3. Jinyoung: Limbo

Jinyoung hadn't considered how much the Limboites would be able to get done without having to take daily breaks to sleep, so he was somewhat amazed when he returned to the main floor to find Jaebum completely cleaned up and awake from the slumped over, half asleep fresh soul he'd been a few hours ago. Youngjae had dressed him in the preferred uniform of Limbo workers (a loose periwinkle blue shirt and gray slacks) and trimmed back his hair so it was no longer in his eyes. He looked so good that Jinyoung was almost disappointed that there was practically zero chance of him becoming a Seraph once he finally made it to Heaven. He was the kind of person who would really suit white wings in a visual sense.

“From now on, Im Jaebum is going to be my right-hand man,” Youngjae announced, patting Jaebum on the shoulder. “I need to keep him close by so none of you kidnap him.”

“We're not going to kidnap him,” Jinyoung grumbled.

“I'd like to see you try,” Jaebum shot back, lifting an eyebrow. “It looks like we kept our strength from when we were alive, and I'm pretty sure I'm not dreaming the part where I had to haul myself up to the second floor on my own to rescue those girls in the burning building.”

“Don't worry, it won't come to that,” Youngjae said brightly. “Along with being the Median, I'm also a very renowned guard dog. Just call me Youngjae-puppy.”

Jaebum ruffled Youngjae's hair and Youngjae gave a cute little bark in response.

Jinyoung stared at them. The Median had seemed pretty intimidating the day before, and now he was like this?

Youngjae noticed Jinyoung's baffled stare and smiled. “Look, most of the people here have just gone from being alive to being dead and in charge of a stack of paperwork for the next fifty to three hundred years. They need an upbeat leader who's good for morale. That's why I was elected. To keep people happy and motivated on one hand, and to calmly deal with Seraphim and Demonkin like you two without being pushed around on the other.”

Jinyoung wished the Ace took a similar attitude to their jobs, but according to them, living in the Elysian Fields was motivation enough on its own and they didn't really need to do anything extra to raise morale in Heaven. After all, what did a Seraph have to be unhappy about?

“Anyways,” Youngjae continued, “if you're going to be here, I can't have you two just sitting around all the time. I'm afraid I'm going to have to put you to work.”

“Doing record keeping?” Mark asked.

“We have a steady stream of workers for that. I actually had another idea.” He pointed upwards to the domed ceiling of the record room. “I've always found this building to be beautiful, but that up there is a complete waste of potential. A blank canvas like that should be used, shouldn't it? I was thinking we could fill that area with paintings of the three afterworlds—Heaven, Hell, and Limbo.”

“And you want us to paint it?”

“There isn't a ladder high enough in Limbo to reach the dome, but you two have your wings.”

“You're assuming we're Michelangelo level painters.”

“True. But I thought death increased one's artistic sense. Why else are all angels automatically good singers and all demons have a taste for beautiful gothic clothing? You could at least give it a try.”

“It's not like you have anything better to do,” Jaebum pointed out.

“I'd rather sleep the hundred years away,” Mark muttered.

“Tough,” Youngjae said with a smile. “Limbo isn't for relaxing. Besides, it will probably be fun. I for one wouldn't mind getting to fly around all day on pretty wings, but I don't have any. Why don't you go up there and scope it out?”

“Won't we be distracting all your workers?” Jinyoung asked, waving to the rows and rows of scribes listing their neat rows of statistics. “I don't think many of them have seen real angels and demons before.”

“Don't worry. Their eyes are pretty much glued to their work unless I blow the whistle for designated break time. Go right ahead.”

Jinyoung and Mark looked at each other and shrugged. Jinyoung didn't want to seem overeager, but he certainly felt like he could stretch out his wings after the long day he'd just gotten through. It wouldn't be the same without the gentle breezes of Heaven caressing his feathers, but it was better than nothing.

Gently, so as not to disturb all the parchment in the room, he launched upwards. The bookshelves surrounding them were so tall that it felt like he followed them for miles before they ended in the dome ceiling. It was strange to think that a record of every life that had ever existed was available in this room. Even his own was stored here somewhere on these shelves, detailing his tragically short existence. Died at 21, ascended to Heaven, transformed into a holy Seraph in service of Holy Yunaria of the Ace of Angels. He doubted there would be anything else of note. He'd lived a good and generous life, but he'd never done anything heroic or heartbreakingly selfless while he was still alive.

