Chapter 18

The dark fog of depression suffocated him.

Time had no meaning, so he wasn't sure how long he had laid there, unmoving, curled up, his eyes closed from everything.

There were moments he would stir, his eyes flickering halfway open, only to be met by the oppressive darkness that seeped into his very soul.

When the light of day did filter in, it was a harsh reminder that he was still among the living. Memories of the atrocities he had committed came crashing in. He would tremble, the tears spilling unbidden from his eyes, trailing down his sore cheeks.

Everything seemed pointless. He wouldn't move much. His limbs felt heavy, as though invisible chains weighed them down. All he wanted to do was sleep for the rest of his life, and waste away. It took all his effort to wipe the tears that would escape, then his eyelids would grow too heavy, and he would close them, before his mind would haunt him with moments in his life that he wanted to undo.

He would recall the sickening crunch of the palismans' bodies as they crumbled beneath his merciless grip, their cries of agony failing on deaf ears as he feasted on their very souls like a ravenous parasite. The memories of how he callously manipulated others into aiding him on his 'missions', promising wealth, and glory, only to abandon them to their gruesome fates at the claws of savage beasts or other cruel circumstances. The faces of countless Grimwalkers would flood his thoughts, each one etched in his memory with a clarity that now made his stomach churn with regret. He could still hear their last gasps of air, the way their eyes would lose their light, before he cast their shattered remains into the black abyss of the Titan's skull.

He had killed thousands. Hurt countless more. And the fact he almost took out an entire race made him want to run a dagger into his chest multiple times, but instead he was left gasping for air, the guilt and shame of it all suffocating him.

Sobs would wrack his body, the grief and despair of it all too much to bear, and he continued to be consumed by guilt as days passed. The darkness of his own mind engulfed him as exhaustion took hold, and he fell deeper into the abyss of his guilt-ridden conscience.

But the memory that haunted him the most was the brutal death of his own brother. The image of the dagger piercing Caleb's stomach was etched in his mind, haunting him every second. He could still see the look of shock in his brother's brown eyes, and the tears that flowed from them. Philip had pulled out the blade and simply watched as his brother fell to the ground, his sobs of sadness filling the air. And yet, even in the last moments, Caleb managed to utter his final words as blood pooled underneath him.

'I'm sorry… Philip…'

Philip gritted his teeth as he dug his nails into his arms, the pain in his flesh a small punishment to himself. He dragged his nails down his arms, tearing through the protective gauze that had been wrapped around his similar wounds. Green substance seeped through the reopened cuts, staining his skin green. He welcomed the sensation of pain, though it was still not enough to calm the emotional turmoil that consumed him.

How could he have been so stupid for all these years? How could he have been so blind…?

He desperately wished he could go back and fix everything. He would even go back and kill his younger self if he had to in order to spare the lives of many others.

Mistakes were… inevitable blunders while one lived, especially while navigating through life. Regrettably, a single misstep could trouble some, inflict lasting damage, a blemish that could fester and poison the lives of others forever.

As a child, a heartfelt apology could often mend the trouble he had caused. At least, that was enough for his brother, Caleb. For many others, a grievous error or a terrible deed could only be corrected through punitive measures. And in some cases, even the ultimate of death…

Death…

Oh, how he longed for it to claim him and drag him down into the fiery pits of hell where he belonged, his very soul consumed by eternal flames and his anguished cries relished by the damned souls. Such a fate rightfully deserved, yet death was out of his reach…

How ironic… that innocent people, who were just going on with their lives, have lost their lives by crossing paths with a monster like him. Yet, the monster continued to breathe after so many horrendous acts, and potentially would continue to destroy everything it touches.

After all,… that was what he was good at.

Destroying everything…

'You don't deserve to live,' the dark voice hissed in his mind, making Philip clench his teeth to hold back the sobs that he had trouble holding back. His body curled up more while he was on a small bed in a dark room. Hot tears trailed down his now reddened cheeks.

He knew he didn't deserve to continue living, but his body was immortal. At least, that's what he had found out after many close deaths in the past. He did age, but very slowly, and sometimes he had wondered that maybe he would eventually die from old age. Yet… who knew how long that would take…

Though… maybe… humans have some sort of technology that could help him meet his end.

