God. Was God real? Was the devil real—had he taken form in Anton himself, twisting, persuading, begging, tempting people to court evil, to withhold the stench of death? The crimson flames had not faltered for long, and had only seemed to welcome him with fiery contempt, only surrendering when everything had been destroyed in its wake.

Y/n longed to spit curses towards Anton—he longed for his limbs to connect with his face, and leave a mottled bruise there. He longed for his twitching fingers to wrap themselves around the priest's neck; to watch as oxygen slowly slipped from his lungs, out of his throat, before they expelled into the surroundings and his damned body would grow limp.

But Y/n could not do any of that, for it was foolishness.

Anton seemed unperturbed by Y/n's shaken state. In fact, he almost seemed to relish in his suffering. Almost like he loved the reaction that Y/n had given him: speechless, so obviously terrified, but unwilling to show it. Adamant on burying that boiling rage beneath his veins and leaving it thrumming.

"You—" Y/n gasped out. "You—"

You monster! was what Y/n desperately wanted to say. But he had to swallow those two hot, scalding words back into his throat. His eyes looked miserably upon the charred ground. The heat was so strong that little lines wavered and shook in the air, and for a moment, Y/n wondered if he was going crazy.

"Why did you do that?" Those were the words that escaped from his mouth. It was ironic and hypocritical the way he clung onto the priest: the way Y/n looked so desperately for a lifeline, and that very person who was around was Anton. The person he hated the most, yet the person he had to approach for his survival. For Lucas's survival.

"You must know of the feud we have. The knights and the people of the church, Y/n." Anton said calmly. "What is this about going to dinner with them? An act of rebellion?"

Oh.

Oh.

So this was to punish him. So it had been his fault.

"I merely wanted to rest," Y/n said desperately, fumbling for an excuse, "I...I was just trying to make more friends. To instill the teachings in more people..." His tone faded into a strangled whisper.

"Is that so?" Anton was unbelieving. His fingers never left Y/n's face. They continued to taunt him; stroking him with the very hands that commanded the fire—commanded the deaths of so many innocents.

"...." Y/n did not speak. His body lay crumpled on the ground. If—If it had been Lucas—his dear, precious child—

"Lucas is safe," Anton continued, as if he could read Y/n's mind, "he's really such an adorable child, isn't it?"

Y/n's blood felt like ice. Hearing Lucas's name from his mouth...oh, it was so unpleasant. Knowing that somehow Anton has fitted into the picture perfect family that Lucas had conjured...wasn't this essentially a baby trap? Even if (hopefully) Anton didn't know about his plan, he knew that Y/n—no matter what, would not be able to lay his hands on him because of the child.

Anton's tone was soft and affectionate, like he had truly enjoyed the child's company. "So naive, so untainted by the world. He adores you—he constantly speaks about you."

...Anton liked Lucas. Genuinely, it seemed. And what that meant for their already twisted dynamic, Y/n didn't know.

"Come. Stop wallowing." Anton held Y/n's hand, forcing him to stand and wobble on his feet, "we need to return to the church. I take it that you have already gotten what you intended to get?"

I intended to come here to rest. To be away from you. I didn't get what I wanted.

"I did," Y/n rasped out. A lie. A damn lie. He had gotten so good at lying that the lies were blending into an indecipherable fog.

Anton softened, shaking his head.

"It appears you are slightly traumatized," Anton sighed, "I apologize. I didn't expect you would be so unused...to cleansing."

Y/n hated that word. With it meant fire. With it meant death. With it meant that—

Seduce. Seduce. Seduce the priest.

Seduce

Seduce

Seduce

The word practically bounced off the walls of his mind. What was he supposed to do now? Play the damsel in distress and manipulate Anton into thinking he was truly believing of his warped ideals? Lash out and condemn himself into a fate far worse than death? Y/n breathed in a shaky breath. He already knew the answer that was nagging him at the back of his mind.

"Thank you." The word was a filthy lie. Y/n deliberately sunk into the disconcerting embrace of Anton, feeling his eyes flutter shut. Pretending he wasn't affected was going to be very easy—because he was. Would someone ever get used to this? Would someone ever get used to this? Even he had since the slightest quiver of Mills' pupils when he had burnt the village to the ground. But with Anton, he was emotionless. No trembling hands, ho shaky eyes, no pale face.

Anton did not reply. In fact, his touch seemed to linger on Y/n's skin. It was cold on the expanse of his skin—was his hands not scorched by the fiery heat? Was he not...

God. If he was God. If he truly was God.

Y/n felt himself pulling into sleep. A hand wrapped a blanket—a shawl, maybe? around his shoulder, and Y/n was too tired to smack it away. In fact, the most ironic thing was that he wanted warmth. He wanted the warmth around his shoulders—then he could imagine he was in his mother's embrace all over again, unassuming of the world around him.

Unassuming even when the world burnt around him.

