The noise of shrilling crickets fills the air. The sounds of their many cries intermingle with the loud percussion and flute music, which is being played that by itself already overtones the many excited voices, stemming from down in the garden. They have already begun with the festivities.

The garden erupts with sounds of unusually loud cheers, muffled by the stone walls of their room, as apparently someone has accomplished something worthy of such praise. Canta assumes that the drinking has started already. He doesn’t think that level ten is a big deal, in all honesty. But maybe they’re making it one because of his class.

He sighs. “Can we just go to bed?”

“We can’t be rude to our hosts, now hold still,” says Alleluia sternly, adjusting the collar of his shirt. “Can’t you wear anything nicer?” she asks, sighing herself now.

Canta narrows his eyes, already sensing what her plan is. “I’m not going to put on those old rags.”

She frowns. “You’re so stubborn,” quips Alleluia, shaking her head.

“It’s something I’m allowed to be stubborn about!”

Alleluia laughs, getting up. “You're the guest of honor, so of course we have to go!” she says, making a strong, but not convincing argument, at least for him. Nothing on this entire planet could make Canta care less about some stupid party. It’s late, he’s tired, he’s hungry, he just wants to go to bed. Ready to make his case, he grabs the freshly tightened collar of his shirt and opens his mouth to start arguing. Alleluia stands in front of a mirror, meticulously adjusting her hair, which seems to be hard to do, as she is bouncing on her heels.

Canta blinks, lowering his hand again, watching her go through such unusual motions. This is the first time that she seems like she’s loosening up again, since their fight. He supposes that she’s excited about the party, likely never having been to one before. Canta rubs the back of his head, fighting against the grumble on his lips, as he walks up to her and starts turning her crank. He supposes that he can suffer through the party for her sake, if he really has to.

“You ready?” asks Canta.

“I’m ready!” replies Alleluia, beaming at him and grabbing his hand before the two of them walk out of the room and make their way to the festivities down below.

The great, large doors of the cathedral are wide open, allowing anyone to freely wander inside and out of the walled courtyard and into the inner sanctum, where the mechanical bishop resides. Given the nature of his existence, he is unable to leave to join the celebration, so the festivities have been brought to him and there is free travel for anyone, whether they are in the priesthood or part of the general population of the city.

The night air outside is crisp and causes Canta to shudder, though, this could also be from the chill that he gets as he notices that every single pair of eyes, down the stone steps to the courtyard, all turn to look at him for a moment. It’s not that he’s shy, or that he has anything left to be shy about. But he gets the urge to turn around and leave before they start -

“Sin-eater!” shouts a scraggly priestess, who is clearly drunk already, as she wobbles on her feet.

“GLORY!” yells a soldier and soon, it happens just as he predicted it would. The crowd of revelers, soldiers, priests, people from the city all erupt into a series of hollers and cheers, the many bubbles of people all around the garden, all yelling as they stream forward towards him to get a look, to get a smell, to get a touch.

The touching is the worst part of the night for Canta. People of all manner always seem to want to touch him for some reason. He ends up being dragged from one excited conversation to the next, as Alleluia speeds through the many groups, dragging him in tow by his hand, as she herself seems to be having the most fun just talking to people.

These last few weeks, she had been conversing mostly with the priestesses, but Canta has heard from Valenti that she was mostly distant and cold in the nature of her conversations there as well. Tonight, she seems to have had the switch in her brain flipped, because now she’s lively and energetic and Canta can barely keep up pace with her. She seems to have made a mental promise to herself to talk to everyone and furthermore, to eat something of everything.

Though that last promise she is unable to fulfill, given her lack of a digestive system. Canta seems to have been chosen as her substitute and between scooting through groups of people, she makes constant dashes to caterers and tables, grabbing something new to shove into his hands.

Not that he minds. She seems to be having fun, which he is happy to see in an embarrassing way, that he isn’t going to talk to anyone about and he gets to eat. Maybe the night isn’t going to be so bad. Sure, there’s a little sin here and there and a few more are born fresh during the party, but nothing that he cares about or is going to tell anyone about he thinks, watching as the bookish priestess, Carmela, runs off into the small, dark chapel with another priestess in tow.

