The boundless gray fog churned like an eternal, restless sea.
The long bronze table radiated an ancient aura, its dull surface reflecting the dim, flickering light of crimson constellations that pulsed beyond the gray fog.
At the head of the table, The Fool sat calmly, his unreadable gaze resting on the sole figure sitting before him.
A boy, trembling and overwhelmed, dressed in simple attire of a hunter from an age long past. His height exaggerated for someone of his age.
Derrick Berg.
His wide gray eyes shimmered with emotions too heavy for a child to bear, his hands clenched so tightly they had turned white.
Klein watched in silence as the boy bowed his head deeply, his voice trembling as he spoke.
"Honored Fool… please… save my parents!"
His breath hitched, his words spilling forth in desperation, in pain, in helplessness.
His chest heaved, raw despair evident in every syllable. "I will do anything! I will offer sacrifices, my own life, my soul—please, just save them!"
Klein's expression didn't change, but his heart ached.
'Its not that I don't want to…'
A quiet sigh left his lips, though his voice remained steady.
"The corruption has integrated itself too deep into their mind, soul and body." So deep that even Sephirah would consider them part of the corruption to be purified. "They cannot be saved."
"Cannot be saved…" Derrick said listlessly, slumping back into his chair as his mind was in turmoil. His hopes crushed, and his despair suffocating him.
Derrick's body trembled, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts.
His lips parted— to argue, to beg again—but a look at The Fool's figure made the words die in his throat.
Silence stretched between them.
Then—Derrick's shoulders shook.
Tears slipped down his face, but he made no sound.
He grieved quietly, his hands clenching into fists, nails digging into his palms.
He had already known.
Deep down, he had already known.
And it took him all his strength and fear to not lash out at this unfathomable being that answered his prayers.
What was the point of answering if 'He' couldn't even save his parents.
Such blasphemous thoughts. He repriminded himself.
Klein watched, giving him the time he needed. Once a beyonder has reached the state of being losing control, even gods would find it impossible to bring them back from such a fate.
After the boy's tears died down, Klein spoke again, his tone ever patient, though no less resolute.
"The land you live in… is called the Forsaken Land of the Gods by outsiders."
Derrick froze, his breath hitching. 'Forsaken...The gods really did abandon us. No wonder... no wonder our calls were never answered. Why did they forsake us?'
"The Gods cannot answer your prayers," The Fool continued, his voice low yet firm, resonating through the fog.
His fingers tapped lightly against the armrest of his throne.
"But…"
He leaned forward slightly, the mist around him stirring, shifting ever so subtly.
"I am not a god."
Derrick jerked his head up, confusion flickering in his tear-filled eyes.
'What does that mean? That 'He' is something lesser than a god or… more?'
"You may not be able to save your parents," he said softly. "But you still have a chance to save your people."
Derrick stiffened, lifting his head slowly.
"You… can save us?" he asked in disbelief.
"That will require more effort from your part." Klein smiled gently like an encouraging parent.
"…Then… then what can I do?"
Klein's fingers tapped against the table once more.
"I am a Fool that likes fair and equal exchange," he said. "You can use what you attain to trade with me, or with people like you, to gain what you seek. It can be either knowledge, services or resources."
"But remember—"
His voice deepened, carrying an undeniable weight.
"The exchange must always be equal."
The fog quivered at his words, sealing them into reality.
Derrick stared at him, the gears in his mind slowly turning.
Klein leaned back slightly.
"This… can make you powerful."
He let the words settle, let them weave into the silence.
"Perhaps one day, you can rely on your own strength to free the City of Silver from its curse…"
His voice was calm, measured.
"And make the sun appear in your sky once more."
Derrick's breath caught.
His mind reeled, turning over the words again and again.
This was a chance.
A way forward.
A path to power, not just for himself, but for the people who like him, were trapped in a wretched reality.
He didn't respond immediately.
For a long moment, he simply sat there, his face blank, unreadable.
But Klein could see it—the flicker of something new in his dull gray eyes.
Not despair.
Not blind hope.
Determination.
'I always felt like of all the members of the Tarot card, he was the most resilient one in spirit. Not like that all-but-name-blessed of mine' The image flashed in his mind of a certain salted fish Salted fish
Derrick's fingers slowly uncurled, his nails lifting from the deep crescents they had pressed into his skin.
