vision blurred. Jongwoo lied limply on the floor, resigned to his one and only fate. The piano piece was still playing gently in the background, but the melody was all warped. Broken. Slowly, darkness crept into him; dragged him away from the physical world, and into the netherworld.

       20. The Decollation of the Beloved

A muffled voice rang faint in his ears, fading in and out of his consciousness, the words incomprehensible. White amorphous light greeted his sight before it gradually shrunk into a moon, and then a curing light. Sitting beside him was a man with a mask over his face. His face. His own face.

Jongwoo moaned. His jaw felt numbed, his head woozy, and he's slowly choking on his saliva. The man with his face said something then, another incomprehensible words. But he didn't speak with his voice. He spoke with the ghost's.

The lover.

The dentist.

The devil.

The piano piece flooded his memory and Jongwoo gasped. He squirmed in the chair on reflex, only to have a sense of horror washing over him. He couldn't move. He couldn't move. Not his body, not his hands. Not even his fingers.

He couldn't feel his arms nor legs. And he couldn't feel the restraints on his wrists nor the pain. He groaned, panicked. Try as he might, he still couldn't move nor feel anything. It was as if his body had discorporated, freed permanently from the weight of his head. As if he was nothing but his consciousness, aimlessly floating around on the plane of existence.

One possibility came to his mind.

“Brings back memories, doesn't it?” the man with Moonjo's face asked, the glint of mirth conspicuous in the dark of his eyes. The outline of his figure bled into and blended in with the surrounding. Smudges of colors on the artist's canvas. “Fortunately the wound isn't as serious as that time you beat up the high schoolers.”

Something metal and cold moved around in his mouth, and a moment later, Moonjo pulled it out along with the mouth prop.

Jongwoo released a breath he didn't know he was holding, swallowed the lump in his throat and then strung together a sentence despite the fog before croaking out, “You going... to kill me?”

The soft timbre of laughter that escaped the man's lips shortly afterward astonished him.

“No,” Moonjo simply answered, then smiled his knowing smile. “After all, I already did, didn't I?”

His heart twinged, and ached.

“Oh, no, not really. There's still your family now that I remember.”

His heart lurched, and he grunted.

The smile on Moonjo's face widened, growing into wickedness. “Don't worry. They're still alive. I don't have any plan to kill them or anything. At least for the time being.” His gaze was palpable it's searing his skin. “I don't understand. Why do you care so much about them? I mean, all they do is just hold you back and drag you down. A nuisance. You're better off without them.”

“N-No...”

Moonjo huffed, dark eyes still fixed on him. “You know, I'm very disappointed in you. A stab in the heart and drowning me in the water? Hmm. And then you came all the way here and you didn't even kill anybody. Tut-tut.” A brief pause. “But, if that's what you aimed for, then you did an excellent job.”

“Good to know,” Jongwoo croaked out after a while.

The dentist's expression softened with a smile. Or maybe it was the smile that had softened his expression. He didn't know.

The room began to shake, its walls and ceiling crumbling down, and belatedly he realized he was being moved around by Moonjo, though still bound to the chair with the same unknown drug pumping through his veins.

“W-Where... you taking me?”

“To the classroom,” Moonjo simply answered.

“What...”

Before long he found himself in an unfamiliar room with a table stretched long in front of him. A vague figure of a person gradually sharpened in his vision and there, sitting right across from him, with both hands and feet bound, was a man. A man whose face was familiar. A man whose name he remembered. Drugged and incapacitated like him. And utterly hopeless.

Moonjo left him to approach and check on the barely conscious man. “Detective Kwon Yohan, is it? Nice name. Was it the baptist, or the evangelist? Looks like the evangelist. Don't worry. I will give you the honor of the baptist.”

There's recognition and anger in the detective's eyes, burning bright like stars in the night sky. There's also regret and resignation and Jongwoo heard a voice crying softly in the wilderness. It was Detective Kwon, making a noise so small that he bet even dogs couldn't hear it.

Something glint in Moonjo's hand and the fluorescent light as he stood next to Detective Kwon, one hand on the poor man's shoulder, dark eyes fixed back on him again.

“Lesson one. If you're gonna kill me, honey, you should do it properly. For example, like this.”