'Coward…'

Yes… he was… a coward indeed…

Philip barely heard the sigh as someone had walked into the room one evening, noticing the bloody mess on his arms as the gauze was just bunched up by his wrists.

Sister Lilian walked out of the room for a moment before she came back, with the first aid kit. She pulled the chair – one that was in front of a desk - by Philip's bedside and gently pulled one arm towards her before she tended to his new wounds.

She hadn't said anything to him the prior few times when she found him with self-inflicted wounds, and probably wouldn't know what to say anyway, especially since his eyes, almost gray and unresponsive, conveyed a sense of disconnection, and it seemed like there was no way to reach him.

The first couple of days, she had tried having him drink water or have a bite to eat, but he just laid on his left side, unresponsive. She did manage to have him change shirts at least.

She was worried for a while that he was starving himself to death, but then wondered if the curse was indeed keeping him alive without the need to fuel, since he didn't look like he was wasting away, per say.

After she wiped some of the 'blood' off, she then sanitized his cuts that lingered on top of the symbols he had carved on his flesh like he said he had done centuries ago.

"We should have you shower soon," she said quietly to him, brushing some of the greasy strands of his hair off his exhausted face, revealing he had a scruff now of blonde mix with gray hair around his face. She imagined she could maybe help him shave if he wanted to look a bit cleaner.

Philip heard her voice and felt her fingers on him. He shut his eyes hard, his lips pressed together into a thin line as more tears made their way out of his eyes.

He had the urge to scream at the woman, to demand her to leave him alone. He didn't deserve anyone by his side ever again, tending to his wounds, worrying about him in any way.

But he couldn't speak, he couldn't do anything except cry like the pathetic, worthless monster that he was.

Sister Lilian pulled her hand away from him when he curled up, his body shaking.

She said nothing for a moment, and just observed him, but then slowly she grabbed one of his hands and pulled it towards her. She closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against his cold hand and began to pray quietly. More tears would make their way out from Philip, but her soft voice eased him for a moment, and once again dragged him back to sleep.

The next time he managed to open his eyes, the room was pitch black, and a blanket covered the majority of his body.

He stared at the empty chair that sat across the room, wishing that Sister Lilian would still be there with him so she could continue to pray, to make the agony in his chest less painful…

'You don't deserve anyone to pray for you,' the dark voice hissed.

The voice was right… he didn't deserve Sister Lilian's soothing voice, nor any sort of kind words towards him. The ones who he had wronged did deserve a prayer, though. They deserved many to help them rest in peace.

Philip brushed away some of the tears that had gathered his eyes, as he thought about maybe praying for those he had killed, but… he couldn't remember any of the ones he had learned during his time with the Minister.

Then again… he wanted to avoid anything that the Minister had taught him, after everything that has happened…

Maybe he could… do his own sort of prayers at the Chapel, but… he asked himself if maybe his victims wouldn't want him to do such a thing. They most likely wouldn't want to do anything with him after he sent them to their doom.

'Coward…'

Philip bit the inside of his cheek hard, drawing out 'blood', hating himself for trying to make excuses at this moment. Yes, he could barely feel any strength in him to leave the room, but he too didn't want to leave it no matter what.

But, after a while of telling himself to move, belittling himself for being so pathetic, he eventually, slowly, forced himself to sit up in bed, his muscles aching and utterly exhausted. His head spun for a moment with dizziness, which led him to stare at the floor with a weak gaze, trying to find the strength to move. Eventually, he managed to swing his legs out of bed and tried to stand, but his knees buckled under him, and he stumbled, catching himself on the edge of the bed. He stood there, his shoulders shaking as he let out a sob, leaning on the bed, taking deep breaths, trying to steady himself, especially to calm his mind.

'Pathetic…'

His mind was consumed again with the reminders of the deaths of all those he had killed, and he couldn't help but feel the guilt claw at his insides, almost making him heave.

'Get up, you worthless piece of shit…'

Finally, he mustered up the strength to stand, even though his limbs felt like lead and his head throbbed with pain. He weakly gazed at the door before he struggled to put one foot in front of the other. His footsteps were slow and heavy as he walked out of the door, met by a dark hallway. He kept his red-rimmed eyes on his bare feet, a hand leaning on the wall to help him move down the hallway. Before he got half way down to his destination, but he stopped when he noticed some light filter out underneath one of the doors that was shut.

