The other Hellbounds finally noticed them.
One by one, they emerged from their tents, more and more funneling out as the trio approached. The familiar purple-haired woman lingered near the center, her white sundress catching faint rays of dawn. And, of course, the brown-haired slob stood there too, scratching his scraggly beard, his wiry frame sagging under that bloated gut, his rags barely clinging to him.
Damien's lip curled inwardly.
You're disgusting.
Yet he masked it perfectly. A bright, guileless smile spread across his face, eyes warm and harmless, a lie he wore like a tailored suit.
Aside from the slob and the purple-haired woman, only one other figure drew Damien's attention.
He was athletic and of average height, but he carried himself with precision. His short curly hair gleamed gold in the early light, and he wore polished silver armor that glinted with quiet menace, with long black undersleeves. Without a word, he nodded to the brown-haired slob and the other four Hellbounds gathered at his side. Then he stepped forward alone, summoning a long, straight sword in a shimmer of light.
The blade's tip sank into the sand with a soft hiss as he held the hilt lightly in both hands, planting himself before the trio like a sentinel.
Damien's focus wavered slightly, fury still simmering beneath his calm exterior. The sight of the slob scratching his chin, his ragged shirt clinging to his misshapen frame, made his fingers itch for his dagger.
Pathetic. I should have killed you the first time.
But he showed nothing. His expression remained the same sunny mask.
Beside him, the monk's voice broke the silence, low enough only for them to hear:
"Follow my lead."
"Okay," Jenna murmured weakly, still cradled in the monk's arms.
Damien said nothing.
They took one more step forward, then the blond man shifted. He released one hand from his sword, raising it palm-out in a silent signal to halt.
His voice cut through the quiet like steel drawn from its sheath — smooth, confident, and commanding:
The blond man's voice rang out, crisp and confident:
"What is your business here? Why approach us?"
Damien's eyes flicked sideways to the Grey Monk on his left.
I'd like to know that too, he thought dryly.
The Monk's eyes opened slowly. His tone was calm, almost bored as he answered:
"My virtue is Clarity. It allows me to see visions of the future…"
I figured as much. That's why he's been so insistent on keeping me alive, Damien mused, his expression still blankly pleasant.
The Monk paused just long enough for the blond man to cut in, sword still planted in the sand before him.
"And what does that have to do with my crew?"
Without so much as glancing at him, the Monk continued:
"Everything. I saw us reaching the beacon together. Passing the trials… together."
Damien tilted his head slightly, studying the Monk's face.
Lying? …Hard to tell. He's good.
Ahead of them, the blond man scratched his chin, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips as murmurs rippled through his group. Several of the Hellbounds behind him glanced at each other, their expressions brightening, a few even letting out subdued cheers.
They were all arranged in a loose semicircle, the blond man at the front, sword hilt resting against his hip, the purple-haired woman to his right, standing with arms crossed and her sundress swaying faintly in the breeze. To his left lingered the brown-haired slob, scowling, his filthy rags barely hanging off his frame, and the remaining three Hellbounds stood farther back, watching quietly.
All appeared to be young, no older than twenty-five, and no younger than eighteen, besides the brown haired slob who looked thirty.
"I see," the blond man said at last, voice cool but tinged with curiosity. "So you want to join us, then?"
The Monk nodded.
After a moment's thought, the blond man's tone hardened.
"All three of you show me your marks."
Panic flashed hot in Damien's chest.
Shit.
Beside him, the Grey Monk set Jenna down onto the sand. She winced and swayed on unsteady legs but managed to stay upright.
The Monk then rolled back his sleeve, revealing his mark and holding it up so the blond man could see. The angle blocked Damien's view, though — he couldn't catch a clear glimpse without craning his neck, and that would look suspicious.
Damn it…
The blond man slammed his sword point-first into the ground, eyes narrowing.
"Now you."
The Monk calmly covered his arm again, then nodded toward Jenna. She obeyed, pulling up her sleeve with trembling fingers and presenting her mark.
