the seraphim paradox

Eun-jae turned his head towards the voice, his vision sharpening as he took in the man standing by the window. A familiar figure—one he had seen before, but only in fragments of a distorted memory. The man leaned against crutches, his posture tense but exuding an air of unbothered confidence. He was limping slightly, but his sharp eyes held no weakness.

'He looks familiar… The same man from the photo… the one I mistook for Bes.'

"Who are you?" Eun-jae finally asked, his voice hoarse, throat raw like he had been screaming in his sleep.

The man smirked, as if amused by the question. "It's about time you asked."

He stepped closer, his movements slow but deliberate, his eyes never leaving Eun-jae's. "Your partner, obviously."

Eun-jae frowned, his mind racing, trying to put the pieces together. "Then why didn't you show yourself earlier?"

The man let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. "Was there even time for that? You were practically holding hands with that bastard himself. Tell me, how was I supposed to approach you?"

A sharp pang of realization hit Eun-jae like a slap to the face. His heart pounded against his ribs. The memories came rushing back—Caesar's taunting smirk, the grip around his throat, the chilling whisper in his ear.

His chest tightened.

Sergey's voice cut through his thoughts. "And every time I found you, what did you do?" His gaze darkened. "You almost killed me. How was I supposed to show myself when you were so eager to put a bullet through my head?"

Eun-jae stiffened.

"You must have forgotten when you tried drowning and choking me," Sergey continued, his tone carrying a hint of dry amusement laced with bitterness. "I almost died, by the way. In case you care."

Eun-jae exhaled sharply. Guilt settled like lead in his stomach.

"I know. I'm sorry… I had my reasons."

Sergey scoffed, crossing his arms. "Oh, you had your reasons? That makes it all better, huh?"

Eun-jae sighed, dragging a hand down his face. "I know it sounds like an excuse… I should've recognized you sooner." His voice was quiet, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. "I sincerely apologize."

Sergey studied him for a long moment, then let out a humorless laugh. "That's it? An apology? After making me rot in a hospital bed for days?" He leaned in slightly, his smirk returning. "Your apology feels very… deceiving."

Eun-jae clenched his jaw, swallowing back his frustration. He shifted uncomfortably in the bed, his muscles screaming in protest. His gaze flickered to Sergey, then away, before finally settling on him again.

"If beating me up would make you accept my apology…" He exhaled, shifting to sit up properly despite the sharp ache in his ribs. "Then fine. I'll take it."

Sergey blinked. "Huh?"

Eun-jae forced himself to meet Sergey's gaze, his body tense, bracing himself for whatever came next. "If you want to hit me, go ahead."

Sergey's brow twitched in mild disbelief before he let out a deep, frustrated sigh. "As much as I'd love to take you up on that, I think I'll pass." He motioned towards Eun-jae's bruised, battered state. "You already look like shit."

Eun-jae let out a bitter laugh under his breath. "You and I—who looks worse?" He scoffed.

Do I really look that awful?' He could only imagine—bruises, cuts, dark circles under his eyes, his body weakened to the point where even sitting up felt like a battle. But at least he was alive.

For now.

A sharp realization struck Eun-jae like a lightning bolt, searing through his mind and sending a jolt of raw panic coursing through his veins. His breath hitched, his chest tightening with an almost suffocating weight as his gaze shot downward, locking onto his wrist. His fingers trembled—hesitation laced through every movement—as he slowly, almost fearfully, lifted his fractured arm into his line of sight.

"Come to think of it…" The thought buzzed in his skull like an unrelenting mosquito, a persistent hum gnawing at his consciousness, refusing to be ignored. His heartbeat surged, a rapid and chaotic rhythm hammering against his ribs. The eerie sensation crept up his spine, cold fingers of unease wrapping around his throat, squeezing just enough to make him shudder. Something felt off. Deeply, terribly off.

His mind spun as fragmented memories—or were they memories?—slammed into him like waves against jagged rocks. A sharp, blinding pain. The sensation of something tearing, slicing through flesh and bone with cruel precision. The unbearable coldness of exposed nerves. The sheer agony, searing hot and merciless, swallowing him whole. The distinct, stomach-churning feeling of his limb being severed.

But now…

His wrist was there. Bandaged, yes. But intact. Whole.

Before he could even begin to process the storm of confusion roaring inside him, Sergey's voice cut through the tense silence like a blunt knife scraping against bone.

"Oh, that? The doctor said it was broken, so they bandaged it up for you. You know, doing their job and all," Sergey said, waving his hand dismissively, as if Eun-jae's moment of sheer horror was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

Eun-jae blinked, his vision unfocused for a moment. Broken?

His pulse pounded against his eardrums, his mind scrambling to make sense of it all. His lips parted, the dryness of his throat making it difficult to push the words out.

"Wait… what?" His voice came out hoarse, barely above a whisper.

Sergey scoffed, arching a brow. "What, did you lose your hearing too?" He sighed, as if this entire exchange was exhausting him. "I said the doctor said it was broken. But it looks like it's better now."