He felt the irresistible impulse to flee back to his room and barricade himself inside, to avoid potentially hurting anyone in any way, but he remained frozen in place, petrified of making any sound. Suddenly, he picked up on the voices emanating from within the room…

"Go on, my child, speak your mind," he recognized the voice of Sister Margaret, strict and a bit impatient.

Seated around a dining table, Sister Margaret, Father Francis, and the other nuns were having a belated supper. Sister Luna had been glancing over at Father Francis and then at Sister Margaret, her brow furrowed with what looked like she was bothered by something. Tired of the unspoken tension, Sister Margaret decided to urge Sister Luna to speak her thoughts.

Setting down her silverware, Sister Luna fixed her gaze on Father Francis. "He's been staying with us for a week now. So… are you going to continue sheltering this demon until he decides to just leave?" she asked. "Especially after everything he has done?"

"His name is Philip," chided Sister Lilian.

"And we help those who are in need," added Father Francis. "I'm not going to make Philip leave, especially the state he is right now."

"He does nothing but mope around and sleep for days," Sister Luna retorted icily, causing Philip's heart to ache with guilt beyond the door.

"He's in pain…" Sister Lilian defended him, her tone defensive. "It's traumatizing to discover that everything you were taught to believe in was a lie. He's suffering from the realization that he's hurt so many innocent lives."

"It's those who he's hurt and who are still suffering that we should be concerned about," interjected Sister Margaret, her sharp eyes scanning the group. "Sister Luna is right. He's only wallowing in self-pity. If he truly regretted his actions, he would try to make amends or at least face those whom he has wronged instead of hiding away."

Father Francis frowned at Sister Margaret's blunt remarks.

"Don't be like that, Sister Margaret," he said. "We must consider the pain Philip has endured, and his remorse for his actions."

"Remorse doesn't erase the harm he's caused," Sister Margaret shot back. "He can't hide away forever. It's time for him to face the consequences of his actions and make amends. You aren't being fair to his victims."

As Philip listened to their conversation from behind closed doors, he felt a knot form in his throat. He knew he was being a coward. For years, he couldn't accept the truth, and now he was indeed avoiding taking responsibility for his actions.

Sister Lilian spoke up, her voice gentle. "I can't help but feel that it's unfair to him. Philip is also a victim of all of this. He has suffered too. Where is his justice for what he had to endure? Where is the compassion for him?"

"Ah, since he was a victim, we should just brush off the pain he has caused?" Sister Luna asked with a scoffed, which made Philip's guilt almost palpable, but also something else gripped his heart.

He retreated back into his room, as self-loathing began to grow into a dark cloud within him.

"That's… not what I'm trying to say," Sister Lilian quickly defended herself.

"Philip went through something that nobody else in the world can ever relate to," Father Francis cut in. "For almost 400 years, he has lived in a lie, and yes, he committed unspeakable acts, but he's at a turning point now. He's finally realized the error of his ways and is plagued by intense remorse for his past sins. It's not the time to be harsh towards him, but rather a time to show understanding, patience, and compassion. He's in a vulnerable state right now, and it wouldn't take much for him to slide down a darker path than he was before, especially with that curse of his that we know nothing about," he reminisced about the night Philip was going through a horrific transformation when confronted by Sister Margaret a week ago. To Father Francis, it looked like the transformation took affect when Philip was enraged. "In time, his guilt will guide him towards making the right choices, provided he receives the right guidance and support."

Sister Luna cut in, her face creased with a frown. "But how long do we allow him to stay here with us and let him 'deal' with his guilt?"

"Let's give him a few more days," Father Francis replied calmly. "After that, I'll talk to him and then we will see from there what the next steps he should take."

Sister Margaret couldn't resist voicing her opinion. "You're too soft, Father Francis."

Father Francis merely went back to sipping his chicken soup in silence, unwilling to engage in a pointless argument with her and Sister Luna.

"You're nothing but a monster, Belos."

Philip was having a hard time breathing, a hand clutching his heaving chest as his heart pounded against it painfully, tears scorching his face, as he curled up on his bed.

'You're nothing but a monster…'

He gasped in pain as he felt the curse spreading to his face and arms, the gauze splitting apart, his eyes closed tightly as he screamed at himself for being such a coward.