The detective grunted as Moonjo lacerated his upper left abdomen, promptly opening his chest wall with surgical precision. He spread the ribs next, slithered an arm inside the cage, then picked an apple, red as the beating heart, before taking a big bite out of it and smiled at him, lips now glaringly red.

The devil proffered him the bitten apple, and Jongwoo stared and wondered what kind of damnation this one would promise him.

       21. The Seed 

The hand pushed up through the dirt like a shoot reaching out for the sun. Taller and taller it grew, until the entirety of the limb shone dimly in the moonlight, a sapling. The arm continued to struggle, pulling the trunk out of the soil to sprout another limb, before it tugged the legs completely off the ground, letting the roots breathe.

Jongwoo watched, aghast, as the body without a crown rose from the grave. It stood tall in the dark, emanating a strong air of vengeance. Then it started moving, stalking toward him, body bent slowly forward, limbs reaching out to him, as if beseeching him for something.

Something they'd taken from it.

Something they'd ripped out of him.

Jongwoo fell onto the ground. Felt a hand grabbing his face, and another clutching at his chest. A strangled cry escaped him as the nails broke his skin and the fingers sank into his flesh, going up inside his ribcage and snaking straight toward his heart. Like a lamb being slaughtered, he could only choke on his own blood and stare, through the tears welling up in his eyes, at the hollow in its trunk, empty where the red apple should be.

The ringing came some time later, sharp, insistent and curious. Louder and louder it grew, until the ringing turned into a series of distorted sound. The static-like scratching continued to crackle, growing even more distinct in his ears, before it manifested into a broken voice, then at last became a string of warped words.

Words he couldn't quite yet catch.

Words he couldn't quite yet understand.

But the voice... The voice was one he's more than familiar with.

“...pa...”

“...ppa...”

“...oppa...”

“Oppa.”

Jongwoo jolted awake. The harsh wind slapped his body and cut his face, instantly freezing his limbs and mind, stopping him from falling into another bout of nightmares.

He sat up with a grunt, shivering all the while. His head still throbbed, but the nausea couldn't wait. In one huge wave, it swept over him, stirring the bile in his stomach to claw its way up his throat. But no matter how long he waited, nothing spilled from his mouth.

Feeling sick to his stomach, Jongwoo closed his eyes and breathed. He stayed still for a long moment, until the nausea receded and his head felt lighter, before slowly reopening them to take in his surrounding — the canopies of the concrete jungle.

Strange. He was on the porch outside his apartment.

Try as he might, nothing came to his mind when he recalled last night's event, particularly the bits where he went back to the neighborhood and climbed the stairs to the rooftop apartment. The throbbing came back, then. Groaning, Jongwoo pressed his fingers to his temple but stopped when he heard a soft jingle.

Something felt cold around his hand, he belatedly realized. Pulling up his sleeve, Jongwoo found a dangle bracelet encircling his left wrist. The charms were teeth of all shapes and sizes, white like the snow that covered the cabin yard. They jingled when he gave it a tentative shake, the sound light and clear like empty glasses.

A gift. From him.

Jongwoo inhaled deeply. His gaze fell on the smallest and prettiest tooth on the bracelet, lingered on it for a second longer, before shifting to the dirt caked in his nails.

A resonating ding.

The church bells began to toll for its morning service. Jongwoo looked up to stare at the light blue sky above, now tinged with soft hue of orange and pink, all while searching for a glimpse of the dying moon.

His shift started at eight today, now that he remembered.

       22. John the Beloved 

Looking up from his jjajangmyeon, Jongwoo watched as the stills from the Blue House shifted back to the anchor, who swiftly moved on to the next news, a new murder case.

A series of anxious whispers broke the quiet peace of the diner shortly thereafter, its sound like the sighing forest. It amplified itself as the man on TV began filling in the viewers with the details, agitated insects.

The victim was a detective of a certain police station. His severed head was discovered by his colleague earlier this morning, on a round silver platter inside a box placed in front of the latter's apartment. The whereabouts of his remains were as yet unknown.

Authorities had commenced an investigation on the murder, but had not yet been able to confirm its connection with the recent serial killings, the ones committed by the “Sculptor.”

Bullshit.

Promptly, Jongwoo resumed eating. The rustling of the voices around him showed no signs of dying despite the news ending credit. He wondered how long it would take for the police to find Detective Kwon's body.

