Chapter 9: true god

Ethan returned to the Thorn household late at night. The air was still, the house bathed in darkness except for the faint glow of a streetlamp filtering through the window.

He moved quietly through the cramped home, careful not to wake Lisa, who was already fast asleep. Slipping into his—or rather, Alaric's—room, he removed his fedora, setting it gently on the small desk before heading to the bathroom.

Turning on the faucet, Ethan let the cold water run over his hands before splashing it onto his face. As the droplets dripped down his skin, he looked up at the mirror.

Then, without warning, it shattered.

The sound was deafening, yet the glass remained intact—no cracks, no broken shards. Instead, he saw reflections of himself, countless versions, staring back at him. Some were subtle variations, others twisted beyond recognition.

And then, one of them smiled.

Its grin stretched too wide, its teeth rotting, maggots and worms writhing from its mouth.

Before Ethan could react, an invisible force pulled him forward, dragging his soul into the mirror world. The bathroom vanished, replaced by an eerie, surreal landscape.

And there, standing on an endless, foggy green, was Lucius—playing golf.

…

"What the—Lucius?.."

Ethan's voice echoed through the endless void as he took in his surroundings. The foggy golf course, the unsettling stillness—it all felt surreal.

Lucius grinned. "That's right! It's everyone's favorite god!" He spread his arms dramatically as if expecting applause.

Before Ethan could even respond, the world shifted. The golf course dissolved like ink in water, and in its place rose an endless expanse of mirrors.

Trillions of reflections stretched infinitely in all directions—some showing Ethan as he was now, others warped beyond recognition. Some mirrors contained people he had never seen before, versions of himself he could not understand.

Ethan exhaled sharply. "What is this place you call 'Mirror World,' Lucius?"

Lucius turned to him, smiling as if he had been waiting for that question.

"Hm. The Mirror World is an ever-shifting realm of infinite possibilities," Lucius began, "where time, space, and identity dissolve into abstraction. Every choice a being has ever made—or could have made—is reflected back at them, splitting reality into countless fragments."

Ethan stared into the mirrors, catching glimpses of decisions he had never made, lives he had never lived.

"Time here isn't linear," Lucius continued. "It flows like a river with infinite branches—looping back, splitting, and colliding in ways the human mind cannot fully comprehend. Those who enter may experience their past, present, and potential futures all at once."

Ethan's mind flashed back to the bathroom—the mirror that had "shattered," the grotesque reflection with its rotting grin and writhing maggots.

Ethan's breath caught for just a second.

Fictional?

The word lodged itself in his mind like a thorn. His instinct was to scoff, to dismiss it as nonsense, but something about Lucius's unwavering certainty made his skin crawl.

His fingers curled into fists. "The hell is that supposed to mean?"

Lucius only smiled wider.

That smile. It wasn't mocking. It wasn't teasing. It was the kind of expression a man wears when he knows something you don't.

…

Lucius tilted his head, amusement flickering in his red eyes. "I can see your thoughts, Detective. The way you're grasping for an explanation. A loophole. A reason why I must be wrong."

Ethan said nothing….

Lucius's smirk deepened. "Tell me, have you ever questioned why you don't remember certain moments of your past?"

A chill ran down Ethan's spine.

"Or why your story only ever moves forward?" Lucius continued. "No mundane days.

No forgotten errands. No wasted hours. Only the scenes that matter."

Ethan's pulse thumped in his ears. "You're playing mind games."

"Am I?" Lucius leaned in. "Or am I simply pointing out what was always there?"

No. No, that was ridiculous.

He remembered his childhood. His first case. The smell of coffee in his apartment every morning. The long nights, the near-death experiences, the people he had lost.

That was real. It had to be.

...Had to be.

A Crack in the Illusion

Ethan lifted his hand, running it through his hair. His reflection stared back at him from the tarnished mirror above the washbasin, his features pale beneath the dim glow of the gas lamp. His shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, suspenders hanging loose over his shoulders, evidence of the exhaustion weighing on him.

I'm real.

The thought settled in his mind like a stone dropped into a still pond. But as soon as he latched onto it, something inside him hesitated.

His fingers twitched. A simple movement. His own choice. Right?

…Right?

And yet, Lucius's voice lingered, threading through his thoughts like a needle through fabric.

"Tell me, have you ever questioned why your story only moves forward?"

A slow, crawling unease slithered through him.

The room was quiet—too quiet.Beyond the window, the night air hung thick with dense fog, curling around the streetlamps like living smoke. A carriage rumbled past over cobblestone, the clip-clop of hooves momentarily breaking the unnatural silence. But the moment he focused on it—

The sound stopped.

No fade. No distance. Just… stopped.

His breath stilled.

No mundane moments. No wasted time.

Every night, the city should have been alive with drunken revelers, street vendors hawking their wares, the occasional distant cry of a newsboy shouting the latest headlines. And yet, the moment he pulled back from his thoughts, there was nothing.

Nothing at all.

His mind raced, flipping through the timeline of his own life.

There had always been a mystery to solve, a threat to evade, an answer to find. If he wasn't unraveling a case, he was recovering from one—licking his wounds, sharpening his mind, bracing for the next inevitable conflict.

But there were no pointless conversations about the weather. No days spent idly reading a book that had nothing to do with a greater plot. No lazy afternoons in a café, no nights where he simply—existed.

He frowned, gripping the edge of the basin.

What had he been doing before his first big case? Before he became a detective?

The answer should have been easy. It should have been instinct. But his mind hesitated—like a book with missing pages.

A deep, twisting sensation settled in his gut.

If I can't remember my life outside of the important moments… did it ever exist

The air in the room felt thick now, heavy, suffocating. The flickering gas lamp dimmed for a fraction of a second—then returned, as if the world itself had skipped.His heart pounded.Slowly, cautiously, he reached for his pocket watch. His fingers flipped it open, the ticking sound usually a comforting rhythm.

10:43 PM.

That was fine. That was normal.

He exhaled, closing the watch and reopening it—

10:44 PM.

His breath hitched.

There was no transition. No movement of the second hand. No in-between.

Just a sudden shift, like reality had skipped a frame.

His stomach twisted violently.

That… wasn't normal.

Lucius's voice rang in he's ear, "There's a path that can guide you to fortune or folly."…

He layed in Alaric's bed, no….he had memories of when life was normal, but he can't seem to reach them…..he stands up from the bed and pulls out the face shifting tarot card…he places it on the wooden and worn floor and gets on he's knees, he prepares for a divination from god almighty, if he truely is god, he wouldn't have to believe Lucius…

But there was no answer, no response, merely emptiness…suddenly…he's face shifting tarot card changed into another tarot card…A divinator tarot card…and thus begins the start of the divinator, Mister Jester.