POV Bill
Bill narrowed his eyes, his gaze sharp as a dagger on the strange painting in front of him. There was something wrong with the contract the creature was offering—something that tickled his instinct to be wary.
The painting changed again, this time in a way that sent chills down his spine. The previously smiling abstract face now melted away, the black and red paint moving on its own like a living liquid, forming a wide smile emoticon that was too perfect to be just a scribble on a canvas.
"The conditions are easy..." the voice echoed, as if coming from inside his own head. "Take me out of this painting, and I will grant your request."
The painting paused for a moment, as if savouring the tension that hung in the air. Then, in a teasing tone, it continued, "What do you want?"
Bill was silent. His fingers clenched involuntarily.
"Bringing the dead back to life?"
There was no reaction.
"Become a god?"
Bill remained silent, though his jaw hardened.
"Home?"
For a moment, Bill's breath caught. He almost opened his mouth—almost. But again, he held back.
The painting falls silent, as if scanning every blink of his eyes, every held breath. Then, in a suddenly deeper, more piercing tone, it spoke:
"A girl."
In that instant, something changed in Bill's face. It was only a fraction of a second—just a quick blink of the eye, a deep breath. But it was enough.
The painting realised it.
And then—he laughed.
The black and red paint churned, transforming in an instant into a laugh-out-loud emoticon, his mouth wide open, his eyes narrowed as if in mockery.
"Easy," it whispered, its voice a triumphant hiss. "It's easy."
Bill raised his voice. "Can you grant that?"
The painting grinned, its smile growing wider, more inhuman. "Why not?"
The air around him felt even heavier, as if the hallway itself was laughing at him.
…
Their breathing was ragged, lungs burning like they had inhaled fire. Cold sweat poured down their backs, mixing with the dust billowing in the air.
Charles glanced back—the giant black figure was still floating in the sky, its wolfhound snout sniffing the air as if hunting for the scent of prey.
The giant wolfhound continued to soar above the sky!
It circled in the sky while looking around as if it was searching for something.
Charles looked back to the front. The forest in front of them loomed dark, old trees lined up like mute sentinels. The leaves rustled in an incomprehensible language, as if warning something.
I felt that if I entered this place, something bad must have happened.
But what choice did they have? Trapped between the Wolfhound ready to tear them apart or the darkness that might hold mercy.
Both were dead ends. On the outside, getting caught is tantamount to death. While inside, it's only the assumption that says bad. But that doesn't mean it's always bad.
Just go in. Hurry up!
"Come in," Charles hissed, his voice hoarse. Without needing more words, the three exchanged glances and nodded—a silent agreement, as if it was their eyes that spoke, "let's just go in."
Cold.
That was the first thing they felt as soon as they stepped over the first boundary of the trees. An unnatural change in temperature, like stepping into the mouth of a giant creature. Luminous fungi glowed a pale blue among the tree roots, illuminating the thin mist floating on the ground.
They saw it as a sight that was both a feast for the eyes and creepy at the same time.
But that's why they took a deep breath, looked back simultaneously and exhaled softly. They were sure it was safe.
Furina squeezed her own arm. "Where did that monster come from?"
Charles held back, thinking about his answer. Should he tell the truth? It confused his, his eyes searching for Arthur. You, answer it.
Arthur who felt this gaze, took a deep breath, closed his eyes and said, "Maybe... it's my fault."
Furina was surprised to hear that. "How come?"
Then, Arthur explained one by one the events that happened to him and the actions he took.
His explanation about the sword, about the corpses queuing up, about the sword, which he assumed to be a loose seal—all sounded like a bedtime story that ended badly.
"So you did it on purpose?!" Charles hissed, his voice rising involuntarily. Surely he was upset that this man's actions almost cost him his life due to his deliberate actions.
He squinted as he pointed in front of Arthur's face. "Good! Having a brain and the assumption that doing the act is the same as dying but doing it anyway! What kind of calling is suitable other than a dumbass?"
He turned away. He didn't care, his head was already full of raging emotions, if he stayed with him he would probably draw his sword and tear him to pieces right now.
His feet stepped roughly away from them, each step like he wanted to break the ground. But slowly, his steps weakened.
As he took a step, he calmed down.
"Can you guys step over ...." Just as he was about to add the word "fast" while looking back.
He was shocked.
They weren't there!
The wind whispered among the leaves, laughing in a vibration that sent chills down his spine. The wind felt colder.
"Hey, where are you guys!" he paused, swallowing. "Did you hear me? I was here!"
Charles was forced to walk in the direction he had first come, but there was no one there.
"Furina? Arthur?"
At this moment, he heard the wind blowing through the forest as if it was laughing in amusement.
In the sky, the Wolfhound's shadow was still circling.
Charles gulped, he turned around and entered the forest again.
Alone.
His steps were a little heavy, but he no longer cared. Since he was now alone, he had to focus on himself, thinking of ways to deal with the impending danger.
The forest felt darker now. It was quieter. Each step made the sound of dry leaves crunching, too loud for his own ears.
As he was thinking—
A shadow of a building appeared between the trees.
He was transfixed and stayed in place for a few minutes.
A village.
Village... is there another village?! If there is a village then there are people...
But there is no smoke from the chimney. No sound of footsteps. Only dark windows stared blankly at him, like eye sockets that had long since lost their eyeballs. He sensed no signs of life there.
Charles swallowed, and stepped forward.
Even if his decision was wrong, it wouldn't make the situation any worse than it was now.
There is no going back.
...
A/N: This timeline takes place before Bill meets the painting, after sunset when Henri gets the clue from the paper.
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