His lips parted—hesitated—then firmed.
Quietly, with resignation and resolution, he whispered
"Then… I will become the Sun."
A small smile curved Klein's lips.
"When you are given the opportunity to become a warrior among your people, use this as a reward to your determination…", he lifted his hand, and a sheet of parchment appeared before him, its edges glowing faintly in the fog.
It was the formula for Sequence 9 Bard.
Klein flicked his fingers, and the parchment drifted forward, landing softly in front of Derrick.
The boy's hands trembled as he reached for it, his fingers brushing against the text that marked the beginning of his path.
"This is the pathway that will allow you to make the Sun shine to your people, and all those around you."
Klein watched him, his smile unchanged.
After picking up his card, the major arcana Sun card, and being briefed on the nature and time of the meeting, and the importance of keeping the existence of The Fool a secret, Klein allowed the young man to return, to do what must be done.
He wasn't worried that the young Sun would falter or drown in despair. On that, he had much faith in the boy.
Klein exhaled softly, letting his thoughts settle.
Derrick's introduction to the Tarot Club had gone smoothly.
With his current spirituality as a Sequence 9, he could only sustain one additional member in the gathering.
However—
At Sequence 8, he would gain enough capacity for two more people.
And there were individuals he needed to bring in far earlier than before.
Some, like Ms. Wall and Ms. Derecha, were Tarot members in his previous life but with low experience compared to other members and would need to be inducted earlier. Others… were those he had never invited but should have.
Two names came to mind, Dunn Smith and Edwina Edwards.
With Dunn it was personal, the man had been someone worthy looking up to. A role model to what it meant to be a Guardian. Protecting him and Old Neil in this life was the least he could do as payment.
"I hope the god of knowledge and wisdom doesn't smite me early for plagiarising one of his follower
However, she was a perfect candidate for Tarot Club.
A secret organization should never lack a wise monk. "Alger's streetsmarts are going to be in overwork for him to keep his position of Tarot club's wisdom."
Her vast knowledge, patience, and her understanding of mysticism—these qualities would fortify the Tarot Club's foundation, strengthening it far beyond what it had been in his previous life. It would also fulfil her wish of coming into contact with the vast history she yearned for.
"These White tower beyonders become more and more reclusive the higher they advance." Klein shook his head, "Its hard to find a decent beyonder of the pathway out in the open."
He imagined that by the time he reached Sequence 6, the seats at the table would already be filled, and its members more prepared than before.
He leaned back, letting out a long breath.
Yes. This time, things would be different.
His gaze shifted toward the junk pile, where various items lay in an arranged chaos.
'All this repeated act of sacrificing and summoning myself makes me want to take a very long vacation.'
He had been sending things like blank pieces of paper, pen and other miscellaneous items.
He spent any moment he could find creating charms from as simple as the paper daggers to the more complex Traveller charms.
Using the power of Sephirah castle, it was easy to create charms of abilities even one sequence higher than his own. However, at high sequence, they required special ingredients to successfully craft. Including expensive gems.
The only mid level charm he could create now without the need for such expensive gems was the traveller charm which he has most experience with, and could summon its projection with sephirah castle. Their only requirements was spirituality and traveller related symbols gleaned from the Leymano spellbook to stabilize the projection.
With a thought, two translucent charms floated towards him from the junk pile.
They shimmered faintly, their surfaces carved with intricate symbols, humming with a presence that wasn't quite of this world.
"They're not quite like the ones I made before." Creating them again required considerable effort, even with the knowledge and experience he already had. Traveller Charms.
Given his low sequence, these weren't as powerful as what he had once been capable of, but they were still immensely useful.
Since they were already charged with spirituality borrowed from the antigonus notebook, he didn't need to feed them his own meager one, but such a feature left each of them with some limitations.
Each charm had enough power to sustain only two teleportations, and was only capable of covering distances up to Backlund's range. The higher his sequence, the better the charms would get.
A smirk tugged at Klein's lips.
With these, he had more room to maneuver— to prepare.
And the first item on his agenda? Kapusky.
This guy had a copper whistle he was all too willing to give away. It would serve as a good replacement for Azik's until he manage to convince the angel to lend him his again.