Finally, he reached the top of the ceiling. It was a plain gray, with nothing else carved or designed into it. Boring. Maybe livening it up wouldn't be so bad.

Mark reached the ceiling after him. “It would be pretty cool to be in charge of representing Hell here,” he said, brushing his fingers against the ceiling. “If the Hyde Club was in charge of this, they'd make Hell look all edgy and gothic. If I'm doing it, at least it'll be accurate.”

“So what is Hell like?”

“Not really edgy. And not really all that gothic either, considering all the fire makes it almost blindingly bright.” Mark considered. “It's massive and covered in fire pits, with the occasional outcropping or volcanic rock for us to rest our wings on. There's a black palace in the center where The Corrupted One reigns with the Hyde Club, but that's best avoided. Really, other than the part where we have to listen to our sins and dwell on our failures, the most hellish thing about it is how boring it is there. Unless the Hyde Club puts you on assignment, there's nothing to do but be miserable.”

“Does The Corrupted One ever come out of his palace?”

Mark shook his head. “I've never seen it happen. I'm not even sure what he's actually supposed to look like.” He lazily circled around Jinyoung. “What about Heaven?”

“The main part is called the Elysian Fields. It's lovely. Tall waves of grass, constant sunshine, warm breezes, hundreds of sweet smelling flowers, and little streams winding through the fields. Our palace is pure white and filled with several open-air courtyards where the Ace receives visitors. Wherever your favorite place in the world was on Earth, Elysian Fields somehow reminds you of it.”

“And what did you do there?”

“Give tours and enjoy nice, long slumbers in the grasses.”

“And...?”

“And? Sing, I suppose. There's no sound in existence more beautiful than a choir of angels.”

“I'm sure it would be beautiful. But did you really not do anything else?” Mark looked somewhat disappointed. “I knew Heaven would be beautiful, but I thought it would be filled with more things to keep you occupied. Do you at least make friends with the other Seraphim?”

Jinyoung frowned. He'd never really considered it before, but he didn't have any friends in Heaven. He liked singing with the angels, but they usually scattered off to do their own thing once they finished. Yunaria was the angel he was in contact with the most, but he couldn't say that they got along well considering their strict boss-subordinate relationship. Connecting with others just didn't seem worthwhile anymore. They were already dead and had left their old lives behind, and their new lives weren't interesting enough to discuss together. They all pretty much did the same things—fly, sing, work, and sleep.

“No,” he said finally. “You just find solitude for your own soul in Heaven.”

“Well, you do that in Hell, too, just that the solitude's negative,” Mark said. “Maybe passing on is the only liberating decision.”

“I never found the Earth to be that great.”

“Maybe not, but there were options back there. A lot of them. It doesn't seem like we have too many of those anymore.” Mark gave the wall a little pat. “So, are we going to do this project or not?”

Jinyoung shrugged. “Why not? We don't have anything else to do.”

To Jinyoung's surprise, they both weren't half bad at painting. On the left side of the room, Mark slowly started piecing together a world of vibrant red and orange with trailing black smoke so thick Jinyoung felt like he could almost smell it tickling against his nose. On the right side, Jinyoung got to work forming the golden grasses of the Elysian Fields. Strangely, drawing them didn't make him as homesick as he thought it might. They were pretty memories, but he didn't really miss them. Somehow, life in Limbo felt comfortable enough to satisfy him. It was its own kind of peaceful here, and the presence of the demon gave things a level of interest Heaven hadn't had.

When they needed a break from painting—they often timed it along with Youngjae's whistle below, since the note managed to echo loudly through the whole room and still reach them—the two of them would sit down on one of the bookshelves and look down on all the activity going on below. It was amazing how much the Limboites got done while barely making any noise. Jinyoung himself felt disruptive just by talking to Mark in a low voice, even though they were too far away to be heard.

“If you don't mind me asking, how long have you been dead?” Mark asked.

“Twenty-one years,” Jinyoung replied. “Just as many years as I'd lived in the first place.”

“Same. It's been twenty-one years for me, too. We died in the same year.”

Mark didn't volunteer how he'd died, and Jinyoung didn't ask. Those details could be sensitive, depending on the person.

