"Your request to leave has been acknowledged. However, the general has postponed it until the cleanup is complete."
"...Yes, sir."
Fwhp…
The officer didn't linger before hastily leaving the big tent, as if he were running in shame despite his earlier indifferent tone.
"Brother, it seems that you are destined to rot in hell with the rest of us here, despite all your efforts… haha."
Paul, who watched everything unfold from the side, tried to lighten the mood with his usual jab. But the sorrowful tone didn't help in selling the act, and neither did the hollow laugh by the end of it.
"It doesn't matter." Ashen was indifferent despite the unexpected delay. "A couple of days more won't change anything at this point."
Paul shook his head in disagreement. "Ash, didn't you hear?" He asked helplessly. "The officer just said that there will be 'cleanup,' and we all know from scout reports that the Narkals in this area still have more than half of their numbers…"
Paul's expression darkened. "This is madness… We are only a couple of hundred, and they still insist on fighting… don't they care how many of us die?"
"Maybe they do, maybe they don't… It won't change what we have to do in the end, will it?"
Hearing Ashen's apathetic tone, Paul couldn't hold his bottled-up emotions anymore. "What's up with you?!?"
"That was your last chance to leave and survive! And you don't seem to give a single fuck!"
He stood up and kicked the chair aside, sending it all the way out of the tent. "Just LOOK!" He screamed. "Look at this tent! Do you see anyone here?!!"
Ashen's eyes swept over the large tent, and aside from the screaming Paul, it was deserted.
"Two months ago, this tent was filled with our people, friends we considered family… now where are THEY?!"
Hot tears started streaming down his cheeks. "Jake, Donna, Kalista… After all our promises to survive and go home together… All of them ended up in the jaws of Narkals in the end…"
"...So tell me," He took two steps and grabbed Ashen by the collar. "How can you remain so calm when death is just about to claim us now?!"
"Do you really think you'll survive?!"
"HUH?! ANSWER ME—"
Paul's voice died in his throat. He froze as he finally stared squarely at that expression—stone-cold, corpse-like, yet those eyes burned like molten gold.
He couldn't even name what he saw in them. Madness clashed with apathy, sparks of wrath flickering beneath it all—an entire storm of chaos trapped in a single gaze.
He abruptly released Ashen's collar and slumped to the ground, his expression sinking back into sorrow, just as it had been before his sudden outburst.
"...I'm sorry." It was all he managed once the storm inside him quieted.
Ashen shook his head gently. "It's okay. Anyone would want to lash out in our situation… myself included."
"Yeah…" Paul murmured, though his head still hung low in shame.
After a brief silence, Ashen spoke again. "...Despairing, giving up when the odds are impossible, losing hope when the end seems already foregone… For us pathwalkers of Sloth, those are taboos we can't afford."
He looked at Paul with quiet sympathy. "Others can throw tantrums, fall apart, and still be convinced to stand again… but not us."
"We only get one shot at whatever we do. Give up once… and you'll most likely lose yourself."
Ashen rose and stepped toward the slouched man, extending a hand. "So don't give up on yourself, Paul. Please… I don't think I can handle losing another friend."
Paul's expression twisted with something complicated as the realization sank in. Ashen hadn't stayed strong because he was untouched by despair… he just refused to lose control and turn into a monster.
He took his hand and pulled himself up. "Alright… Ash, I'll try."
They shared a brief, knowing smirk before collapsing back into their seats at the table. The exhaustion was mutual, but so was the fire still burning in their eyes.
As they settled in, Ashen broke the quiet. "In the next battle, stay close to me. I'll keep us both alive."
Paul raised a brow. "You sure about that, brother? I might slow you down. That'd just make things worse for you."
Ashen scoffed. "Shut it, Paul. I know what I'm doing. Just follow my lead."
"You're the boss." Paul's lips twitched in a reluctant grin.
Silence lingered, comfortable this time. Then Paul reached into his coat and pulled out a half-empty liquor bottle, its label long worn off.
