The air was thick with smoke and blood, the scent of iron mixing with the bitter tang of burnt silk and scorched wood. Toki's boots crunched over broken porcelain as he stepped forward, his revolver still hot in his grip, the black mist around him pulsing with life.
Another puppet lunged.
Bang.
It collapsed in a heap of limbs and wires.
Another.
Bang.
Another.
Bang.
But no matter how many fell, more emerged. The circle never ended. It was like trying to empty the sea with a spoon. His breath grew heavier, each shot carving a path but never a conclusion. The courtyard was turning into a graveyard of shattered dolls, and yet the Puppeteer stood untouched—smiling. Untouched and unbothered.
Toki narrowed his eyes.
This can't continue. I'll run out of bullets before I reach him… and even if I do, he won't take the hit. Something's wrong.
He fired again—six more shots, fast, deliberate, straight through the puppets in a perfectly aligned line. The corridor they left behind was narrow but just wide enough. He sprinted forward through the mist, ignoring the broken limbs clawing at him, the marionettes that latched onto his coat like the dead rising for one last grasp.
His eyes locked onto the Puppeteer, and when they were face to face, he pulled back his fist and slammed it into the man's chest with all the force the Division of Darkness could grant.
CRACK.
The shockwave shattered stone. The air snapped like thunder. Even the mist around them split.
But the Puppeteer didn't flinch.
Not even a scratch.
Toki staggered back, disbelief slicing through him like a knife. The black fog surged around his arm, still crackling from the blow, but the enemy hadn't taken it.
Instead, five puppets beside the Puppeteer burst apart, exploding in splinters and dust.
Toki's jaw clenched.
Of course. He's redirecting the damage… That's why he doesn't need armor. With this many puppets, he's practically invincible.
He backed away, breathing hard, eyes scanning the battlefield.
Think, Toki. Think!
Each Division Phase reflects the name it's given. Mine is Coward. I can slip through shadows, avoid attacks. I've seen I can survive where others wouldn't… but that's not enough.
He looked up toward the Puppeteer again, who stood with fingers raised, strings dancing from his sleeves, eyes half-lidded in concentration.
He controls puppets from afar.
He controls corpses.
He redirects wounds.
Everything he does requires absolute mental focus.
Toki's eyes widened.
…So what if I break that focus?
He reached into his sleeve.
A card.
Ink-etched, sharp-edged, cold to the touch.
Fear.
The second card he'd been given—the second trump in his deck.
His fingers brushed over the word.
Fear…
A coward's true companion. And maybe his greatest weapon.
He turned the card in his fingers, weighing it. It had to be used carefully. If he lost control of the illusion, it could backfire. It could drive even him mad.
But he had no choice.
Just as he was about to activate it, the Puppeteer's voice cut through the haze.
"You're a fascinating young man," he said calmly. "You've come further than most. Even I must admit… I'm impressed."
Toki didn't respond.
"Tell me," the man continued, "why not join me? You have power. Potential. Most crumble under the Division of Darkness, but you… you wear it like a second skin. You're more than a phase. You're born from it."
Toki's eyes flickered. "What did you say?"
"I'm Fourth Phase," the Puppeteer said with pride. "Dark Marionettist. The culmination of decades in the Division of Darkness. But you… I sense something unusual. The next step for you would be Phase Two—Born of Darkness, if I'm not mistaken."
His smile widened.
"Come with me. I'll teach you. This world doesn't deserve a mind like yours, not yet. Let's leave it behind before it devours you. I can show you truths even your goddess wouldn't dare whisper."
Toki stared at him.
Then raised his revolver.
"No."
He fired.
The Puppeteer danced back, strings moving puppets to shield him. One shattered with a scream like splintering bone.
Toki reached into his coat again and pulled the card fully into view.
If I'm going to survive this… I need to use Fear, not just feel it.
Fear isn't about retreat.
It's about choosing when to stand.
He closed his eyes.
The black mist coiled around him, swirling like ink in water. The card dissolved into the smoke—its edges burning, peeling apart.
