Card Creation Part 2

Lucian sat cross-legged on the floor, the dim light of the room casting long shadows across the worn wood. His breathing was slow but uneven, his body tense with anticipation. Triboulet's words lingered in his mind, their playful tone masking an undercurrent of danger. He closed his eyes and let the world dissolve around him, finding himself within his mindspace, a place of strange, fluid shapes and swirling energy. It felt both familiar and alien. Triboulet was there too, perched on a large, colorful balloon that shifted hues endlessly. "Close your eyes, focus your mind, and let the world around you fade," he urged, his tone dripping with mischief.

He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply as he tried to center himself. The faint hum of the energy-tempered steel cards lying before him seemed to vibrate in sync with his heartbeat. Triboulet's voice broke the silence again, sharper now. "Feel it. Can you feel it, Lucian? The energy, the pulse of the chaos that surrounds us all."

At first, he felt nothing but the faint chill of the room. Then the mindspace itself began to shimmer, its abstract forms coalescing as a warmth spread from within him. Colors surged into focus: vivid whites, vibrant greens, and deep reds, each blending and twisting in a chaotic dance. The energy felt alive, pulling him deeper, its call irresistible. As he surrendered to its pull, other sensations began to rise. A raw torrent of emotion, joy and sorrow, rage and elation, all crashing against him like waves. Through it all, Triboulet's laughter echoed in the background, sharp and discordant, a wild symphony of amusement. The warmth became almost suffocating, as if the energy were wrapping itself around him, binding him to its will.

As Lucian leaned further, the colors darkened, threads of black and gray weaving through the vibrant hues like venom seeping into a stream. The emotions twisted with the chaos, becoming more intense, more primal. Whispers filled his ears, faint but persistent, their words barely intelligible yet laced with malice. Laughter, guttural and manic, mixed with anguished cries, forming a cacophony that clawed at his thoughts and threatened to overwhelm him. The chaotic energy wasn't just alive; it was hungry, reaching out to consume him whole. Triboulet's giggles intertwined with the noise, amplifying the discord until it was nearly unbearable.

"What is this?" Lucian's voice trembled as he broke his concentration, his eyes snapping open. Sweat dripped from his brow, and his chest heaved as though he had been running for miles.

Triboulet grinned wide and he leaned forward, his chin resting on his hands, his eyes gleaming with a mix of mischief and expectation. "That, my dear wildcard, is the essence of chaos," he said, his voice rhythmic with unrestrained amusement. "The energy that creates cards. It feeds on emotions. The good, the bad, and everything in between. And you, Lucian, are its conduit."

Lucian hesitated, his hands curling into fists at his sides. A wave of unease swept over him as he thought back to the moment he first felt the energy creeping into him. It hadn't just been a sensation; it had been a violation, a vile force clawing at the edges of his being. "It felt... wrong," he admitted, his voice low and tinged with uncertainty. "Like it was trying to take me over."

Triboulet's grin stretched wider, impossibly so, as a laugh bubbled out of him, light and melodic yet undercut with a sharpness that made Lucian's skin crawl. "Of course it did," he said, his tone almost dismissive. "That's the price of power. Chaos doesn't follow rules, Lucian. It's raw. It's untamed. But don't fret," he added with a mockingly reassuring tone, the grin on his face never wavering. "As long as you're careful, it won't devour you. Probably."

Lucian's stomach twisted further, his unease spiraling into a knot of dread. The word "probably" hung in the air, mocking him. Was this power worth the risk? Every instinct screamed at him to stop, to walk away before it was too late. But the mark on his skin burned hot against his resolve, as if tethering him to this moment. The chains that bound him to this path were unrelenting, their weight suffocating yet undeniable. Power. He needed it. Not for its own sake but because it was the only thing that could shatter the hold this world had on him. Triboulet's grin didn't waver, and his eyes gleamed with an oppressive certainty that Lucian couldn't fully ignore. He clenched his fists, forcing himself to breathe through the turmoil within. Freedom, or even the glimmer of it, was too close to abandon now.

Triboulet's grin widened, his eyes gleaming with something that danced between delight and cruelty. He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping into a tone that was almost soothing. "Do you know what cards you can produce by using this energy, Lucian? Cards, forged with chaos itself. They could bring kings to their knees, crumble empires, and rewrite the very rules of this world. Power like that doesn't just shape destiny, it defines it. That power could be yours."

Lucian hesitated, his fingers twitching slightly at his sides. The words struck a chord, a dark promise whispered into the deepest recesses of his thoughts. "But at what cost?" he murmured, his voice barely audible, his doubt struggling against the weight of Triboulet's words.