He twisted the cap, took a slow swig, then handed it over. "Guess we earned it."
Ashen caught the bottle midair, wiped the rim with his thumb, and took a long, burning gulp. He let out a quiet sigh and smirked. "Still hiding the good stuff, huh, you sly bastard?"
Paul chuckled lowly. "Heh. I always keep one for a rainy day… Guess today's a damn thunderstorm."
As they passed the bottle back and forth, Paul grinned suddenly. "So… how's it going with your chick?"
"Well… she's my only ray of sunshine in this dark nightmare," Ashen replied, a rare smile tugging at his lips.
Paul shook his head, exasperated. "I can't believe there's actually a skill that can transmit pleasure… You lucky motherfucker."
"Yeah… It's pretty busted."
After all of Seraphine's antics, it hadn't taken long for Ashen's circle to notice something was off. Sudden boners, pinching tents, strange grunts at every gathering… it was hard to ignore.
Ashen didn't want to reveal Seraphine's skills, even to his "family," so he improvised: a skill that sent pleasure to a pre-set target. His friends didn't pry; they respected his privacy.
Not that it mattered. All of them were… gone now.
Even so, the skill impressed them. They'd assumed his "wife" must be a pathwalker of a much higher step to wield something like that.
"So, how's it feel being a kept man, brother? I hear it's surprisingly comfortable." Paul asked, feigning innocence.
"I've told you a million times, it's not like that," Ashen muttered, palms pressed against his face.
"But your wife's higher than you, so she'd take care of you… doesn't make you a certified sugar baby, does it?" Paul pressed, a mischievous grin threatening.
Ashen smirked despite himself. "This crazy motherfucker… Hey, you want to test what a sugar baby can do?"
Paul raised his hands in mock surrender. "Ah, I'm joking, I'm joking. What's wrong with having your woman take care of you? Isn't that… kind of awesome?"
"Maybe for lazy bastards like you," Ashen shot back.
"Hey! I'm not the one sleeping twenty hours a day, Mr. Dozing Wolf~"
"Don't go there…"
They snickered, tossing jabs at each other, letting the world fade away for a moment, if only briefly.
"When we make it back, I'll have you meet her—Hey, you listening?"
Ashen glanced toward him, but his gaze caught on the empty bottle between them instead of Paul's face.
Paul's palm rested on his cheek, elbow on the table, eyes drooping.
"…Yeah, I'm here," he murmured.
"And they say I'm lazy. At least I don't fall asleep mid-conversation," Ashen teased.
A beat. Another beat. Paul processed the jab. "…I'm not lazy… I'm… conserving energy, y'know."
"Right…" Ashen's voice held no conviction. "So this is your infamous power-saving mode. Donna always complained about it, and now I kind of get it…"
"…hmm."
"She said talking to a half-asleep fool is irritating. Now I see why."
"But everyone has their way to embody their Sin… I won't judge."
Ashen went on, but Paul didn't answer. Not because he chose silence… he simply couldn't.
The temperature in the tent dropped.
He was morphing.
It began subtly, almost imperceptibly, a vestige of struggle lingering for a heartbeat. Then muscles slackened, bones groaned, and his body sank under its own weight.
Skin dimmed to a pallid gray, veins like sluggish rivers beneath the surface. Limbs stretched unnaturally, spine folding into a grotesque, slothful arch.
By the end, the man who had joked and bantered just moments ago was gone. In his place lounged a creature of Sloth: monstrous, lethargic… horrifyingly still.
And Ashen… didn't seem to notice.
"—As I was saying… Hey, are you really listening…"
His voice trailed off. His eyes were still averted, still studying the bottle as if it contained all the answers in the world.
A voice rang inside his head, halting his pretense.
{He is dead.}
'What?'
Ashen closed his eyes. His hands stilled on the bottle.
"'Dead'?" he whispered to himself, the word tasting like ash.
{He gave up on himself and lost control. Stop deluding yourself. He won't come back, no matter how much you talk to him or ignore the truth.}
.
.
'…I know.'
And he did. He'd already known.