"Looks like someone can't wait to make this rat suffer."
The voice came cold and sharp from the Fourth of the Fatui Harbingers—Arlecchino, the Knave.
Her scarlet eyes, marked with a faint X, lifted lazily toward the man in the white coat.
Her smile was thin, cruel.
There was no effort to hide the disgust—
or the killing intent—directed at Dottore.
"Pathetic creature… soon to become a pitiful one."
The Seventh Seat, Sandrone, the Puppet, cast a detached glance toward Dottore and shook her head faintly.
"Speaking so harshly of a colleague—isn't that a bit improper?"
"Mayor, you won't step in to defend him?"
The Ninth Seat, Pantalone, the Regrator, chuckled softly.
On the surface, his tone seemed light, even kind.
But that smile—cold, razor-edged—was enough to chill the air.
"Old as I am," came the Fifth Seat's calm reply, Pulcinella, the Rooster, "I wouldn't dare.
"To cross blades with one who can match the Archons themselves…
this old man knows his limits."
His eyes flicked briefly toward Pantalone—
a glance that carried more meaning than words.
"Ready to run, Doctor?"
"Oh, but you've got nowhere to run."
The Third Seat, Columbina, the Damselette, spoke next.
Her tone was soft, musical, yet utterly devoid of emotion.
"Why would I need to run?"
Dottore finally rose to his feet, the center of every gaze.
The Second of the Eleven, ever calm, even as the storm gathered around him.
"This is Snezhnaya," he said flatly.
"The Tsaritsa forbade reckless action.
And I repeated her command: no private schemes."
From the head of the table, the First Seat—Pierro, the Jester—spoke at last.
The white-haired elder's masked face was unreadable.
"If you've brought ruin upon yourself, Doctor, it is your own doing.
It has nothing to do with Snezhnaya."
So easily said.
He'd thrown the man to the wolves without a second's hesitation.
Every Harbinger in the room knew what it meant.
Without Pierro's silent approval, Dottore could never have taken such liberties.
Now that things had gone wrong, he'd been abandoned—cleanly, coldly.
No one here was fooled.
The Fatui Harbingers were not a united front.
Each followed their own path, their own ambition.
Many would happily plunge a dagger into a colleague's back given the chance.
And now that Dottore was in trouble—
the air was thick with the scent of opportunity.
"Seems I was the sentimental fool after all…"
Dottore's smile was thin as he tilted his head.
"Then, Mr. Taro—how about we strike a deal?
Perhaps I have something you want."
A pause.
Taro actually laughed.
"Venti, listen to this thing. Does he sound funny to you?"
A deal—with him?
To trade with Taro, you needed one of three things:
power, worth, or dignity.
Dottore had none left.
"How would I know…"
Venti shrugged helplessly.
"Maybe he really thinks he's qualified to bargain with you.
Some call him 'Near-God,' after all."
Taro chuckled coldly.
"Near-God? What a sad title.
Sometimes the gap between gods is wider than the gap between god and man."
Then his eyes sharpened.
"Ridiculous."
He snapped his fingers.
A golden gleam flared in the air.
"Gungnir, time to stretch a little.
Make it loud—so no one mistakes me for easy prey."
The divine spear obeyed.
It locked onto its target instantly.
Under Venti's wide eyes, it tore through space itself—
and appeared high above the royal capital of Snezhnaya.
Hum—
The sound trembled through the heavens.
Golden light bathed the frozen city.
Gungnir expanded, its form towering like a pillar that reached the sky.
Then—
It fell.
A strike from the heavens.
A single spear meant to pierce the world itself.
Shuunn!
Blue-white brilliance surged upward.
A shield of eternal frost rose to meet the blow—
the Tsaritsa herself had intervened.
But even divine power could not match the storm descending from above.
Her barrier shattered like glass.
Not even half a second of resistance.
"Scatter—!"
Pierro's eyes widened as he blinked away in a flash of cold light.
The other Harbingers followed suit, vanishing one by one, unleashing every ounce of power to flee the impact zone.
None of them intended to die for Dottore's foolishness.
In the span of a heartbeat, they were gone—
all but one.
Dottore didn't move.
Not out of courage,
but because he couldn't.
The spear had locked onto him.
Escape was impossible.
He watched the golden pillar fall.
Then came silence.
When the light faded, there was nothing left.
Not even ash.
The royal capital of Snezhnaya now bore a gaping wound—
a crater so deep it swallowed the sky's reflection.
Gungnir's task complete, it dissolved back into pure light,
vanishing beyond the clouds.
But its purpose was not yet done.
The spear streaked forward again,
tearing through dimensions toward its next unseen destination.
The Fatui Harbingers stared wordlessly at the ruin.
"So abrupt…"
Arlecchino frowned, masking her unease with indifference.
Her gaze stayed fixed on the enormous crater.
She'd witnessed Dottore's power before.
For him to vanish this easily…
"He had clones," Sandrone said evenly.
"Maybe one survived."
Columbina shook her head softly.
"No. When the Twin Corridors of Yin and Yang opened,
his slices hidden within the ley lines were erased in under a breath.
Not a trace remains."
"Then he's truly gone," Arlecchino murmured, folding her arms.
"What a pity. I didn't even get to kill him myself.
Dying that easily—he got off cheap."
She exhaled faintly, half regret, half contempt.
"Ahh…"
Pulcinella sighed, rubbing his temples.
"My poor city. My beautiful capital…"
All those years of construction—gone in a single strike.
"Hey, I'm the one who should be crying!"
Pantalone groaned, clutching his chest.
"Mayor, do you have any idea how much money it'll take to fill that hole?!
The labor, the materials, the repairs!
Do you think mora grows on trees?!"
The old Rooster mourned his reputation.
The Banker mourned his wallet.
Truly, Snezhnaya's priorities were… consistent.
"Enough chatter," Pierro said, voice stiff, expression unreadable behind his mask.
"Everyone, come with me.
We must report to Her Majesty."
This time, there was no room for debate.
They had provoked someone far beyond their measure.
Even if Dottore had acted on his own,
the ripples of his arrogance reached the throne itself.
If this matter was not handled carefully,
the wrath of that "descending one" could destroy more than just a capital.
Perhaps…
even Snezhnaya itself.
(End of Chapter)
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