The temperature dropped.
A strange, suffocating silence fell over the battlefield.
And then the screams began.
Not from the living.
From the air.
From the darkness.
The Puppeteer blinked.
"What—?"
Shadows spilled from the sky like waterfalls of ink. Pale, translucent threads descended from above, not his, but older, thicker—impossibly long. They swayed and coiled around him, heavy and cold.
He tried to step back.
But the air resisted.
His legs wouldn't move.
A marionette… caught in another man's strings.
His fingers twitched, but nothing responded.
A hand—thin, ethereal—brushed the back of his neck. Another rested gently on the top of his head.
Then a voice—deep, soft, cold as the void—whispered from every direction.
"You think regret is the most terrifying human emotion?"
The Puppeteer shuddered.
The voice came again. Toki's voice.
"You're wrong."
Eyes appeared in the mist. Gaping mouths followed. Grinning, screaming, laughing in shattered harmony.
"Fear," Toki whispered. "Fear was the first. And it will be the last."
The cords tightened.
The Puppeteer screamed—not from pain, but from understanding.
The illusion pressed against his mind like a weight, like a thousand corpses dragging him into the abyss.
The puppets around them began to shatter—one by one. Each exploded in a burst of dust and silk, their masks cracking with a sound like splintering teeth. All of them.
Except one.
The one he held closest. The one linked to his soul.
Toki fell to one knee, sweat pouring down his face.
His heart was pounding in his ears. The illusion was too strong. Even he was struggling to separate himself from the nightmare.
If I hold it any longer… I'll go with him.
The black smoke began to fade.
Light returned.
The illusion ended.
The Puppeteer dropped to his knees, gasping, drenched in sweat, his pupils dilated with shock.
"Wh…what was…?"
He raised a trembling hand, trying to summon more puppets—but pain lanced through his wrist.
A flash of silver gleamed.
Bernard.
Sword driven clean through the Puppeteer's forearm.
"Now, Toki!" he barked.
The Puppeteer screamed.
From the left, another blade sank deep into his thigh.
Ozvold.
His teeth were gritted, his violin clutched in one hand, his eyes blazing.
"Finish it," he growled.
Toki stood slowly, arms trembling.
One last card.
The final card.
He drew it out with reverence.
The inscription was written in black and silver, etched in blood and ash.
Death.
"I don't know how many puppets you still have," Toki muttered, loading a single black bullet into the revolver's chamber.
"But if this card does what I think it does…"
He raised the revolver.
"…then this fight ends here."
The Puppeteer, eyes wide, stared at him in panic.
"Who are you?!" he shrieked.
Toki's voice was calm. Final.
"I am the Black Death."
He flicked the card into the air.
It spun once—twice—catching the dying light of the moon.
Toki pulled the trigger.
The bullet flew.
A whistling scream tore through the air as it struck the card mid-fall.
BOOM.
The bullet ignited.
It turned blacker than shadow, faster than light.
It ripped through the Puppeteer's skull in a blink—then kept going.
Straight through the stone wall behind him.
Straight through the tower.
A heartbeat of silence.
Then—
BOOOOM.
The building exploded behind them in a violent shockwave of smoke, light, and flying stone. Everyone hit the ground as the white-hot flash lit up the sky. A wall of wind tore through the courtyard, scattering puppet fragments like confetti.
The courtyard lay in stunned silence. Rubble smoked in the corners, ash drifting like snow across the battlefield. Toki stood alone amidst the aftermath, his revolver still raised, smoke trailing lazily from its barrel. His coat, tattered and singed, flapped gently in the breeze that followed the shockwave.
The Puppeteer was gone.
Nothing remained but fragments of shattered porcelain and twitching strings that evaporated slowly into the night.
And yet—
one puppet remained.
A childlike marionette, its arms hanging limp, its head tilted with a mournful air. Cracks lined its cheeks. Its single glass eye stared at Toki with something that felt… human.
He walked toward it, boots crunching over debris.
"...I just wanted to play," the puppet whispered.