       23. Mark of the Beast 

One, two, three, four, five, six.

He spotted six brown lines across the skin of his left wrist, overlapping and enduring.

He dreamed of another world where the scars would tear open and bleed again.

One, two, three, four, five, six.

He spotted another six across the skin of his right one, some a little redder and some a little fresher.

He dreamed of another world where they would drown and release him for real.

One, two, three, four, five, six.

He almost forgot to count the ones on each of his thighs, longer than others and hidden from his ever-watchful eyes.

In another world, the amount of blood he'd offered would've been more than enough for Death to fish his soul out of its vessel.

A heavy sigh.

But this wasn't another world. And there wasn't another world.

Every mark that marred his skin only promised him the devil's protection instead of the absolute freedom. Preserved him instead of damaged. Chained him to life and suffering instead of set him free from everything.

One, two, three, four, five, six.

The blade glinted in the cold fluorescent light. Lazily, Jongwoo spun it around in his hand, eyes diligently tracing the sharp edge all the while.

If he added a new line in-between them all, would this one finally be it? Or would it give him all the time in the world?

He contemplated, then brought the cold blade to his warm skin, deliberated a bit, then pressed and dragged the sharp edge across his soft flesh. And then he waited, amidst the searing pain and the soothing haze, for either of them to come.

One, two, three, four, five, six.

His lips curled into a smile.

It's the pianist.

       24. God in the Shape of the Devil 

Such was the nature of god, Jongwoo supposed. Always needing someone to own. Always needing someone to hurt.

Moonjo came in peace to wreak havoc on earth. Bestowed on him love that brought forth hate and waged wars. Gave him the sun and grew him flowers so he would always long for them whenever the moon appeared and the storm obliterated the garden. For every light that he generously shone upon his small and weak body, shadows of considerable size and shape lurked from behind.

Watching. Waiting. Hungry.

And such was the nature of man, Jongwoo concluded. Always needing someone to serve. Always needing someone to trust.

He came to the world already riddled with holes and flaws. Already thirsty for something to fill up the vast emptiness in his clay vessel. Already hungry for all soft and beautiful things he had to offer although he knew they would never come to him for free. For every apple he ravenously ate from his large and lean hands, the hunger only grew bigger and stronger.

Bigger than his body, stronger than his bones.

And such was the nature of the relationship between god and man, Jongwoo believed. Always convoluted. Always contradicting.

His eyes, ears, teeth and lips had never been his to own. Just like his heart, brain, hands and feet were permanently his whether he sanctioned it or not. Because he had bitten into his flesh. Because there it was, his seal of approval, on his forehead. No matter how many times he scorched it off his skin, the seal remained, and would never be erased.

And the devil would forever know the one who was his.

       25. Mother, Mother 

All he ever wanted was to spare her from all the awful things in the world to come, to protect her from the outstretched hands of the devil. All he ever wanted was for her to have the absolute freedom, so she could live a nice and beautiful life in the heavenly garden. He didn't mean to do any harm. He never did. 

“Thank you, Jongwoo-ssi,” said Sister Jung before taking a bite of the food. She smiled at him the way she had the first time they met. Full of kindness and warmth, and mother's love. 
 
Once she had fallen into a deep sleep, he held her frail body in his arms and mourned quietly. He didn't mean to do any harm. He never did. 

It's just that this world was not for her and his beloved. Not anymore. 

      26. Full of Tears Will Be That Day 

Strings of hymns and prayers wandered across the space before they were muted and carried away by the cold wind, lost to human ears but not to the ones above. The mourners' tears mingled with those of the Heaven's and he could no longer discern which one of them was genuine and which one wasn't. 

It was harsh and cold, the rain that hammered him that evening. And the accompanying howling followed him close around the church and all the way back to the apartment. They knocked on his door, pelted his roof and thrashed across his windows. They threw their tantrum at him all day long until the moon shut them up and chased them away. 

All the while, Jongwoo closed his eyes and covered his ears. Curled himself up in bed and under the blanket for hours. 

She would understand. She would eventually understand him. Because her heart was the kindest and the fondness in her eyes always belied the disappointment in her words. 

Always. 

And she wouldn't be lonely! She would never be lonely there, no. Because the children would greet her at the pearly gate and like old days she could be with them once again. 

Forevermore. 
 
