𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐇 | ✓

TWELVE

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..."