Triboulet's grin didn't falter, though his eyes seemed to gleam brighter, a predator sensing an opening. "Every choice has a cost, my dear wildcard. But think of what you'll gain. Imagine wielding the kind of power that makes even the greatest Suits tremble. Isn't that worth a little discomfort? Or would you rather stay bound by the chains of mediocrity, never knowing what you could have become?"

"Fine," he said, his voice steadier than he felt. "What's next?"

Triboulet's grin widened, his teeth impossibly white. "Good. Now, connect to the energy again. But this time, don't fight it. Let it flow through you."

Lucian closed his eyes once more, steeling himself against the storm. As he focused, the colors returned, brighter and more vivid than before. The dark tendrils of chaos were there too, writhing and pulsing with malicious intent. He let the energy wash over him, its weight pressing against his mind like a tide threatening to pull him under.

The whispers grew louder, their words clearer now. Promises of power and destruction intertwined with cries of despair and pain. His body trembled as the energy seeped into him, filling him with a strange, unnatural warmth.

"Good, good," Triboulet's voice purred in his mind. "Now, summon your Soul Carver. It's time to begin."

The dagger appeared in Lucian's hand, its blade dark and pulsing with the same chaotic energy that now coursed through him. He hesitated, the weight of the weapon unfamiliar and heavy.

"What am I supposed to do with this?"

"Stab them, of course," Triboulet said, his tone almost gleeful. "Right in the chest. Don't worry; they won't feel a thing. Probably."

Lucian's gaze shifted to the Windstalkers in their cage. The small, sleek creatures eyed him warily, their movements restless. Their sharp beaks and predatory eyes spoke of their danger, but in this moment, they were helpless.

"Do it, Lucian. Or are you going to hesitate forever?" Triboulet's voice was a whip crack in his mind.

Gritting his teeth, Lucian approached the cage. The Windstalkers were bound with sturdy cords, their sleek bodies pinned and unable to fight back. Their wings twitched uselessly, their sharp beaks snapping in futile defiance. Lucian hesitated, his stomach churning at the sight of their restrained struggles.

With trembling hands, he reached for the first Windstalker. Its fierce eyes glared at him, but it could do nothing to resist as he brought the blade down. The dark edge of the Soul Carver pierced its chest. There was no wound, no blood, only a surge of chaotic energy that flowed from the blade into the creature. Its body convulsed violently, the corruption twisting it from within.

Lucian watched in horror as the Windstalker's cries turned to weak whimpers, its eyes wide with pain. Blood began to seep from its orifices, dark and thick, pooling beneath it.

Swallowing hard, Lucian turned to the next Windstalker and repeated the process. The blade descending, chaotic energy surging, the bound creature writhing helplessly as its cries grew faint. He moved to the third without pause, the weight of his actions pressing down on him with each strike. By the end, all three Windstalkers lay still, their blood pooling darkly on the floor.

"Now, gather the blood," Triboulet instructed, his voice calm and steady. "Use your mind. Guide it to the cards."

Lucian closed his eyes, his head pounding as he tried to focus. The blood seemed to resist his will, its thick, viscous form sluggish and unyielding. Sweat dripped down his face as he pushed harder, his vision swimming with the effort. Finally, the blood began to move, slithering across the floor like a living thing.

"Good," Triboulet crooned. "Now, imagine the weapon you want. Let the blood carve the card on its own."

Lucian thought of the Windstalkers, their predatory grace and deadly precision. A throwing dagger, swift and sharp, took shape in his mind. He began working on the first energy-tempered steel card, guiding the blood to it and letting it carve the image that he is thinking. The process was excruciating, each line etched into the card accompanied by a surge of pain that threatened to shatter his concentration. Despite his effort, the first card crumbled into ash, its promise of power dissolving before his eyes. The failure weighed heavily on him, but he pressed on, his determination refusing to waver.

Encouraged but drained, he moved to the second card. His mind wavered, the whispers from the chaotic energy growing louder, more intrusive. His focus faltered, and the card crumbled to ash beneath his hands. Frustration and doubt gnawed at him, but he pressed on.

The third card seemed to fight him at every turn. The blood resisted his will, moving sluggishly as though burdened by his hesitation. Despite his struggle, the card faltered under his wavering control, and it crumbled to ash, leaving him with nothing to show for his efforts.

Lucian's hands trembled as he reached for the fourth card. The exhaustion was taking its toll, his thoughts growing sluggish and fragmented. He pushed forward, but the energy slipped from his control, and the steel card disintegrated into fine ash before he could complete the carving.