"I'll try my hardest to be gentle with it this time around."
Klein shook his head.
'Even with all my knowledge, I'm still shackled by my Sequence.'
The thought was frustrating, but there was no use dwelling on it. Even though he understood the Sephirah Castle and wielded it far better than any ordinary Sequence 9 should, his limitations were still painfully real.
Right now, he could only do so much.
Still—working within limits was a Seer's specialty.
Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and began a divination.
"Who is monitoring me now?"
"Who is monitoring me now?"
"Who is monitoring me now?"
The answer came swiftly, like a whisper carried by the swirling gray fog, as a face flashed in his mind.
Seeka Tron.
Klein's eyes flickered open.
Ah, Seeka. Not ideal, but not the worst case either.
A Sequence 8 Midnight Poet, someone capable of keeping an eye on his situation throughout the night. But unlike that chuuni Leonard, who had an angel sleeping inside him, Dunn or Old Neil, whose experience in spiritual observation made them incredibly perceptive, Seeka was far less dangerous to his plans or to notice any problems so long as no unusual sounds and movements are made.
"That means I can afford a little more freedom for today…"
Resolved, Klein moved swiftly.
He went through the familiar, tedious process of summoning himself. Missing the times where he could just enter and leave Sephirah with a thought as an angel.
A minute later, he stood in his apartment, lightly floating off the floor, one of his translucent teleportation charms lightly grasped in his palm.
A faint smirk tugged at his lips.
"Time to cross a few things off the list."
Standing before a grave, a copper whistle rested in his palm, Klein briefly watched the three yellow tinged white feathers that lay undisturbed. Its occupant missing
"Exactly the same as before."
The man who had possessed the second copper whistle had been scared out of his mind, desperate to be rid of it—just like last time.
Klein crouched down, his fingers brushing over the three white feathers, feeling a cold breeze that passed through him.
He picked them up.
Then, without hesitation, he canceled the summoning, having already left instructions to Mr. Reed to fill up the grave after he left.
Now back to his high seat, Klein set the copper whistle aside, his attention fully on the three feathers before him.
"Last time, I never made these into charms…"
One he had sacrificed to Evernight, the other he had given to Audrey and the last one was used to summon the product of Artificial Death.
He would turn two of them into charms. He was severely lacking in equipment, and stocking up sounded like a logical thing to do.
And the third… the third he would keep for emergencies. 'Destroying another mountain doesn't seem so bad'
Klein studied the feathers, his mind wandering to the numinous episcopate member who left them behind.
An Undying in an unstable state, slowly eroded by Artificial Death.
And some part of the old man's humanity that had yet to be corroded fully, made him see Kapusky as an apprentice and give him the copper whistle. Perhaps his last act of self-will before Artificial Death completely consumed him.
Klein tapped a finger against the table, brows slightly furrowed.
Even though that old gentleman was only Sequence 4, he had been able to demonstrate powers on the level of an angel.
His gaze flickered down to the three feathers.
"A charm made from these should only access a Sequence 4 ability… but its power should be at an angel's level with the right materials and symbols."
With a soft exhale, Klein raised his hand, tapping into his knowledge of the Death pathway's symbols.
A faint shimmer flickered in the fog.
From it, a projection of a feather manifested—an illusory imitation of the ones he possessed.
Klein chuckled.
"Wait, Is it still called courting death if I know I'll survive?"
The process of making powerful charms wasn't just about having the right materials—the real key was the symbols corresponding to the ability one needed and more importantly, corruption from a powerful source.
An idea he developed from when he created Language of Foulness.
Having the Sephirah Castle to generate a template—one that contained the correct number of symbols of the death domain needed to channel and stabilize the effects.
With the primary ingredient acting as the core, the charm would be naturally self-sustaining.
"A straightforward process. No need for supplementary or extra expensive ingredients."
Klein exhaled, steadying his breath as he prepared to divine not the origin of the feather— which had done once to no remarkable changes— but the state of Artificial Death itself.
They held power, that much was certain. But if he wanted to craft them into proper high level charms, he needed more than just what they could offer—he needed the corruption from Death itself.
And compared to Eternal Blazing Sun, Ancient Sun god and the True creator, Artificial death who only had the uniqueness and lingering influence of Salinger was not much of a threat.