“What was your life like?” Mark asked. “You look elegant.”

“The white wings probably leave that impression.”

Mark shook his head. “No, it's everything about you. If I had to guess, you were the son of a rich family. But you weren't greedy in the slightest, and everyone really admired you. You volunteered a lot and donated money and helped abandoned animals on the street. You were good at music, too... a pianist, maybe? And a straight A student. Everything you touched turned to gold.”

Jinyoung sighed. “Not everyone who makes it to Heaven is like that, you know? Some of us just don't live long enough to do anything bad.”

“Twenty-one years is more than enough time. Trust me.”

“For some of us. I lived in a quiet village in the country. Everyone did their share of the work and had their share of ups and downs. In between helping out around the farm and going to school, I didn't have a whole lot of time for myself. The time I did have, I put into studying. I'd wanted to go to college, but in the end, those plans wound up falling through.” Jinyoung shrugged. “Really, there was nothing particularly stand out that I did with my life. I just lived quietly enough not to have any damning sins, and that was my grand ticket into Heaven. If I'd lived longer, who knows what I would have become?”

Mark nodded. “Still, you might not think much of it, but twenty-one years is a long time to live without any damning sins. Living a quiet life isn't so bad sometimes.”

“It definitely prepared me for all the excitement of the afterworld,” Jinyoung said dryly. “Now it's my turn. My guess is that you were a death metal guitarist who wrote songs invoking Satan. You were honored for the chance to go to Hell and become Demonkin, but were sadly disappointed that there were no electric guitars or rock and roll after death.”

Mark grinned. “Wow, you're good. You even have a sense of humor. I wasn't expecting that.”

“No need to insult me.”

“I'm complimenting you. We're trained in Hell to believe all Seraphim have a stick up their collective asses. Besides, like I said, you seem dignified. And also like you would murder me if I got within two steps of you.”

“As long as you aren't planning on corrupting me, we've got no quarrel for now.” Jinyoung looked him up and down. He wasn't really sure there was anything to decipher about Mark's life from how he looked. There was the bleached hair, but it didn't look rebellious on him, just pretty. All the black clothes were standard for demons and probably not a stylistic choice on his part. He'd done something bad enough to send him to Hell, but he didn't seem unkind or cruel. Jinyoung remembered him saying something about a soul staining sin which he didn't consider to be a damnable offense, but he had no guesses as to what that could be.

“I see that look in your eyes,” Mark said knowingly. “You're trying to figure out what turned me into a demon. Here's a clue. I'm very good at manipulating people.”

“So you make them do the things you want?”

“Not exactly.” All of a sudden, he reached out to grab a strand of Jinyoung's hair. Jinyoung almost jerked back, his body instantly flooding with the fear of being tainted, but he reminded himself sternly that Mark had said it was all a myth. He didn't want to seem like a coward, so he let Mark slowly ease a hand into his hair.

“I don't know about making people do things,” Mark continued. “But there are other ways to influence them. Do you know how much the body responds to verbal cues, even on the inside? I can talk about being stabbed and how it feels when a knife slices into your skin, and your arm will start to throb. And better than that. With a few words, I can make heat rush through someone's body. My voice can make someone's heart start to pound so much that their head is full of its thudding. Even with my hand here instead of there-” he Jinyoung's hair- “I can move it in such a way that it sends shivers down that person's spine.” He leaned into Jinyoung's cheek, his breath tickling it. “Just like you're feeling shivers right now.”

This time, Jinyoung really did leap away from him, his body as strangely flushed and pounding as Mark had suggested. “You! You were some kind of creepy seducer on Earth, weren't you! You tricked people into sleeping with you!”

Mark simply laughed. “No, what gave you that idea? That was the one thing I wasn't marked down for when I saw my file in Limbo. For a Seraph, you sure have your mind in the gutter, Jinyoung.”

He flew back up to the ceiling, cackling, while Jinyoung sputtered in indignation. Demons really were bad influences with a rotten sense of humor, he thought. No wonder they weren't supposed to associate with the pure Seraphim.

He took a deep breath, steadying his nerves before flying back up to the ceiling. Even if the demon had been playing a joke on him, it had worked all too well. He'd have to be more careful in the future so he wouldn't come across as this foolish again.