Before leaving, Felix cast one last glance at the statue. Its tender gaze still clung to him, even as the chamber fell back into its tomb-like silence. With a sharp exhale, he tore his eyes away and slipped through the doors, the weight of that place pressing on his back like a shadow that refused to let go.
He walked in silence, lantern held low, his thoughts circling like vultures. The apparitions, the prayers, the locked doors, the sobs—he couldn't scrub them from his mind. This was no ordinary ruin; it had been a sanctum, a place of devotion, built for one of the so-called Seven Saviors.
Felix paused, the very word sour on his tongue. Saviors. It tasted wrong—like a lie told so often it became poison. He stood there for a moment, jaw clenched, before muttering under his breath, "No… not saviors. The Forsworn. That's what they are."
A humorless smirk tugged at his mouth. "Yes… that fits just fine."
The Forsworn—betrayers of their own people, betrayers of the Coward, his demon. His pact demanded their deaths, each and every one, if they even still walked this world. Belphegor would have to fall as well, sooner or later.
Felix's expression darkened. He didn't know why those worshippers had perished in that chamber, but the sight of their bones gnawed at him. Whatever had happened, he could feel the taint of the Forsworn in it—Belphegor most of all. And yet, even now, speaking the name aloud seemed to twist something inside him, like the world itself resisted its utterance.
He clicked his tongue. "Fine. If I can't speak it, I'll call you something else." His mind drifted back to the inscription on the pedestal, its promise whispered like a lullaby. He tapped his chin thoughtfully as he walked. "Sloth… yes. That'll do. You'll be Sloth to me."
At last, Felix reached the end of the hall. He pressed his palms against the ancient stone doors and shoved with all his strength. The slabs groaned in protest, rumbling like thunder as they slowly parted.
Light speared into the darkness, searing his vision after so long in the black. Felix hissed, throwing an arm over his eyes.
"Damn it," he muttered through clenched teeth. "I'm making a real habit of getting flash-banged like this."
Blink by blink, his vision adjusted. Shapes sharpened into color, and the world beyond the threshold revealed itself once more—the endless canopy of crimson treetops. But this time, far off in the haze of distance, he could just make out a break in the endless red. The edge of the forest. Freedom.
Felix tugged his pendant from his chest and watched the faint pull of its needle. It pointed the same way. A grin tugged at his lips.
"Almost out of this damned forest," he said, voice low but triumphant, before descending the shattered steps of the old temple.
Time blurred. An hour later, he was trudging through the thick undergrowth again, the crimson canopy closing overhead like a suffocating shroud. His boots were splattered with mud and ash, his blade still wet from his latest kill—a demon-beast that had lunged at him from the fog. It was the same kind he'd fought by the cliffs, all sinew and snarling teeth.
He flicked the gore from his blade with a sharp motion and exhaled. "Mist Stalkers," he decided aloud. The name fit well enough—the bastards always came crawling out of the mist. And they were everywhere.
But to his surprise, they weren't the only things lurking in this cursed place. Every so often, he caught sight of a bird darting overhead, or some timid critter vanishing into the brush. It wasn't much, but it meant the Cradle wasn't completelyswallowed by abominations.
It was almost… normal. Almost.
Felix had been out of nutrient bars for days. That meant he'd had no choice but to eat Mist Stalkers. To no one's surprise, they tasted like absolute hell—rubbery, bitter, and with a rancid aftertaste that clung to his tongue no matter how much he tried to burn it away with fire. But survival didn't give him choices. He forced it down because starving wasn't an option. That didn't mean it got any easier.
He gagged as he tore a bite from the roasted leg, nearly spitting it into the fire.
"Fuck… I think I'd honestly rather eat shit," he growled, his voice echoing faintly in the cave.
Even so, he hesitated only a moment before forcing another mouthful down, jaw working, throat tightening, making damn sure to swallow. Waste was weakness, and weakness got you killed.
Felix sat at the mouth of a small cave, hunched on a stone, the flames of his makeshift fire licking at the meat. The mist outside curled like restless spirits. He had just started to chew again when the fog shifted—and two Mist Stalkers slinked forward, pale limbs emerging first, eyes burning low and red. The moment they spotted him, they broke into a charge.
