Luka stared at the man before him—the King of Reselo, the Fool, the God of Gods. To the world, this enigmatic monarch was nothing more than a cruel and aloof ruler, a figure draped in shadow and mystery. Few knew the truth: that their king was not merely a ruler but a living calamity, a being whose very existence defied mortal comprehension.
Luka's chest tightened under the weight of the King's gaze. The bored expression on the King's face, paired with an emotionless, almost sardonic smile, only served to make his presence more oppressive. He was both distant and omnipresent, as though he stood on the edge of reality itself.
Luka began to speak, his voice trembling with uncertainty. "My King, if—"
But before he could finish, the King's voice cut through the air like a blade.
"Yes."
The word was calm, almost dismissive, but it carried a gravity that sent shivers down Luka's spine.
"Excuse me, my Lord?" Luka asked, his confusion plain.
The King tilted his head slightly, his dark eyes shimmering with an otherworldly light. "Yes," he repeated, his tone laced with a quiet finality. "You have been blessed by having the blessing to bless yourself."
The chamber fell into a heavy silence, the King's words echoing in Luka's mind like a cryptic riddle. For a moment, Luka simply stared, his brow furrowing as he tried to decipher their meaning.
"I… I do not understand, Your Majesty," Luka admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.
The King's emotionless smile widened ever so slightly, though his eyes remained cold and unreadable. "That is the nature of divine blessings," he said, his voice carrying an almost mocking edge. "To receive is not to understand. To wield is not to control."
Luka's fists clenched at his sides, frustration and determination warring within him. "Then how am I to use this blessing, my Lord, if I do not understand it?"
The King stepped closer, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he had all the time in the world. He leaned in, his voice dropping to a near-whisper, yet it carried the weight of thunder.
"By finding your truth, Luka Ivanof," the King said. "The blessing I speak of is the one you were born with—the will to shape your own fate, to carve your own path. It is not my gift to give. It is yours to claim."
Luka's eyes widened as realization began to dawn on him. The King was not offering him power outright. He was offering him the chance to awaken something within himself—something that had always been there but had yet to surface.
"But," the King continued, his tone darkening, "should you fail to uncover this truth... should you falter in your purpose... your blessing will consume you."
The weight of those words struck Luka like a hammer, and he fell to his knees, his head bowed low. "I will not fail, Your Majesty," he said, his voice trembling with resolve. "I will find my truth. I will use this blessing to protect those who cannot protect themselves."
The King straightened, his expression as unreadable as ever. "We shall see," he said, his voice dripping with finality.
Luka hesitated for a moment, then rose to his feet. He bowed deeply, his crimson eyes blazing with renewed determination. "Thank you, my King."
As Luka turned to leave the chamber, Alex—still trapped within the Fool's body—watched him go, his own thoughts swirling with uncertainty. The words he had spoken hadn't been entirely his own. They had flowed from somewhere deep within him, as though the Fool's essence had guided him to act.
What have I done? Alex wondered, his mind racing. Have I just empowered the very man destined to destroy me? Or have I set him on a path that might save us both?
The chamber doors closed with a heavy thud, leaving Alex alone once more. He sank back into the silver throne, his head pounding with the weight of what had just transpired.
For now, he could only wait and see what the future held.
The King leaned back in his throne, the oppressive weight of the Fool's crown pressing against his brow. Though his face remained composed, his thoughts churned in chaotic disarray.
What is happening? Alex wondered. He had tried to speak his own words, to shape his own responses, yet more often than not, something else had taken control. The Fool's presence was overpowering, his will manifesting through Alex like a puppetmaster pulling strings.
When the last echo of Luka's steps faded from the throne room, the King lifted his hand, a subtle gesture that carried the weight of unspoken command. The guards and attendants filed out silently, their heads bowed low, leaving Alex alone in the cavernous chamber.
The silence was deafening.
Is this a dream? Alex mused, his fingers tightening on the silver skulls that adorned the throne. Or have I truly become trapped in this world?
He tried to push the thought away. There was no point in dwelling on the impossible. For now, he resolved to observe, to act when he could, and to survive.
Moments later, as if driven by instinct—or perhaps the Fool's will—he rose from the throne and strode out of the palace. The night air of Lofe greeted him, cool and tinged with the scent of rain. The capital of Reselo sprawled before him, a maze of winding streets and towering spires. Gas lamps cast flickering pools of light, their glow barely reaching the shadowed alleys and corners where the city's secrets festered.
Clad in his dark robes, the King wandered the streets, his presence unnoticed by the common folk. The Fool's aura seemed to weave around him, cloaking him in an air of dread that made even the boldest street vendors and beggars avert their eyes.
Eventually, his steps led him to an alley. Narrow and dimly lit, it was a place that reeked of despair. There, he saw a scene that made his blood run cold.
A little girl with vibrant green hair and striking orange eyes was cornered by three men. Her small frame trembled as she backed against the wall, her cries for help swallowed by the indifference of the city.
"Quiet," one of the men snarled, raising a hand to strike her.
