The Joke’s on You 1

The transition from the dark, chaotic world of Cyber Steam Online to the cold reality of the Creed family mansion was jarring, as it always was. The VR helmet slid off Earnest's head with a soft click, and he blinked as the stark light of his room replaced the dim, ominous glow of the game. The silence here was different—heavier, more suffocating. In CSO, silence was a prelude to action, a calm before the storm. Here, it was just emptiness, a void that mirrored the hollowness inside him.

Earnest Samael Creed, known to the world of CSO as Jest, stood and stretched, the familiar ache of his muscles reminding him of the physical limitations that the digital world freed him from. His room was as meticulously ordered as his mind—everything in its place, nothing out of order. The minimalist design, with its sharp lines and monochrome color scheme, reflected his need for control, for order in a world that often seemed chaotic and meaningless.

The walls were adorned with a few select pieces of art, all dark, abstract works that others might find disturbing. To Earnest, they were simply reflections of his inner landscape—twisted, complex, and impossible to decipher at a glance. His gaze lingered on one piece in particular, a black and red swirl that seemed to shift and move if you stared at it too long. It reminded him of the miasma Gray had unleashed, a beautiful and deadly force that consumed everything in its path.

As he dressed in his usual attire—dark, form-fitting clothes that matched his brooding demeanor—his mind was already shifting back to the real world and the challenges it posed. The victory in CSO had been satisfying, but it was just one part of the larger puzzle that was his life. The Creed family still loomed large over everything, a shadow he could never fully escape, no matter how far he delved into the digital world.

The thought of his family stirred something deep within him—a cold, simmering rage that he kept tightly controlled. They had created him, shaped him into the person he was, but they would also be the architects of their own downfall. His plans for them were slow, methodical, a game of chess where every move was calculated to bring about their ruin.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. Earnest didn't bother responding; the door opened anyway, revealing Prudence, his older sister. She stepped into the room with the kind of casual grace that belied the razor-sharp mind hidden behind her pleasant exterior. Where Serene was a mirror of Earnest's cold, calculating nature, Prudence was the diplomat, the one who maintained the family's public facade.

"Good morning, Earnest," Prudence greeted him, her voice as smooth as ever. "You missed dinner last night. Father was not pleased."

"Father is rarely pleased," Earnest replied, his tone flat as he continued adjusting his collar in the mirror. "I had more important matters to attend to."

Prudence's smile didn't falter, though her eyes flickered with a hint of disapproval. "CSO again, I presume. You spend too much time in that game, brother. It's not healthy."

Earnest turned to face her, his expression as unreadable as always. "I find it preferable to reality."

Prudence sighed, her diplomatic facade slipping just enough to reveal the concern beneath. "You can't hide in that world forever, Earnest. Sooner or later, you'll have to face the real one."

"I'm not hiding," he corrected her, his voice icy. "I'm preparing."

Prudence raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite herself. "Preparing for what?"

Earnest didn't answer immediately. Instead, he moved past her, heading toward the door. "You wouldn't understand," he said quietly, his tone dismissive.

Prudence's eyes narrowed slightly, her frustration barely contained. "You think you're so much smarter than the rest of us, don't you?"

"Not smarter," Earnest replied, pausing at the doorway. "Just… more aware."

Prudence opened her mouth to retort, but Earnest was already gone, disappearing into the hallway without another word. He didn't need to engage with her further; Prudence was a minor obstacle in his grand scheme, one that he could easily maneuver around when the time came. His real focus was on Maverick, the father who had spent years trying to mold Earnest into something he could never be—a Creed who fit the family's image, a puppet who danced to the tune of power and influence.

But Earnest had always been different. Even as a child, he had seen the world through a lens that others couldn't comprehend. Emotions were alien to him, an unnecessary distraction from the cold logic that governed his actions. Where his siblings had sought approval, Earnest had sought control—over himself, over his surroundings, and eventually, over the very people who had tried to control him.

He made his way down the grand staircase, the marble floors reflecting the light from the crystal chandeliers above. The mansion was quiet this morning, the usual hustle and bustle muted. It was a house built on old money and older secrets, each room a carefully curated display of wealth and power. But beneath the opulence, there was a rot—a decay that Earnest had long recognized and intended to exploit.

As he entered the dining room, he found Maverick Creed seated at the head of the long, ornate table, reading the morning newspaper. The patriarch of the Creed family was a man of imposing presence, his sharp features and silver hair giving him an air of authority that few dared to challenge. He glanced up as Earnest entered, his expression a mixture of annoyance and indifference.

"You're late," Maverick said, his voice carrying the weight of a man used to being obeyed.

"I wasn't aware there was a schedule," Earnest replied, taking a seat at the far end of the table.

Maverick's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing more, choosing instead to return to his paper. The silence between them was heavy, filled with unspoken tensions and years of unresolved conflicts. Earnest had long since stopped trying to bridge the gap between them; there was no point in seeking approval from a man who could never understand him.

The servants brought in breakfast—an elaborate spread that reflected the family's wealth and status. Earnest ignored the food, his appetite dulled by the familiar routine of this morning charade. It was all so meaningless, so disconnected from the reality he inhabited in CSO. There, he was powerful, respected, feared. Here, he was just the second son, the joke of the Creed family.

"Your mother will be hosting a charity gala tonight," Maverick said after a long silence, his tone dismissive. "I expect you to attend."

Earnest looked up, his expression blank. "And if I don't?"

Maverick set down his paper, his gaze cold and hard. "Then you will suffer the consequences, as you have before."

The threat hung in the air, a reminder of the power Maverick still wielded over his son. But Earnest felt nothing—no fear, no anger, just a cold, calculated determination to one day strip that power away. He didn't respond, instead choosing to stare back at his father with those pale green eyes that seemed to pierce through the man's soul.

"Do not test me, Earnest," Maverick warned, his voice low and dangerous. "You may think yourself clever, but you are still my son. And as long as you bear the Creed name, you will do as you're told."

Earnest's gaze remained steady, unflinching. "For now."

Maverick's eyes flickered with something Earnest couldn't quite place—perhaps a sliver of doubt, or maybe just frustration at his son's impenetrable demeanor. But whatever it was, it passed quickly, replaced by the usual cold indifference.

"Don't be late," Maverick said, his voice carrying the finality of a command.

Earnest said nothing as he rose from the table, turning his back on his father without another word. The charity gala was just another event, another facade to maintain the Creed family's public image. But for Earnest, it was also an opportunity—another move in the game he was playing, one that would ultimately lead to the family's downfall.

As he walked away, his mind was already formulating plans, each step carefully calculated to bring him closer to his goal. The world outside might see him as a joke, but in time, they would all learn the truth. The Creed family's days of power were numbered, and when they finally fell, it would be at the hands of the son they had tried so hard to control.

In the cold, empty halls of the mansion, Earnest Samael Creed felt nothing but the quiet satisfaction of a plan well laid. The joke was on them, and soon, they would all see just how dangerous the joke could be.