What happens at the party, stays at the party. Canta makes himself that vow.

“Hey!” says Alleluia, getting his attention again. “Here! Try this!” she says, handing him a glass.

Canta looks at the glass and takes a drink, realizing that it’s some kind of fruit wine.

“How is it?” she asks excitedly.

Honestly, it’s terrible. But he doesn’t want to dampen the mood. “It’s pretty good, it tastes like uh… fruit and something sour.” This white-lie turns out to be his gravest sin, as she then makes a concentrated effort to grab him several more on the way. Canta sees the danger coming from a mile off. He doesn’t weigh much in this new body and the drinks feel fairly strong. But so far, his body seems to have staved off the edge of the alcohol. Maybe because of his regeneration or his anti-poisoning abilities? He isn’t sure, but he hopes that it holds up to the task.

Eventually, they make their way to Bishop Zacaries Montero, who is down off of his throne. Canta was hoping that he would at least be adorned with ribbons, like the rest of the great-hall here is, but apparently that was too much to ask for.

“My, my! Sin-eater!” welcomes the bishop. “Are you having fun?”

“Time of my life,” lies Canta, doing his best to smile. But he thinks that he smiled wrong. Something felt off about the movements of his face.

“Yes! Please, enjoy your night. You’ve done well, to level up so quickly.”

Canta raises an eyebrow. “I sat in a box and ate bread for a month.”

“They were wafers,” corrects the bishop in a jovial tone. Canta notices that the mechanical piston holding him into the air is swaying from side to side a little, causing the man to bob from left to right.

“Are you dancing?”

“It’s a party, sin-eater, lighten up!” He notices the drink in Canta’s hand. “Don’t drink too much, you need a full stomach to eat -“ The bishop looks around, leaning over and whispering. “- the demon-king.”

Canta stares at him and then at his drink, opting to take a large gulp as a gesture of protest. Though, he doesn’t actually know what it is that he’s protesting against. “It’s fine!” says Canta. “It’s not like he’s here now.”

“Lucky us!” laughs the bishop, pulling himself back. Canta can’t help but wonder if the man isn’t drunk too, given his behavior. But he has no idea how that would be possible.

Canta looks at him. “Huh? What’s that supposed to mean?”

The bishop waves him off, the mechanical rods, holding him in place, pull him back and draw him to another crowd of guests. “Enjoy the party while it lasts, sin-eater!” calls the bishop. Canta finds that phrasing rather ominous, for obvious reasons. Alleluia drags him all through the cathedral, all through the party, then shortly away from the party for about fifteen minutes and then back to the party again after that. Though now, his collar is certainly undone and worst of all, he’s starting to notice the alcohol.

Though, it isn’t actually a bad feeling. He feels light on his feet and somehow, he feels like he’s having an easier time having fun. The drinks have culled his inhibitions and he’s feeling himself loosen up a lot now. As they return to the crowds, Canta ends up engaging in the conversations too. He doesn’t really get every word and he feels himself become wobbly on his own two feet, likely because Alleluia had shoved yet another glass into his hands, watching with glee as he downs it. She is apparently vicariously living through him. That’s what he thinks at least.

But the party is fun and it officially goes on for hours and then for several hours more after that. He hears all kinds of stories from people from the city, telling him about their lives. Most of them are interesting, but in a very mundane way. Sometime during midnight, he gets swooped away from Alleluia by a band of drunken soldiers, who Canta finds himself having a lot of fun as they drunkenly stumble around and brashly talk about how they’re all going to eat the demon-king together.

That fun is ended though when he is scooped up by Alleluia again. Held in a tight grasp over her shoulder so that he can’t escape, Canta sees Valenti leaned over, drunkenly asleep on a table. He doesn’t think that he sees Salvador or the woman who trains him anywhere though. Maybe they weren’t big on parties?

Oh well, their loss.

Feeling the hand on his back, Canta lifts the glass that he managed to save from spilling and takes another gulp, noticing only as he downs the liquid, that there is a smell in the air. Just as his vision goes black and the cup falls out of his hand, just as he feels his body about to purge, he recognizes the scent as that of a distorted.

Something is here.