Why was he born?!

Why didn't his mom kill him instead of taking her life?!

Why didn't his dad press on his tiny neck longer?!

'You're nothing but a monster!'

Philip sobbed, mentally screaming at himself as the memories of all his past sins crashed against one another. He felt rage burn in his very soul just when his skull burst in agony when horns shot out of his head.

"You.. pathetic monster," he stumbled on his words, disgust in his voice as he dug the now grown claws into his arms. "You don't deserve anyone to feel bad for you. Stop being a fucking coward." He snapped at himself, voice dripping with malice, having the urge to just rip himself apart. "Why can't you just do something right for once in your pathetic life?!" he roared now as his eyes flashed blue with rage.

Then the next he knew, he was on his feet, panting with exhaustion, the chair and desk broken into countless pieces across the floor, the bed ripped into shreds.

His eyes were wide, filled with tears, as his heartbeat against his chest painfully at what he had done.

Philip froze when his ears caught the countless footsteps coming down the hallway before he heard Father Francis calling out to him on the other side of the door, "Philip? Are you alright?"

Philip remained frozen, not wanting to utter a word.

"I'm coming in, Philip," Father Francis said, and when Philip heard the doorknob twist, he slammed his body against his door, keeping anyone from coming in.

There was dead silence from either side of the door for a dreadful moment.

"Philip…?" Sister Lilian hesitantly called to him.

Philip kept his mouth shut, but continued to breathe heavily, his chest throbbing in pain as he leaned against the door, desperately trying to keep anyone from coming inside, especially since he had blacked out again and destroyed the room.

He didn't want to harm Father Francis or the others, so he shut his eyes, blocking out the voices that came out from Sister Lilian and Father Francis, as they tried to encourage him to let them in, to talk to them.

They meant well, he knew, but he didn't deserve their kindness, their compassion. No monster did…

He stood motionless against the door for what felt like an eternity as he tried to stay calm, terrified to lose control again.

As he drifted in and out of sleep for a long time, he finally realized there was nothing but silence on the other side of the door. He relaxed that the others eventually left him be, but now he couldn't help but replay Sister's Margaret's words like a haunting melody in his mind.

If he truly regretted what he had done… he would be trying to make amends for what he had done. He had to face the consequences for his actions.

But… how could he make things right? The dead could not be brought back, and it was too late to do the right thing for them. Then again, there were still those who lived like Luz and her friends that he has hurt, just like Sister Margaret had said.

And especially… Hunter…

His chest clenched at the thought of the boy, at the times he had laid a hand on him, how he played with his emotions without a sense of care.

And he recalled how he told the boy to… take his own life…

Philip thumped his head hard against the door due to the tears that once again made their way out of his glowing blue eyes.

He scrubbed his face with the shirt he wore before he began to force certain emotions he had away, focusing only on the guilt he held for what he has done, the anger he had for himself, focusing his mind on the things that should matter at this moment from now on, which was making things right for those kids.

The pain he felt didn't matter anymore.

So, he tried to clear his mind up, so he could try to think in ways to make amends with Luz and her friends.

Honestly, he wasn't even sure how he could start, especially since an apology was worthless coming out of his mouth, since Camila had made it clear they wouldn't believe it to be an honest one if he tried. They would think he was just manipulating them, which he couldn't blame them for feeling that way.

He had conned people for far too long that anything he said would be taken in as lies…

He truly wished they could just end himself then and there, but death, again, was almost an impossible option for him and would be a coward's way out, a way to escape the punishment he deserved.

No, he had to find the strength and make things right no matter how long it took, no matter how hard it was to do so.

'Tell me how we can build a portal back to the demon realm.' Luz's demand echoed in his mind which reminded him what he had taken from Luz's friends. He had taken away their families… their friends… their homes…

He clenched his teeth.

He had used so much of his will to try to eliminate an entire race for centuries, it was only fair he found that same strength and used it to help those children return to the Boiling Isles and save their world, no matter how tired he was now, no matter how he longed to just sleep. Getting them back to their prior lives was probably a good start and the least he could do at this moment.

But… they weren't going to trust him into helping them. How could he have them understand that he has learned the errors of his ways? How could he prove to Luz and her friends that he truly regretted what he had done?