Holding a feather between his fingers, he leaned back slightly, allowing himself to fall into the divination trance.
The gray fog churned, the world around him twisting as his vision shifted, then—
Darkness.
0000
Thick black fog wafted through the air, swirling around him like the remnants of a fading nightmare.
And in that darkness—
The fog slowly scattered, revealing an illusory form, coiled at the bottom like a shadow lurking beneath the ocean's surface.
It was a massive feathered serpent, its body so immense that it seemed to cover an entire island.
Its scales were dark green—nearly black, glistening like obsidian under an unseen light.
But between the gaps of its scales were feathers, and on them—
Yellow, oily stains.
Klein's breath hitched, his pulse slowing as he took in the grotesque yet majestic sight.
Then—his gaze flickered, catching something else.
On every feather, thin illusory black tubes extended outward, writhing in an eerie, incomprehensible pattern.
The creature itself was like a contradiction—both illusory and real, indescribable in its true form, as if it was something beyond human comprehension.
Its eye sockets burned—
Pale-white flames, flickering like the remnants of a forgotten soul.
And then he saw its face, a human face.
Bronze skin, soft, refined facial features and beneath its right ear— a tiny black mole. A face exactly like that of Azik Eggers.
Its eyes, were now directly looking at him.
Klein felt his body stiffen as the vision shattered around him—
0000
He gasped, as the vision dissipated.
His spirit felt like it had been pulled into death, his very being freezing over, losing its luster as if his existence itself was withering away. White feathers tainted with yellow sprouted from his body.
Inside him, pale-white flames ignited, burning cold, their eerie glow licking at his very soul.
For a brief moment, Klein felt himself teetering at the edge of oblivion before the gray fog trembled, its authority suppressing the foreign force, snuffing out the pale flames before they could consume him.
However, just before the gray fog snuffed the corruption out, Klein controlled it to contain the corruption and separate it from him without purifying it.
He split it into two portions, each one containing a lump of flesh and feathers burning with pale flames.
Klein ignored the knowledge of potion formulas of the death pathway that streamed into his mind, and drew upon the symbols related to death.
He manipulated the gray fog to enhance and consume the lumps of burning feathers, acting as fuel for the identical set of inscriptions of the death symbols.
Two feathers left by the product of artificial death floated before him, and each one suddenly engulfed by the tamed corruption, inscription and pale flames, as symbols etched them.
As the flames extinguished, 2 charms were left. They were shaped like feathers, small enough to fit on the palm of his hand, with an opaque luster that had hints of yellow and white flash on its surface.
Countless intricate symbols danced inside the charms, weaving an endless spiral of complex runes.
Just by looking at them, Klein could feel a faint pull, as if his lifeforce was being drained away from him.
"Strong. Very strong."
The charm was indeed equipped with an undying ability Rotten wind, capable of summoning a cold wind that causes its target to rot and disintegrate. However, unlike an undying, the effects of the charm were far more sinister, carrying with it the aura of pale flames that hastened the draining of life from the target and every living being aound them, turning them sluggish.
Even demigods, with insufficient life saving means would find themselves in a perilous situation once hit by the charm.
"I'll call them 'Wind charm'," a thin mischievous smile spread on his lips. "Let's set the incantation to 'rise'."
This was a way to deceive his opponents who may divine about his equipment. If they do not perform proper divination and prepare for the worse, they may end up being thoroughly surprised.
The gray fog had already settled, returning to its tranquil state.
"Hehehe, I almost forgot what it felt like to spy on high level beings than myself."
Despite having less… quality, than Azik's, his new copper whistle would still afford him a qualitative change to his spirit form. But now when combined with these two charms of a similar domain, his form would be stable enough to handle physical objects.
'I need to raise my sequence to at least Magician.' Only then could he be bold enough to gather more resources.
On his list of things he was eager to acquire, were the eager to acquire, were the Book of Calamity and Sea god scepter in the Rorsted Archipelago islands, the Tyrant Card in primitive islands and the Black Emperor Card in Roselle Memorial Exhibition which would happen a month later.
'I could always just find where it is at the moment and go for it without waiting for a whole month.' it was a bold thought, with its own risks.
These were some of the most powerful items he could gain in his possession without investing too much money, money he did not currently have.
