the seraphim paradox

"Why the hell does he hide this?"

"Is it just for the theatrics? The drama? The element of surprise before he murders people?"

Because let's be real—Caesar was the type of guy who got off on the art of the kill.

He wasn't just some thug who killed out of necessity.

No—he made a spectacle out of it.

He wasn't the type to just shoot someone and move on—he had to enjoy it, had to drag it out, had to make it a masterpiece.

He'd smile while doing it.

He'd talk his victims through it, make them understand why they were dying, make them comprehend just how deeply they had fucked up.

He was the type to get giddy at the first drop of blood, to tilt his head and admire his work like some deranged artist in a murder gallery.

And yet—here he was.

Naked.

Holding a vodka bottle like it was just another Tuesday night.

Eun-jae's brain was rapidly deteriorating, searching for something—anything—to latch onto, to redirect his mental breakdown elsewhere.

And then—

It happened.

His eyes landed on a new discovery, a new horror, a new mystery to unravel.

"…Pink nipples?"

Eun-jae's entire thought process came to a screeching halt.

"Men don't usually have that shade, do they?"

"That's like…some high-quality, premium-tier nipple pigmentation right there."

"The genetics behind this are insane."

Without thinking, the words left his mouth.

"You have a nice body."

The second he said it, he knew he had fucked up.

Caesar's lips curled into a slow, dangerous smirk—the kind of smirk that promised nothing but pain and suffering.

"Wow…" he murmured, his tone dripping with amusement.

"I didn't know you were so interested in my body."

A pause.

A mocking tilt of the head.

A deliberate, scandalized smirk.

"So pervy."

Eun-jae groaned loudly, rolling his eyes so hard he glimpsed his past lives.

This was it.

This was his villain origin story.

Eun-jae just ignored him.

He didn't have the time, patience, or mental stability to deal with this man's bullshit.

Instead, he grabbed the nearby ladle and poured a fresh wave of water onto the hot coal, sending up a thick, hissing cloud of steam. The heat swelled, wrapping around them like an oppressive blanket, making the air even heavier, making every drop of sweat on their bodies glisten under the dim sauna light.

And then—

A sound.

Low.

Deep.

Barely a whisper, but there.

A soft, satisfied moan.

Caesar.

Eun-jae's entire spine locked up as the bastard tilted his head back, shutting his eyes, a look of pure, sinful relaxation painting his sharp features.

The steam curled around him, making him look almost unreal, like some fallen angel cast out of heaven—but not because of sin.

No—because Heaven had never been enough for him.

Because Heaven was too pure for someone like him.

Because there was no fun in being an angel when you were born to be the Devil.

Eun-jae stared.

He didn't mean to.

But his traitorous eyes dragged over every inch of flawless, sculpted muscle, over the way Caesar's body looked so perfectly untouched, as if he was something immortal, something meant to be worshipped but never claimed.

And then—

Caesar's eyes snapped open.

Eun-jae panicked.

He looked away so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash.

"Shit. I was staring too much."

Like clockwork, Caesar's smirk curled back onto his lips—that same smug, insufferable, I-own-you expression that made Eun-jae want to stab him, drown him, then resuscitate him just to do it all over again.

Without a word, Caesar grabbed the bottle and poured another drink for Eun-jae.

And then—

That fucking smirk.

That slow, deliberate smirk as he let his gaze linger, his fingers tapping idly against the glass before finally looking away.

A warning bell went off in Eun-jae's head.

And he was right to be wary.

Because then—Caesar spoke.

"You know…" he murmured, voice deep, lazy, sinful.

"If I ever got my hands on you—"

A pause.

A smirk.

A flicker of something dark in his eyes.

"I'd ruin you."

Silence.

The kind of silence that felt deafening, suffocating, the kind that made the entire world stop existing for a second.

Eun-jae's grip on his glass tightened.

Caesar just leaned back casually, as if he hadn't just said the filthiest thing humanly possible, as if he wasn't actively trying to wreck Eun-jae's sanity.

"I'd have you sobbing for hours."

"Shaking."

"Begging."

His tongue flicked out, wetting his lips.

"Bet you'd sound real pretty, too."

"Fuck it."

Eun-jae had had enough.

He was done.

Mentally, emotionally, spiritually depleted.

This bastard needed to be put in his place.

Before his own brain could stop him, he grabbed a handful of peppermint leaves—fresh, sharp, deadly in the right hands—and with a single, swift movement—

SLAPPED Caesar straight across the face.

The sound echoed.

A crisp, sharp crack that sliced through the heavy steam, leaving the air stunned, silent, breathless.

Caesar's head snapped to the side.

His hair fell over his face, strands sticking to his damp skin.

But—

He didn't move.

Didn't flinch.

Didn't say a word.

Just sat there, unblinking, like a statue.

Like something inhuman.

Eun-jae's stomach plummeted.

"Oops."

The word barely had time to settle in his brain before—

Everything flipped.

A blur of movement.