Then again…if he told them how terribly he felt about the things he had done, he could imagine a few of them feeling bad for him, which, he wanted to avoid. He didn't deserve such sympathy or pity from anyone.

He deserved to suffer and keep his emotions locked tightly with a lock and key forever.

After sitting there, against the door, for a while, he eventually decided not to waste any more time by just keeping himself locked in that room. He had to face the consequences to his actions. And without saying a word to Father Francis or to any of the nuns residing in that church, he slipped away in the middle of the night and eventually was standing outside in Luz's backyard.

His glowing blue eyes stared, with half lid-tired eyes, at the house, doing his best not to shiver from the cold air brushing past him.

For a moment, he had the urge to run back to the Church and lock himself in the room, afraid he might harm the children and Camila, but… again… that would make him a coward.

He took a moment to take slow deep breaths, shoving all his emotions down before he forced his exhausted body to move to the door. He tried to open it, but found it locked.

He closed his eyes, taking more slow deep breaths as he felt fear creep into his mind, the guilt trying to eat him away again, but he internally screamed at himself to stop making everything about himself so he could find the strength to knock on the door hard.

Philip stood there for a long time and then eventually his ears picked up movement inside the house. The door finally did open, revealing Camila on the other side of the door looking at him with what looked like surprise yet hesitation.

"Philip…" she said quietly, taking notice how terrible he looked. His hair was a complete mess, knotted, and greasy, most likely he hadn't taken a wash since he left. He wore a completely different shirt, white, short-sleeved, but he didn't look like he had been staying out in the forest since there were no smudges of dirt, but there were green ones that told her he had been injured.

The horns and the way the curse covered half of his body, while the glowing blue eyes stared at her, reminding how scary he looked after not seeing him for over a week. How terrifying he could be…

"Where… have you been…?" she finally asked.

Philip said nothing, keeping his tired gaze on her, expecting her to just let him in like the other times and let him be, but she remained blocking the entrance, not making a move of the slightest to let him in, which was… strange…

"Look… Philip…" Camila began to say, which made Philip narrow his eyes at her, noticing the hesitation in her voice. Philip noticed the girls had run downstairs and were standing in the hallway, some staring at him weary while Luz glared daggers at him. Eventually, Hunter and Gus stepped out of the basement. Hunter's eyes were wide and had some relief in his eyes.

Even now…

'I want to stay mad at him, but I can't help but want him to love me as… a son...' Hunter's words replayed in Philip's mind from a while ago, making his chest painfully twist.

'You don't deserve that boy's love…'

Camila noticed the kids had gathered behind her but took a deep breath before she settled a firm gaze on Philip. "I'm sorry, Philip, but I can't let you stay in this house. I can't let you near these children," she said, making Philip grow cold, making Hunter look pained at her words. "I know you hate these children," Camila continued as Philip's mind began to race as well as his heart.

No… no, no, no…

If he wasn't allowed to stay at the house, how could he help them return to the Boiling Isles? How could he do the right thing if he was going to be banned from interacting with those he had wronged?

"And no matter what I say or do, you won't ever change your mind, but –"

"I'll accept to do an eternal oath," Philip cut Camila off with a cold, calm tone, even though he was panicking inside. "I will help the children create the portal, bring them back to the Boiling Isles…" Now everyone was staring at him, slowly processing the things that were coming out of his mouth.

Philip then fixed a firm gaze at Luz, who stared at him with a mix of shock and anger?

"Once you guys return to the Boiling Isles, you can do whatever you want with me," Philip said, deciding on that moment the best course of action he could take to get his way to helping them. "I can even show you guys how you can seal me away just like the Collector was…"

Everyone's eyes widened at him, baffled.

"What…?" Hunter let out quietly as Luz was now completely caught off guard, just like everyone else.

She was trying to make sense and at the same time her mind was screaming at her that they should attack him right now. She was telling herself he was plotting something far worse than she could ever imagine. That there was no way he would be such a fool to make an eternal oath with such conditions. He had to have something terrible under his sleeve.

While Luz glared at him with complete hatred, Philip continued to keep himself numb from majority of the emotions that dared to swallow him, only letting the hate he had for himself to push him forward to do the right thing, to let guilt keep him from harming anyone else ever again.

Locked…

Sealed, possibly forever…

He decided it was the perfect punishment for a monster like him…