Each did carry significant danger, but they were dangers he was aware of and knew how to avoid.
Others like Creeping hunger, Death Knell and Groselle travels needed a considerable amount of money for the latter two, and the right, perfect circumstances for the first and latter ones.
'I'm not completely poor though, I can use potion formulas to gain the funds I need.'
He would need to be subtle though, or he might find himself under scrunity of the churches or the other secret organizations. Or empowering enemies he previously did not have.
The morning sun streamed gently through the apartment window, casting a soft glow over the humble dining table.
Klein sat across from his little sister, both of them engaged in a simple breakfast.
She was unusually quiet, which meant she was thinking.
Sure enough, after a few more minutes of hesitation, Melissa set down her cup and spoke first.
"…Klein."
"Hm?" He took a sip of his black coffee, pretending not to notice her serious expression.
"How do you know so much about engineering?" she asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion.
Klein blinked innocently.
Melissa frowned, clearly unconvinced. "You never had a passion for it, so how?"
Klein let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "I read about it in a magazine."
Melissa looked skeptical.
"But why?" she pressed.
Klein smiled slightly, setting down his coffee. "Because I wanted to find something that would make you happy to talk about."
Melissa froze.
A faint pink dusted her cheeks, and she immediately looked away, her usual strict demeanor faltering for a moment.
"Hmph," she muttered, focusing intently on her plate.
Klein smirked. Ah, still so easy to fluster.
After finishing his meal, Klein stood up and, as Melissa prepared to leave for school, he handed her an umbrella.
She stared at it, brows furrowing in confusion.
"The sky is clear outside," she pointed out.
Klein's smirk widened. "And I say you're gonna need it later."
Melissa's expression flattened.
He shrugged, still holding the umbrella out. "You lose nothing by taking it. But if it does rain…"
He leaned in slightly, voice teasingly dramatic.
"You'll have to listen and believe in my charlatan teachings."
Melissa let out an exasperated sigh, but in the end, she reluctantly took the umbrella.
"Fine," she said half-heartedly.
Klein smiled, watching her leave.
As soon as Melissa was gone, Klein casually made his way to the bathroom.
Closing the door, he let out a quiet chuckle.
"The great Fool, the mysterious ruler above the gray fog, still performing divine work from a bathroom, at this rate I might actually be the lord of bathrooms."
Shaking his head at his enduring fate, he entered the Sephirah Castle.
Once seated at the bronze table, he crafted a message of gerhman sparrow praying to the Fool, and sent it to the star belonging to Alger Wilson.
The sea breeze carried the scent of salt and damp wood as Alger Wilson leaned against the rail of his ship, pondering the message he had just received.
His brows furrowed, eyes scanning the portrait he relied on a ritual to draw.
The message was from a man praying, identifying himself as "The world"
'Possible massacre in the Alfaalfa cruiser?' 'A Sequence 8 Instigator?'
The task was straightforward—too straightforward.
His grip tightened around the paper.
'Is this a test?'
'Is he seeing how I handle something so simple? Testing my competency? Or… testing my loyalty? Or maybe, this mission isnt as simple as it seems.'
A cold shiver ran down his spine.
'If I fail, what will happen?'
Steeling himself, Alger quickly began making arrangements, reaching out to his network of contacts.
No matter what, he wouldn't disappoint the mysterious being. Falling out of grace of a deity always had harrowing consequences. Benevolent or not.
Back in the Sephirah Castle, Klein set his sights on the next step of his plan.
Flipping a coin, he muttered a question under his breath:
"Sirius Arapis' current residence coordinates?" He repeated the phrase 3 times
Then closed his eyes as spirit world coordinates of Sirius Arapis revealed themselves in the dream divination.
Klein tapped his fingers lightly against the wooden table, deep in thought.
"Not wise to confront him now."
A move made in daylight would attract too much attention, and he needed to do more divination for any traps or possible reinforcements he mights face.
The lesson on what happened to Rosago still fresh in mind.
'I still need to get his characteristic again soon, he owes me that much from all the stress he had me go through last time.'
Getting the Language of Foulness charm wouldnt be a hassle to him now. But he had no plans being noticed so early by the True Creator.
Nightfall would be his hunting ground.
Evening arrived, and with it—Melissa.
