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"You did the bare minimum." Mills said, "I asked you to cleanse the village, but I heard all you did was save a boy. Do you not care about the purity of our land?"

After the mission was over, Y/n had quickly asked Lucas to hide, but it was for naught. Quickly and swiftly, people had caught sight of him with the boy and had quickly reported it to the higher ups, much to Y/n's dismay. The only thing he could be grateful for was the fact that the items he had attained hadn't been affected.

"He was in danger." Y/n swallowed.

"I knew it," Mills hissed, "I just knew it. You went against Sir Anton's words—you don't have the intention of obeying him anytime soon. I ask you to help cleanse the village; you do the opposite. You save the sinner. Like attracts like, Y/n. I warn you. You be careful on how you act around here; everyone knows you are a wolf in sheep's clothing."

"I'm sorry," Y/n said quietly. The words were a lie. Choosing harsh words and humanity was not a difficult choice to make. In fact, he had to actively choose the good option—always—in order to cling on to the tiny blip of sanity he had left. Whatever coherent thoughts he had in mind had been sunken in a fit of despair and horror. The frightened, horrified screams were still imprinted on his head, etched cruelly in his memory, and dug into the skin of his flesh. Y/n desperately wanted to forget, but his mind would not let him, like a stubborn child.

Mills stared at him. A soft sigh seemed to escape from his lips.

"I am not the one you should be apologizing to," He said curtly, "it must be Father Anton."

But he'll kill me.

"You reap what you sow," Mills narrowed his eyes upon seeing the look of resignation that dawned upon Y/n's face, "you must learn that. Engrave it—burn it in the back of your head." His vindictive smile only grew wider at the choice of words, which made Y/n flinch.

"Where is he?" Y/n tensed.

"I hear that he is at the confessions room," Mills said, "it is not cordial for someone to interrupt in the middle of a confession, but this is urgent."

"Urgent?" Y/n repeated.

"You committed another sin, Y/n." Mills said gravely, "and you know the punishment, don't you? You have to lay your soul bare to Father Anton. Plead. Beg. Ask for forgiveness. That is the only way you can survive." He shook his head. "The last time, I got off lucky."

"What exactly is your definition of lucky?"

"I didn't accept the food the Church gave me, so they starved me," Mills said bluntly, "but now I know. The church offers such wonderful food—unctuous and fragrant and simply drizzled with honey...one must appreciate the things we have."

"They couldn't have starved you." Y/n whispered, voice raspy.

"Right," Mills agreed, "I was let off too easily. For not accepting God's gifts."

Enough. Y/n wanted to suffocate. Goosebumps pricked on his skin, shudders ran down his spine, and the crescent of his fingernails dug into his velvety flesh, letting beads of crimson roll out. I can't go crazy. I can't go crazy. I can't—

"What are you waiting for?" Mills's unnerving eyes looked right through Y/n's distress, "Tardiness is—"

"—a sin," Y/n finished shakily.

He turned around, and ran to the direction of the confessions room.

Y/n's heart beat erratically against his heart, as he opened the door.

—

"Oh, hello there, Y/n." Anton smiled gently at him. He made a picturesque sight—standing next to the window with the sunlight filtering through, his golden strands of hair—almost like fine threads of gold—glistening in the bright sun. His eyes looked at Y/n with prodding curiosity; and his lips were upturned into a smile that looked genuine, looked benevolent.

"I've come to confess something to you," Y/n's voice trembled with the shakiness of a newborn lamb, "I—I sinned."

Anton did not flinch. The smile was fixated on his face, and Y/n wondered if his jaw would drop off. Was it aching?

"Is that so?"

"I'm afraid so," Y/n whispered. He glanced at the clock slowly ticking behind Anton. Reconciliation, 3:43. He hesitated, noticing his knees were dirtied and his attire was muddied. He had to be clean, neatly dressed, to go to church. Or he would be killed—

No. It was a church. Of course churches were safe. A bullet might take a person outside of church, but not inside.

There was a slightly waxed smell of waxed wood and the faint smell of incense—as well as the smoke from burned candles. His body was not bracing from pain when Anton stepped forward, but instead, was soothed, tension ebbing away from his muscles. Was this what reconciliation meant? To confess, to do penance, to be absolved of all sins?

"That's all right. You have come now...is that anything troubling you, Y/n?" Anton inquired, one hand stroking Y/n's head as if reassuring a child, "what brings you here to confession today? What have you done?"

"I had to do something, Father Anton. I should have completed it—I should have completed it, and I could have. But I—I saved someone instead," His words came off hushed and he found himself realizing that saving someone was considered a sin in this world, "I could have let him die. But I—I saved him. I went out of my way to save him."

The pause from Father Anton was longer this time. Y/n feared death was imminent—that those gentle hands stroking his hair would wrap around his neck, strangling him until all he saw was black spots.

