"Gods, are we at death's bum? ." Ernest curses, covering his nose. "The smell has gotten worse."
His boots thump against the wooden stairs as he descends, eyes falling on Carnage, who appears unbothered by it.
'Barefoot in a place like this? He must want to contract some disease,' Ernest thinks.
"It wasn't like this before?" Carnage inquires, ignoring the ache in his throat.
"Nope. Before, it was barely reaching the candles." He replies absentmindedly.
'That has been the most words he has spoken to me.' Ernest acknowledges. 'It's still a bit hard to understand, though, which only makes me wonder what caused it.'
'That shouldn't be possible...' Carnage thinks. 'For the mold to move, it'll need time, which this place doesn't have.'
The final stair fell away beneath his heel, landing on the ground floor of the tavern. Instantly, he is seized by a chilling rush; the cold clings to his skin like the breath before death, that fleeting moment when frost grips the soul and darkness swallows it whole.
"Hm?" He flinches at his own body's reaction.
"In books, taverns are depicted as a place of respite, not like this…" Ernest utters, disbelief underlying his voice.
'Respite?' Carnage ponders, scanning the empty place. 'How could anyone come here?'
The old tavern harbors only three sets of dark wooden tables and chairs, the floors stained and marred by a multitude of liquids, one taking on the shade of deep red.
The place remains barely lit, with a rusted medieval-style metal chandelier bearing five melted candles, their flames neither growing nor falling.
'My body feels uneasy.' Carnage steps forward despite his body's persistence to stop as he approaches the door. 'Something is looking at me.'
"Carnage." Ernest nudges his back. "Turn around…"
"A skinwalker?"
Carnage's mind spins with the many possibilities as he reaches for the shard of glass placed into the waistband of his pants, and he comes eye to eye with a man standing behind the bar counter.
"Even worse, a human," Ernest mutters quietly.
"Oh… Hello, sir." Carnage collects himself.
'He may look like us, but that doesn't mean the possibilities of him being a skinwalker are any less.'
The innkeeper stays quiet, onyx eyes locked onto them, unmoving. "Greetings, travelers," he responds dryly. "May I assist you?" His tone, mannerisms, and body language are all emotionless.
Ernest sighs in relief, relaxing his muscles. "For a moment, I was a bit scared."
Carnage side-eyes him. 'For a historian, I thought he'd be more cautious. Carnage's attention reverts to the innkeeper. 'He might be able to give us some information that could help us.'
"By chance, do you know anything about this village?" Carnage queries.
"No," The innkeeper replies sharply. "The history of this village should not be spoken or remembered; it is forbidden."
'Forbidden?'
Ernest ebbs closer, adjusting his falling glasses. "What do you mean? History plays a significant role in the formation and development of villages. Without one, you basically lose your identity as a collected civilization."
'It's kind of like—' Carnage's thoughts trail off.
THUD!
"The history of this village should not be spoken or remembered; it is forbidden." He repeats, slamming his fist onto the counter.
"God." Carnage extends his weapon at the man as he repeats the same phrase, his voice becoming louder by the second. "What's happening?"
"I don't bloody know!" Ernest recoils. "Hell..." His lips press together and open again. "Now that I think about it, this reminds me of something I've read before." He grumbles to himself as he surfs through his memories. "If only I could remember,"
After a few seconds, he still finds nothing, only receiving the same pounding headache as Carnage.
"THE HISTORY OF THIS VILLAGE SHOULD NOT BE SPOKEN OF OR REMEMBERED. IT'S FORBIDDEN." He shouts, yet his expression remains the same.
"We need to go." Carnage urges.
"Maybe the guidebook has it." Ernest's guidebook forms into his palms, and he flips through it, becoming completely blindsided by the situation.
"Historians…" Carnage groans, snatching Ernest's arm and dragging him out the door in a hurry.
Empty streets greet them, alongside the shine of never-ending dusk, painting the skies.
"What was that?" He huffs, letting go of Ernest.
"Nothing… There's nothing about it in here." Ernest's jaw locks as the guidebook disappears. "Why is this bothering me to such a degree?"
'You've studied these subjects for years, and now it's slipping away; of course you'd be frustrated.' Carnage thinks, but he doesn't say it aloud. His voice still isn't healed enough for that, and besides… he feels the same frustration gnawing at him.
Powerless to the fact that he can barely remember anything he had spent centuries ruling over and learning.