Finally, he approached the fifth card, his body trembling and his mind fraying at the edges. He gritted his teeth and focused with every ounce of strength he had left. The blood carved its path into the foil with agonizing slowness, and the whispers surged to a deafening roar. Just as he thought he might collapse, his focus solidified at the last moment. The fifth card hummed with life as the intricate patterns took shape, its surface glowing faintly with a sinister light. Against all odds, it was complete.

When it was done, Lucian collapsed, his body trembling with exhaustion. Before him lay one completed card, its surface gleaming with a faint, sinister light, while the other four had crumbled to ash, their remnants scattered on the floor like painful reminders of his struggle.

Triboulet's laughter filled the room, a sound that grated against Lucian's frayed nerves. "Not bad for a first try. But we're not finished yet. There's one last step."

Lucian forced himself upright, his limbs heavy and uncooperative. "What now?"

"The souls, Lucian," Triboulet said, his tone soft. "You must bind their souls to the cards. Take the Soul Carver, and finish what you started."

Lucian's stomach turned as he approached the remaining Windstalkers. Their bodies were weak, their movements sluggish, bound and unable to fight back. He brought the blade down again, each stab drawing forth their soul. The cries of the Windstalkers softened, their bodies shuddering as the shimmering forms of their souls emerged and were absorbed into the pommel of the Soul Carver. The gem at the pommel glowed faintly, pulsing with a dim, eerie light.

"Focus on the gem," Triboulet instructed, his voice smooth and coaxing. "Look closely, Lucian. See what you've captured. This will make your card alive"

Lucian hesitated but obeyed, narrowing his gaze on the gem. As his mind focused, his vision seemed to deepen, allowing him to peer into the glowing core. Inside, the three souls floated, faint and fragile, their forms flickering as if they might dissipate at any moment. He can feel it his instinct is telling him that these souls were too weak, too small. The Soul Carver couldn't forge a proper card from them in their current state.

"They're not enough" Lucian said, his voice barely above a whisper. He felt the weight of failure pressing against his chest.

Triboulet's grin widened, his tone turning almost gleeful. "Then prepare them. Imagine hammering them. Picture something sharp, something metallic. Think of the weapon you desire, Lucian. Forge them in your mind, and they will become diamonds on their own. All you need is the will."

Lucian closed his eyes, his mind becoming the forge, his will the hammer. He envisioned the three souls as malleable shapes, their faint cries echoing in his thoughts. He struck them with the force of his imagination, each hammer blow reducing their cries, softening their resistance. The process was slow and grueling, every strike searing into his consciousness as if he were hammering pieces of himself.

As the final blow landed, the cries ceased altogether. In their place, a single diamond shimmered within the gem, larger and more radiant than the three souls had been separately. Its surface bore imperfections, faint cracks that hinted at the struggle it had endured, but it pulsed with a strong, steady hum, a sign of its newfound power and potential.

"Not bad," Triboulet remarked, his tone tinged with satisfaction. "Imperfect, yes, but enough to serve its purpose. Lucian, this is the final step and bring it all together. Now, transform the Soul Carver into its chisel form and complete the bond."

With trembling hands, Lucian gripped the Soul Carver and willed it to shift. The blade shimmered, its edges warping and folding until it became a sleek chisel, its point glinting faintly in the dim light. Triboulet's voice guided him, steady and insistent. "Etch the diamond into the card. Carve its soul into the path you've created."

Lucian moved with hesitant precision, the chisel biting into the surface of the card. Each stroke felt like a part of his own strength was being poured into the work, the diamond resisting but eventually yielding under his will. As he worked, he willed the soul within the chisel to merge with the card, imagining its energy flowing into the etched lines.

The moment the diamond clicked into place, the card emitted a low hum, a sound that resonated deep within his chest. The hum grew steadier, settling into a faint vibration that spoke of the power now bound to the card. Lucian let out a shaky breath, his hands trembling as exhaustion overwhelmed him. He didn't even have a chance to examine his creation before darkness claimed him, and he collapsed onto the floor, unconscious.

Triboulet watched him with a smile of deep satisfaction, his eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and triumph. The mark of the wildcard on Lucian's right hand began to glow faintly, then started to hum, a low, resonant tone that seemed to fill the room. Slowly, the mouth of the joker symbol etched in his skin shifted, forming the number "1." It was a subtle yet undeniable signal: Lucian had fully stepped onto the path of the wildcard suit. "Welcome, my dear wildcard," Triboulet murmured, his voice dripping with glee."