Arthur didn't move. He just stood on his golden pedestal, glowing like a giant, obnoxious LED lamp in a city full of people who preferred the dark. He looked at me, his smile so perfect it made my molars ache. It was the kind of smile that said, "I just saved a kitten," while his soul was busy drowning the rest of the litter in a nearby pond.
"Morvan Kael," he said, his voice as smooth as expensive, high-end lubricant. "The man who eats sins. Tell me, do I look delicious?"
I didn't answer immediately. I was too busy trying not to gag. Up close, the black mist swirling around his head wasn't just dark—it was rancid. It smelled like a mix of unwashed gym socks, burnt hair, and a massive, steaming pile of political lies.
"Delicious?" I finally spat a glob of phlegm near his polished, gold-trimmed boots. "Pal, you smell like a dumpster fire in a garlic factory. If I eat your sins, I'm going to have heartburn for the next three centuries. Seriously, what did you do? Kick a basket of puppies into a volcano just to see if the gods were watching?"
Arthur's smile didn't flicker, but the golden flames in his palms turned a shade of bruised purple. "Justice requires sacrifice, Morvan. A few villages burned here, a few rivals silenced there... it's all for the stability of the Kingdom. The people need a Saint. I just gave them a god to worship. Isn't that a mercy?"
I slowly raised my black bow, The Creditor. The wood felt cold, hungry, and pissed off—exactly like its owner on a Monday morning with a hangover.
"The 'Greater Good' is just a fancy term for 'I'm too much of a coward to own my own mess,'" I drawled, pulling the string back. The air around us began to moan as the sins of the room—every lie, every backstab, every hidden greed—were sucked toward the arrow tip.
[Warning: Success Rate 0.01%. Target is protected by 'Divine Delusion'.]
"Zero point zero one percent," I whispered to the system. "Stop nagging me. I've survived worse odds at a casino."
I released the string.
There was no 'thwack'. There was only the sound of a thousand angry ghosts screaming for a refund. The arrow, a streak of pure, concentrated regret, tore through the air. Arthur raised his 'Holy Shield,' laughing. "You think that toy can kill a man blessed by the—"
The black bolt ignored his shield entirely. You can't block a debt with a shield; you can only pay it. When the arrow hit his chest, the 'Saint' didn't explode. He just... leaked.
Black, oily slime began to ooze from his eyes and ears. The glorious golden armor started to rust in seconds, turning into a pile of corroded junk. Arthur fell to his knees, his "perfect" face melting into a mask of pure terror as his own suppressed sins began to crawl back down his throat like oily snakes.
"Wait... stop... I did it for them..." he wheezed, his voice no longer smooth butter, but more like gravel in a blender.
"Sorry, Artie," I said, walking over and stepping on his fancy white cape. I leaned down, blowing a puff of smoke into his fading light. "I've got a strict 'no-refund' policy on soul-cleansing. But hey, look on the bright side. You'll finally be famous for something real. Like being the biggest fraud in history."
I reached into the air and grabbed a shimmering, dark orb that had manifested above his head—the distilled essence of his hypocrisy. Gulp.
[Debt Collected: 1,500,000 Sin Points.]
[System Update: New Skill 'Divine Mimicry' Unlocked.]
"Burp." I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. "Tastes like cheap tequila and bad life choices. Next time, Barnaby is paying me double. My stomach deserves a hazard pay bonus for eating this crap."
I turned my back on the dying Saint and walked into the shadows. Behind me, the crowd began to scream as they realized their god was just a rotting pile of secrets.