Canta sits there, leaning back against the chair. His fingers tap against the large, wooden table as he impatiently waits for whatever big-shot they are sitting here and waiting on. Honestly, he couldn’t care less about meeting some bishop or some cardinal or whoever it is.

His stomach growls, causing three pairs of eyes to look his way. Alleluia, Valenti, and Salvador all sit at the table together with him in a small room, which Canta assumes is the meeting place. Although, given that he is supposed to be a big deal around here, it seems a little dingy. “What?” he asks, annoyed. Nobody says anything before they look away, except Alleluia, who smiles at him from the side.

He looks around the room, his fingers still tapping against the table, but faster now, as his annoyance is steadily starting to grow. As an honored guest, the least that they could have done would have been to offer him a plate of crackers and some water.

Suddenly, the door opens behind them. The two guards who were just outside of it step to the side as a woman, armored like Salvador, enters. She lowers her head in a slight bow, putting her arm in front of her chest. Another ‘palatinos’, assumes Canta, whatever the hell that means. That’s probably just a fancy title for the officers around here.

“Sin-eater, the bishop would be honored to see you now,” she says. “If you would accompany me.”

“See?!” says Canta, shooting a glance at Salvador, whose chair is leaned back on its hind legs. Canta points at the woman. “You could learn some respect from her.”

“Respect has to be earned,” replies Salvador, waving him off as Canta gets up. Canta rolls his eyes. Alleluia gets up too, but the woman lifts her hand, gesturing for her to stop.

“Just the sin-eater.”

“She’s with me,” remarks Canta, lifting his thumb to point over his shoulder at Alleluia.

“Yes, I understand, but this is meant to be a one on one meeting between yourself, the sin-eater, and the bishop.”

Canta looks at her for a second before turning back to Alleluia. This is his chance to get rid of her for a little while.

The winding of her mechanisms starts to audibly slow down again. Alleluia, somewhat distraught, turns around and starts awkwardly reaching for her crank again. This sight is enough to overpower his natural urges of dickery as a deep sympathy and compassion comes to him, even if he’s annoyed, angry and hungry. Canta realizes at this moment that he has grown a fatal weakness, a flaw in his armor. He sighs and walks over, helping her with it. “She’s with me,” he repeats, looking past her side at the new Palatinos.

“I am afraid that -”

“Get fucked!” barks Canta at the woman, who shoots upright in an instant, becoming rigid like a beam. “I said she’s with me, and if you have a problem with that, then maybe we’ll have to have a talk with the bishop about your sins that I can smell from over here,” he threatens. In truth, the woman is as clean as a new whistle, the cleanest that he’s ever smelt from a human, there isn’t an inkling of sin anywhere near her. Honestly, he’d almost say that she’s too perfect. It’s kind of weird. It’s kind of… suspicious.

– But she doesn’t know that.

Her face goes pale, and she looks at the other two at the table for an answer, but she receives nothing more than a shrug from Salvador.

“V… very well,” she relents, stepping to the side.

“My hero~,” coos Alleluia, grabbing his hand as they start walking.

“Yeah, yeah,” snaps Canta up at her. “Don’t think I forgot the ‘you kicking me’ thing.”

“Mhm,” she agrees with a happy expression, much to his confusion and surprise. She leans over, whispering into his ear as they walk out of the door. “So you're going to scold me later for that, right?” she asks, nudging him.

“Get fucked!” yells Canta again, about ready to change his mind after all. But it’s too late now. “This is a holy place, you degenerate!” he barks, not caring about that fact in the least himself. The armored woman walks down the hallway, and Alleluia drags him after herself. “Hey! You! Can I get some real clothes here before I meet some high and mighty, throne-sitting, shit-head?”

The woman gasps in shock. Alleluia waves at her. “Don’t worry, he’s just cranky because he hasn’t eaten.”

The woman blinks. “He…?”

“He!” yells Canta as he walks through the large, white-stone hallways of the aged cathedral. The walls are tinged blue from the dusk-light, which shines in through the massive stained glass windows that line the hallway. The two guards behind him, still by the door, start snickering as they whisper to each other.

He’s had enough. Canta likes to think that he’s become patient, but this is the end of the line.