Felix didn't flinch. He didn't even move.
The beasts screeched as they lunged for the cave mouth, but their shrieks turned to guttural wails mid-leap. The ground gave way beneath them with a crunch of splintering wood as both fell into the pits Felix had carved, skewered on jagged stakes.
Felix leaned forward, peering over the lip of the pit while chewing leisurely on the roasted leg. One lay still, impaled clean through the chest. The other writhed, bleeding out slowly, hissing through its broken maw.
Felix swallowed, then shook the charred leg at it with a grin that didn't reach his eyes.
"Want some?" he mocked, his tone sharp and cruel.
The thing thrashed weakly but made no answer, save for a pitiful gurgle. Felix sat back, content to wait. He'd learned his lesson—last time, he'd been careless, no traps, forced to flee into the forest and abandon his hard-earned meal. Never again.
When the second beast finally stilled, he sent his knife down, threads shimmering faintly in the firelight, and gutted both corpses with practiced precision. From their chests, he drew out two jagged, purplish-black gems that pulsed faintly with inner light.
"A nice haul," he murmured with satisfaction, wiping them clean on his coat before popping one into his mouth and crunching down. Bitter shards ground between his teeth. He swallowed hard.
Almost instantly, the familiar fire ignited in his veins, searing through his chest, crawling across his body like molten wires. He clenched his fist, jaw tight, riding it out. The pain lingered only a moment before vanishing, leaving behind nothing but a quiet thrum of power.
Felix exhaled, leaning back against the stone wall. He wiped sweat from his brow, grinned faintly, and took another hateful bite of Mist Stalker meat. Survival was ugly, but it was still survival.
Felix's gaze wandered skyward, to the same pale, bleeding sun that had hung over him since the moment he'd arrived. A stray thought rose unbidden.
I wonder how the others are doing…
His lips curved into a faint smirk. Bet William's fine. With his ability, he'd be damn hard to kill.
A chuckle slipped out, but it was thin, fading quickly into a heavy sigh that sank from his chest.
Loneliness had always been his companion. For as far back as he could remember, there had been people around him, yes—but to them he was little more than air. Forgotten, invisible. When he'd been dragged into Cerberus, he'd expected more of the same. Silence. Emptiness.
And for a while, he was right.
But then, against all odds, he'd found a friend. The first real one of his life. Someone to share words with, someone who saw him. It had been strange, unfamiliar… and good. Almost too good. Now, stripped of that, solitude felt sharper. Lonelier than it ever had before.
Felix drew in another deep breath, but this one came out ragged, as though he were exhaling more than just air.
He worried about the others, too. He hadn't spoken with them much, but he still felt the bond of shared struggle. They were all in the same cursed boat, cast into this place together.
"I just hope they've fared better than me," he muttered to the mist. "Hell, maybe some were lucky… maybe they landed close to the Sanctum."
The thought coaxed the ghost of a grin across his face. He rose to his feet, brushing the ash from his hands.
"…Time to get moving."
He kicked dirt over the dying fire, watching as the embers hissed and spat before curling into smoke that drifted up into the cave roof and vanished. The faint warmth that had clung to the stone faded with it, leaving only the chill of the mist seeping back in.
Felix slung his bow and quiver over one shoulder, checking the weight out of habit, then crouched to gather what little food he had. A few strips of roasted Stalker meat—tough, bitter, and barely edible—were stuffed into his pouch. They'd keep him moving, if not satisfied.
For a moment, he lingered at the cave mouth, listening. The forest was quiet, but not with peace—quiet like a predator waiting, the silence thick enough to press against his ears.
He tightened his grip on the pendant, feeling its faint pull, a constant tug against his chest like a heartbeat that wasn't his own. Then, with one last glance behind him, Felix stepped into the fog.
The mist curled up around his boots immediately, rising to his knees, and soon the cave was gone, swallowed whole by the crimson woods. It was as if he had never stopped at all, as if the forest refused to let him leave its grasp. Once again he was swallowed by the forest as he forged ahead.