Rengoku's voice was still echoing in my ears when the card swallowed him.
A ripple of energy burst from the stage as the Fool snapped his fingers, and the crimson-edged card sucked Rengoku in like a whirlpool. His body twisted into ink and light and vanished.
Gone.
I stared at the floating card, trembling in midair like it held something alive inside.
My chest tightened.
"Rengoku…"
The Fool let out a laugh like wind chimes being kicked over.
"One down," he said, voice calm. "Now we can get back to the show."
I couldn't feel Rengoku anymore.
He was sealed. Trapped in that cursed card like a magician's rabbit. No way to help him. No time to think.
Because the Fool raised one hand.
And the theater changed again.
The puppets—all the civilians—shuddered, then moved as one.
They didn't walk. They glided, legs dragging, eyes still empty. Controlled by real strings—thin red threads rising from their backs and curling up into the rafters. So many of them. Maybe thirty. Maybe more.
And I was the only one left.
The pain in my leg still throbbed. A sharp cut from earlier—when I saved that child midair and got caught by the strings.
I tightened the bandage. No time to worry about it now.
I shifted my stance.
The Fool stood at the back of the stage, smiling calmly.
No more illusions.
Just raw manipulation.
"Can you still dance, young man?" he asked.
I didn't answer.
I breathed in.
Shadow Breathing: First Form – Veiled Fang.
My blade cut low, brushing the edge of the floor as I dashed forward.
The puppets surged at me.
I couldn't cut them.
They were innocent people—just trapped.
But I could cut the strings.
I moved through them like water, blade flashing.
One by one, the glowing red threads snapped.
Each time, the person collapsed into unconsciousness, safe and breathing.
But for every puppet I freed, two more took their place.
The Fool was buying time.
I had to reach him.
He threw cards into the air. They spun like shuriken. I ducked, rolled, and sliced two in half.
Suddenly, I was hit from behind—my back slammed against the wall.
The floor beneath me changed.
It rippled like water. I looked down.
Cards. The stage was a giant card now, a smooth surface that shifted under my feet.
"Try not to fall through," the Fool said.
Then the floor tilted.
My body slid backward. I jammed my sword into the wood for grip.
A trick stage.
The Fool wasn't just using illusions—he was reshaping the entire battlefield.
I pulled myself upright, then leaped sideways just before the floor flipped again.
As soon as I landed, a large iron ring came flying toward my head. I ducked.
It embedded itself in the wall like a throwing blade.
Another trick.
Another weapon.
The Fool kept performing.
He moved like a conductor, arms sweeping, his strings dancing with him.
Then something strange happened.
He pointed two fingers at his mask.
And a glowing red eye opened on the forehead of it.
My body tensed.
That wasn't just decoration.
That was part of his Blood Demon Art.
I took a breath to calm my nerves.
And suddenly—
The air turned heavy.
Like something was pressing down on me.
And I saw something.
Myself or my shadow.
Standing behind me.
It wasn't a mirror.
It wasn't an illusion.
It was me—moving exactly how I moved, eyes locked on mine.
It attacked.
I blocked the strike, just barely.
The Fool clapped once. "A shadow of a person who fights like a shadow! Fitting, isn't it?"
I realized something important.
This new enemy didn't have aura, didn't breathe, didn't even make footsteps.
But it copied my every form, seconds after I used it.
A mimic.
It was learning from me in real time.
I leapt back, forcing space between us.
I needed a new plan.
I needed unpredictability.
I breathed deep.
Second Form – Ghost Step.
I vanished and reappeared to the side, then faked another move and spun toward the opposite side.
The mimic shadow copied my first step—but missed the second.
I took the chance.
Slashed through its torso.
It flickered… then reformed.
Damn.
Not that easy.
But not invincible either.
I had to do something it couldn't learn.
A form it hadn't seen yet.
Fifth Form – Obsidian Rain.
A flurry of rapid slashes—blades falling like black rain.
I spun with each cut, moving faster than the mimic could track.
Finally, I landed a clean strike through its chest.
It shattered like glass.
Gone.
No time to rest.
More cards flew.
More strings rose.
Then came the final push.
Reflections everywhere.
The Fool stood among them, or so it seemed.
Three versions of him again.
But I remembered.
Their bodies didn't breathe.
Only one of them had a presence.
I closed my eyes.
I listened.
One… two… no heartbeat.
Three.
There.
I rushed.
The puppets jumped in my path.
I flipped over them, slashing strings as I flew.
Then came the real Fool—still smirking, but a little less wide.
He opened his palm.
A red card glowed, spinning between his fingers.
He whispered something.
It surged toward me.
It was going to hit me.
I barely deflected it, though it sliced through my ears. A cut, not too deep.
I stood there, heart pounding.
Injured.
No more help coming.
I readjusted my grip.
I would have to end the show myself.
To Be Continued…