The sail docked with a groan.The wood seemed to complain like an old man dragged out into bad weather.
Ben Shaw stepped down and immediately got drenched. He froze, rain pouring straight onto his face, soaking his coat within seconds. He blinked once. Twice.
".…Of course," he muttered. "Of course I forgot the umbrella. Brilliant, Ben. Truly. Travel halfway across the region for a life-changing meeting and forget the one item meant to negotiate with the sky."
Thunder rumbled overhead, as if applauding his stupidity.
Ben chuckled under his breath, dark and dry despite the rain. "I hope whoever is watching is entertained. If this is divine comedy, I want royalties."
The harbour was half-dead. Cranes loomed like skeletal giants. Containers stacked in uneven towers. Their metal sides slick with rain. Sailors were already fleeing, boots splashing as they vanished into alleys and warehouses.
Storms scared honest workers. Storms attracted other things. Ben raised his communicator, shielding it poorly with his palm.
"Liam." he said, voice steady despite the wind. "Docked at Donlon. Weather is kinda awful here. You should really fire whoever planned this timing."
But unexpectedly none answered for a long. He frowned, thumb hovering slightly. Tried again.
Behind him, unseen, a shadow stretched along the wet concrete. Dancing unnaturally as lightning flashed. It belonged to a man standing behind a container, pastel paint smeared across his face like a child's idea of joy gone wrong.
Pink smile. Blue tear. White skin beneath rain and madness.
The Jester stepped out dramatically.
Black suit immaculate despite the storm. Black hat tilted just enough to look deliberate. In his fingers, a pair of scissors spun lazily, metal whispering as they rotated.
"Well," the Jester said pleasantly, "if it isn't the burning star himself."
Ben turned back cautiously.
For a moment, they simply looked at each other. A thunder flashed between them in distant sea, filling the silence with noise that felt intentional.
"….Right," Ben said. "So it was one of those days."
The Jester chuckled, stopping the scissors with a snap. "Your call will be recognised when you shouldn't. Ignore them when you should. Very on-brand for a man who drowns orphanages and calls it logistics."
Ben's expression hardened but only slightly. "You know, most assassins start with a weapon. You started with poetry. That's either confidence or a cry for help. What are you planning behind the chatter, huh?"
Footsteps clicked in. Liam's guards—four of them rushed from the dock entrance, weapons pointed at the Jester.
"Step away!" one shouted.
The Jester sighed theatrically. "Always the extras before the finale."
The rain seemed to hesitate to match up with the atmosphere. His scissors flashed. One guard fell before he understood why his throat was suddenly open. Another blocked, steel ringing as sparks burst, barely holding.
The third was thrown back, crashing into a container with a wet crack. The fourth stood his ground, teeth gritted, shaking but alive.
Blood mixed with rain, washing quickly into nothing.
Ben didn't move. He watched silently. Counting his breaths. Measuring the distance carefully, staying out of Jester's reach.
The Jester turned back to him, eyes bright beneath the paint. "Don't worry," he said softly. "This isn't the end. It's just the moment before everyone realizes what the joke was really about."
Thunder split the sky with a bright hit.
Ben's communicator buzzed again in his pocket.
The rain thinned for a moment, just enough for the Jester's voice to rush through it cleanly.
"I want your mouth, sweet rascal." he said.
Ben didn't flinch. Water slid down his face, into his collar but his eyes stayed fixed. "You are going to have to be clearer than that."
He replied. "I have met men who wanted my money, my name, my head. You sound.… like a sentimental."
The Jester tilted his head, smile painted wide with the pastel paint. "Your lips," he continued gently, "The way they smile when you lie to yourself. I want to rip them off while they are still trying to pretend everything is reasonable. Then I will rip off their smiles. Dry them, lastly, add them to my collection."
Lightning flared. For an instant, the pastel paint looked flaking.
Ben exhaled slowly. "That's a very long way of saying you are angry."
"Anger?" The Jester laughed once, sharp and humorless. "No. If it was anger I couldn't have been trash talking with you right now, getting wet in the rain, of course. I am precise and honest to my intentions."
The scissors clicked open and shut. It seemed not to be a threat. Casual like punctuation.
"So," Ben said, steady, "what do you want? Revenge? Confession? A performance?"
"I want you to understand," the Jester replied. "Every word you have ever spoken to justify yourself—that mouth made them. You smartly polished away your apologies very smooth. Every order was disguised as necessity. That mouth baptized slaughter and called it progress which shall be shown what is salvation."
