Three days passed in a blink of an eye. Y/n knew this particular number was associated with religion itself, for Jesus rose from the dead after three days. The number was mentioned a total of twenty one times in the Gospel, and somewhat represented God's pattern of creating a new life and establishing a covenant with humanity.

Remember how he told you, while he was still in Galilee, that the Son Of Man must be delivered into the hands of sinful men and be crucified and on the third day rise.

So what did this mean for Y/n? To begin with, the game seemed to associate the player with being God—with being a divine entity. And there was also the oracle that the scroll had spoken of...

No.

Most importantly, Anton—Anton knew. How many things did Anton know? Y/n wouldn't even be surprised if that damned priest was sentient. It would explain so many things—how he always knew where Y/n was, his very movements, and down to his—

Lucas shifted on his lap. Y/n had opened his eyes this morning after an agonizing seventy two hours in nothing but darkness, accompanied by brutal thoughts of deaths and flames and screams. He had woken up to a strangled sound; before he realized that the very sound had escaped his own lips.

Anton.

Anton.

Anton.

Did that mean that he knew of his plan to seduce him? How much did Anton know, really? How much did he fucking know? And if the priest knew Y/n was planning to lure him by seduction, why wasn't he stopping him? Wasn't lust essentially a sin? So why...

There were too many questions and too few answers. The most he could do now was sit back and watch. To observe.

Y/n mindlessly played with Lucas's hair, feeling the little boy stir from his sleep. His eyes widened with delight as he saw Y/n, and immediately clung onto the (h/c) haired man.

"Father Y/n!" He exclaimed joyfully, "how was your sleep?"

"How are you?" Y/n ruffled his hair, smiling softly when he saw the sheer happiness of the boy—his dear, precious child—"not up to any mischief, I hope?"

"I'm alright," Lucas grinned, "Father Anton took care of me. He took care of you, too. He adjusted the pillows and blankets and..."

"Oh." Y/n said flatly. The enthusiasm flew from his body at the very mention of his name.

"He really likes you," Lucas beamed, "are you sure you two aren't married?"

"No." Y/n sighed, "why? You like him a lot?"

"Not more than you." Lucas hugged him even tighter, "you're my favorite. You always will be. You saved me, Father Y/n! I've never been so happy or...safe." He looked down sheepishly. "Even with my old parents, they didn't really care about me because I was a sinner and all that. But you don't seem to worry about that at all...and talking to you is really fun and I really like your hugs."

Y/n felt a burst of affection and love for the little boy. His son. There had been selfish and ulterior motives when he had first saved him, but now? Lucas's life mattered more than his own. If Anton even laid a single hand on Lucas, Y/n would annihilate him in the way he seemed to love so much: by burning. He would burn the fucking church down even if he had to,

"I love you too," Y/n said softly, brushing Lucas's hair away, "I really missed you."

"I missed you too. Father Anton is nice, but he isn't you."

Damn right. Father Anton was literally evil.

"Are you going to see him today?" Lucas asked curiously, "he was pretty worried about you, so maybe it'll be good if you..."

Actually, that would be a good idea. Perhaps Y/n could dig some sort of answer from him: perhaps a piece of the puzzle would finally make sense if Y/n just found some sort of solution—or prodding that would work on Anton. Well, it was pretty easy to find him. Anton was sure to be lurking around the church in the confessions room...

"I think I'll go." Y/n pondered over it for a while, "but will you behave if you're home by yourself?"

"Oh, Father Anton told me that I don't have to be that careful anymore! Apparently he warned the church members to leave us alone." Lucas told him.

What? Anton did? Now, that was strange...

Had he really started to harbor affections for the child? He was offering protection for both of them, knowing that this was a highly risky move. Openly declaring support for two proclaimed sinners—two that were supposed to be dead...

"Okay, then. If you're hungry—"

"There's some leftover food in the fridge that Father Anton made," Lucas piped up once more, "don't worry about me, I'll finish reading the book you passed me the previous time."