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“That’s it!” barks Canta. “VALENTI!”

Valenti pokes his head out of the door a second later. “Yes, sin-eater?”

“Whippings! Now!” yells Canta, pointing at the two guards, who become very quiet, very quickly. Alleluia drags him away.

“No whippings, Valenti, thank you,” she says with a smile, continuing to walk forward. “You know he gets grumpy.”

“Very well,” replies Valenti. “I’ll be here if you change your mind!” says head-priest Valenti, sounding oddly chipper as he pulls his head back inside of the door and closes it. The two guards sigh in relief, but stay deathly quiet now.

“Hey!” yells Canta, wondering how his voice managed to be superseded in this conversation, but he has little time left to protest before he is dragged off and away.

His meeting with the bishop takes place in a large hall that he would call a throne-room. In fact, he does call it exactly that, much to the horror of the armored woman accompanying them, who explains that the title of bishop is bestowed by divine right and that it supersedes any such concepts of human nobility. They approach the seat at the top of a small staircase where a thin, odd looking man sits.

“Come on!” yells Canta, gesturing at the decoratively robed man sitting atop an ornate chair, atop a small set of stairs at the end of the giant, regal hall that is filled with guards on both sides. “How is that not a throne?!”

The palatinos ignores him, stepping forward towards the bishop and kneeling down. “Your grace, the sin-eater is here.”

Rather abruptly, the foreboding silence of the hallway is broken as a loud clanking of metal begins to ring out all around them. Canta looks on, perplexed, as the dozens of guards, standing on either side of the chamber, fall down on one knee with a hand on their pikes and another over their breasts. Canta blinks, but then a proud smile grows on his face. “See?” says Canta to Alleluia. “Respect! That’s what respect looks like.” He tears his hand out of hers.

There is an audible laugh that fills the room, overpowering the odd hissing and hammering sounds that have become audible. With a twitching eye, Canta looks up towards the source, towards the bishop, who he wasn’t quite able to see clearly before, given the fall of the light upon his gestalt. “My, my, what a lively fellow this one is,” says a voice that clearly belongs to an old man. It has a certain quietness to its higher pitch, a certain dignity to its perfectly enunciated words. The old man rises to his feet, his decorative, purple robe flowing with him as he moves.

There is a hiss.

The bishop slowly slides down the stairs towards them.

He doesn’t walk, jump, step, or fall. He slides, as if he were a piece of a board game that an unseen hand is pushing across the fields, and as he approaches, Canta notices that he too is entirely free from sin. But it is different than with the still-kneeling woman. She is human and could possibly contain the odor of such a thing as sin. As such, there is still a scent. A scent of emptiness, but a scent nonetheless.

The bishop, however, has nothing of the sort. Much like Alleluia, there is no smell to be found at all. “Welcome, sin-eater!” greets the bishop as he arrives, his arms spread wide to the side. “Glory!”

“Yeah, yeah,” says Canta, pointing at him, pretty much done at this point with all of this. “You’re a machine,” he notes, stating the obvious, as he points to the piston that is attached to the man’s back, stemming from the throne that he is bound to.

There is a shocked gasp that runs around the hall. Apparently, this is a shocking thing to say, despite it being obvious.

The bishop laughs, lowering his hands. “Settle down, all of you, it’s fine,” he says. Canta doesn’t know what he’s talking about until he sees that more than one hand was resting on the handle of a readied sword or pike. “The sin-eater is right. Glory.”

“Glory,” repeats every voice in the hall at once, their chorus reverberating around the massive ceiling like a choir’s song.

“Is that a problem?” asks the bishop, gesturing to Alleluia next to him.

“No, but it’s pretty damn weird,” argues Canta. Alleluia crosses her arms and lifts her nose.

“My, my!” says the bishop, looking at Alleluia. “My lady,” says the mechanical man, lowering himself into a bow. Or more aptly said, the piston does so, releasing a slight hiss as he lowers his head. “Bishop Zacaries Montero, it is an honor to meet you.”

Alleluia is, of course, delighted at being so formally greeted and lowers herself into a curtsy. “Alleluia, I’m charmed to meet you, your grace,” she says, formally introducing herself.

