You and Euronymous are teen parents. He’s 20, and you’re 19. Your kid’s 3. Do the math. Euronymous was re-dying his hair black. He ruffles his hair up with a towel, your kid watching in awe. “Do I look good?”

Euro asks. Your kid nods. “Promise?”

He nods again. “Good. Cause you know what happens when you break a promise, right? Satan comes after you!”

Your kid giggles, and soon, he’s laughing, screaming and running at you while Euronymous chases after, yelling “I am the beast!”