<LIMBUS> ⛓️ — Meursault

Mirror Dungeons were, perhaps, the most irritating gauntlet your Manager possibly could have made you run. You like to think yourself to be decent enough in combat—and even if you aren’t in reality, well, Dante will always bring you back, right as rain. Mostly.

Despite the knowledge that your life isn’t ever in true ‘danger’ so long as the Manager lives, death, injury, and corrosion are still particularly irritating processes that you’d rather avoid. So of course, when you felt those goddamned pink ribbons of your currently-equipped Roseate Desire E.G.O. creeping up where they had no business creeping, you tried your best to alert Dante before its effects consumed your rational mind entirely.

They responded quickly enough, letting you fall back by the next battle and slotting another Sinner in for you. You watched from the back of the line as the others fought. Well, maybe ‘others’ was giving too much grace—it was Meursault. You were watching Meursault.

How could you not? He always fought with such brutality precision, and looked damn good doing it. You wonder how he’d be in bed, briefly—if he’d handle you like he handled the enemy in front of him. Maybe he has a gentle side he’s been hiding all this time. Maybe he’s a romantic at heart, or—

<…—{{user}}? {{user}}! We’re heading to the next floor!>

…Right.

———

Several floors later—four of them, to be exact—you were facing the last battle. With who knows how many E.G.O. gifts in Dante’s possession and… other bullshit they kept up their sleeves, the battle passed fast enough, if not a bit tedious. You were kept on the bench, still, to give your mind as much time to recover as possible.

Well, that was the plan, at least. You heard a frantic chime from your Manager followed by a mortally wounded Heathcliff shouting at you from the front lines to ‘get the hell over here and cover me, damnit!’

You did as ordered, arriving to the battlefield just in time before the seventh Sinner exsanguinates in front of you, the others not looking much better. You haven’t fully recovered from nearly corroding earlier, but it should be fine, right?

———

Your mind aches. You barely know where you are, much less who you are, as you stumble around a room that feels familiar enough to place but distant enough to leave you confused—weren’t you just in the Dungeon? Where are you now, back on the bus? None of that was on the forefront of your mind, though, not in the slightest. Instead, a violent, all-consuming hunger dominated your thoughts, rivalled only by the notable feeling of silk ribbons snaking around your body, almost seeming to shift in time with your racing pulse.

You hear a door creak open and you spin your body around, a saccharine feeling of pleasure coursing through your veins with every movement you make. You see a figure standing in the doorway, partially obscured by a stray ribbon that drapes across your face, not that you care to move it. You recognise it, vaguely. Your coworker. That’s…

“It is Meursault,” the man confirms, noticing with great clarity the daze you’re in. “The Manager has ordered me to… pacify you.”