Lord Jester

Wiping his eyes, Cypher looked down at his hand and realized he had been crying. The strange, otherworldly sensation unsettled him deeply.

Is it some kind of Alchemy construct?

Cypher glanced back at the painting, finding that nothing much had changed. But upon closer inspection, he noticed that the man kneeling in the frame was no longer crying. Instead, he was laughing.

The eerie expression was almost audible, a haunting mirth seeping from the canvas.

Like a parasite, something wormed its way into Cypher's mind once again.

"Absurd... yes, isn't this all so—"

Cypher quickly snapped himself out of it. The disgusting, pervasive sensation was far too uncomfortable.

One thing Cypher hated most was having his mind tampered with—anyone would. Nobody wanted to feel their free will stripped away in such an intrusive manner.

Once something else had control over you, were you even truly alive?

You can't be free while someone else holds the key to your chains.

Inside his own head, he felt something strange, like his soul core had touched something—resonated with something unseen.

Freedom?

Then, unexpectedly, his thoughts manifested in a strange way.

"Hom^o fit °deus nisi seipsum| solum ∆agnoscens et se `ipsum solum §colens."

The words spilled from Cypher's lips before he even realized he had spoken. They layered upon themselves in multiple tongues, shifting and twisting in meaning. It was as if he had spoken in pure, indecipherable gibberish—yet at the same time, it carried the weight of a raw, primal concept.

Without anyone except Cypher noticing, a ripple spread across the walls like disturbed water. The chandelier above flickered as if caught in an unseen wind before steadying once more.

Only when the words faded did he realize his throat burned, as though hot oil had been poured down his gullet.

"COUGH!"

Warm specks of red splattered against his hand as he covered his mouth. He glanced at Elie, who was slumped against the golden wall, then back at his own hand, eyes narrowing in confusion.

Then—movement. A shadow passed at the edge of his vision.

Cypher's gaze snapped toward a mirror placed neatly on the ballroom wall. Its circular shape and golden trimmings were unremarkable, blending seamlessly with the lavish decor.

But that wasn't what made him shiver.

Deep within the reflection, among the swirling figures of the dancers, something else moved.

Clap... Clap... Clap! Clap!

A slow, deliberate applause rang through the grand hall, rising to a fever pitch.

"After all these years!"

A high-pitched, joyful voice burst forth, its tone brimming with delight.

Every glass, mirror, and plate it touched shattered into jagged pieces—only to hang, frozen, in midair.

The dancers slowed. Then slowed further.

Until, one by one, they halted—trapped in time.

Under the flickering candlelight, Cypher stood among a room full of people—and yet, he had never felt so utterly alone. Elie was of no use as when Cypher looked over for help he found the man frozen like the dancers.

His head snapped back to the mirror, searching for the figure he had glimpsed—only to find emptiness staring back at him.

"Now, now, no need to rush, my little lost lamb!"

A hand—inhumanly long, slender fingers tipped with painted nails—crept and rested onto Cypher's shoulder, gliding over him like a spider finding its prey.

The voice was sweet and excited, almost comforting—yet devoid of kindness. A wolf among sheep.

"Huff... huff." Cypher's breath came in ragged gasps. The pressure bearing down on him was suffocating—greater than anything he had ever felt.

It had to be thousands of times the weight of Clementine, if not more.

He didn't dare look at the hand's owner yet. He already knew that whatever it belonged to was capable of killing every Dreamweaver he had met with a flick of the wrist.

It was an instinctive feeling, flowing through both his gut and his soul at once. His physical and spiritual energy trembled in this thing's presence.

"Ahh, but pray tell, little explorer..."

The shadow above him thickened, its presence wrapping around him like tar as he was turned by the shoulders.

"How, oh how, did you get into the Well!?"

Cypher craned his neck to look at the source of the voice, only to find empty space—the thing had vanished again.

"And a companion to follow you on your journey! Such friendship is like the setting sun, bright until its very last moments."

A disoriented sway overtook Cypher as he turned toward Elie's position. The frozen man remained where he stood, locked in place—but now, towering over him, was the thing that had once been beside Cypher.

A clown?

Or was it a Jester?

He loomed unnaturally tall, at least ten feet, his lanky frame draped in a harlequin suit of faded checkered red and gold.

His jester's mask, cracked slightly along the edges, bore an unsettling grin that seemed too lifelike for mere paint—as if it had always been part of his face.

Pointy, white and long ears jutted out from the sides of his head. Hollow black eyes, with small, white, star-like dots in the center, peered through the mask's sockets—glinting like liquid voids, watching, waiting.

Bells hung from his collar and wrists, yet they made no sound. Even silence itself seemed to fear him.

The thing moved in movements uncanny and unnatural. Like a cartoon brought into reality, he moved in an exaggeratingly comical way, and yet it seemed to set off some deep fear in the human Psychy when observed for too long.

One long, gloved finger traced along Elie's frozen jawline, drawing a thin line of blood.

The Jester tilted his head, his painted lips parting in mock surprise.

"Oh dear," he whispered, voice lilting like a lover's sigh. "I do believe your dear friend has gone awfully still."

The finger moved to Elie's forehead, pressing into his skin.

Then—something strange happened.

Elie's chest rose sharply as his eyes vibrated. For a moment, his pupils locked onto the grinning mask before him before—

"BLEUGH!"

The Dreamweaver immediately collapsed to the floor.

A sickening mixture of purple, red, and black bile spilled across the marble, pooling into a thick puddle.

Cypher remained silent, watching as the Jester bent forward—like a child observing a bug.

Tilting his head abruptly, enough to produce a sharp snap, he spoke gleefully,

"My, my, I forgot you humans can get this way when time stops!"

And yet, Elie continued to vomit and writhe in pain.

The sensation was horrific, as if he had fallen from a mountain only to collide with the ground. He felt it—he was bleeding internally, and without his healing factor, it wouldn't stop.

"Come on, little explorer, don't you want to get to the fun part!?"

The Jester urged him to hurry, a hint of impatience beneath his smile.

"What's happening...?" Elie croaked weakly, ready to retch again.

The Jester's smile slowly fell.

The mask frowned.

Then, in a cold, otherworldly voice—a new voice—the clown spoke:

"GET... UP... HUMAN."

"Argh!"

A sharp sensation struck the Dreamweaver.

A hand reached out, yanking Elie up by the hair, dragging him onto his feet before invisible strings pierced through his skin—binding him from above.

"What...!?"

Without his healing ability, Elie simply stood, held in place by the strings—no different from a stage piece, waiting for its master's command.

"There! Everything is now perfect—as perfect as perfect can possibly be!"

The Jester's voice regained its cheerful luster as he tapped the side of his face, pondering.

Then—suddenly, as if struck by an idea—

He raised his hands theatrically, his movements exaggerated, like a performance.

With a single, deliberate snap of his fingers

A ticking sound emerged.

The crowd of dancers twitched.