The umbrella in her hand was still dripping wet, clear proof of the rain outside.
Melissa stepped inside, her expression a mix of disbelief and reluctance, her gaze fixated on Klein.
Klein smiled. Amused. Expectant.
"You're back," he greeted lightly.
Melissa huffed, setting the umbrella aside. "It was a lucky guess."
Klein chuckled, leaning forward slightly. "Ah, but a deal is a deal."
Melissa frowned, but she didn't argue.
Klein gestured for her to sit. "Let's begin, then."
She gave him a wary glance but complied.
Klein's tone turned serious as he said, "The first rule about the world of mysticism is... its dangerous."
Melissa's brows furrowed slightly, sensing the shift in atmosphere.
"One mistake," Klein continued, "and you could lose your life. Or worse."
Melissa tilted her head. "What could be worse than death?"
Klein's eyes darkened slightly as he chuckled. "Madness."
Melissa visibly stiffened.
"And the deaths of those around you," he added.
Silence.
Klein let the words sink in before continuing.
"Tomorrow is a weekend right, as an example," he said, "When you go to visit your friend Selena tomorrow, tell her to never attempt mirror magic again—the one she peeked at from her mentor's notes."
Melissa's eyes widened in shock and suspicion. "How did...?" 'Is Klein stalking her?'
Klein ignored her suspicious look with a cough before he gave her a pointed look. "Tell her that if she tries it, she'll risk killing not just herself but many other innocent people."
Melissa's lips parted, but no words came out.
By the time she could formulate a response, Klein had already moved on, shifting the conversation to more mundane topics.
Yet, throughout the rest of the evening, Melissa remained puzzled, her thoughts clearly occupied.
As they bade each other goodnight, her expression still held traces of uncertainty.
Klein only smiled. Melissa was a bright girl, and very soon, she would have a stable enough foundation to officially become a Beyonder
By midnight, Klein was no longer in his physical body.
Summoning himself once more, he merged his spirit body with two powerful artifacts—Mr. Azik's copper whistle and the Rotten Wind Charm. Aside from all that, he had a number of papers inscribed with symbols.
The instant he absorbed the copper whistle and charm, he felt his spirit body strengthened, growing far more solid and potent than it had been before.
"Stronger than when I only had the copper whistle…"
But—
"Still not as corporeal as when I had a Blasphemy Card."
Even so, this level of power was more than enough.
In this state, he could create a terrifying wail capable of shaking the soul, freeze anything he touched and sapping its energy and he could handle physical objects like a revolver.
It was a considerable boost.
And he had one target tonight.
Sirius Arapis. He has already performed multiple divinations including what artifacts the man possessed, if there was anyone monitoring him as well, and whatever other possible factors.
From his position, Klein cast a quick glance at his surroundings.
Tonight, it was Kenley who stood guard outside.
Klein smirked.
"It's probably their last day monitoring me."
The Nighthawks were short on manpower. Their surveillance efforts were more of a formality than a serious operation.
That worked perfectly for him.
Sirius Arapis was not a man easily caught offguard.
A lifetime of surviving in the underbelly of society had honed his instincts, sharpening them into something almost supernatural. He had survived countless near-deaths, escaped the clutches of foes both mundane and mystical.
But tonight—
Tonight, those instincts failed him.
His breath hitched as his eyes snapped open, the heavy weight of impending doom pressing down on his chest. The room was dark, the faint glow of the city's lamps barely filtering through the thin curtains, but something was wrong.
The air was too still.
His pulse hammered against his ribs. Every muscle in his body screamed for him to move, run, fight—
Then he saw it.
A shadow, standing at the foot of his bed.
Its body was shapeless, neither solid nor mist, a presence that didn't belong to this physical realm. Two pale flames burned where its eyes should be, flickering unnaturally, writhing like living things trapped inside a corpse.
Sirius' throat went dry.
His breath caught, lungs seizing with sheer, primal terror. He tried to move, but before he could even twitch—
The shadow opened its mouth, and howled.
A sound unlike anything he had ever heard—a soul-rending wail, a distorted, otherworldly howl—ripped through the air, slamming into him like a physical force.
Pain exploded in his skull. His vision warped, body locking up as an unnatural numbness spread through his limbs. His spirit trembled, quaking from the force of the sound, as if something had reached inside him and slammed into his soul almost scattering it.