Y/n blinked. It seemed Anton really was baby trapping him to the extent it was almost suffocating. Obviously, it was deliberately planned and Anton clearly had some intention set in mind—he was frighteningly intelligent, never gave away any hints of his movements at all, though Y/n knew that darkness was hidden beneath his skin.

Quickly and briefly, he checked his inventory. Good. He still had the item had obtained previously—the immunity to a scare. The immunity to poison.

Y/n recalled the words said in the blog: it is Father Anton that catalyzes the person's downfall...each time.

No one had cleared the game before. No one. So there were only theories that could aid Y/n; and even then, every single one of them, contradicted.

Y/n kissed Lucas on the forehead before he left. The world wasn't as harrowing as it had been when he had first arrived—but that wasn't because it had healed. No, it was far worse. Y/n had only become more accustomed to the atrocities that were normalized here. From mass murder, the killing of those who were deemed innocents—it was very much a dystopian, twisted world, where everything relied on faith.

Y/n loathed it. He hated it. There were times he was just so determined to draw a blade into his throat; for wasn't it better to simply give up? He didn't even know how many levels he had to clear—he was still on the single digits, and the game could very well expand on to thousands, millions. Then there was also the issue of time. Perhaps, just perhaps, if Y/n ever made it out of hell—how many years would have passed there? Maybe his friends, his family would all be dead. Maybe he would leave with his shattered mind. And Lucas. Y/n couldn't abandon him, but essentially, Lucas wasn't—

He wasn't real.

He was part of the game itself. Y/n knew his child was sweet, precious, innocent—but his actions could very well be pre-programmed by the game. Every word he spoke...there was a chance he wasn't human. And to crossover the worlds by bringing someone who wasn't—wasn't human...it was a recipe for disaster.

The only reason why Y/n was still surviving: the only reason why his sanity was hanging on by a mere thread was because he was viewing this whole world through lenses. He was believing; he was intentionally believing that this world was a game. That the deaths that had happened wasn't real, that nothing was real. That the burning and the flames were simply unseen and hidden in the shadows.

It was a defense mechanism that Y/n had put up ever since he had entered the game. It was the only way he could ever get used to the horrors of the game.

Everything wasn't real. Nothing was real. The deaths? No. They weren't human to begin with, so it was okay... it—

Y/n jolted back to his senses, shivers crawling up his spine. Yes. If he died, this was just a game, right? Who knew, maybe he would return? There was always a possibility: every game had a respawn, right?

Crazy. Y/n was going crazy. He rubbed his eyes when he found where he had turned to: his feet had automatically been walking towards the confessions room. Was it a sign for him to do penance? A sign for him to pray to the God that existed in the heavens above and beg for forgiveness? Oh, Lord, I have sinned. I've been dehumanized. I've killed someone.

Y/n had killed that knight, hadn't he? He could have prevented his death. If he just stayed low, abided by Anton's words...

None of this would have happened.

His eyes wavered as he saw Anton in the corner. And Y/n was no longer surprised when Anton seemed like he had been expecting him, though his words were the opposite.

"Ah, Y/n." The priest smiled at him, "you must have fainted from exhaustion. Sleeping for three days is the very proof of that...have you come to relax your soul, perhaps? To relieve your burden?"

"..." Y/n didn't have the heart to reply to him. Instead, he kneeled on the floor, managing a shaky smile at Anton. He lowered his head, shutting his eyes tightly. The ground was as unforgiving and painful as he remembered: he could feel the incoming bruises he was bound to have. But perhaps this was karma. Maybe God was real, and this was his punishment for killing that knight.

Y/n never should have talked to Peter.

I repent for my sins.

Y/n never should have dragged innocents into it.

I'm sorry for killing you.

Y/n never should have walked down there. Y/n never should have even had the selfish thought of abandoning the church and wishing to partake in other activities...

Y/n never should have dreamt about freedom. From breaking himself out of the chains that surrounded him.

I pray that you will bless the souls of those who have been unfairly killed.

Oh, oh, but wasn't it so awfully cruel? Just why did Y/n have to be so unfortunate? Just why did he have to be so—so unlucky? Transmigrating into a horror game...being stuck with a diabolical priest and countless questions but no answers...Y/n could very well be stuck in an endless loop that had no hope in ending.

