PAST

Y/n remembered bright pain.

Sizzling hot, fiery heat that raked down his spine, past his bones, into his flesh. Blood spilled onto the floor, his breaths were punched out brutally, his tears fell quickly and easily.

"Please don't hurt her," He begged, "don't hurt Ally. She didn't do anything," His voice cracked, "and I didn't do anything."

His father. The monster in his household towered over them, a cane in his hands. It was a whip, with the way it slashed onto the fragility of Y/n's skin, and the way it took a few seconds before the pain registered; before the pain exploded.

So many lines. So many crimson lines dotted on his skin, bleeding out vibrant colors. They had cast him to black and white, yet all he did now was bleed red.

"Why did you take the money?" He thundered. "You stole, Y/n, you stole from us."

I was hungry. I didn't eat for two days. S/n was about to collapse. We were starving.

"I'm sorry," He croaked out.

"Stealing is a horrible thing, you know." His father snarled. His anger then was even hotter than the sweltering summer that made sweat drip down Y/n's face. But with the tears that rolled down his face, he could no longer distinguish which was which. His battered form was crouched, crumbled, holding his little sister in his hands.

It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts.

"I was hungry." Y/n heard a voice from the side. His sister had spoken, attempting to take the blame for herself.

Y/n's father's words were fading. His body felt too small, too weak in front of such a large person like his father. He was convinced he would never make it out alive. Maybe this would be his deathbed. He imagined his name on the several gravestones he saw before, on the barren ground, crowded with bushes and abandoned.

Voices seemed to ricochet back and forth. His mother and father, Y/n realized, fighting, fighting, fighting. They always fought.

"Hungry! Hungry! We feed you. We waste everything on you two," His father said in disbelief, and Y/n didn't see, but felt the burning pain that erupted when the cane touched his skin.

"I'm so sorry," He repeated hoarsely, his tone weak and dehydrated, "I'm sorry, Father."

"Are you really sorry? Or is it another excuse? Is it just another excuse?"

Y/n wanted to die. He wanted to escape this hell, he wanted to leave.

As he grew up, he learnt to forget that emotion he had felt, but now Y/n felt it tenfold.

The desperate, defeating feeling of panic.

The feeling of wanting to escape.

It was all there.

PRESENT

Y/n heard of Helen's death.

Can you believe it? The words were soft. The words were malicious, mocking. Can you believe such a loyal believer died? Oh gosh, I heard she was a traitor...

How many of those voices were sentient? Y/n couldn't help but think. Maybe there was some soul buried beneath that cruel, rough veneer that was calling for help, just like Helen. Perhaps some were also trapped in this game, but could not speak for fear of meeting the same fate.

Their connection had been short-lived. Terribly painful.

Y/n had lost another person. Another friend.

"There's a new child believer," He heard in the service room, "it seems like she ran away from home, and ended up here. Will she be punished, I wonder? Like Helen?"

"Maybe she'll be killed."

"Ooh, yes. Burnt."

.

.

"Will it be painful? Will it hurt?"

Helen closed her eyes. "I suppose being burnt will be painful."

Y/n didn't even want to imagine it. The flames licking Helen's skin, tearing at her flesh until only brittle bones were left, charred and scorched. Until the broken smile on her lips disappeared, until she was gone.

"Where is she now?"

"The confession room, I think...? She was wandering around. I don't think Father Anton took any notice of her. Now it's just Y/n, Y/n, Y/n...and the girl...I think her name was Sara, or something. She was so weird! Saying something like huh, where am I? And what are quests? kind of thing. Then she mentioned Spiraling into the Abyss..."

Y/n jolted up.

The game.

The little girl mentioned the game!

The girl was like him!

He didn't vote for the gossiping woman, but instead rushed over. By now, Y/n had memorized the route of the confession room: thirteen steps to the left, fourteen to the right, twelve steps to the left...

As he approached, he could hear a soft voice from within.

The girl called Sara, that they had mentioned. Another one who had transmigrated into the game.

Her tone was confused, fearful.

"This has to be a joke, right? I can't remember how I got here. Fuck, it can't be right? This is a dream. Transmigration—"

That voice sounded familiar. It sounded awfully similar.

"I was hungry."

Oh.

Oh!

His sister from the previous world? How could it be?

How was it possible? The tone—the cadence—was unmistakably his sister, whom Y/n had thought he had abandoned in his previous world. If she was here, it meant she had been dragged here unwillingly.

It...

.

.

.

Meant that she was here to fulfill a purpose to help him escape. That she would never be able to escape on her own.

.

.

.

Y/n immediately swung the door open. The sight that greeted him was surreal and heart wrenching—his breaths got choked in his throat, and he had to blink away the tears that had to form in his eyes.

Y/n didn't know why, and how his sister looked exactly the same, just...younger. A child. And unlike Y/n, it seemed her name had changed.