When he peeked outside and later on looked up at the black ink sky, the scanty stars that used to scatter all over were nowhere to be seen. 

       27. The Fate of the Deer 

It was decided.

It was decided, he convinced himself.

When he came to visit him at the apartment on that bleak evening with a smile so warm like a hearth and eyes so bright like a deer, it was decided.

His death.

And thus, it didn't matter what the somewhat familiar police officer saw just after giving him his contact info. Didn't matter why Officer So's junior blanched and stilled at the sight of something — someone — behind him.

Because his death was already decided from the moment he knocked on the door and entered this place, from the moment he talked of the cases and asked him of things. There's nothing he could do. Nothing.

If only the young man could keep his mind blind.

Jongwoo simply said his farewell to Officer Jo before closing the door.

Just then, a deep voice resonated across the small place, saying, “What a cunning boy you are.”

Turning around, he merely stared at Moonjo, who was leaning against the wall with arms crossed over his chest and a knowing smile on his face, sickening and beautiful.

       28. Godhood 

The deer, the poor deer, died shortly thereafter. 

His blood was hot on his skin, viscous and black when he stepped into the moonlight, a warm glove in the cold of the night. He lifted his hands, watched as darkness painted his fingers and the blade, watched as the color black seeped into his pores and veins, spreading like poison and medicine in his bloodstream. 

Time stood still. The storm in his mind finally quietened down and with the silence came the crystal clarity. 

He could see it now. Could see it clear. As clear as the moon above. As clear as his conscience right now. 

He had always been free. Always. 

“Can you see it now?” Moonjo asked. His voice was low, a whisper, but the words rang like church bells in his ears. 

He looked at him and didn't say a word. 

Moonjo smiled nonetheless, understanding. Moonlight illuminated him and for a moment, he glowed, ethereal and divine, like that of an angel. “You know,” he said after a moment of silence, eyes looking up at the shining stone above, “I remember a line spoken by Joker in an old Batman film. It's one of my favorites as a child.”

Jongwoo remained still and silent, even as he met the dark eyes again. 

“Have you ever danced with the devil in the pale moonlight?” 

Was he asking? Or was he just quoting? Jongwoo couldn't tell. “No,” he said regardless, quietly. 

“Dance with me,” Moonjo commanded, but his tone was tender like a question. 

He stared dispassionately at his outstretched hand for a moment before taking it in his own as a reply. 

He could've killed him right at this instance. He could've driven the blade through his open back or slashed the nape of his exposed neck. He could've eaten his beating heart or drunk his red wine blood. And he could've taken back the rein to his life and soul, once and for all. 

But he let the blade drop to the ground instead and Moonjo sway him gently under the moonlight. Gave in his body and blood to him and up his life and soul for him. 

Despite everything. 

Despite everything. 

The moon was full tonight, he belatedly noticed. 

So full, and so beautiful. 

Right. 

When it all came down to it, he was, at the end of the day, at the end of the story, a mere human. To want himself be wanted and desired, loved and understood by others, in all sorts of senses, was human of him. 

And if this — swaying free in the moonlight, his warm fingers interlacing with Moonjo's cold ones, his empty head on Moonjo's broad shoulder, with the metallic smell of blood and the promise of eternal damnation crisp in the air — was the closest he could ever get to these, then he supposed it might be just fine. 

Just fine. 

Slowly, Jongwoo closed his eyes, and breathed Moonjo in, deep. 

They were, after all, bound to doom. 

Each and every one of them. 

       29. Illumination 

Jongwoo stared at the painting before him, at the portrait of the naked man basked in orange and red and yellow, and then at the huge black shadow looming on his left. Despite the stifling situation, the man in the painting — the artist himself — stood upright still, appearing perfectly calm and poised.

He studied the naked man closely.

He didn't seem helpless. If anything, the man seemed assured and completely in control with himself. Comfortable even. As though he had accepted it all, had welcomed it into his embrace, the pain and the suffering, the shadow and the hellfire, instead of constantly being held at its mercy and whims.

The man looked like a king, a ruler of this personal hell, and the shadow beside him his advisor, a loyal company yet mere servant in the grand scheme of his reign.

Jongwoo glanced down at the title of the painting and the name of the artist, the naked man.

