what no FM isn't ending in a few chapters. Kingbird! Don't go around confusing my other readers. idk where you got the idea that I'm ending the story in six chapters. Terrible Things will probably be about as long as FM and 17th, maybe a bit shorter because the story is more direct.

and you can write that fanfic about DiSol and Mali if you want KB, I'd love to see it ouo (also I have a message box on my blog, you can send me messages through there too you know =3=)

also still kinda sick: I'm a booger factory!

On the list of people Desmond needed to sit down and talk to Clay was near the top. The guy hated him because he didn't understand just what Desmond had done. What had Ezio said? Clay said he was the antichrist, and yeah, Desmond wouldn't exactly disagree at this point. But it was so beyond biblical and Clay wasn't the only one Desmond had heard in the past week or so talking softly about it. Normal people, ones who did work in Demeter similar to Hawk and Clay, talking about it. Sometimes they'd steal glances at him.

They also weren't the only ones and he'd heard 'demon' uttered more than once. Which again he didn't exactly blame, since he was dressed all in dark colors and had weird marks on his face that glowed sometimes when he wasn't paying attention. Still he knew where the rumors were starting: Clay. Because Clay apparently believed in that biblical shit. Desmond was getting sick of it, since even some of the officers were wary of him, especially when he tapped into his sixth sense.

Short version; he needed to straighten this shit out with Clay.

Clay was often in one of two places. One was the main war room, staring at the great, holographic, map of the world, or at his station's screen. The other was in one of Demeter's tropical gardens. Apparently he'd acclimated well to the tropical sun and weather incredibly well and liked that weather.

Desmond was waiting for him in his usual garden. Standing in front of a big tree where Clay liked to come, meditate, and do whatever it was he did when he looked far back through his genetic line. He heard Clay approach, but didn't turn or acknowledge him. He knew Clay knew they'd have to talk eventually, but Clay was non confrontational, so he'd never go to Desmond to talk. Meaning he had to be the bigger man and seek Clay out.

"What are you doing here?" Clay asked after a good minute of silence.

Desmond turned slowly, "We need to talk," he said.

"I have nothing to say to you," Clay said.

"Tough shit," Desmond said mercilessly. "We're talking, we can do it here or I'll have Demeter broadcast my voice to you anywhere in the ark. What's your choice?"

Clay scowled at him, but Desmond wouldn't be denied. "Fine," he said, crossing his arms, "Start talking."

"First; hey Clay you look great and not dead," Clay didn't seem amused. "Second, you gotta stop telling people I'm the fucking antichrist."

"Except you are."

"Except I'm fucking not," it was Desmond's turn to scowl. "Do you even know what the antichrist is?"

"Of course, I know what the bible says," Clay rolled his eyes.

Desmond blinked, unimpressed. "The antichrist is the Abraham religions rationalized the story of the stadalla," Desmond said. "Most human religions have a version of the antichrist, as a person, or event. Because the proeathan culture was so strong in our species lives that it became the stories we made up. Their Stars? Roman gods. Important leaders from the proeathan world? Eventually became gods in our religions. The story of the apocalypse, Ragnarok, the antichrist, the end of the Mayan calendar, the coming of the Greek Titans. All stories told to explain one thing; me."

"That seems oftly presumptuous of you," Clay said.

"Except it isn't," Desmond said. "When proeathans left humans had to find new ways to explain things they saw as the knowledge of technology and science faded from the collective memory of a tiny, traumatized and shell shocked, population that remained after the Toba Event. So they became stories and our gods. But there's a common thread through all those stories, all those cultures, like dragons; the end. Or an end I guess," he frowned. "But man you can't go around saying I'm the antichrist people think I'm a fucking demon," he sighed.

"I never said that."

"Antichrist equals demon. And it doesn't help my name is Desmond. You take out two letters you get demon and I know crackpot conspiracy theorists exist out there still."

Clay approached him slowly, "You still rose Atlantis."

"I needed to."

"Why?"

"Its complicated okay."

"No. Why?" Clay pressed.

"I need to get to the arch at its center."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

"My ancestors called you the antichrist."

"Who?"

"Solomon."

"King Solomon?"

"I don't know. I think he might have been older, from the time of the proeathans. But he did call you the antichrist."

Desmond frowned deeply. "Hawk told me you get weird visions and shit. How's that work exactly?"

"Its my unconscious mind trying to communicate with my conscious mind. The shades come strongest after I meditate, and tell me what's been, what I forgot during my trance."

"And they're always right?"

"They've yet to be wrong. One taught me how to fly a numia. Pluto actually."

"You're related to Pluto?"

"So are you," Clay reminded him."

"Right… right," Desmond looked down a moment. "I'm not the antichrist," he said again. "I'm the stadalla."

"Then what's that if not the proeathan word for antichrist?"

"Only through one definition. I had one of the Ilythian scholars spell it out for me, because if they were gonna fucking call me that I might as well know exactly what it was. Think of it more like the Mayan calendar. The end is supposed to be the end of the world. Except its just the end of the era. Like we're in the era of jaguar now or something I don't remember I saw a History doc on it seven years ago," he shrugged. "Regardless. What I'm getting at is that most proeathans choose to define stadalla as 'the end of the world' like most humans define the apocalypse, or the fucking antichrist. But its more like… the in between. Its a transition between two times."