Straightening up, only to freeze mid-motion, a faint sound of weeping drifts from within the tavern.
"Oh Bella… why… why… I wish I could be with you…" He realizes it's the innkeeper.
'Regret...'
For a brief second, Carnage feels sympathy, an instinctive comparison between their suffering and his own. Then he cuts it off.
'I shouldn't sympathize with them. This is Hell, a place for the wicked. How dare I measure myself against them? I am not like them.'
"We should move; we've spent enough time here already." Ernest cuts in, angling himself side to side, eyeing the two paths before him.
Snapping back, Carnage shakes his head. "Yes. Which way?"
"I think I'll be able to locate their exact location."Ernest suggests.
"How? Tell me."
"It's how I found you." Ernest touches his glasses. "My magical artifact is the 'Glasses of discernment.' It allows me to see what's hidden, and it somehow showed me your location."
Carnage nods at the explanation, committing the details of the magical artifact to memory. He isn't a fool; showing one's hand in this Hell, ally or not, is often the first step toward ruin. He isn't taking that risk.
"I'm sure they gave us these magical artifacts for a reason, all linking towards our main task."
'Agreed... My only question is what this is for.' He glances at the imprint of the key. 'If there's even a reason for it.'
"Now." Ernest closes his eyes. "I just need to figure out how to activate it." He focuses, breath steady.
'The guidebook only mentioned it briefly, but I reckon I've got the gist of it.'
Ernest reflects, and slowly a faint glow begins to rim the steel frames of his glass, red veins already corroding the area around his eyes.
"Left." His bloodshot eyes snap open.
At once, he moves, leaving Carnage to scurry behind.
Carnage studies him from behind, the question forming unbidden, 'how did he activate it?' The answer might be the key to activating his own.
Ernest glances back to make sure he's still following and catches the question in Carnage's eyes.
"The guidebook talks about the three energies of the dimensions." He begins.
'He must be talking about 'Magics of Purgatos.'? With its lack of description, I was certain it was a lie.'
"Wune?" He questions out loud.
"Bingo!"
'That marks one thing as true.'
"When I concentrated, it felt like I was drowning in a golden energy just as wune was described. To activate the ability of my glasses, all I had to do was absorb it and transfer it to my glasses."
He answers as they rush down the streets, Ernest's glasses displaying a golden trail, while also counting down the houses between them.
'Wune, gold, the force that powers the magical artifacts. Sune, green, a substitute for mana, which replenishes magic. And lastly, Aune, iridescent, the creator and stabilizer of Purgatos. It's also the force that made these realms unstable with its negative effects.'
'If my guess is correct, when activating my artifact, I'll see Wune, not the others?''
「Correct. 」
'Great—'
「If you had a normal artifact.」
'What do you mean?'
「The one sealed into your soul is forged from a divine entity, one of the first, which makes it completely different from the ones residing within Purgatos.」
'Then…how do I use my artifact?'
「Your artifact is powered by the energy seeping through the small cracks you caused in the seal over your core. Which is the only thing closest to pure divine energy, making the activation of it almost natural, with some drawbacks, of course.」
'Right. The little cracks I made during my sentencing.'
The moment replays in his mind. Unlike most things, the one thing that remains fresh in his memories while the other things fade is the entirety of his sentencing. Not a single detail was forgotten.
「While using the ability of awakening, the sealed artifact would need to harbor an equal or a higher level of Eminence than the dormant artifact. To acquire a greater Eminence, you'll have to cultivation demonic cores, found in the bodies of demonic beasts.」
'In other words, I need to fight to become stronger; there's no easy way out.'
「That's it, sinner, good luck.」
"You with me?" Ernest glances back briefly.
"Yeah."
"We're close!" He says, continuing down the path.
"Ok—"
Carnage pauses, pivoting to the side, as a familiar sensation seizes his soul, as desperation claws at his mind, he searches for the source, chest heaving.
'Pale-faced villagers, vendors, buildings… it all seems normal, but I can sense it somewhere… which one of them is it?'
"Carnage?" Ernest calls out, yanking his focus back, the dread bleeding away.
"Nothing."
.
.
Soon, they arrive at an old cobblestone church, its weathered stones darkened by age, ivy creeping up the walls like grasping fingers.
"If I'm correct, they're inside," Ernest says, advancing.
As they approach, the wooden door, which sags on its rusted hinges, creaks open.
Carnage and Ernest stare wide-eyed at the other two sinners, who hold the same expression.