VOL.2- The Phantasmagoria Live Show

Dare to Step into the Unknown

You are invited to be a part of something extraordinary. The Phantasmagoria Show offers a chance to experience the unimaginable.

A journey awaits, filled with wonder and peril. Are you brave enough to accept?

Secure your place in this enigmatic spectacle by signing the enclosed contract.

The Phantasmagoria Show Team

CONTRACT

Article 1: Choose your role.

Article 2: Drink the blue potion and erase your memory.

Article 3: Enter the house.

Article 4: The audience will be able to see you even if you don't realize it.

Article 5: You can invite friends to watch the game.

Article 6: You can invite a friend to join the game.

Article 7: Until the game is over, you cannot leave the house.

Article 8: While in the house, you will be protected by our observers. Other guests or other players can't kill you in an unaesthetic way.

Article 9: Becoming the audience's favorite player will increase your chances of winning the competition. However, your goal should still be the creation of the most powerful puppet and your survival.

Article 10: If you win the contest, the wish you write below will be fulfilled by us.

(Write your wish) ......

Sign here:

The dim glow of candlelight flickered across the ornate walls of the monarch's study, casting long shadows over the parchment laid out on the desk. The air was thick with the scent of aged paper and ink, mingling with the faint aroma of spiced wine. The faint sound of jazz music drifted through the room, a sultry saxophone weaving its melody with the soft hum of a double bass.

The monarch sat in silence, his piercing gaze fixed on the contract before him. His fingers traced the edges of the parchment, as if testing its weight, its reality.

"Is this it?" he asked.

"Yes, your Highness," Lord Dekaris Zharqasti replied. He stood by the window, his silhouette framed by the pale moonlight streaming through the tall, arched panes. He was dressed impeccably, as always, but tonight his attire carried an extra touch of refinement—a tailored black velvet coat with gold embroidery, paired with a crisp white shirt and a cravat tied with precision.

Dekaris listened to music while waiting impatiently for the monarch's response, keeping his attention fixed on the room. But no matter what he did, his gaze remained fixated on the monarch and the subtleties that elevated his majestic presence to the next level.

The monarch's black hair, combed back, gleamed like polished onyx under the flickering candlelight. He wore a tailored suit of deep midnight blue, its fabric rich. Over his shoulders draped a heavy cape. The cape pooled around him like a shadow.

The monarch was obviously lost in some calculating thought. His piercing silver eyes glimmered subtly behind the mask that concealed the upper half of his face.

Dekaris gazed at the monarch's mask, a silver masterwork with delicate filigree resembling ancient runes. It framed the monarch's strong jawline and high cheekbones, adding an air of mystery to his already commanding presence.

Eventually, Dekaris initiated a dialogue with the aim of encouraging the monarch to engage in conversation. "I admire your mask."

"Thanks." Yes, it was his only words.

Dekaris turned slightly, the moonlight catching the edge of his high cheekbones and the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw. His soft voice cut through the music like a blade wrapped in silk. "Your Majesty," he began, his tone both respectful and probing, "the Phantasmagoria Show is no mere spectacle. It is a gateway to power, a stage where the extraordinary becomes possible. To step into it is to step into legend."

As the jazz music swelled, its rhythm pulsing like a heartbeat, the entire room seemed alive, anticipating the monarch's response.

The monarch's eyes narrowed, his expression unreadable. "A legend, you say? Or a trap? This contract... it speaks of memory loss, of confinement, of puppets and wishes. It reeks of manipulation."

Lord Dekaris stepped closer, his shoes echoing softly against the marble floor. "The game is a crucible, Your Majesty. It tests the mind, the will, the very essence of one's being. And should you emerge victorious, your wish—any wish—will be granted. Imagine the possibilities."

The monarch leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled before him. "My wish is simple, Dekaris.I desire the original art piece—Ru. This... game... claims it can fulfill that. But at what cost?"

Lord Dekaris had a faint smile. "The cost is your participation, Your Majesty. Your willingness to step into the unknown. The blue potion will erase your memory, yes, but it will also free you from the constraints of your past. You will enter the house as a blank slate, a player unburdened by the weight of your crown. And yet, your essence, your will, will remain. That is what will guide you to victory."

The monarch's gaze hardened. "And what of the audience? This contract states they will watch, even if I am unaware. Am I to be a puppet, dancing for their amusement?"

"Not a puppet," Dekaris countered, "but a protagonist. The audience admires strength, cunning, and creativity. Become their favorite, and you will gain their favor. But your true goal is survival and the creation of the most powerful puppet. That is the key to winning the game."

The monarch's eyes flickered with a mix of skepticism and curiosity. "And if I refuse?"

