𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐇 | ✓

TWENTY ONE.

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."