His plan was risky. Ridiculous, to some. For starters, seducing was a learned art—a talent that only a few could master. And secondly, seducing a priest who most likely had taken a vow of celibacy was laughable.

But this was Anton. A small part of Y/n believed that Anton had deluded himself to think what was doing was rational, when it was the very opposite. Clearly, he didn't have a firm line between good and evil, and Y/n was going to use that to his utmost advantage. Y/n could be called stupid—desperate for death, even. But he had seen the looks Anton had given him, and he wasn't a stranger to those.

Hunger. Longing. Bordering on lust. Y/n wasn't sure just what made Anton attracted to him—whether it was something pure derived from good intentions, or something more...twisted like being pleased by his misery. But Y/n was going to bet on the latter—and if Anton wanted a show, he would give a show. It didn't matter what he did. Kisses, a small, fleeting touch or two, being completely pillant and obedient to whatever he did...

As long as Lucas wasn't hurt in any way, the plan would go on.

Now the second obstacle: Helen. The sister that was standing before him right now.

"I heard you impressed Father Anton," She smiled, "that must have been hard work. He's not an easy person to impress, that man. Did you confess your sins, like I told you?"

It took all the willpower in Y/n's body to manage a tight lipped smile. Too happy, and Sister Helen would say it was mocking. Too little, and Sister Helen would remark that he didn't truly embrace the presence of God. With her, it was all about finding delicate balance in mundane, little things.

"Of course. Your advice was splendid."

Balance. His words didn't need to be too thick, lest it would look like he was carrying favor. Yet she soaked in praise. She seeked praise. And Y/n would give it to her.

"Mills didn't listen to him," Sister Helen shook her head, her face blended with illy disguised pleasure and tainted sorrow, "and his fate was dire."

Mills? Y/n hadn't heard from him in a very long time.

"....What happened to him?"

Did Y/n want to know? One part of him shut his eyes, closed his ears off. Another part of him itched—yearned to hear that terrible fate that was sure to have bestowed upon him. What was his sin? Opposing Y/n? Which begged a deeper, more sinister question: why was Anton so adamant of being so possessive over him? Did it stem from a savior complex, or was there a deeper meaning lying beneath it? The scroll he had obtained in level three...

"He died. Brutally slaughtered, but Father Anton ordered his remains to be delivered elsewhere. His blood."

The white roses were stained with someone's blood. Someone's blood..

.

.

"They starved me the last time," Mills shook his head, "you have to listen to them."

.

.

And now they killed him. By right, Mills didn't exactly do anything wrong. Yes, he was morally corrupt...but he was loyal to the church. And if even a loyal church member could be slaughtered so brutally and used so cruelly, then that confirmed Y/n's theory that Anton did see people as replaceable tools. So it wouldn't just require blind obedience to him that would open his twisted heart, but advances.

"I suppose he deserved it." Y/n did not mean those words, but he had to turn Sister Helen to his side.

"I supposed he did," Her words were almost in surprise. "You have learnt a lot, haven't you? Good job. I have some herbal tea that might help." She lifted the pot she was carrying, and a familiar scent wafted to Y/n's nostrils. It was pleasant, of course...but..

"What flower did you make it from?" Y/n asked pleasantly. His heart hammered against his chest.

"Lilies." She replied, lifting some bright, purple flowers from her attire pockets, "I made it especially for you, after all the hard work you put in."

Hah.

Hah! Y/n wanted to burst out laughing in hysterics. Especially for him. No wonder!

Those flowers were the exact same as the poisonous lilies he currently had in his inventory. He was lucky. If Y/n had not obtained that item...

He would have been a dead man by now.

Not accepting is also a sin.

So Y/n took the pot with a blandly polite smile. "Thank you," He said graciously, his words weak and his heart heavy, "if so, I'll be on my way..."

"Hold on," Helen cut in, "the child. Lucas, right? I want to see him."

Y/n stopped dead in his tracks.

"You want to see Lucas?"

"Correct. Is that too much to ask?" Her words held a warning tone. Will you dare to ask, Y/n L/n? Will you dare to defy me? The answer was no. Y/n was eager to not offend her, lest his death came premature.

But Lucas—

"He must be tired. I'll let you see him for a bit." Y/n led Sister Helen to his door, opening it gently.

"Lucas, a visitor is here."

"Lucas, you must bear in mind that everyone around us are enemies," Y/n said quietly, after Lucas was tucked into bed, "I will say these words: a visitor is here—and you are to be on your best behavior. I will have no doubt people will visit us. And by behavior, I mean the behavior that you show to the people of the Church. Remember what I told you?"

"To Praise the Lord fervently."

"Yes. Even if you do not believe in him."

"Is that how you survived?"

Y/n missed his forehead, pulling the blankets up higher. "It is how I will survive," He confirmed, "now go to sleep, little one. Goodnight, my dear child."