Eun-jae's fingers twitched against the bandages, his stomach twisting into an agonizing knot. His mind played the memory over and over again, like a relentless film reel, forcing him to relive the unbearable sensation of loss. But it wasn't a memory, was it? No… it was something deeper. Something more visceral. It felt too real, too vivid, too detailed to be anything but the truth.

"So… it wasn't cut off?" The words tumbled from his lips, laced with disbelief, his voice foreign even to his own ears. He stared at his wrist as if it were something detached from him—something unfamiliar, something that shouldn't exist.

Sergey let out a short, amused snort. "Why? Were you expecting it to be?" He shook his head, eyes glinting with mild amusement. "Dude, this ain't some mafia movie where they hack off limbs as a warning."

But Eun-jae wasn't laughing.

His lips remained slightly parted, his throat suddenly dry as sandpaper. His body tensed, coiled like a predator waiting to pounce, yet he felt like prey—vulnerable, exposed. The weight of uncertainty pressed heavily on his chest, making each breath feel laborious, each inhale and exhale a conscious effort.

"That's weird…" he muttered, his mind spiraling. He felt it. The sharp, burning agony, the way his body had screamed in protest. He could still hear the phantom echoes of his own tortured voice ringing in his ears. The unbearable coldness of his missing limb. The soul-deep knowledge that something was gone, something was missing.

His stomach churned violently.

It wasn't a hallucination. It wasn't a dream. It happened.

His gaze flickered to Sergey, his heart thudding painfully as he tried to make sense of it all. But before he could voice the chaotic whirlwind of thoughts raging inside him, a different thought struck him.

"Song had his limbs cut off."

The words left his lips before he even realized he had spoken them. His voice was quiet but firm, an anchor amidst the tempest of uncertainty.

Sergey's expression darkened for a brief moment, but he quickly masked it with a sigh, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, he did… But you should be grateful you're still alive and kicking." His tone carried something unreadable—something between exasperation and something far more guarded. "There's no need to be upset over a fractured wrist when—"

Then, he stopped.

Eun-jae frowned.

Sergey was staring at him. Not just staring—studying him.

His gaze was sharp, intense, dissecting. It wasn't an ordinary look; it carried weight, the kind of weight that made Eun-jae's skin crawl. A deep, primal instinct screamed at him to recoil, to put distance between them. He knew that look. He had seen it before. The last time someone looked at him like that…

A slow smirk curled on his lips. He tilted his head slightly, his voice dripping with quiet amusement.

"The last time someone stared at me so intensely…" he began, pausing just long enough to let the words settle in the thick air between them. Then, his smirk widened, his next words a dagger wrapped in silk.

"I plucked their eyes out."

Sergey's lips twitched, as if holding back a laugh. He leaned in slightly, the flicker of amusement in his eyes darkening into something else.

"Your scent," he murmured, his voice taking on an unfamiliar edge. His nostrils flared slightly, as if inhaling deeply. "Your pheromones… They're really strong."

Eun-jae's amusement evaporated instantly.

"What?" His brows furrowed, his heartbeat lurching painfully in his chest. He felt the icy fingers of unease curl around his spine, digging their claws in deep.

"I don't have pheromones," he said sharply, his voice edged with something close to panic.

Sergey tilted his head, scrutinizing him. "Tone it down a little."

A sickening feeling coiled in Eun-jae's gut, twisting tighter with each passing second. What the hell was Sergey talking about?

"Huh?" He scoffed, shaking his head as if trying to shake off the growing dread creeping into his bones. "You're mistaken. I don't have pheromones."

Sergey raised an eyebrow, skepticism written all over his face. "Oh, really?" His voice was laced with quiet amusement. "I'm an Alpha. I know what I'm sensing. And it's coming from—"

"Stop."

Eun-jae's voice was razor-sharp, cutting through the air like a blade. His hands clenched the bedsheets so tightly his knuckles turned white. His jaw tightened, his dark eyes burning with an unyielding resolve.

"I'm not an Omega. And I never will be." He spat the words out, as if the very notion was poison on his tongue.

Silence.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then, Sergey leaned back, exhaling through his nose.

"Maybe it was the scent of an Omega nurse or something," Eun-jae muttered, grasping at any semblance of logic. Trying to convince himself more than Sergey. "Maybe it was just really strong."

Sergey's gaze didn't waver.

Eun-jae could feel it—the unspoken doubt thick in the air, hanging between them like a storm about to break.

And for some reason, that made his blood run cold.

Eun-jae's head throbbed, a dull ache spreading from the base of his skull to his temples, the pain relentless as if someone had driven a wedge into his brain and twisted it. Every breath he took felt like it carried the weight of a thousand unanswered questions, each one heavier than the last. His body was sluggish, every muscle aching with exhaustion, yet his mind refused to settle. There was too much to process, too many gaps in his memory that made the world around him feel unreal, like a fractured dream that didn't quite piece together.

His fingers curled slightly against the stiff hospital blanket, feeling the cool fabric beneath his fingertips. It grounded him for just a fleeting moment, a desperate attempt to tether himself to something tangible in a world that suddenly felt so foreign. He was alive. That much he knew. But why? How? He should have died. He was sure of it.

