"…You have to—"
"It's not fair!" Jenna hissed, her voice sharp but low.
Damien let the silence stretch, letting her anger hang in the cold air like frost.
"There will come a time," he said finally, each word deliberate, "when the others stop believing I can see the future. And when that happens… they won't just kill me. They'll kill you and the Monk too."
Behind them, the Grey Monk stirred in his sleep, a faint shudder rippling through him. Sweat slicked his brow despite the icy air filling the tent. His robes, once shredded and stained, now lay whole and clean against him, thanks to Blythe, the purple-haired woman and her peculiar gift: Restoration.
Damien's gaze drifted down to his own shirt, faintly illuminated by the soft yellow lantern the woman had left with them. The black dress shirt was immaculate once again, crisp and unwrinkled, as it always should be.
"Then you shouldn't have lied about your ability!" Jenna burst out, louder this time. Her fists clutched the hem of her cropped black shirt, knuckles white, her body trembling.
Damien felt the corners of his mouth twitch; he wanted to laugh, but didn't.
"I know," he murmured, his tone smooth, almost gentle. "I'm sorry, but the lie was necessary. If they knew what my real mark was… they never would have let us join them."
Low whimpers slipped from Jenna's lips as tears streaked down her cheeks. She rubbed at her eyes furiously, but it only smeared the wetness across her pale skin.
"You… douche," she whispered hoarsely, her voice breaking. "Do you have any idea how much it hurt…? The explosion?"
Damien watched her silently. His words so far had done nothing to calm her — nothing to quiet the sobs clawing out of her throat.
So he did something that disgusted him.
He stepped forward, arms outstretched, and pulled the annoying, crying girl against his chest. She stiffened at first, as though ready to shove him away, then she sagged, collapsing into his embrace, her fists curling weakly into his shirt.
"I don't," he murmured, his voice soft now. "I'm sorry you had to go through that… I really am."
Time seemed to stretch, and the only sound in the frigid tent was her muffled crying as he held her.
At last, in a voice so quiet it barely reached him, she spoke:
"I'll do it…even though I've been working hard to lower my corruption ratio." She paused, clearly thinking about something else... "I already used my Greed ability on the mimic's sword. I don't know how much more I can take before—"
Damien cut her off sharply, his hands tightening just slightly on her shoulders.
"I won't let that happen," he said firmly, almost fiercely. "It'll bear fruit before it goes that far."
He pulled back just enough to meet her wet, reddened eyes, still holding her in his arms. Then he smiled at her. The kind of bright smile that, on a stranger, would make you think he was a saint.
Not the devil incarnate.
She's changed. She now fully trusts me, perhaps because almost dying awakens strange emotions, or maybe she truly believes this is the only way for her not to be killed. Either way, I don't care.
"I promise."
And with that, he let her go and stepped out of the tent, into the dark, freezing desert.
Damien drew a slow breath, the fire shimmering faintly before him, its low heat barely enough to register against his skin.
This shackle is starting to get on my nerves.
He crouched slightly, readying himself to sink onto the cool sand, but a soft voice drifted across the quiet.
"Taking watch again?"
It was Blythe.
She sat gracefully on the opposite side of the fire, near the cluster of three tents her Hellbound group had pitched. The flickering flames painted her white sundress in warm golds and reds, and her striking blue eyes caught the light, glittering like distant stars.
It had been two days since he, Jenna, and the Monk had joined their camp. Two long, watchful nights, and now, for the second night in a row, Damien had volunteered himself to keep watch.
"Yeah," he replied casually, settling onto the sand. "I don't sleep much."
Blythe let out a soft, melodic giggle that laced through the crisp desert air.
"I can see that," she said. "But you really should rest. Staying awake two nights in a row is not good for you, even if I can restore your health a little bit."
Damien arched an eyebrow at her, a faint smirk playing at his lips.
"Then who would keep watch?"
She raised her hand in mock indignation, her blue eyes glinting mischievously.
"Umm, excuse me? I'm sitting right here."
That drew a chuckle from him, dry but genuine.
"I meant from my group."
"Aren't we all in the same group?" she asked earnestly, tilting her head slightly toward him.
Damien paused, the fire's low light catching in his eyes. After a moment, he replied coolly:
"Maybe. But I know nothing about any of you. How could I trust people I just met?"
"Ouch," she said, feigning a wounded pout, then let a teasing smile slip through. "Well… Lady Evalyn said trust is the most important thing in Hell, so ask me anything. I'm an open book."
She smiled brightly, inviting his questions, the flames dancing across her beautiful features.
Evalyn again. Her saccharine dogma clings to them like sand in the wind, but this is a thread worth tugging.
His eyes narrowed ever so slightly.
"When we first met, after you smacked Joseph over the head for making us reveal our marks, I got the sense you'd known him for a while. Is that true?"
Blythe nodded without hesitation.
"Yes, I've known Joseph since childhood. Everyone else I met on the platform before the First Circle."
Maintaining steady eye contact, Damien pressed further:
"I see. If you don't mind me asking… how is it that you two ended up in Hell together?"
At that, her gaze dropped to the sand between them. A cold gust swept over the dunes, whipping their hair violently, and for a fleeting second, Damien's crown of thorns caught in the firelight before his bangs fell back into place.
But she didn't notice.
When she finally spoke, her voice was low and tight, pain curling each word.
"That is… It's a terrible story I'd rather not get into." Her hand clenched in her lap. "We're not bad people...But we deserve hell for the mistake we made."
Hmph. I can't press her further without losing what little trust I've earned. How unfortunate.
So instead, he softened his features, letting a disarming, almost saintly smile bloom across his face.
"We all do, but isn't that what Hell is about? Finding redemption?"
A faint smile ghosted over her lips at that.
"You're right," she murmured, then lifted her gaze toward the few blinking stars scattered across the black sky. "I just hope… my sister is doing okay out there."
That caught his attention. His head tilted slightly, and his tone sharpened.
"Sister?"
A single tear slid down her cheek, catching the firelight.
"Yes. My little sister was also sent to Hell. We stood together on the pre-Circle platform… but we weren't fortunate enough to spawn in the same area."
Damien's eyes widened slightly, a flash of memory rising unbidden.
Another purple-haired woman? Could it be… her sister was the one I sacrificed to the hoard of monsters?
He stood slowly, the sand whispering beneath his boots as he crossed to where she sat. His expression softened further as he crouched beside her, ignoring the angry burn of his shackle as he spoke with quiet conviction:
"You know… my virtue can help us locate your sister."
Her head snapped toward him, blue eyes wide with sudden hope.
"Really?! You would do that?!" she called out, her voice echoing faintly over the silent dunes.
Damien looked down at her, his saintly smile unwavering.
"Yes," he said gently. "Yes, I would."