Was this the miserable fate he was entitled to?

Even with his eyes closed, Y/n could sense Anton's gaze boring into him. The room was heavy with tension—and when Anton stepped towards him, a chill set upon his body.

Anton could kill him with a mere flick of his fingers. He could burn him. So why was he sparing him, a sinner?

"Confession is a heavy burden," Anton's voice was smooth, like a serpent's whisper weaving through the silence, "it is the first step towards redemption. Pray tell, Y/n, what makes you so stressed?"

The confession room was supposed to be a sanctuary seeking solace: for seeking enlightenment, for lifting a burden— now it merely felt like a prison. There were only two of them in the room.

Anton's smile seemed to mock him. It was as if the priest held all the cards in his hands.

"I shouldn't have gone down," Y/n finally admitted, his words escaping his mouth with a heavy sigh, "I killed him. I killed the knight. If I didn't—didn't kill him—" His words broke off, words became softer and more strangled.

No. You killed him, Anton. You fucking killed all of them! Every single one of them!

"Repentance is a step towards salvation," Anton's voice was soothing, "But in this world, sins may take various forms. What makes it seem like an act of cruelty could, in fact, be a path to divine purpose. Never forget that."

Hypocrite. Hypocrite. His words and actions contradicted the most. Was Anton implying that everything happening in this end
Did the nightmare have some purpose? That Y/n's actions were guided by some higher plan? Hah! Anton should listen to his own words. Anton's own sins went beyond the mere act of taking a life.

"You seek freedom, yet you fail to realize liberation comes at a cost. It demands a toll. And the toll is not always paid in blood."

Y/n swallowed, a knot tightening in his stomach.

"What do you want from me?" Y/n finally managed to say,  his eyes locked onto Anton's penetrating gaze.

Do you want to see me crumble under the weight of your words? Do you wish to see me falter and cower in your presence because you truly see yourself as God?

Perhaps Anton was ensnared by the promise of Godhood—ensnared by the tendrils of his own self proclaimed grandiosity. Perhaps he had been idolized so much...worshiped by the devoted believers that he had simply been led to believe in his imagined divinity. Anton was a mortal who had dared to cast a shadow that eclipsed the very stars that he had reached for. Anton was simply adorned in robes of imagined omnipotence, and smelt of the fragrance of narcissus.

Here, he was god, but Anton was completely alienated from empathy. For what was a god in isolation but a sovereign ruler over an empire of one, ruling over a realm devoid of the richness of God's grace?

Anton's lips curled into a sinister smile, revealing a glint of satisfaction.

"Tell me, Y/n. What do you want in life? Only you can answer the question."

Redemption, as Y/n already knew, was not a gentle process. It was a metamorphosis—a rebirth through agony. His mother had constantly parroted a verse from the Gospel: Come now, let us settle the matter. Though your sins are like crimson, they shall be as white as snow; though they are as red as crimson, they shall be like wool. Through repentance and divine mercy, sins could be forgiven and washed away, transforming a person from a state of spiritual impurity...to someone different. It was fraught with shadows; yet were the heralds of transformation.

Based on Christianity, humans had redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins, in accordance to the riches of God's grace. Ephesians emphasized on the concept of change, forgiveness through God.

Anton's lips, like velvet dipped on sin, brushed against Y/n's skin. Y/n's breath caught in his throat— the warmth of that gesture belied the coldness that slithered beneath.

A serpent. A serpent concealed in a garden...tempting him just like it had tempted Eve.

Y/n's cheek now bore the mark of a sinister covenant. It was a fleeting movement, but Y/n couldn't help but feel panic start to rise in him: what was Anton playing at?

Why the fuck had the priest kissed him on the cheek?

Y/n already knew Anton was the very description of evil.

So many times his mother had left her bible open on the table and Y/n had peeked at it with curiosity: haughty eyes, a lying tongue, hands that shed innocent blood, and feet that were quick to rush into evil.

Anton could very well have been the devil himself...

Y/n closed his eyes, swallowing.

God, I pray that if you're real, you will help Lucas to survive.

That you will help me to survive.