“Hi. Canta, sin-eater. I’m the important one here, remember?” barks Canta from the side, looking around the room for some acknowledgment.

“Ah, that’s a good name,” says the Bishop to him. “Do you like to sing?”

Canta rolls his eyes, looking down to the ground and crossing his arms. “Fuck’s sake…” he mutters.

“He does, but it needs a little work,” says Alleluia, apparently also delighted that the bishop knew this tidbit of old-world etymology.

“You know…” starts Canta, feeling his blood begin to boil. This day is going to be it; he’s finally going to snap. The Demon-King? Maybe he’s not so bad. Hanging out with him couldn’t be so bad, or? He wonders if the Demon-King needs a sin-eater? Although, probably not. He supposes that a ‘Demon-King’ rather likes sins to be present in the world. The emphasis is on the word ‘demon’, after all. Canta sighs, deciding that it’s best to let it go. Breathe in. Breathe out. Calm. He’s calm. Everything is calm. New life. New Canta. No anger. No anger.

‘No anger,’ he repeats in his mind, letting out another deep exhalation. He’s just hungry, and it’s making him twitchy.

“Sin-eater,” says the bishop. Canta reopens his eyes, surprised to see that the man is fully bowed now, this time to him. “I am blessed by the heavens to meet another of your kind. After the passing of your predecessor, I was uncertain if I should do so again.”

Canta, of course, now has his turn to feel good. It isn’t every day that someone bows to him, though, in his opinion, it really should be. “I heard he got eaten,” says Canta.

The bishop raises himself upright, the pipes on his back hissing as he looks his way. His expression is odd and quizzical at first, Canta can't quite place it. But then it changes to something more normal again. “He did. But he was a dick, so nobody really cared.”

Canta blinks, not having expected such a blunt, true answer from the bishop. Unable to stop himself, he breaks out into a fit of laughter, his voice echoing around the grand chamber.

“You’re alright, Bishop,” says Canta, stopping himself. “Your grace,” he says, but still rolling his eyes a second time as he says it.

“Please, Zacaries,” says the bishop.

“Fine, Zacaries,” replies Canta, pointing at the fake-man. “Look, let me get to the point, because I’m tired and hungry and -” He takes a deep breath, calming himself. “I act like a dick when I’m like that,” he mutters, gritting his teeth as he openly states the obvious, as if it were an embarrassing fact. He looks up at the Bishop. “What do you want? Why are we here?”

The bishop stares at him for a second before looking around the room. “My, my, this is a surprise. Did nobody inform you of the situation?”

Nobody in the room says anything. Canta just shrugs, listening to the hissing coming from the man’s body and to the whirring coming from Alleluia. Bishop Zacaries Montero sighs and lets the piston pull him back up towards the stairs.

“There is a great evil upon our world, sin-eater,” explains the bishop. “When a man’s heart becomes so dark and so tw -”

“- Demon-King?” asks Canta, cutting him off and right through the poetic bullshit. The room, of course, starts muttering nervously again at this latest sacrilege.

“Demon-King,” nods the bishop. Canta is really starting to appreciate him. The bishop raises a hand. “Sin-eater, the reason you are here is because I want you to eat him.”

“You want me to eat the Demon-King?” asks Canta incredulously, raising an eyebrow, pretty sure that he heard that right. But he just wants to double check.

“I want you to eat the Demon-King,” replies the bishop, being pulled back onto his not-throne throne.

Canta looks around the room, unsure why everyone on the sidelines looks like the world is going to end tonight. Their faces are all pale and terrified. His stomach growls loudly, the noise breaking the heavy quiet in the room.

He looks to the side for a moment, staring at a large door that is off to the right, far behind the bishop's throne. It’s ornately hewn and constructed out of strong, hard wood and intricate metal frames. It looks like it goes somewhere important, but, honestly, he wouldn’t know where is more important than the throne-room of the cathedral?

– Maybe the throne-room of the castle? There’s a castle here in this city, right?

Canta shrugs, looking back at the bishop. “Sure, whatever, I guess,” he sighs, too hungry to care.

“Very good!” exclaims the bishop as they come to an agreement.