Instead, the blue screen crackled before Y/n and even half asleep, he realized belatedly about something he had forgotten. In light of all the recent events, Y/n had forgotten something very, very crucial.

The quests. There were multiple he didn't complete.

[ Sorry, player! But you have been knocked out. Your character will be on a state of sleep for three days, and you will be AFK. ]

—

AFK.

Y/n was doing absolutely nothing for three days. That meant an unproductive mess. That meant that in those three days, Anton could very well do something to Lucas—

Speaking of which, where was this? It seemed vaguely familiar...how had the game worked again? Oh right. When players experienced a knockout (a penalty for not completing a quest) then they would be transported to their childhood memories. In reality itself, it just meant the player could not log into the account for three days, but when it was the game itself..

Y/n watched this scene. It was strangely bitter.

"We're leaving," Y/n's mother said angrily, her voice cracking. "Pack your things up, boy."

"But why, mama?" Y/n swallowed, looking frantically at her. "But why?"

"Because your dad's a cheater, that's why! Because he's a no good scumbag who only knows how to waste money away on useless prostitution and gambling. I swear, if you become like him..." A string of unintelligible words slipped easily from her ruby lips. Even in moments of distress, she never stopped focusing on her looks. Y/n had watched her press masks on her face, use oils on her silky hair, and smear lipstick over her lips.

The word cheater was unfamiliar to him. He didn't know what it meant—children had yelled it in the playground before when a seeker had perhaps peeked when the children were supposed to be hiding—now, why did his mother get upset over such a simple matter? Then there was his sister. His younger sister...

"What about Ally?" Y/n asked, "she's—"

"Your father will take her. I cannot deal with two..." Then she paused. Her eyes watered as she stared at the roses planted in the garden. They were sun-warmed and dazzlingly beautiful. They glowed and basked in the sunlight like family jewels.

His mother's scarlet tipped rage dissipated. Tears fell from her eyes easily enough, and she crumpled to the ground.

"Your father planted this for our fifth anniversary," She wept, "fifth, and yet he keeps such a long line of paramours. The only reason why he ever kept me by his side was because he has never witnessed my full blown rage: I'm forced to accept it, worship him like he's some divine being...but I can't leave."

Y/n gripped onto his backpack. He had packed in a hurry.

"I'll make us some lunch," she said at last.

"I thought we were leaving."

"We're not," She said in clipped tones, snapping at Y/n, "go on. Don't you like butter cake? Now, our neighbor just gave us some organic butter, fresh from the farm and very fine—"

His mother had cried, wept, sobbed.

Yet she never left her husband.

When he was young, Y/n had wanted to know. He had wanted to know just what made his mother stay despite all the horrific circumstances she had to go through. What made her so loyal? But now he knew. Y/n was beginning to understand the blind faith and devotion...because he was seeing everything first hand.

Anton. The person he loathed the most, yet the only ticket to his freedom. Maybe for his mother, his father had been her only ticket out of poverty. Y/n sighed, realizing he was now stuck in an empty room. The memory had faded as quickly as it has come...

Wait.

Y/n jolted upright. Wasn't there an option to spectate what was happening in the game itself?

[ < Spectate> ]

Y/n drew in a sharp breath. There was his body, lying still in the bed. He was in a state of unconsciousness in his own home. Who had brought him back? What about Lucas? Did he have anything to eat?

Y/n wished he had something—just something to topple over when he saw the fucking priest alongside with Lucas. In his hands were a bowl of soup, made from the ingredients Y/n had bought just moments ago. Their voices, though garbled and slightly crackly, were still audible. Lucas was sitting dismally on the bed, looking miserably at a sleeping him.

"Is he not going to wake up?" Lucas pleaded, "Father Anton, can't you tell God to wake Father Y/n up? Is he severely injured?"

"I expect he's just very shocked," Anton said softly, "but you must eat something."

Don't eat it! It's probably poison, or—

"Okay..." Lucas reached for the spoon. "Thank you, Father Anton."

Y/n watched in quiet horror as the little boy brought the spoon of steaming soup to his mouth: sniffed it apprehensively, before he placed it in his mouth.

Y/n waited.

He waited for some sort of guttural cry to pull from Lucas's chest, he expected the little boy to drop dead. But to Y/n's immense relief, the boy was fine, and even seemed to cheer up from the supposedly impeccable taste.

"It's good. I wish Father Y/n was awake to taste this..." Lucas sighed, fiddling with his arms. "Do you like him, Father Anton? You are always visiting us. The last time you brought flowers, and this time you brought us back."

Y/n waited for the answer with bated breath. Admittedly, it was relieving to see that Anton did seem to treat Lucas with affection and sweetness, but...

"You're too young." Father Anton cleverly avoided the question, ruffling Lucas's hair with plain affection. "He'll wake up soon."

"When?" Lucas pressed.

Father Anton's eyes raised. Y/n nearly let out a shriek—he could swear Anton was looking right at him.

His answer was smooth, fast, and unhesitant.

"In three days."