She's dead.

She's fucking dead.

Anton killed her.

No. I killed her. With my heart, with my words, with my actions.

Y/n stared into nothingness. He stared at the charred wall of the confessions room, watching as the dots in his vision twisted and turned, turning into ugly, mottled spots. Yet he couldn't turn his eyes away, or even blink—every movement he made right now would be made aware by Anton. Every movement right now could change the game...

The game...

For a while, he regarded this whole cruel trick played on him simply as a game. It placed the situation in him into a box labeled as an illusion, but now the death of his sister—his blood sister—had forced him to truly realize...

This was his life.

He could very well be trapped here and watch as the world around him burns. Watch as flesh melted, bones fell in a pile of ashes, skin dried. Watch as the world all just crashed into a beautiful tragedy. Because wasn't this world just a tragic play? People died so easily here—morality was lost, lives were..

Ally, a silent scream erupted from Y/n, along with the muffled sobs that shook his body, my sister. My sister. My sister.

It was at this time where Y/n would remember bouts of his past: how he had so desperately tried to escape from the hellish household and had escaped. He had been so relieved, so elated then—so why the fuck did the divine entities above decide to ruin that newfound happiness and freedom he had by tossing him into another hell?

"You're crying," Anton said tonelessly, "was she really that important to you?"

He spoke of her like he was another sacrifice. Another stepping stone to whatever goal he seemingly had.

[ Congrats! You have leveled to level seven! You have gained XP for gaining the trust of Father Anton! You have gained another access to an ancient scroll, use with care! ]

Do you even think I care now? Y/n glared angrily at the notification through his blurred vision, why the fuck would I even care about levelling up with my fucking sister just died?

"She was," Y/n spat, "she was, Father Anton."

For a second, Anton's expression froze.

Y/n flinched.

But it soon morphed back into its usual calm, serene expression; before he took in Y/n's hatred fueled gaze and...

Smiled. He smiled, like he was amused.

Was this bastard seriously...!

"I suppose you're angry." Anton chuckled, "well. Don't you feel like you have been liberated? It was her choice. She spoke to me, I spoke to her. I heard her decision. It was my job as a priest. My job as who I am."

You're nothing but a monster.

"A priest doesn't murder people," Y/n choked out, "he doesn't, he doesn't, he doesn't," He repeated, lips turning into a crazed smile, "how about you burn me? Murder me. Kill me. I don't fucking care any more."

Kill me, someone, Y/n thought desperately, even the rumored hell in the Bible will not even compare to where I am. Y/n would rather burn than watch the place around him burn.

"You know we can't have that," Anton said fondly, "aren't you just ambitious?" A hand rubbed on Y/n's cheek and the (h/c)-haired male glowered.

"You killed my sister. You killed countless people before that. Countless. You are nothing but a sick, twisted bastard."

Anton paused, tilting his head.

"A bastard?"

"Yes," Y/n continued, seething, "a fucking bastard with no concept of morals whatsoever, no—"

"I suppose that's the fitting turn for someone who was the child of a mistress," He hummed. "That's all my mother ever was: a mistress. A bed warmer...it's strange, I remember all of those whom I have purified. Yet I do not remember her. I remember very little about her."

"I don't care about your mother."

"Why would you?" Anton chuckled, a sound devoid of mirth, "she's irrelevant to you."

"How can you even stand here and stomach everything that you have done so far? How can you even cast away the feelings of guilt? Do you have no emotions whatsoever?"

"Guilt is a human emotion. I don't think I'm that low, am I? You must be tired."

Anton brought Y/n closer to him, his fingers lightly touching the back of Y/n's head. He placed a chaste kiss on his forehead.

"You're a monster," Y/n said in a daze—really, was nothing he was saying even getting through him?—"heartless," His voice cracked, "all of this people—killed—"

"I will not cleanse Lucas," Anton mused. "Why do so many people have the fascination of labeling things?" His fingers grazed upon Y/n's face, "Monster, priest, savior. I am all and none of those things. Sacrifices are necessary for us."

His tone was detached, distant. "So many people have called me that. So many. Especially all those who have been helped and cleansed by me," He murmured, "after some time, those words lose their weight. Which is why I purified you, and why I didn't cleanse you."

Y/n was reminded of the aching pain on his body.

"You're twisted," He swallowed, "you're nothing but twisted."

"You're lucky," Anton replied, the corners of his smile curling into a small smirk, "you can go on spitting such words at me, but I will never ever get angry at you. Never. You can try; but why would one bite the hand someone that fed you? You don't understand—how much you saved me. How you lifted me up from the pits of hell."

And you don't understand how you made me descend and spiral to hell.

"...You..."

"Your perspective is trapped in the confines of morality. The very notion of hell is subjective. This world we are in is my salvation. You are my salvation," Anton smiled. "Do you know now? Are you even trying to understand?"

The (h/c)-haired man's anger flared anew. I don't. I don't get why you killed all those people.