He couldn't move.
His fingers twitched uselessly against the sheets, his body refusing to respond. Even his breath came in shallow gasps, trapped between the state of being awake and being utterly, helplessly paralyzed.
Then, cold hands wrapped around his throat.
A hiss of frost slithered down his spine as a deathly chill seeped into his flesh.
Crack!
His skin split open, veins stiffening beneath the freezing grip. A sharp, biting agony blossomed at his throat, yet he still couldn't cry out.
His mind screamed at him to do something, anything— his knowledge of honorific names of deities he has learned came to him. With this, he could draw power from them. As a secret Supplicant, he could push himself to the very edge with corruption, something he had discovered throughout his long life as a beyonder who chose not to advance. Granting him increased resilience and survivability.
And then, as if to mock his struggle, another howl filled the room.
It tore into him, raw and merciless, sinking into his bones, into his very essence. It didn't just shake his soul—it drained it.
A sickening, suffocating emptiness coiled inside his chest, something being ripped away, pulled into the vast, endless nothingness that surrounded the figure before him.
His blurred vision barely registered white paper that flashed before his eyes, before he felt something cold and metallic pressed against his neck.
As the sharp feeling passed through the white cracked skin of his throat, white-hot pain flared in a brief instant.
SLICE!
Something inside him snapped, the last remnants of control to his body shattering into oblivion.
But the spectre wasn't done.
Through the fog of pain and slipping consciousness, Sirius felt cold fingers plunge into his head, forcing their way inside before they clenched
A fresh wave of agony surged through his thoughts, Ice crawled through his brain, freezing thoughts, memories—erasing him from the inside out.
Then—
Nothing.
No pain.
No thought.
Just—cold. Right before Darkness took him.
The room was still.
0000
Klein slowly straightened, pulling his hand back from the lifeless corpse beneath him, the now empty shell of Sirius Arapis.
His glowing pale eyes flickered as he assessed his work.
Clean. Efficient. Overkill, maybe.
But necessary.
He had fought Sirius before.
He remembered how the man had pushed himself to the edge of losing control, how even a cartridge of bullets to the head hadn't been enough to finish him off.
This time, Klein had been thorough.
Without hesitation, he activated Spirit Channeling.
The air shimmered, the lingering traces of Sirius' soul pulled back into existence, its form flickering, half-there, half-not.
Klein tilted his head, his expression calm, distant.
"Where did you store and hide all your things?"
The spectral remnants of Sirius twitched, his voice a garbled whisper, echoing with the reluctance of the unwilling dead.
"A… hidden… compartment… in the… wall…"
Klein followed the words, stepping past the cooling corpse. His fingers ghosted over the wood, searching—until he felt it.
A loose panel.
It came free with little effort, revealing a carefully hidden stash.
The warning placed with a spiritual thread dissipated as its owner was already dead.
Inside, neatly tucked away, were several valuable items including ritual materials some corresponding to the chained pathway but most belonged to the Hanged Man, likely for when praying to the true creator. Some of those could even work as supplementary ingredients. He even found the main ingredients for the listener potion, a sheathed silver ritual dagger and 327 pounds, neatly rolled.
Klein let out a quiet, pleased hum.
A revolver rested alongside the other belongings, along with ritual books and various trinkets—most of which were useless to him.
He took what he needed—the gun, the ritual materials, the money—and left the rest.
"Why did you not take the Listener potion?" Klein asked, 'The PTSD from these damned Authors just flared up again.'
But it seemed odd that the man in his 50s had yet to consume the subsequent potion.
"Too dangerous… without… contributions…" Sirius answered, sounding pained.
'Or is this just because you're not devout enough to close your eyes and fall back in the True Creator's hands.'
"Why do you say this?" He asked flippantly though he already had a guess as to whom.
"Mr. Z… told... me."
This would ideally make sense, that even the Aurora Order knew of the reputation their pathway has. And in an attempt to appease the True creator from robbing them all of their sanity, they need to present themselves as devout enough. And facilitating a descent of his was more than enough to grant them a special place.
Listener also happens to act as a screening stage like the Demoness pathway's Witch sequence, Meeting the True Creator himself and share a bit of his 'sanity'.