Damien felt their eyes settle on him last.
With deliberate care, he slid his long, black sleeve back just enough to reveal his mark, but curled his left hand over the back half, obscuring the half-smiling, half-frowning mask, the corruption ratio, and showing only the virtue's side.
The blond man squinted, confusion flashing briefly in his golden eyes.
"Did I not tell you to reveal your entire mark?"
Damien chuckled softly.
"I see no reason to bear it completely. Especially when all of you are wearing long sleeves."
A mocking laugh escaped the blond man.
"Oh? Seems to me you're the ones who need us to survive." He gestured disdainfully at Damien's bundle of supplies. "One measly tent, half a loaf of bread, and a single bottle of water? That's pitiful."
Damien stayed quiet, unwilling to draw more scrutiny to his mark, especially since his virtue was nothing but an empty circle with a line through it.
The man's eyes narrowed.
"Well. It doesn't matter. I already know your sin. You can cover it now."
Damien's heart thudded once, sharp and hard.
What?
He slowly lowered his arm as sweat prickled along his back.
The blond man stared a moment longer, then added:
"Although… for some reason I can't see your virtue. Would you care to explai—"
A smack cut him off as the purple-haired woman stepped forward and slapped the back of his head.
"Would you stop? Evalyn told us to trust each other, and you're just being rude!"
Wincing, the blond man rubbed his head.
"I know, but we still need to be cautious—"
"And stop using your sin ability!" she snapped. "Its side effects are dangerous, and you know it."
Still rubbing the sore spot, he muttered:
"Yeah… okay."
Damien's mind churned, piecing together what he'd just witnessed.
His sin ability allows him to see others' virtues and sins by observing their marks. But he still couldn't see mine clearly. Which means he can't detect the corruption ratio… Good. Very good. I can work with this.
He stepped forward slightly, cutting through their bickering.
"Excuse me."
The purple-haired woman whirled on him, her voice sharp.
"What?"
Damien cleared his throat lightly, keeping his smile in place.
"I'd like to start on the right foot here, so I'll tell you my virtue outright, if that's acceptable."
Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.
"Go on."
"My virtue," Damien said confidently, ignoring the flare of pain in his shackle, "is Detachment."
He felt, rather than saw, the Monk and Jenna exchange glances to his left. After all, he'd previously claimed his virtue was Confidence. But now that his mark was revealed, he couldn't cling to that lie; a circle with a line through it could only mean a few things.
"In my previous life," he continued smoothly, "I gave up worldly things in pursuit of higher goals. That virtue gave me certain abilities."
He pointed at the blond man, who was still rubbing his head.
"You can see, can't you? Both sins and virtues?"
The man muttered, almost reluctantly:
"Yeah."
"I suspect," Damien said, voice calm despite the searing pain still crawling under his skin, "that my virtue's secondary effect shields it from your ability, while it also grants me visions of the future, much like my friend here."
For a beat, the woman and the blond man stared at him, faintly perplexed. Then the man finally shrugged.
"Well… I know you're not lying. Your shackle would've torn you apart."
Inside, Damien laughed silently, violently.
Torn me apart? This pain? Pathetic.
The blond man tilted his head.
"Earlier, your friend shared his vision. What do you see with your virtue?"
Damien's smile sharpened.
"Only fragments… but one word stood out to me."
He let the pause hang just long enough for their curiosity to bite.
"Betrayal. Someone in your group will betray the rest."
The blond man's eyes widened, and the brown-haired slob barked immediately, stepping forward.
"What the hell are you talking about?"
But the blond man raised a hand, stopping him in his tracks.
"No, do you see him writhing on the ground?... Someone must betray us."
Grumbling, the slob glared at Damien before retreating to rejoin the others, muttering under his breath.
Finally, the blond man straightened his back and spoke again, voice calm but tense:
"…Very well. You can join us."
Damien inclined his head slightly, suppressing the victorious curl of his lips while doing his best to avoid the monk's and Jenna's stares.
Oh… I'm eager to see this come to fruition.