The girl flinched, her wide eyes shimmering with unshed tears. But she didn't scream again. She seemed to accept her fate, her body stiffening with resignation.
Before the thug's hand could descend, a flash of steel glinted in the faint light.
The first thug's eyes widened in shock as a blade pierced through his chest, emerging crimson on the other side. He gasped, blood bubbling from his lips, before collapsing to the ground.
The other two men turned, their faces twisted in confusion and fear.
"Wha—" one began, but his words were cut short as the Fool stepped forward, his black eyes glinting with cold malice.
In a single, fluid motion, the King drove his blade into the second thug's throat. The man gurgled, his hands clawing at his neck as he choked on his own blood.
The third thug stumbled backward, his eyes wide with terror. "W-wait! We didn't—"
The Fool's sword sliced through him with a precision that was almost surgical, splitting him cleanly from shoulder to waist.
For a moment, silence returned to the alley, broken only by the soft drip of blood pooling on the cobblestones. The girl stared up at the figure before her, her orange eyes wide with a mixture of fear and awe.
Alex stood there, his chest heaving as the Fool's instincts receded. He stared at the bloodied blade in his hand, his mind reeling. I didn't even think. I just... acted.
The little girl took a tentative step forward, her small hands clutching the tattered hem of her dress. "T-thank you..." she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Alex looked down at her, his expression softening despite himself. He sheathed the blade, crouching slightly to meet her gaze. "Are you hurt?" he asked, his voice gentle, though it felt foreign coming from the Fool's lips.
The girl shook her head, her green hair swaying. "No... but I was so scared."
He placed a hand on her shoulder, his grip light but steady. "You're safe now," he said.
The girl hesitated, then threw her arms around him, clutching his dark robes as if they were a lifeline. Alex froze, unaccustomed to such vulnerability, but he eventually rested a hand on her head.
This isn't how the Fool would act, Alex thought. But maybe... maybe I don't have to follow his path.
As he rose, the girl clinging to his side, Alex glanced down at the bodies of the thugs. He could still feel the Fool's presence within him, a quiet, chilling satisfaction at the violence.
But for the first time since his arrival in this world, Alex felt a glimmer of hope.
Alex stood in the blood-soaked alley, the weight of what he had just done sinking in. Yet, instead of the expected guilt or horror, an unsettling warmth blossomed in his chest—a quiet, insidious joy. The sensation caught him off guard, and his grip on the hilt of his sword tightened.
Why do I feel this way?
The satisfaction of taking a life wasn't his. It couldn't be. It had to be the Fool's influence, a remnant of the god's twisted psyche. But it lingered, simmering beneath his thoughts, like a dark temptation he couldn't fully shake.
He looked down at the blade in his hand, its surface glinting with fresh blood. A part of him wanted to feel revulsion, to cast the weapon aside. Yet another part—the part that felt so foreign and yet so natural in this world—revelled in the finality of the act.
The sound of hurried footsteps snapped him out of his thoughts.
The girl with green hair and orange eyes bolted down the alley, her small form disappearing into the shadows. Alex made no move to stop her. Instead, he watched her go, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
"She'll be fine," he muttered to himself, his voice carrying an unfamiliar detachment.
But his thoughts didn't linger on her for long. His gaze shifted to the bodies of the three men he had slain. The way they had cornered her, the cruelty in their eyes—it didn't take much to piece together their intentions.
"Slave traders," Alex murmured, the words tasting bitter on his tongue.
A surge of anger welled within him, cutting through the remnants of satisfaction. The Fool's memories stirred faintly in his mind, revealing glimpses of a world rife with corruption, cruelty, and exploitation. Slavery was not just an accepted practice in Reselo—it was a pillar of its economy, a deeply rooted institution that no one dared challenge.
But Alex wasn't like the Fool.
He wasn't content to let the world remain as it was.
He sheathed his sword, the resolve in his chest hardening like steel. "If this world allows this kind of filth to thrive," he said, his voice low and cold, "then I'll tear it down myself."
The enormity of the task loomed before him—dismantling an entire system, defying centuries of tradition and power. But Alex felt no fear. If anything, the prospect excited him.
Tomorrow, he thought, stifling a yawn as exhaustion finally caught up with him. I'll deal with it tomorrow.
For now, he let his feet carry him back through the winding streets of Lofe. The city was alive with the quiet hum of nocturnal activity: the distant clatter of carts, the murmurs of clandestine deals, the occasional bark of a dog.
None of it mattered. His thoughts were consumed by plans, half-formed ideas of how to uproot the vile system of slavery that plagued this world.
By the time he reached the gates of the palace, the first hints of dawn were creeping over the horizon. The towering spires of Reselo's capital bathed in a soft, golden light, a stark contrast to the darkness that lurked within its alleys.
Alex climbed the grand steps and entered the opulent halls of the palace, his footsteps echoing through the vast space. Servants and guards moved about, bowing low as he passed, their faces averted.
He ignored them all, heading straight to his chambers. As he sank into the plush bedding, his body heavy with fatigue, his mind continued to race.
Tomorrow, he thought again, a faint smile playing on his lips. Tomorrow, I start tearing this world apart.