Ben's jaw tightened. "You don't know what you are talking about."
"Oh, I do." the Jester said. "I know orphanages that burned quietly. I know ledgers rewritten until children became 'delays.' I know how men like you sleep so well after deciding who is allowed to starve."
Rain struck harder again, drumming on metal and river of blood of the guards.
Ben took a half step forward
"If this is about guilt, you picked the wrong executioner. I don't kneel for ghosts or any dummy psychopath."
The Jester's eyes narrowed, smile still wide. "Good. I hate kneeling. I prefer hanging myself with a creeping vine."
The containers groaned, water pooled at their feet. The guards' bodies lay still, already being erased by rain.
Ben finally broke the silence. "You are not here to kill me, aren't you?"
The Jester leaned in just enough for Ben to smell rain and iron.
"No."
he whispered. "I am here to make sure you know why it hurts when it happens."
The Jester didn't wait for a reply anymore and marched for the action.
One moment he stood smiling and next, he was already mid-dash, body tearing through rain like it wasn't there, scissors arcing toward Ben's neck in a single, efficient curve meant to end everything before fear could bloom out.
Suddenly, the water from the sea nearby exploded upward. A figure burst from the black waves, boots skidding across the dock as a wall of compressed tide slammed sideways into the Jester.
The strike wasn't elegant. It was brutal and impactful, heavy with pressure. The Jester was hurled back, sliding across wet concrete.
Harriet landed between Ben and the blur of pastel and black.
"Sorry, I am late." Harriet said, snapping his neck once. "Traffic was murderous."
Ben barely had time to register relief before the Jester laughed delightly and came back in fast.
The scissors in his hand vanished. A hand bomb rolled across the ground instead.
Harriet stamped in swiftly. Water surged up from the cracks in the dock, swallowing the bomb in a cocoon just as it detonated.
The explosion thudded, contained, steam hissed roughly outward. A plasma bolt scattered in the heaven and past Harriet's shoulder.
He rounded aside, a crescent of water curving with him, dispersing the energy in a spray of boiling mist.
Harriet called out. "You are really trying to win the variety show tonight."
The Jester didn't reply and kept his eyes on Harriet. Invisible pressure carved the rain sideways. Harriet felt it immediately. The sudden absence of resistance, the way the air itself stopped behaving.
The Jester blurred, stepping on nothing, reappearing behind a guard and striking with bare hands. The impact folded the man inward.
It was kinetic force, which was ripping stability of motion and consciousness away in the same time instantly. Harriet cursed and lunged.
Water snapped forward in spears, each one bending mid-flight as the Jester redirected airflow, warping their trajectories. He twisted through them. His coat snapped violently, pastel grin unwavering.
"Careful!" the Jester sang. "I am not blowing kisses—I'm breaking vectors."
He activated something at his wrist. Space shuddered slowly with a vibration.
Teleportation.... and a failure attempt.
The item sparked, misaligned. The Jester reappeared half a step wrong, body tearing against its own momentum.
Jester knew it will most likely not work again now. Cause he used it to teleport himself in Donlon harbour from Nayga.
Harriet didn't hesitate for a moment and compressed water hammer formed around his fist and landed.
The sound was sickening like steel being struck underwater. The Jester slammed into a container hard enough to dent it inward, paint got jumbled a bit, blood streaking down his jaw beneath the smile.
His breath finally hitched. Guards tried to close in. Jester thought in mind.... What an adorable safety you rich miserable wretches got....
The Jester recovered instantly. The wind detonated outward in a shockwave that flung men like paper. He was already making his next move, faster now, violent arcs of air snapping limbs, shattering balance.
He purely weaponized momentum. Harriet raised both arms. The dock answered in its way. Water tore free from the sea, shaping itself into a massive rotating structure, rings upon rings, spinning pressure locked into form. He hurled it.
The Jester crossed his arms. Wind unnaturally in an area. A translucent shield bloomed, rippling violently as water crashed into it. The impact shook the harbour.
Containers rattled as the sea recoiled.
Steam rose. Rain vanished on contact.
The shield fractured but didn't break.
The Jester stepped out of it, bloodied, coat torn, eyes blazing with something sharp and pleased.
"Oh." he said softly. "You are fun."
Harriet planted his feet, water coiling behind him like a held breath. "You haven't even seen serious yet."
Wind and water collided again and the night tore itself apart.