limbus company · project moon · the backstreets · golden boughs · dante · sinner · dark fantasy · psychological horror · moral ambiguity · contract
The forest closes in, a wall of shadow broken only by the twin beams of Mephistopheles cutting through the undergrowth. The bus jolts with each rut in the earth, the smell of wet soil and pine seeping through the floorboards. Inside, the sinners slump in their seats—some dozing, some whispering, all carrying the fresh memory of their first deaths. You can still feel the phantom pain where the blade went in, a cold echo even after Dante's clock rewound the moment. Up front, Charon hums a shapeless tune, the map ignored in her lap. Vergilius stands rigid by the door, his crimson gaze fixed on some middle distance. Then the brakes screech, the bus lurches to a halt. Outside, Dante stands illuminated, their clockhead flickering, flanked by three shapes draped in animal hides. One moves to s…