Self-Portrait in Hell, Edvard Munch (1903)

Looking up back at the portrait, he could feel a pair of eyes on him. A figure standing behind him, still and hesitating. He made no effort to turn around and meet the other's eyes, choosing to continue admiring the old piece of work instead.

The silence only broke a few moments later, when the figure moved and the soft sound of their footsteps gradually intensified behind him. Soon enough, a faint whiff of perfume filled his nostrils as someone stood on his right.

He knew for a fact that Officer So had been looking for him. How long and since when he couldn't tell, but he knew she would definitely come searching for him when their gruesome deaths made it in the news and the possible serial murder case became the new topic of public concern. After all, those who were killed were people he knew, people he was once close with, people he—

“Jongwoo-ssi?” she eventually called, soft and quiet. When a few seconds of silence passed by without his response, she spoke again. “Jongwoo-ssi, it's me, Officer So.”

He looked over at her. “Oh, Officer So. You're here, too? Long time no see,” he said as briskly as he could manage, though it rang weak and insincere to his ears.

If she was suspicious, she didn't show it. Instead, she said, “I've been looking for you, Jongwoo-ssi. How are you doing? Are you okay? I hope everything is... fine?”

“Yes, yes. Everything is fine. I'm okay, yeah, I'm fine, as I can be.”

She stared at him with her brows furrowed, then sighed heavily. “Jongwoo-ssi, even though it's been a while since we met, I hope you won't feel awkward or burdened to call me if you need someone to talk... or-or if anything's wrong. You know what I'm talking about, right?”

“Officer So.”

“Yes, Jongwoo-ssi.”

“There's something I've come to realize now, after all this time.”

She was silent for a moment before she spoke, though hesitantly, “What...”

“I realize now that one can never kill the Devil.”

“Devil?”

“It's either be killed by him,” he continued, then turned to look her full in the face, “or you join him.”

She opened her mouth to say something, but no words came out, nothing other than “Jongwoo-ssi...”

“You should be careful, Officer.”

“Yes?”

“Excuse me.” Before long Jongwoo bowed his head at her, turned around and walked away. He heard her calling out his name as he left the particular section of the gallery, followed by shushes from other patrons, but paid no mind to any of them. He kept walking instead, until he reached the main entrance, and the bustle of the desolate city greeted him back again.

As the bus entered the main road and left the district, he wondered if he could be as self-assured and poised as the naked man in the portrait, wondered if he, too, could become a king and the ruler of this kingdom of hell.

       30. The Last Supper 

There's a pot of yukgaejang on the table, hot and steaming. Fritters of both meat and vegetables variety. Slices of pyeon-yuk and the obligatory kimchi. Flat rice cakes coupled with peanuts and dried squid. And bottles upon bottles of alcohol for drinking. 

On both sides of the table, shining cutlery and soju glasses were set accordingly, together with steamed rice and soup bowls, both placed on their right and left side respectively. Three on the right. Three on the left. Another two for both ends. 

In the middle of the table lied the main menu, the roasted cadaver of the evangelist, with the head and the heart served separately for the devil and his agency. Mozart's “Lacrimosa” serenaded the guests and the hosts as each of them took a seat. 

“To the Beloved,” said the devil, raising his glass with elegance. 

“To the Beloved,” the rest echoed, imitating the devil's gesture. 

“To the Beloved,” Jongwoo muttered, knocking back one drink. 

The clinking of the glasses and cutlery ensued. Merrily, the feast began. 

Jongwoo had a mouthful of rice topped with a slice of heart. 

Seokyoon and Jaeho reached for kimchi and the boiled meat. Jieun blew softly on the scalding stew before taking a tentative sip. The landlady had the meat fritters, putting some on the twin's rice. The pervert, on the other hand, rose from his seat with a knife in his hand and began carving the cadaver, taking a huge chunk out of him and then eating it with relish. 

Moonjo plucked out the right eye and popped it into his mouth. A smile of contentment graced his face shortly thereafter, when their eyes met from across the dinner table. 

Chapter Text

       31 (i). Toward the Dark

He stared at the young man before him with an impassive face.

“Oh? Jongwoo hyung! We meet again.”

What a familiar face. What a familiar smile. What a familiar voice. What a familiar sight. The remaining piece of his old self. The young man of his old life. Life he had yet to perish. Self he had yet to kill.