"You're confessing to not killing a person? Saving his life?

It sounded rather backward and strange: Y/n vaguely remembered his religious friends from the other world: they would confess to stealing items, cheating, not in a room like this, but said in jokes, said I seriously—foolish and disgusting.

"I disobeyed orders."

"Who gave the orders to you?"

"Mills."

"Who did?" Anton repeated, but not as gentle before.

"...You, Father Anton."

"You are confessing to disobeying my orders, Y/n." Anton said softly, kneeling down until his eyes met Y/n's own terrified eyes, "are you aware of this fact?"

"Yes, Father," Y/n affirmed, letting out a shaky breath. "And I can't—I can't go back now. I can't kill the little boy. He's only—he's only eight. I won't kill him, but I was disobedient. I need to reconcile."

"Well," Father Anton said, "it doesn't exactly sound like you're repenting about your disobedience, are you?"

"No, Father." Y/n told the truth. Humanity. Humanity. Humanity.

"Yet it didn't sound like your disobedience was a sin," Father Anton added, "I can't offer you a solution for doing the right thing, Y/n."

This wasn't how it was supposed to go. He was supposed—

Anton dipped his hands into a jeweled pit of some sort of liquid—clear and glistening, probably Holy Water or Oil or whatever thing it was—and touched Y/n's cheek with it. It was sweetly scented and pleasant, and Anton's touch felt cool against the warm expanse of Y/n's skin.

"Confess your sins," Anton whispered.

"Forgive me Father Anton, for I have sinned." Y/n dipped his head down, fingers trembling. "I disobeyed your orders—I cast your words aside."

Anton's blue eyes seemed to gleam. "You disobeyed my orders," He repeated.

"Yes, Father Anton."

His smooth voice had a hint of a chuckle in it—a hint of amusement. "Oh my, that is terribly wicked, is it not?"

"It is," Y/n said hoarsely.

"But you are trying to repent for this, I can see. You must understand, Y/n." Anton tipped Y/n's chin. Up, "for this church belongs to me—belongs to God, and as his ordained proxy on earth—to me."

Fucking batshit crazy. Y/n internally thought.

"Do you know what the punishment is?" Anton tilted his head to the side, "do you, Y/n? You must cleanse yourself—you must truly atone for your sins." He dipped his hands into the cool oil once again, caressing Y/n's cheek. "I cannot be doing everything for you."

"I understand, Father Anton." Y/n let out a choked sound as those tainted fingers—once filled with the blood of people he had killed—grazed his skin, making Y/n shut his eyes.

"Very good." Those fingers released him, and Y/n found himself gasping for air. "You have taken the first step towards redemption. And that is excellent."

Anton's amusement at his confession struck him as surreal. It was another reminder that this world's values were distorted.

"To truly cleanse your soul, you will need to make sacrifices. You must prove your commitment to the purity of our land—your devotion to the cause. Do you understand, or must I repeat?"

"I'll do whatever it takes." Y/n lied.

Anton's eyes gleamed with an unsettling mix of warmth, and something else, hidden beneath the surface. Salvation and corruption walked hand in hand in this world—they blended in together in a mix of crimson.

"Lucas is his name, correct?" Anton stood up, adjusting his attire.

Y/n stilled. The words that left his mouth were slow and agonizing.

"....Yes."

"How wonderful. I never imagined you would take care of a child, Y/n."

"Is that not something good?" Y/n asked carefully.

Anton circled Y/n slowly, like a predator assessing its prey. His voice was a silk-thin thread of intrigue. "Good? It's a rarity. It's an act of compassion. I see you are picking things up fast."

"Continue to care for Lucas," Anton murmured, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "But others will not take kindly to it. They see you harboring a sinner, they will strike. The Church has its own ways of seeing things."

"What do you want me to do, Father Anton?" Y/n's voice was thick with strain.

"Seek God. The word of god is our guiding light. In times of turmoil, anchor yourself in his faith. In his teachings. He showed us the way through selflessness. Forgiveness. Grace. We are called to emulate the love...of our savior. Saving someone...." Anton cast a look at Y/n, "is an act of grace."

You see yourself as God, Y/n swallowed, you see yourself as God, you lunatic! Salvation was contingent on following Father Anton's disturbing guidance. Oh, the game. The twisted, cruel game that had landed him into this mess. How long could Y/n take this? Before his sanity shattered, and his mind splintered? How long more of acting like a docile lamb, subjecting himself to the ridiculous teachings of Anton?

The incense smell was becoming strong. Y/n held his breath—it was suffocating his lungs. Humanity. Humanity. Humanity. Humanity.

Parroting that line to himself was a sign that he was slowly going insane.

Anton stared at the visibly distressed Y/n, chuckling softly.

Y/n was a sinner, but his innocence was his.