A hand—cold, fast, unforgiving.

And then—impact.

Eun-jae hit the wall.

Hard.

His breath ripped from his lungs, his body colliding with the wooden panels with a force that sent a violent shockwave through his spine.

He barely had time to process the pain before he realized—

Caesar was standing over him.

And he wasn't smiling.

Not smirking, not teasing, not looking at him with that usual, arrogant amusement.

No.

His expression was blank.

Cold.

Dead.

Like the kind of face you see right before you die.

Eun-jae's throat tightened.

The air around him suddenly felt thick, suffocating, pressing into his skin like an invisible weight.

And then—

It hit him.

The pheromones.

Thick, overwhelming, choking.

It crashed down on him like a tidal wave, coiling around his lungs, slipping beneath his skin, forcing every nerve in his body to react.

It was dominant.

Predatory.

Like a lion circling its prey, like something primordial and ancient, something that had no concept of mercy.

Eun-jae gasped, his entire body flooded with adrenaline, every instinct screaming at him to run.

"Shit, shit, shit—"

Because this—

This wasn't teasing.

This wasn't a joke.

This was the side of Caesar that people didn't live to talk about.

The part of him that enjoyed the kill.

That took pleasure in watching his victims break.

The part of him that didn't just end lives—

He played with them.

Danced with them.

Like a painter perfecting his final masterpiece, like a composer conducting his grand finale, like a god who had grown bored of his creations and decided to burn them all down.

Eun-jae's breathing turned shallow, his pulse hammering so hard he could hear it in his ears.

"Fuck."

This was bad.

This was really fucking bad.

The air between them was still thick, stifling, weighed down by heat and something far more dangerous.

Eun-jae barely had a second to breathe, to regain his balance, before he caught Caesar's gaze dipping lower—

Right to his ass.

A slow, deliberate smirk curled onto the bastard's lips, and then—

A shift.

A silent, subtle movement—like a predator positioning itself before the final lunge.

His towel.

It slipped.

Dropped.

Fell.

And suddenly—

Caesar was bare, unapologetically so, unashamed in a way that made Eun-jae's entire system short-circuit.

Nope.

Not today.

Absolutely the fuck not.

Before this menace of a man could press in closer, before he could do whatever filthy, unspeakable things were flashing in his eyes, Eun-jae snapped into action.

He shoved him—hard.

Then, without thinking, he grabbed Caesar's wrist, twisted it in a practiced motion, and with a grunt of effort—

Threw him.

Like a Fucking.

Sack of potatoes.

Caesar's body hit the floor, his breath whooshing out as he landed in a disheveled heap of bare limbs and bruised ego.

Silence.

Only the sound of Eun-jae panting, his heart pounding violently against his ribs, his entire body trembling from the sudden surge of adrenaline.

His chest heaved.

His hands shook.

He was still staring down at Caesar, eyes wide, waiting—because he knew.

He knew this man.

He knew exactly what came next.

And then—

Caesar blinked.

Once.

Twice.

And then—

He fucking burst into laughter.

Deep, unrestrained, unbothered laughter that echoed through the sauna, that made Eun-jae's blood boil with irritation.

"You—" Caesar wheezed, still laughing, wiping a tear from his eye, "You fight like a fucking Bombay cat—"

Another laugh.

"You know? The tiny ones? Always hissing, always acting like they're the biggest thing in the room when they're just—"

He gestured vaguely, a smirk curling on his lips.

"—adorably pathetic."

Eun-jae's eye twitched.

Oh, this bastard—

This absolute menace to society—

Eun-jae inhaled sharply, forcibly reining himself in, then bent down, snatching the towel off the floor and wrapping it back around his waist with a dramatic flair.

The second he stood upright, Caesar tilted his head, still grinning like a devil.

"What now?" He drawled, voice laced with mock amusement. "Gonna tell mommy?"

Eun-jae didn't hesitate.

"Yeah."

He held Caesar's gaze, unflinching, defiant, then smirked.

"I'm gonna tell her you tried to harass me you piece of shit."

And before Caesar could react—

Eun-jae flipped him off.

Right there.

Right in his smug, insufferable, devilishly handsome face.

Then, with as much dignity as he could muster, he turned on his heel and walked out, not looking back, not giving this insufferable bastard the satisfaction of seeing his face again.

Caesar just—

Laughed.

Again.

Laughed so hard he had to clutch his stomach, his amusement ringing loud and clear in the humid air, his body still sprawled out on the sauna floor like he didn't just get his ass handed to him.

He watched Eun-jae leave, his grin stretching wider.

"Oh, Eun-jae—" he murmured to himself, his voice dipped in something dark, something promising.

"This is going to be so much fun."

Eun-jae stalked down the corridor, fast but not too fast, because running would only make things worse.

His heart hammered in his chest, his pulse still not fully recovered from whatever the hell that sauna incident was. He swallowed hard, his throat dry like he'd just inhaled a handful of desert sand. His footsteps echoed lightly against the marble floors, a rhythmic tap, tap, tap, the only sound in the dimly lit hall—aside from the laughter.

