𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐇

TWENTY FOUR.

His memories of the game were gone.

Every bit of it had been torn away from him: was this why Y/n had been such a daze lately?

Was this why Y/n had found it so hard to gather his thoughts from jumbled, scattered bits, struggling so hard just to line up a single, coherent thought?

All along this had been the cause of it. All along Anton had been drugging him, bit by bit, with those flowers.

Y/n did not open his eyes to Anton's room. He was back to the place where knockout had taken place, confused, weary, and alone. Only darkness accompanied him.

It was like a nightmare had been wrapped around his sleepless flesh, like black crescents were left to hang dry on his eyes.

Y/n was tired. So, so tired of dealing with the priest, putting up with him, and pretending, pretending, pretending. All his life he had already been masquerading around like some masked puppet in a play, and the game had torn whatever person he was before into...this.

"The flower scent," Y/n said listlessly to no one, to nothing, "how could I have not known?"

Lucas had been into Anton's house before. That child had also been drugged. And whether Y/n liked it or not, he was beginning to see how the toxicity that managed to leak through the cracks affected him: he was still ever affectionate with him, the hugs still lingered, but there was some sort of madness to his eyes. The way Lucas looked at others; it was visceral anger: when people tainted Y/n, dismissed him, Lucas was growing aware of the situation he was in.

Y/n had known it would have been impossible to keep the child innocent and without blemish forever. He could only have hoped to have stalled it for as long as he could. Because for a child to be placed in such a situation, such maddening circumstances, it was bound to warp them. Bound to change them.

It was inevitable, always.

I...need Anton, Y/n thought.

I need him.

I need—

"It's that fucking drug," Y/n cursed under his breath, "meddling with my thoughts and making me..."

It was making him spiral. How ironic, really, that it fitted the whole name of the game. What was the game's purpose, truly? Was it—

[ Welcome, player. ]

The same blue screen that had materialized before out of thin air appeared once again. Y/n stumbled back, blinking his eyes in confusion. There was no system notification that had popped up, and in fact, from the time where he had supposedly obtained the oracle, he had yet to get anything else...

[ Data about the oracle has been acquired ]

The last time, the oracle had been an utter sham. All of the information had been utterly useless and had basically parroted what Anton had said before. Ur no— this was the promise of something bigger, something better. If he had been dragged into such a remote place, dragged basically out of the game to darkness, then that clearly meant that it would work. Y/n would find a way out.

[ YES/NO. Would you like to proceed? ]

"Yes," Y/n breathed out, "yes, yes, yes—"

A headache spiked up again. That fucking drug...

Y/n supposed it was morning after his swirling, horrible night with Anton. But perhaps time had no end here: perhaps time was nothing here. He did not know what this room was, or what it meant, but it was nothing.