"How else do they define stadalla?"

"Well when you translate it directly into English stadalla is something like," he squinted, making a face, to remember exactly, "they which bring about the epoch's end. Or civilization, depends on the dialects or language. That is exactly what stadalla means."

Clay looked at him then closed his eyes, looking like he was thinking. He kept his eyes closed for five minutes and Desmond let him have his time. "Solomon said that they would bring about the end of civilization as we knew it," he said and opened his eyes. "And then he quoted a line of scripture about the antichrist."

"Didn't you just say that the shades are your unconscious trying to talk to your conscious mind? It was putting it into terms you understood since I'm sure stadalla would have meant literally nothing to you."

"But its still the end."

"Its a middle," Desmond said stubbornly. "The world's not going to end, nothing's going to explode. I won't let it. What I will do is make sure our species is safe. The proeathans destroyed our civilization."

"So what? You're going to destroy theirs?"

"The world ended for humans when the proeathans destroyed our civilization and took everything from us. I'm going to level the playing field."

Clay frowned. "Balance it out," he said.

"That's the plan."

Clay looked thoughtful, "Its weird," he said, "Cain was right, and wrong about you. He said you'd rip the world apart, but you don't want too," Desmond shook his head in agreement.

"Spoilers immortals are wrong a lot," Desmond said.

"But he was right too," Clay said. "I don't know if the others have noticed. Or maybe they don't want to see. But you're different. The guy I saw on Hawke Island that time… that's not you anymore. You're driven now, you got this- this look in your eye. Sometimes it scares me. But you aren't that kid I saw back then; you've grown up."

Desmond sighed in slight frustration, "You sound like my dad."

"Andrew's talked to you?"

"Yeah."

"What'd he say?"

"He said I looked 'like an adult'," and he made finger quotes with both hands. "Asshole."

"He's trying," Clay said and Desmond looked at him, "I've talked to him, and I knew him. He didn't realize really what he did Desmond, to you, to his family. You're the same in that when you see something you just put on blinders and go for it until you get it… or you break it. I know you think he doesn't care-

"He doesn't," Desmond said firmly, "He's the self centered man he's always been."

"He's trying."

"Well its a little too little too late," Desmond snapped. "Maybe he could have tried when I was eight."

"I'm not your enemy," Clay said.

"Ship's sailed, he didn't catch the boat. He can die for all I care." Clay said nothing to that.

"Did you know?" Clay asked, "About Atlantis?"

"What about Atlantis?"

"That it'd be where you had to go?"

"Yes," Desmond said, "all along. Well since I left. The AIs told me. Atlantis has always been their end game. They always meant for you guys to build up the army. But really they don't expect you to do much but be a distraction so I can get through."

"They're going to throw away thousands of lives," Clay said.

"Price we pay."

"Price you'd pay?"

Desmond gave him a level tone, "I already am responsible for six billion deaths, Clay," he said without a shred of guilt, "a few thousand more are just numbers at this point." He couldn't let it consume him. Not like it had before. He'd agonized about it so much, about all that meaningless death he'd unleashed upon humanity.

"What do you need a distraction for?"

"To get to the Unnamed. Its a door. I need to go through it."

"What's on the other side."

"I don't know," Desmond said, "the records of what lies within the Unnamed were lost along with a lot of proeathan records. I just know that that's where the map on my body is pointing to with literally every square inch of skin. So we'll find out when we get there."

"Those AI of yours better be right Desmond," Clay said.

"They are," Desmond said, "I trust them."

"Really?"

"Really. They wouldn't lie to me. They can't lie to me."

"Mmm."

"So, no more saying I'm the antichrist?"

"No," Clay said, "I'll just call you stadalla and make my techs have to ask our new proeathan friends what that means instead."

"You're a real charmer, Clay," Desmond sighed.

"I try," Clay allowed himself a slight smile.

"So we cool now?"

"Sure."

"Thanks," Desmond held out his hand. Clay took it and they shook.

"Give your dad a chance Desmond," Clay said, squeezing his hand when he went to draw away. "I know its been rough between you two, but he doesn't know what to do, he never really did. But he is trying. I promise you that."

"And how would you know that?" Desmond asked, squeezing Clay's hand back.

"Because I'm his conscious," he said, "and I know you won't believe me, but he does care about you."

"Sure he does," and Desmond shortly, yanking his hand away. "Nice talk Clay. I'll see you around," and he walked around Clay, out of the garden and to the lift. He slammed his gloved hand palm open on the directional interface. "Demeter," he said sharply, "take me to the Ilythian training area."

"Yes Desmond. Should I inform Master Vishnu that you're coming?" she asked as the door irised closed

"Yes," he said, violence in his voice.

"Very well. Please watch your emotions Desmond, you're making it difficult," she said and above the light flickered. Desmond could see the glyphs burning so brightly he saw they clearly through his long sleeved shirt.

"Sorry," he said and made them fade, though held onto that drive he felt. He told himself when he first learned his father was here that he wasn't going to let his father affect him. That he was going to ignore him, pretend he wasn't there. It was too little, too late, and Desmond was past needing daddy's approval.

Desmond punched the wall of the lift so hard his knuckles went numb. Angry that that was still a lie.