That laughter.

Low. Amused. Sinister.

Like a cat toying with its food before the kill.

Eun-jae's fingers twitched at his sides, his muscles coiled tight with tension. That could have ended bad, he thought, lips pressed into a thin line. Real bad.

Because he had seen that face before.

That wasn't the face of a teammate. That wasn't the face of someone who would show mercy, even if Eun-jae was his so-called partner. No—that was the face of a predator.

That was the face of a man who enjoyed the hunt.

A man who didn't just kill—he played with his food first.

And Eun-jae had no fucking intention of being on the menu.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, forcing himself to focus. He needed to wrap this mission up quickly. Get in, get out. Go home. Far, far away from this psychopath and his questionably sized everything.

But his mind, the traitorous thing, spiraled anyway.

Because Caesar didn't just kill people.

He loved it.

It wasn't a job to him—it was art.

Eun-jae had seen it with his own eyes: the way Caesar's fingers would flex around a blade, the way he'd tilt his head, eyes half-lidded, like he was admiring a particularly beautiful sunset—except instead of watching the sky change colors, he was watching the light drain from someone's eyes.

He always started slow. Always played with them first, like a cat batting around a dying mouse.

He'd whisper things—terrible things.

"Did you know a body can stay conscious for up to ten seconds after a clean beheading?"

"I wonder if you'll use that time to regret pissing me off."

Eun-jae had seen the way his eyes lit up when he delivered the final blow. That soft little shudder in his breath, like it was something intimate. Something pleasurable.

It wasn't the rush of combat that got him excited.

It was the ending. The stillness. The way he'd step back and admire his work like a painter admiring the final brushstroke of his masterpiece.

And the worst part?

It was never just business for Caesar.

Sometimes, he killed for fun.

For boredom.

For curiosity.

"I wonder how long someone can stay conscious with a punctured lung before they drown in their own blood."

"Do you think slicing an artery feels like cutting silk? Let's find out."

And the laugh—

That low, satisfied chuckle, like a man who just took the first sip of his favorite whiskey after a long day.

Like a man who was completely and utterly at peace.

Eun-jae shook his head furiously, trying to banish the images from his mind. His grip tightened. He needed to focus.

One more mission. Just one more. Then he was out.

Away from Caesar.

Away from that laugh.

And hopefully—

Away from the terrifying realization that, somewhere deep inside him…

A small, small part of him didn't entirely hate it.

Eun-jae sat at the small wooden table, his body clad in nothing but a pair of loose boxers, his bare legs stretched out as he lazily poked at the plate of food in front of him. The meal—some kind of Russian dish he could no longer stand the sight of—sat untouched, a victim of his boredom. He stirred the food around with his fork, dragging it across the plate like a child playing with his meal instead of eating it.

God, he was sick of this.

Sour. Salty. Greasy.

Where was the spice? The heat? The comfort?

Eun-jae let out an exaggerated groan, tilting his head back dramatically as if he were about to die from sheer culinary misery.

"I miss my ramen," he whined internally, pushing the food away like it had personally offended him.

And then—

He smelled it.

The air suddenly shifted, carrying a scent so rich, so warm, so unmistakably Korean that it hit Eun-jae like a slap to the face.

His entire body froze.

His ears twitched.

His eyes snapped open so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash.

No—wait.

That scent.

That heavenly, holy, mouthwatering scent.

Ramen.

The kind that made your stomach curl in hunger just from the aroma alone.

The kind that made you want to grab the bowl with both hands, close your eyes, and drown in pure, spicy bliss.

Where?

Who?

How?!

His head jerked toward the source—

And then—

SHALALAAA.

There he stood.

Caesar.

Holding a steaming bowl of ramen.

Smirking like the absolute devil he was.

Eun-jae swore he could hear the dramatic background music playing—the kind Korean aunties would hum when the hero finally gets what they deserve.

His mouth watered instantly.

His stomach growled violently.

Forgetting all pride, all dignity, all survival instincts, Eun-jae jolted up so fast his chair nearly toppled over.

His eyes locked onto the bowl, his body tense, his muscles ready to pounce like a starved cat who just spotted a helpless little mouse.

Caesar chuckled, tilting his head slightly, amused at the sheer desperation in Eun-jae's face.

"A certain Korean couple gave me some when I told them I had a Korean friend with me here," Caesar said, his voice too smug, too knowing, like he was fully aware of the power he held in his hands.

Eun-jae's brain short-circuited.

"Where—how—"

At this point, he wasn't sure he could even speak English, Korean, or any human language.

His body moved before his mind could even process it.

Like a rabid animal, he lunged forward, hands outstretched, ready to snatch the bowl and devour its contents like a madman.

But—

Caesar, the absolute menace that he was, simply lifted the bowl—just out of reach.

Eun-jae jumped.

Caesar lifted it higher.

Eun-jae jumped again.