Like a lamb to the slaughter.
Wrath had heard that metaphor once before—Dante laughing over how easy it had been to bait the golden boy to this place of deep darkness years before—but he hadn't understood it until he saw it, saw the blond alchemist walk into the grand ballroom with a dumbstruck expression, all but bleating. He had known the dangers and possible death he'd face at the end of his journey, but he''d come anyway—eagerly, even...like a lamb to the slaughter, a self-sent sacrifice to be offered up in the place of his brother.
And in the end, it seemed that that was exactly what had happened; the ram was marked with blood and burnt, the smoke rising to heaven like a prayer.
What kind of stupid creature would walk willingly and calmly to its own violent, brutal death?
Like a lamb...
Wrath led the way down the endless stairs spiraling into the ancient shadows, and each footfall was a voluntary choice, a renewed affirmation that he knew very well where he was going, he knew intimately what demons that lie dreaming in the deep he'd face...
...and he knew every stair was one more step on a decent into death.
Al kept one warm hand resting on the Sin's shoulder as a guide in the dark, trusting him completely... innocent of this place and what happened here, though it was in this empty city, screaming its dead silence, that he was reborn through the flesh and blood offerings of his beloved brother.
"Why did you bring me to this place?"
Steadily down, the pace never slacking. "Don't worry about it."
This was his day of atonement.