Another case of Helen.

"...Ally." He whispered, "oh my god. Oh my god. Is that—is it you?" Y/n's words were inelegant and they rushed out from his mouth.

There were so many answers. So many answers that Y/n could get. What happened to his original body? What happened to—

Sara's eyes widened, mirroring the shock in Y/n's.

"Brother...?"

Brother.

It had been so long since he—

Y/n rushed forward, enveloping his sister in a tight hug. However, it was a painful realization. That Sara, or Ally, didn't know that she would never be able to escape. That the hands she was holding was of a murderer's. That this world was a nightmare.

"You disappeared for so long," Sara whispered, her voice cracking, "you...you disappeared. I even called the police, then when I checked your house...your room..."

"You came here."

"Yes!" Sara said hysterically, "this isn't real, right? I don't really play this game, but I've seen you play this enough times to know what's happening. This is a horror game. They mentioned—Y/n, they mentioned deaths. People die here!"

Y/n didn't flinch.

Perhaps he should have, for Sara quickly faltered.

"Don't tell me..."

"It is common." Y/n said bitterly. "It is very common, unfortunately. Deaths," he clarified when he saw the look of horror descend upon her face, "burning."

Maybe Sara saw Y/n's face—how weeks, months of his time has morphed him into the unexplainable person he was now. Was there insanity in his eyes? Was there a clear madness in his expression that his sister had grown aware of? That his sister had seen?

Did his sister see the monster that he had become? The murderer? But truly, was he a monster, or just a victim of his circumstances? Which was him?

"How long," Sara demanded, recoiling. Her hand covered her mouth to stifle a scream, "how long have you been here?"

"I don't know."

"You were only gone for a day in our world, in our world," Sara repeated, trembling, "what the fuck is this world? It's just a game. We can leave. We can leave, Y/n." She babbled on and on.

Y/n steeled himself.

You can't.

You'll die for my sake, and I'll grieve your death.

He was more heartbroken than anything at the thought of his younger sister dying here, than being here without him. Her very presence meant that—

"It's not a game." Y/n said coldly, closing his eyes.

A distance. A gap. He had to put a gap between his sister and him here to make the pain less intense.

It seemed like this became a repeated pattern. For every person he met, he was already...

Y/n was already mourning the loss of people that were still alive. It was strange, to be haunted by someone that was still alive.

He wanted so desperately to be capable of loving, capable of being loving. Lucas was one of them. And even then, if Y/n cleared the ten levels, where would it leave his child? His sweet, sweet child?

"We're trapped here." He said flatly. "Yes, we have transmigrated into a game...but you cannot view it as one. You can die."

"You weren't like this before." Sara murmured.

I know. Y/n gritted his teeth, don't even remind me.

"You expected me to stay the same in these conditions? To cling to my sanity?" Y/n cut back at her, tone vicious. Before he even realized, his voice was raised, his tone harsh, "what, because you're in the body of a child now, you expect me to baby you? Your naivety makes me sick."

Sara flinched, like she had been scalded. Her eyes burnt with unshed tears, and Y/n couldn't escape the guilt that clawed his insides. But guilt had become so common in these circumstances. Guilt was becoming an emotion that Y/n was used to.

"I don't want to lose you too." Sara swallowed.

Y/n's jaw tightened.

"I...I don't want you to become so cold."

"You try living here," Y/n scoffed. "Stay clear from me, Sara."

"You don't call me by my real name anymore."

"I tried. I tried to embrace my role, my name. Because if I clinged on to my past, I would get more desperate. I would get reminded of what I had in the past."

"Because that's not your name here."

"We need to hold onto who we are, don't we?" Sara argued. "Look at what happened to you. You're being all horrible, cruel, you're acting just like our parents!"

Y/n froze. His eyes bore into Sara's, the glare burning into her face.

"...Our parents." He repeated listlessly.

Our parents?

"You're likening me to them?"

Sara looked like she regretted it, but she continued. She continued.

"You used to protect me from them. You used to, Y/n. So why—"

"You're telling me something that doesn't exist here. We don't have parents here. Names, identities, they mean nothing."

"We can find a way out together. We can be each other's lifeline. We can help—we can escape," Sara stumbled over her words. "Please. We can—we can cling onto each other's sanity here, together."

Her hands reached out.

Y/n tore his hand away from her, creating a distance.

"Too late."

Lucas. He already had Lucas. Sticking together would kill them. The only way they could ever survive here was to be alone. The only way they could protect each other was to stay apart.

"What? I don't get it. I don't get it." Sara mumbled on and on, "but—but it's easy, isn't it? All we have to do is get on the priest's good graces, then—"

"Hah," Y/n chuckled. Then he dissolved into maniacal laughter, a crazed smile forming on his lips. "Oh, isn't this hilarious?"