“Let's see... It's been a while since we met, right? Was it last month? Or was it two months? We really don't contact each other at all after our last drink. I thought you already lost my number.” A small laugh. “But then again, I never ask you for your number as well. By the way, wow, you look great, hyung. What's up?” Changhyun said, looking him up and down and up again with a broad, genuine smile on his face.

A moment's silence. Then, “Nothing. Just found a religion.”

“Oh... Okay? Anyway, this is perfect. I was just thinking about you and now that I'm back again and we're here, let's have a drink! Of course, only if you're free.” The way his expression had shifted from confusion to anticipation was seamless, like the detective's when their gazes met and he died shortly thereafter.

Jongwoo stared some more at him, the young man of his old life, the remaining piece among all the incinerated junk. “Changhyun, I think it's best if we don't meet again after this.”

Bewilderment colored Changhyun's expression and he asked, “What— Why? Hyung, is something wrong? Is it me? If it is, then I'm really sorry, hyung—”

“No. No, it isn't you. Just...” The lovely and haunting woody scent drifted in the air just then, announcing his approach, a silent call. Inhaling deeply, Jongwoo blinked. “Well, I have to go now. Goodbye.” Without sparing any more looks at Changhyun, he turned around and walked away from the young man and toward the darkness and his consuming fire.

Truly, there's nothing Changhyun, or anyone, could do anymore.

Chapter Text

       31 (ii). The Last Judgment

“Seriously, why aren't you picking up?” Junghwa grumbled under her breath, eyes beginning to strain after glaring at Hyunho's name for what felt like hours. It's unlike him to ignore her calls for this long. Even if he was too busy with stuff, he usually would've at least apologized to her over text and informed her of his hectic schedule.

Something didn't feel right. Did he really pursue the instinct he had about the case?

Frowning, she unlocked the door to her apartment, paused at the doorstep to send him a quick Are you okay? text and then fumbled around for the switch. Her movement was stopped short, however, when the supposedly dark living area was illuminated by the light from the kitchenette.

She didn't remember leaving it on.

Alerted, Junghwa slid her shoe between the doorframe, dialed 911 on her phone before stuffing it back in her bag, and tiptoed toward the kitchen area, grabbing a baton in her free hand along the way.

She half hoped it was Hyunho trying to prank her, despite the unlikeliness, or her father who had once again forgotten to inform her of his visit beforehand. But the sight of the man sitting at her dining table made her blood run cold and her body froze. The baton in her hand clanged to the floor and the loud noise earned the man's attention.

A gasp escaped her lips when he smiled at her.

“Hello, Officer So.”

Tongue-tied, Junghwa could only stare in absolute horror at Seo Moonjo.

Seo Moonjo. In the flesh. So, he was indeed still alive. Her wildest assumption, her ridiculous theory, was right, after all.

The dentist was alive, and it was him who killed them all, him who ki—

“Won't you join us, Officer?”

A familiar voice — and a soft clinking of something — sounded and before long Yoon Jongwoo emerged from behind her, looking oddly prim and proper, and unarguably alive and kicking.

“J-Jongwoo-ssi?” she managed to force out. “Wha- But how? You- You died. They-They found your body in the fire ruins. I was there. I saw you, Jongwoo-ssi. You died. It's not—” 

Oh.

Oh.

Of course.

“I did,” Jongwoo simply affirmed, calm and collected. He sauntered to the table, then sat across from Moonjo, whose smile widened and eyes glinted at the sight of him. “Well, to put it simply,” he said, and shot her a knowing look, “circumstances have changed.”

With his features basked in the cold white glow of the fluorescent light, it finally dawned on her.

This was not Jongwoo.

This young man sitting before her with a cold, impassive face and a pair of empty eyes was no longer the Yoon Jongwoo she knew that particular June.

This was someone entirely else.

“I told you before, didn't I? To be careful.”

There's a feast on the table. Various dishes, all meat, prepared specially for her. The smell was tantalizing, but her stomach coiled at the thought of eating it. She took an instinctive step back when the two men looked at her expectantly, and a sharp intake of breath when Seo Moonjo gestured to the empty seat between them, a silent invitation.

Junghwa looked to her right. The hallway was dark. The once ajar door was now closed and locked, obscuring the light from the corridor outside which had previously spilled from between the small gap.

Eyes glassy, she sighed in resignation.