Toki froze. The voice was distant. Faint. Like a memory.
He knelt down, brushing dust from its chipped cheek. "You were never the villain, were you?"
The puppet tilted its head.
"You were just part of his story."
The puppet didn't answer. Instead, it began to dissolve, bit by bit, into motes of light.
In its place, a single card floated down like a falling leaf.
Toki caught it.
Black.
Etched in delicate silver ink:
"Dark Puppeteer"
A new card for the deck.
He tucked it into his coat, murmuring to himself, "I guess even monsters have children."
Behind him, footsteps echoed.
"Toki!" a voice cried.
Utsuki ran toward him, her arms flying open. She slammed into him, wrapping her arms around his body so tightly he nearly choked.
"Ow—ribs! Ribs!" Toki gasped.
She didn't let go. "I thought you were going to die, you idiot!"
"I thought so too," he mumbled.
Elizabeth approached, slow, arms crossed, her long hair trailing behind her like a comet's tail.
"Not bad," she said coolly. "A First Phase Knight defeating a Fourth Phase elite. I must admit... I underestimated you."
Toki raised an eyebrow. "You think?"
She gave the faintest smirk. "Consider me... corrected."
Bernard strode up next, brushing blood from his sleeve.
"It seems our friendship may yet endure," he said, voice rough but warm. "And what an honor it is to stand beside someone like you. We always thought differently, but maybe that's why we're the main characters in this ridiculous story."
Toki rolled his eyes. Main characters? Really?
"What a narcissist," he muttered.
Ozvold stepped forward, blood still trailing from a fresh cut above his eyebrow. He dropped to one knee, holding out a gleaming blade with both hands.
"Commander," he said solemnly. "This is your sword."
Toki blinked. "My what now?"
"Please," Ozvold insisted. "Take it."
Slowly, Toki reached out and grasped the hilt.
He gently tapped Ozvold on each shoulder.
"Ozvold Edmund," he said, his voice clearer than it had been all night, "I declare you my right hand in the Fourth Division of the Order. Rise, not just as my ally... but as my friend."
Ozvold bowed his head. "I accept, Commander."
From the shadows, two more figures emerged, leaning on the regal form of Lady Lorelai.
Felix and Mr. Smith.
Felix's cane clicked against stone as he stepped forward, his white beard stained with soot, his eyes shimmering with pride.
"You are the most astounding member of the Order I've ever laid eyes on," he said. "Such a mind... it's not a weapon. It's a miracle. I knew from the beginning that you were something special. And now? I can't wait to work beside you... officially."
Lady Lorelai nodded with a proud smile. "Extraordinary work, Toki. You exceeded even my expectations."
Mr. Smith, still pale and stiff from the gunshot wound earlier, offered a slow, reverent nod.
"Congratulations, Toki," he said hoarsely. "You showed me something I thought impossible. It will be an honor to supervise you."
Toki didn't quite know what to say.
Bernard clapped him on the back. "Seems Corren's revolver found a better wielder. You made that thing into an artifact of legend tonight. Corren would be proud."
Toki looked at the weapon in his hand.
Once a tool of a fallen friend.
Now, something more.
Kandaki sat nearby, polishing his blade as he hummed a cheerful tune, singing praise to his master's "peerless dance of destruction."
Toki sighed.
He looked at everyone.
All the faces.
All the voices.
All the lives still breathing because of his choice to stand.
Then his vision blurred.
A slow spin in his head.
His knees buckled.
"Ah," he mumbled. "I think I used too much... power... for one night..."
He collapsed.
Utsuki caught him mid-fall.
"Toki!" she cried, cradling him.
Bernard stepped beside her and placed a calming hand on her shoulder. "He's fine. Just exhausted. He needs rest."
The others gathered around in a loose circle, watching the boy who had just rewritten the course of their war with nothing but grit, intellect, and a deck of cursed cards.
Toki, breathing softly, barely conscious, heard the wind whisper past him.
You were afraid... but you stood anyway.Not bad my Black Knight.
And then everything went dark.