"Good night, Father Y/n."

Lucas scampered out, his eyes wide and his face was the very picture of innocence.

"Yes, Father Y/n?"

"We have a visitor." Lucas's eyes looked inquiringly at Y/n, and Y/n nodded his head.

"My name is Nora—it's Helen," Sister Helen introduced herself, but Y/n quickly caught the slip. She had said a different name: what did that mean? A different alias, perhaps? A dead sister, perhaps? What did it mean...? But he had no time to dwell it over.

"Hello," Lucas introduced himself politely, "it's a pleasure to meet you, honored one from the church."

"I see Y/n has been teaching you well."

"He has," Lucas said fervently, and cast a look at Y/n. Y/n, with mirth, knew that Lucas wasn't referring to the church teachings or service. No, not at all. He was referring to the books Y/n read to him, the arithmetics and basic skills Y/n drilled into his head every night. Lucas loved knowledge: he drank it in like it was water and he was exceptionally bright, making him a delight to teach.

"Hm," Sister Helen pondered over this for a while, "alright then. Oh, Y/n." She turned to him.

"Yes, Sister Helen?"

"There's a basket of bread by the corner. Be a dear and deliver them to Father Anton," She smiled sweetly at him. "He needs those for service."

For service? To poison people, you mean? But Y/n did not argue and merely nodded his head, ruffling Lucas's hair and giving him a small I'll be back later. He grabbed the basket of bread, nodded goodbye at Sister Helen, and started to make his way towards the church. It was soon becoming a sight for sore eyes, with his ornate design and the putrid aura of death. Of fire. Of everything that was morally wrong but made so right with the system. It was a horror game, after all—so death was common and imminent to most. They had no choice but to believe.

To believe in a religion that ate away at their souls.

Y/n walked to the church, heading towards the room that he had once confessed in. It was to no surprise Anton was there, quietly reading. Service had ended about ten minutes ago.

"I was tasked to deliver bread to you," Y/n told Anton, a small smile on his lips, "but now I'm aware service is already over. I quite enjoyed my trip to your home."

"Is that so? I was hoping you would say that," Anton said lightly, "is delivering bread the only reason why you are here, or do you seek me with ulterior motives?"

Observant. Drat. He was observant.

"I wanted to ask you something, Father Anton."

"Speak." Anton tilted his head, and Y/n smirked within when he stalked closer, his hands reaching out to tip Y/n's chin, "is something troubling you, Y/n?"

"Why did you kill Mills?" The words left his mouth quicker than his thoughts had formulated in his head.

"Ah, him." Anton's tone was that of boredom. Like Y/n had asked him a trivial question like what time did you sleep last night? His fingers threaded through the strands of Y/n's hair as he smiled. "Do you happen to worry about him?"

"I was curious about his fate, Father Anton." Y/n angled his face to make his bare skin, uncovered by the white fabric he was forced to wear everyday, more accessible to the priest's line of vision. Seduce and priest were not two words that belonged in the same sentence. But in a world where sin and religion did...

Father Anton's tone became softer; less stilted.

"So you do worry about him." One singular finger stroked Y/n's cheek. More, Y/n thought, more. He wanted more, not because he was attracted to the priest, but because this would be his one way ticket: his highway to heaven. His way to escape, if he gained the priest's affections. If he made use of them.

Some said jealousy was key.

"He was especially sweet to me," Y/h said petulantly, "he helped me. And I heard you killed him."

"I did do that, yes." Anton closed his eyes, before opening them to meet Y/n's, "Why? Does that bother you?"

"I thought you weren't supposed to kill anyone." Naive. Y/n wanted Anton to think he was naive, but it wouldn't be easy. Anton was too smart: too intelligent for his own good. Again, it was said that affections tended to cloud his mind. The fingers stroking his cheek turned to two; and Y/n offered a small smile.

"We call it cleansing. I was getting rid of the evil that surrounded you. He hurt Lucas, no?"

"I heard you ordered it."

"Then you must have heard nonsense." The lie fell through his crimson lips easily enough, "because I was not the one who planned the fire. The ones who instigated it have long been punished."

"The roses," A little bit of confidence ebbed away from Y/n. The roses. Intentions are still murky and unclear.

"The roses," Anton repeated, "did you like my little gift?"

"I answered that question at your home." Y/n closed his eyes. "And yes, I did like it." He had thrown away the roses, but not after burning them. Burning them. How ironic. He made sure to burn them in a place unseen by Lucas lest it brought back some bad memories from him.

Y/n had grown to be affectionate towards the boy: how could anyone not? He was a lively, intelligent, and sweet person at heart.

He only opened his eyes when he felt the cool sensation fade, and the fingers leave his face.

"Then I'll be seeing you soon," Anton whispered.

The last words resounded in Y/n's head and he played it over and over again. Was this a victory, or had Anton seen through him?

Soon, huh? That meant he could live to see another day.