Anton was blessed by the gods—he seemed to be kissed by some sort of ephemeral glow, bathed in a resplendent light that made his cerulean eyes just more obvious; and his lips were the same shade as Snow White's were imagined to be. Briefly, Y/n wondered when the poisoned apple would touch it.

It was no wonder he had everyone worshiping him. And everyone was constantly rushing to do his errands. Y/n suspected Anton took some kind of twisted delight in watching the people he viewed as ants as so submissive, so easy to manipulate and bend to his will. In fact, Anton probably had some sort of visceral fear of people turning against him, but it was something that wouldn't happen.

[ New Quest: Help the village
Rewards: 500 points/ Level up to level 3
Citizen's trust
Spin ]

....500 points? Leveling up just after he advanced to level two? Certainly, the quest would be of a certain difficulty.

"We don't have enough people to cleanse the village," Mills said, "we need helping hands. It's a good thing you offered....Y/n." The way he said his name was almost in a rush—like he was eager to get the bitter words out in his mouth, lest God hear him mutter the name of a liar...a sinner.

"And by cleanse..." Y/n hadn't really thought of it. He had some vague memory of heading in the village when he actually played the game, but other than that?

"You'll see when you get there." Mills said in clipped, rigid tones. It was clear he didn't like to associate with someone like Y/n. The way he said it—the tone—almost reminded him of his parent's rather dysfunctional relationship, where his father's work was punctuated with a long line of mistresses, people whose identities were blurred, and their words sensual and with meaning. They were divorced, and for a small moment, Y/n contemplated if "breaking the rules of marriage" was also considered a sin.

Living for a few weeks or so—Y/n had lost all concept of time—begged the real question: truly, what wasn't a crime? Even breathing seemed to make you condemned.

"Father Anton is wonderful, isn't he? Human made ephemeral, and ephemera made human."

"Right." Y/n lied. Hell, even the guys? What kind of regimen were they in?

"More like some guy with a god complex..." Y/n muttered under his breath. In fact, priests were even wealthy enough to be on par with royalty. They lived a remarkably lavish lifestyle, from the divine food they got to eat, drenched in luxurious seasonings and sauces—the one time Y/n ate a small bite, the food had practically melted on his tongue. The temple was considered a sacred place, and Y/n supposed in some ways, it was good. It meant you could choose who you wanted to see, unlike the busy empire where people littered your life, popping up from every crevice and gap.

"We're here." Mills told Y/n, his voice in breathy wonder and in a reverent tone, "oh, do you think that if I pull this off ...Father Anton will praise me?"

They arrived at the village. It was a quaint location, surrounded by lush trees and beautiful greenery. However, it was awfully eerie—there was no one in sight. If Y/n strained his ears, he could hear small whisperings—and he knew the tone. He knew the tone very well: the shivery slivers, the tremor of the bottom lip, the trembling of fingers.

Y/n glanced at Mills's peculiar motions. Mills's actions were like a hunter preparing to hunt prey: from the slow, deliberate movement and the way he took out a branch, then strange words flowed from his lips.

Cleansing. Fear. Branch. Magic.

"Oh, god no..." Y/n whispered under his breath, stopping in his steps. "Heavens, they are not—they are not planning to—"

"Let there be fire," Mills commanded, and it would have been breathtaking and spellbinding to witness such a majestic, fiery display of power if not for the underlying intention: to burn. To cleanse. To kill the village.

"You are not planning to kill all of them, right?" Y/n said desperately, "surely, doesn't the lord above want us—want us to spare people? To be kind? To be—"

He halted in horror as he watched the once lush greenery be swallowed up by the flames, licks of fire destroying the once beautiful village. If there was a eerie silence earlier, now it was utterly consumed by ear shattering screams, despaired shrieks, and the loud smattering of footsteps.

How ironic. Y/n never believed in god, but he found himself muttering prayers under his breath, quick and low. The fire ravaged. The fire killed.

"The fire cleansed the people." Mills struck his hands together, "oh, Father, you have granted us freedom and the power to strike against evil..."

"What did you do?" Y/n abandoned all caution, "what did they do to warrant this? You killed them."

"The village was a hell of people," Mills explained, "but at least, it's not a hell of people you love. They rebelled against his word."

"Whose word? God?"

"Father Anton's." Mills looked at Y/n strangely, "this is our mission to the priest. The esteemed, blessed messenger hailing from the heavens."

So you view them as interchangeable? People who can be switched on a whim? You think God is...Father Anton?

"He told you to do this?" Y/n asked in a strangled voice.

"Oh, yes he did." Mills narrowed his eyes. "You are a foolish, naive believer—now quick. Come help. There are still people alive." He passed Y/n a blade. "The latest you can do is to get rid of them—I prefer the word cleanse."

I don't want to.

I don't want to.

Funny, isn't it? All his life, Y/n regarded himself as rather morally gray. He remembered the listlessness his mother had when she cooked for him—she would take a singular bite of the delicious meal she made, and would then pop a cigarette in her mouth. Her eyes would follow Y/n's movements when he ate the food until he couldn't eat any more—and when he was full, if there was food on the table, his mother would make an angry exclamation: eat, child! Do you know how much I sacrificed for you?