Then, his lips parted, the words tumbling out before he could second-guess them. His voice was rough, hoarse from disuse, yet steady despite the uncertainty curling in his gut.

"Anyway... how did you find me?"

Sergey, who had been leaning against the chair beside the bed, crossed his arms over his broad chest, his posture relaxed yet exuding an undercurrent of tension. He exhaled through his nose, a slow and measured breath, his expression unreadable. Gone was his usual smirk, that ever-present amusement that danced in his eyes. Instead, his gaze was steady, almost too steady, as if he were calculating how much truth to reveal.

"There was a call," Sergey said simply.

Eun-jae's brows furrowed. A call? From who? His mind immediately conjured an image—Caesar. The man who had injected something into his neck. The man who had smirked down at him as if he were nothing more than a plaything, a pet barely worth his attention. The memory was sharp, searing, the phantom sensation of cold metal against his skin making his stomach churn. Could it have been him? No. It didn't make sense. Caesar wasn't the type to leave things to chance. If he wanted Eun-jae dead, he would have ensured it. And if he wanted him alive... that thought alone sent a fresh wave of unease crawling down his spine.

Sergey continued, his tone more serious now, devoid of its usual flippancy. "According to the agents who found you, they saw some of the Karpov-Troitsky men lurking around. They followed them and found you by the Amur River."

The Amur River.

Cold. Dark. Unforgiving.

The mere mention of it sent a phantom chill crawling up Eun-jae's spine. He could almost feel it again—the bone-deep cold seeping into his skin, the crushing weight of the water closing over his body, the way his limbs had refused to obey him as exhaustion dragged him under. His lungs had burned, screaming for air, for relief, but all he had found was darkness. The memory resurfaced in sharp fragments—the sensation of sinking, the deafening silence beneath the water, the way his heartbeat had slowed, thudding in his ears like a funeral drum.

And yet, somehow, he was here. Alive.

"The doctor said if you weren't found in time, you would've been dead," Sergey added, his voice quieter this time.

Eun-jae's fingers twitched.

He should have died. He should be dead. But instead, fate—or something far crueler—had decided to drag him back from the edge. And for what?

A second chance? No. That wasn't what this was.

This was a mistake.

His lips curled upward, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smirk. But there was nothing warm about it. No relief. No gratitude. Just something dark, something razor-sharp curling beneath the surface.

You made a mistake by leaving me alive.

Caesar had let him live. That meant something. It had to. And Eun-jae would figure out why. And when he did... when he finally had answers...

Eun-jae reached up, his fingers ghosting over his neck—the exact spot where the needle had pierced his skin. The memory came flooding back in a sickening wave. The cold press of the metal. The slow, deliberate push of liquid seeping into his veins. The way his body had gone weak, his limbs betraying him as Caesar's amused gaze bore into him. The bastard had watched. Had waited. As if savoring the moment. As if claiming something.

Something ugly twisted in Eun-jae's gut.

His fingers pressed harder against the skin.

"So... does that mean the Havoc-9 didn't work?" he murmured.

Sergey's head snapped up. His brows drew together in confusion. "The what?"

"Havoc-9." Eun-jae's voice was sharper now. There was an edge to it, a quiet intensity that even Sergey seemed to pick up on.

Sergey's jaw clenched slightly, his fingers tapping against his bicep as he processed the name. "Who told you that?" he asked, his voice a fraction tighter than before.

"Caesar."

Silence.

The reaction was immediate. Sergey straightened, his entire demeanor shifting. The relaxed posture was gone, replaced by something rigid, something bordering on dangerous. His nostrils flared slightly, as if the very name left a bad taste in his mouth.

"Who?" Sergey's voice was lower now, dangerously controlled. "Caesar? That devil?"

Eun-jae blinked at the sudden hostility, his mind trying to dissect the shift in Sergey's expression. He had expected some reaction, but this... this was different.

Sergey scoffed, running a hand down his face before shaking his head. "I'm talking about your partner, Tsesarion Yevpraksiya Radzivonovich Karpov-Troitsky."

Eun-jae's breath hitched slightly.

That name. That absurdly long, weighted name. Sergey had spoken it with absolute clarity, each syllable laced with something heavy, something undeniable.

"Caesar, really?" Sergey continued with a bitter chuckle. "I doubt people even call him that."

Eun-jae's brows drew together.

Nickname?

The word felt foreign, wrong. It didn't fit. It didn't make sense. He suddenly felt like a thread had been pulled, unraveling something he hadn't even realized was tightly wound. His mind raced, sifting through every interaction, every glance, every smirk. The way Caesar carried himself—no, not Caesar. Yevpraksiya. The way he spoke with absolute control, the way he had toyed with Eun-jae as if he were some insignificant piece on a chessboard.

It all fit.

And yet, it didn't.

"But Caesar—" Eun-jae started, only for the words to die on his tongue.

Sergey's sharp gaze cut into him, filled with something unreadable.

Everything started clicking.