"...What's so funny?"

Y/n's laughter slowly subsided, and it morphed into a subtle kind of hollowness. It was almost like he was becoming a void; it was scary of how he had gotten so normalized to the horrors of this world, and slight fear, that if he ever returned, he would never be able to act normal again.

There had been anger at first. At no one in particular—at the gods for bringing his sister here, at his sister for her foolish naivety, at the person he was becoming. But then it settled into sadness. Despair. A mellow, soft sadness—droopy and sinister.

...Like their parents, huh.

"...How stupid," He said softly, "you think there's an easy way out of this."

I'll have to watch you die.

"I thought if we played along with the priest—what's his name—Anton, then..."

Y/n heard the sound of footsteps.

There.

"See for yourself. If that worked."

"What are you talking about—"

"Ah. Y/n," Anton smiled, "you seem to be having quite the conversation with our newcomer here."

Y/n's gaze shifted towards the priest, swallowing.

"Father Anton..." Sara greeted nervously, attempting to compose herself. Y/n noted how she stared at the man in disbelief, at his angelic features, his presence, his—

Y/n could see how the singular thought flitted in Sara's mind: maybe he's not as bad as I thought. But that quickly crushed down.

"A sinner," Anton told Sara coldly, "what are you doing here with Y/n?"

"I, um, what...?"

"Tainting him with your presence," Anton whispered, yet his voice dripped with so much venom it sent shivers down Y/n's spine. The priest's fascination with him was evident, there was a disturbing intensity in his eyes, an apparent, dark, obsessive desire.

.

.

"See for yourself. If that worked."

.

.

Sara's breath hitched. Surely Y/n did not mean—

"I...I didn't know," Sara stammered, "I don't understand." Her attempts to reason with the priest were met with an icy glare.

"Y/n, my dear," Anton's smile widened. "Tell her what he discussed before. About sinners. Even if it's a child...ah. Seems like only Lucas is the exception."

Y/n hesitated. The hold on him tightened.

"You're a sinner. You corrupt the church."

Sara's eyes widened in disbelief. "Surely, you are not...I haven't done anything wrong!"

"It's not about what I believe." Y/n closed his eyes. "You're a threat."

You're my sister.

"How obedient," Anton said sweetly, his voice soft and a purr, "you are getting so obedient, Y/n. So understanding." Y/n felt Anton's fingers touch his face, turning his face towards him.

"Wait, Father Anton—"

"Shh," Anton soothed, "just..." His eyes followed Sara. Almost like he knew. Like he knew she wasn't a child, like he knew who she actually was.

Anton pressed his lips onto Y/n. It started off gentle, prodding, but became more ravaging, more aggressive. Y/n's chest heaved. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe.

When they finally let go, Y/n stumbled onto the floor, panting and panting. Blood trickled to the floor—

Anton had even bitten his lip. What the hell?

Sara's eyes were wide. Y/n tried to push himself up, but it was like being at the hands of his parents' all over again. Helpless, despairing, pained. The trail of kisses down his neck, the searing touch that sent chills, instead of heat, crawling down his spine.

Anton nipped his ear. The action was painful—and Y/n let out a small hiss.

"Y/n, what—what did he do to you?" Sara trembled, "what is wrong with you?"

"Just a mark," Anton smiled, "a symbol of his undying loyalty. To me."

Y/n's lips instinctively went to his bleeding lip, sickening realization settling in.

Anton leaned forward.

"Your sister is really different from you," He whispered.

.

.

.

He knew.

How did he know?

When did he realize?

Since the start?

If God was helping him, was the devil Anton?

Was he the devil?

.

.

.

The blood on his lips. Belonging to him.

It tainted him.

"You can't—you know he's the enemy...Y/n," Sara cries out desperately, "this isn't the route—this isn't what I meant—"

Shut up! Y/n wanted to scream.

"Go away." He said instead, his voice strangled. Humiliated, torn, in pieces.

Sara didn't need to be told twice.

She scrambled away, not even casting a look at Y/n. Her brother, like she claimed. Perhaps they had been siblings in their past life. Perhaps Y/n had protected her from their parents.

But now he was becoming like them.

So how was Y/n supposed to protect her from himself?

I guess life just doesn't get better. There are a bit of parallels in this story, and we for Anton knowing Sara's real identity, I'll leave it up to you to theorise! This was really fun to write and the whole time all I could think about was "dang. if he's evil, why is he so hot?" because of the art.] linked it again in case some people didn't see it.] anyways, back to the story. you can see y/n is really spiraling into the abyss here LMAO he started off nice with his sister before he just got annoyed and stressed out. this is also to show how he looks like from a "outsider's" point of view and to highlight just how much he changed. this was pretty hard to write—in fact, safe to say, every chapter after this will be extremely hard to write, thirteen more chapters to the finish line, seventeen done!