Dekaris' smile disappeared, giving way to a serious expression. "Your Excellency, I must express that if you choose not to engage in the game, it will be unfeasible for us to extract you from your dimension."

The monarch lifted his head and gave Dekaris a stern look. "Speak more clearly."

"Sure, Your Highness," Dekaris sighed. "The approaching apocalypse will break the links of spirit that link you to the earthly realm. To clarify, it will lead to the destruction of humanity." He stopped and then stepped towards the monarch's desk. "Furthermore, I have to say the regret that you will assume your position on the throne of hell, inherited from your father."

The music stopped. The room fell silent once more. The monarch's gaze returned to the contract. Finally, he reached for the quill, dipping it into the inkwell with deliberate precision.

"Very well," he said, his voice steady. "I will play this game. But know this, Dekaris: if this is a trick, if I am betrayed, there will be no dimensions where you can hide from my wrath."

Dekaris bowed his head, a gesture of respect—or perhaps submission. "Understood, Your Majesty. I will ensure your safe passage to the house. And when you awaken, remember this: the game is not just a test of survival. This is an opportunity for your freedom. And it offers you the most important piece for your collection—Ru.”

The monarch’s silver eyes, glowing faintly behind the mask, locked onto Dekaris with an intensity that could pierce steel. The candlelight flickered, casting shifting shadows across his regal features as he leaned forward, his cape pooling around him like a dark tide. His gloved hand, resting on the desk, tightened into a fist, the leather creaking softly.

“Before I sign,” the monarch said, his tone leaving no room for negotiation, “you will show Ru to me and give me the opportunity to meet him.”

Dekaris, who had been standing with an air of calm confidence, faltered for the first time. His sharp features twitched. He took a small step back, his polished shoes clicking softly against the marble floor. His hand, which had been resting casually in his pocket, now gripped the edge of his velvet coat.

“But…” Dekaris began, his voice losing some of its smoothness, “Your Majesty, Ru is not… easily accessible. The rules of the game are clear. You must enter the house, play the game, and only then can Ru be yours. To see him now would be to break the very fabric of the Phantasmagoria’s design.”

The monarch rose from his chair, his imposing figure towering over the desk. The cape cascaded down his back, its dark blue lining catching the light like spilled night. He stepped around the desk, his movements deliberate, each step echoing in the silent room.

“Do not presume to lecture me on rules, Dekaris,” the monarch said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. “I am not one of your pawns to be moved about at your whim. If you wish for me to step into this game, you will grant me this one assurance. Show me Ru. Now.”

Dekaris swallowed, his usual composure slipping further. He took another step back, his back nearly touching the window. The moonlight framed him, casting a pale glow over his face. His mind raced, searching for a way to regain control of the situation.

“Your Majesty,” he said, his voice softer now, almost pleading, “I understand your desire, truly I do. But Ru is… not something that can simply be summoned. He is a prize, a treasure locked away within the game itself. To see him now would be to unravel the very essence of the Phantasmagoria. It would render the game meaningless.”

The monarch stopped mere inches from Dekaris, his silver eyes burning with an intensity that seemed to pierce through the other man’s defenses. He reached out and brought his gloved hand close to Dekaris' face—the hand torn between hitting and grabbing. After a while, he lowered his hand, but the threat was still in the air.

“Do not test me, Dekaris,” the monarch said; his voice carried the weight of a storm. “I have played your games before. I have navigated through your deceptions and witnessed the manipulations you employ. If you value your life and don't want your stupid game to end before it even begins, you will grant my desire."

Dekaris’s breath hitched, his usual charm and confidence crumbling under the monarch’s unwavering gaze. He glanced toward the door, as if considering escape, but quickly thought better of it. Instead, he straightened his coat, attempting to regain some semblance of dignity.

“Very well,” Dekaris said, his voice trembling slightly. “I will… arrange for you to see Ru. But I must warn you, Your Majesty, the encounter will not be what you expected. Ru is more than just an item to be viewed. He embodies a force, an unfathomable presence."

The monarch’s lips curled into a faint, satisfied smile. “Then let us see this force for ourselves,” he said, stepping back and gesturing toward the door. “Lead the way, Dekaris. And remember—I am watching.”

Dekaris nodded, a wary reverence taking the place of his typical arrogance. He moved toward the door, his steps slower and more measured than before. The monarch pursued him, his cape sweeping the ground and bringing nightmare figures to life from the shadows.

Lord Dekaris Zharqasti and the monarch with the army of fiends the ruler created from the shadows...

Frankly, Heise wasn't expecting any guests tonight. Especially an army...

"Oh no!"