I don't get—

"Salvation?" Y/n broke down again, feeling himself tremble as the smell of putrid smoke reached his nostrils and reminded him all over again of the death, of the fire, of the burning—

"You call this salvation? Murdering and sacrificing innocent lives?"

"You said you were eager to learn. You wanted to learn. But it seems you only see a fragmented piece. I witnessed the masterpiece—tell me, Y/n, which do you want? You will always be in my favor, despite whatever notion you have in mind—so you have two choices. You can rebel, like you are doing now, or you can simply submit, like you were doing so awfully well." His eyes gleamed with an eerie fervor as he caressed Y/n's cheek. "Where did all that obedience go? All that sweetness? I should have gotten rid of her sooner, if it meant that you wouldn't kick up such a mighty fuss."

"You like this," Y/n realized, "you love the idea of me slipping up, me needing your fucking ideals to even survive—"

"Why would you die?" Anton mused, his voice soft, "no, Y/n. I will be keeping you alive no matter what. Don't, not for one second, think you will die."

"You like this." Y/n felt his body shiver at Anton's touch, "how viscerally twisted do you have to be to like this?"

"I do. Isn't all this simply the genesis of creation? All these things I call grandeur, yet you label it as madness? I took such pains to change you; but it looks like you're slowly..." He hummed.

"Actually, on second thought..."

Y/n swallowed.

"Lucas." Anton said listlessly, "I liked that child, but if you continue in such a way, then..."

Anton paused, taking in the sudden look of horror and desperation of Y/n's face. Oh, yes—he had liked that child—his mannerisms were similar to Y/n's, except he was still impressionable and was rather adorable with his admiration for the (h/c)-haired male—but in the end, wasn't he a great tool for Y/n to bend to his knees? Y/n had taken him so wonderfully that night, and Anton had witnessed the delicate curve of his spine, the way it arched so beautifully, the way Y/n had finally been purified under his touch, under his kiss...and if he reverted back, wouldn't that be horrible?

Anton started to laugh. Laugh.

"No," Y/n started to shake his head immediately. "Leave that child alone. I will—"

"You will what?" Anton said between chuckles, smiling.

Dread clamped around Y/n's heart. No, no, no. Anton did not meant that—

"You love him, don't you?" Anton sighed. "You admired his naivety. The admiration of innocence is intoxicating, but it is fleeting. The corrupted soul craves a more profound submission. Say it, Y/n, which route will you take?"

"I'll listen," Y/n choked out.

"You will listen?"

"Yes, Father Anton..." Y/n looked away, desperately casting the image of Lucas—his Lucas, his child—burning away like his sister had...

Oh gods. It made him sick.

It was enough for that tiny rebellious spark to be smashed down completely; enough for him to take in that his sister was dead, the game was his reality, and that... "I'll do whatever you want. Leave him alone."

"How delightful."

"Don't harm him," Y/n's voice trembled with desperation, "please. I beg you. I'll do whatever you want. Spare him."

Anton tilted his head, an inscrutable smile playing in his lips.

"Submission suits you better, my dear."

Y/n didn't know how it would be possible to spiral more than he already had.

—

[ Check the scroll for information? ]
[ Y E S ]

Something. Y/n just needed something for him to break out of this game...

Something. Something. Something. Something, something.

[ Did you know? Dark magic has a primal form that requires human sacrifices. The use of such magic has been banned in the Imperial Kingdom since XXX XXX XXX, but it seems such magic has been on the rise lately.]

Y/n blinked.

What?

Human...sacrifices...

Wait. Wait. Dark magic needed human sacrifices? Wasn't Anton constantly killing people and using them as sacrifices? And the burning, the way the whole fucking room had worked almost like there had been magic—

The Imperial army and the church were constantly at odds.

The Imperial Kingdom banned dark magic.

The Church, however...

What was the true nature of these sacrifices? What if it was not meant to appease a god—a non-existent god who didn't even seem to look or even pity his plight—but to fuel a darker, more sinister magic?

Then did that mean Anton was constantly going dark magic? Was he even aware of it, or did his killings slowly turn into sacrifices for power, power he wasn't even aware was dark magic?

What was Anton actually doing?

Who was he actually?

What was his purpose?

Why did he have to kill everyone? Was it for this purpose?

"Father," Lucas frowned, "your clothes are sooty..."

"..." Y/n didn't reply, and instead hugged his child. He had remembered the last moments that he had truly talked to Ally—the way her warmth was fleeting, even the words were garbled, fading—

Then she disappeared, like ashes. Would this be the last of...

No.

In the end, why did he even lash out at Father Anton? Why did he even put Lucas at risk?

...Why had he tried resisting Father Anton, again?

It was better for Y/n to just sit still for now and to follow the priest's orders like a dog.

.

.

not a very interesting chapter, sorry about that! [MC snaps and there some show of Anton's thoughts and the last tidbit at the end!] mainly gearing up for the next chapter which will Anton's backstory! but would appreciate if you could comment for motivation !! <3