Her body, her mind, her freedom. She sacrificed that much for him. She wasn't stupid: she knew of Y/n's father's frivolous behavior, but she worshiped him. She adored him. Yet hatred bubbled within her—some sort of homicidal rage. She would say it sometimes: that she was born with a howling soul that was a bottomless void—nothing could fill it. She told Y/n he was a product of a consummation they didn't want: yet it was clear she hung on because of her twisted obsession, her mindless love. Y/n grew immune to it—to the blind devotion one could harbor—which was why he grew accustomed fast to the cult-like behavior of the church. Yet somehow, something so irrevocably human was beckoning at him—to save, not to kill.

He had always turned a blind eye to people. He was worse off, Y/n would convince himself.

But this was different. The fucking church was crazy.

"H-Help me," A voice gasped out, and Y/n whirled around, "please don't kill me..."

Y/n's heart ached at the sight of a young, dirtied boy beneath the debris. He had sustained minor injuries, but was still alive and breathing.

"That is the cleanest way to proceed. Their ashes tumble away, and it makes it much easier for the people, too. If we were to use magic, or beheading, or even hanging—it would be much messier, no? And I believe fire is such an awfully beautiful thing. It can make death look inviting; and even though the heavens might cast them away...in hell, all they will see is the fiery pits. This is their punishment. To feel sorry for them is strange, Y/n."

But he did. He felt sorry for them. A wave of pity towards the people who didn't deserve their cruel fates: for what? 'Rebelling' against the church? Living their goddamn own lives?

Y/n halted.

The quest. The fucking quest.

He still had to level up.

He was acutely aware this game was tearing away his humanity; bit by bit. Forcing him to become a mindless cog in the system: forcing him to worship Anton. That smooth, cruel, horrible, man.

The one who orchestrated this.

"Shit," Y/n whispered under his breath, "fuck this. I'll talk myself out of this." He ran towards the little boy, grabbed him tightly—and tumbled into the bushes. His chest heaved and dirt and sweat dripped from his cheek as he clutched the little bit.

"A-Ah..."

"I won't hurt you," Y/n promised.

"But I committed a sin," A sharp whimper escaped from his throat—muffled sobs choking him, "I committed a sin. Mama told me. I wanted to be like Liam. He moved to the Church."

"You didn't commit any sin," Y/n hissed, "it's the fucking Church."

"But Liam—"

"Who the hell is Liam?"

Wait. That name sounded vaguely familiar. If Y/n wasn't wrong, that name was in a very brief NPC interaction...

A very twisted interaction.

[ "Look," The child pointed innocently to a small, black badge pinned on his uniform, "this is my badge. I got it for being a good citizen. The teacher said I'm a role model. To my classmates." He spoke in clipped tones.

<Name> managed a tight smile.

"Where are your parents? I've come to deliver the posters and news."

"They're traitors. To the church, to our belief." He stared at <Name>, unrelenting, "so I turned them in. The church cleansed them. That's how I got the badge. ]

Y/n shuddered. He looked down at the kid.

"What's your name?"

"Lucas," He mumbled back.

"Don't you worry about Liam," Y/n swallowed, "you wouldn't want to be him anyways."

"But he's safe, he's a good citizen. And I—I—"

"Listen," Y/n interrupted, "I usually hate kids, so I'm doing you a favor."

"....Favour?"

"You'll be safe, with me." Y/n told him, "don't worry about it. I'll save you."

Y/n could only hope it wouldn't be an empty promise.

—

"He took in a kid?" Anton raised an eyebrow, "how surprising..."

The man before him bowed, nodding his head. "I agree, Father Anton—he took in a sinner! Harboring a sinner is a crime in itself! It's horrible—we should—"

"You're too noisy in the presence of god," Anton said loftily, his blue eyes looking down condescendingly at the man, "must I punish you too?"

"I..." The man immediately shut up, and Anton turned around, a soft smile playing on his lips.

Saving someone. Was that not benevolent? The people who didn't even oppose his intentionally horrible method..those were the wolf on sheep's clothing.

"That's what I thought," Anton said softly, "it must be him. It is him..."

A devil! The devil! That's what you are! His mother's words had pierced through him once. You're Satan's son. I bore no wretch like you.

(Beautiful tyrant! Fiend Angelical! Dove-feather'd raven!)

"Your words are false, Mother." Anton said aloud, a calm look on his face. His hands touched the book of readings lightly, laughing in quiet disdain.

Y/n. A new believer. Those were always welcomed. Anton flipped the book, a slight smile resting on his lips. Of course, God's oracle is always right. A new person from a different world that will make ripples in our society. Our dirtied, horrid, broken society...he is the one we need to destroy the palace.

All he had to do was slowly teach him the ways of this new world. It was funny, seeing how utterly clueless Y/n was.

Divine.

Anton would morph and turn Y/n into someone splendid; someone utterly divine.