'You're already an old man, you were better off staying there than join those energetic lunatics.'
By the time his thoughts finished, a thick, inky Beyonder characteristic, swirling with hints of dark blue, rising from the gaping wound where his neck was severed.
Klein reached out.
The Beyonder characteristic pulsed, almost alive in his hand.
With that, his job was done.
A flick of his wrist, and the spirit channeling ended. The old man simply wouldn't have any more knowledge that he wished to know.
And just like that, Sirius Arapis ceased to exist.
With this, Klein felt he had accomplished the main goal of the night. But given the presence of the Nighthawks, his opportunities to move freely as a spirit body in Backlund would become increasingly limited.
"I should handle one more target while I still have the chance."
His next prey was docile enough—one that wouldn't put up too much resistance.
With that thought, Klein gripped one of his Traveler's Charms, focusing on a familiar place.
Then in a flash, he was gone.
0000
A faint hum of distant voices and muffled cries echoed through the white-walled corridors of the asylum.
In a secluded chamber, dimly lit by the glow of gas lamps, a man sat motionless in a chair.
Hood Eugen.
His posture was perfectly normal—his expression blank, his gaze distant, as if lost in quiet contemplation.
To the outside world, he was just another mental patient, a man with a troubled mind.
To Klein—he was something else.
A Psychiatrist Beyonder Characteristic, convinced he was a normal crazy person.
Klein observed him silently, his pale, flickering eyes revealing no emotion.
"It's better this way."
Hood Eugen believed he was normal, he wasn't on guard, or even aware he had beyonder powers he could use.
That meant Klein could end this swiftly and cleanly.
Last time he came here with the captain to question him and it ended up with the psychiatrist being killed by the corruption of the True creator. This time however, he has no need to ask questions.
Before his presence could be noticed, he let out a howl.
A soul-shaking wail, unnatural and piercing, rolling through the room like a wave of cold death.
Hood Eugen froze.
His muscles locked, his body trembling as the impact of the howl rattled through his soul.
Klein moved.
He stepped forward, quick and deliberate, the silver ritual dagger he had taken from Sirius Arapis already drawn.
The cold gleam of the blade barely had time to catch the light before Klein plunged it into Hood Eugen's temple.
The impact was clean.
The blade slid through skin, bone, and brain tissue with practiced ease.
Hood Eugen's eyes widened—not in fear, not in pain—but in eerie, blank confusion.
Then, with a twist of Klein's wrist, the blade ripped free, severing the last traces of consciousness.
The light vanished from Hood Eugen's eyes.
His body swayed, then slumped forward, motionless.
Klein took two steps back, watching impassively as the lifeless form twitched once, then stilled completely.
The room was silent.
Not a struggle. Not a cry.
A clean, quiet kill.
As Klein wiped the dagger on the white and black stripped cloth of the asylum resident, then he cast a glance at his own hands.
For a moment, something in him stirred, a quiet reflection settling into his mind.
Like he was back to being Gerhman Sparrow without the face it came with.
'I am Gerhman Sparrow.'
In his past life, it had been his most prominent persona—the cold, calculating hunter who made quick, ruthless decisions. It was an identity molded from parts of him as Zhou Mingrui. All without the indecisiveness and aversions to conflicts.
'They are all me anyways, and Hood Eugene is no innocent man.'
As the Beyonder characteristic slowly formed, Klein exhaled and pushed his thoughts aside.
The characteristic was a golden iris, and merely looking at it made the thoughts of his identities surface again.
How he might have been influenced by the persona he acted as in his previous life, yet, the thought failed. He was not an ignorant beyonder to be mentally swayed by the influence of a low sequence spectator. His identities were parts of him.
Without hesitation, he collected it.
Then, with a thought, he vanished, having cancelled his summoning.
Klein settled back into his seat in the gray fog, with a wave, all the materials collected by him flew into the junk pile in chaotic order. Each one in its own space away from the influence of the other.
Before he could focus on what to do with them, his gaze was drawn to the constellations above.
A star pulsed, glowing in rhythmic patterns. It was a new one.
From within its depths, an image unfolded—
Dunn Smith, seated in deep contemplation, his expression resolute yet edged with anxiety.
Klein's lips tugged into a small, knowing smile.
"Looks lilike he read the letter."
'What a true Guardian