He'd carried the Language of Foulness talisman on him ever since he made it — saved for the worst case, if his cover got blown and he needed a last resort. He hadn't expected to use it now.
Feeling his movements begin to slow again under the Spirit Body Thread control, Klein didn't hesitate. He quickly recited the word in ancient Hermes:
"Foulness!"
As the syllable rang through the air, a corrosive pain erupted in his left palm. Layered, maddening gibberish filled his ears — the True Creator's voice. He bit down hard on the tip of his tongue, and with Words of Order shouted:
"You are guilty!"
"You are a murderer!"
A bolt of silver-white lightning cracked down from the clouds with no warning, slamming straight into Rosago. Rosago's expression shifted — and in the instant the thunder struck him, he dissolved again into a burning paper figure and vanished.
Klein had anticipated it. His eyes swept the surroundings, and the moment Rosago's real body reappeared, he snapped his fingers — several balls of flame ignited in a ring around Rosago.
But rather than use Flame Jump, Klein let his body stretch and blur into shadow, emerging from the darkness behind Rosago. Then, in one uninterrupted motion, he poured every last drop of spirituality into the Language of Foulness talisman and hurled it.
Rosago didn't know what the woman had thrown at him — but his spirituality screamed. Without a second's hesitation he tried to Flame Jump away.
Too late.
The True Creator's voice descended, drilling into Rosago's ears.
The iron-black charm, covered in arcane symbols and eldritch patterns, disintegrated in an instant. Rosago had just begun to dissolve into flame when something yanked him back — a corrupted, terrible force. His vision filled with thick, suffocating darkness. In his ears, a single syllable rang out, carrying within it an ocean of knowledge and an abyss of madness.
In that instant, every blood vessel in Rosago's head bulged to the surface as if about to burst. He crumpled to the ground, twisting and writhing, his skin splitting inch by inch to expose the raw flesh beneath.
Klein and Eisinger, though they hadn't heard the True Creator's voice directly, were still knocked down by the residual blast. Both cried out and collapsed, the pain like an iron spike being driven into each temple.
Their eyes flooded red. Blood ran from their noses. They couldn't see or feel the world around them.
But the effect on Klein came and went quickly. The gibberish from the True Creator still ghosted at the edge of his hearing — yet the agony simply vanished.
He scrambled to his feet immediately. Rosago had torn off his own clothes, shed his outer skin, and lay there bare — every vein and sinew exposed, like a red, flayed creature, rolling on the ground and groaning, clearly teetering on the edge of complete loss of control.
Klein walked over, drew his revolver, cocked it, and pressed the muzzle against Rosago's skull.
Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.
The Sequence 5 Marionettist's head burst like an overripe melon. Red, white, and black sprayed in every direction. He was beyond dead.
"Phew."
Klein let out a long breath, the hand holding the revolver dropping limp at his side. "Alive again."
He stared at the body with a complicated look. He knew perfectly well that if he attempted spirit communication right now, he could extract the remaining Fool Pathway formulas straight from Rosago. But this was the middle of the street — who knew whether the commotion had drawn any nearby Beyonders. Spirit communication out here was too dangerous.
"Forget it. The Church will give me the formulas eventually. And if I advance too fast, I can always try to buy the later formulas from the Lovers through the Tarot Club."
Just as the thought formed, Klein watched something ooze from the headless body and the blood-soaked ground — small points of deep, dark light, drawing toward each other, coalescing into a pupil-less, entirely black eye.
This was… the Beyonder characteristic of a Sequence 5 Marionettist?
...
By the time Bernadette arrived near the scene, the area had already been cordoned off by the Mandated Punishers. There was no sign of Klein, but the air carried a scent both of them knew well — the lingering trace of the True Creator.
Looking at the headless corpse, Vincent figured Klein had still managed it the same way as in the original — killed Rosago, just through a different chain of events. And if nothing went wrong, the next Tarot Club meeting would probably see the "World" make his first appearance.
"Vincent."
Bernadette spoke. "Your interest in Klein — it's not just because he's one of the Fool's followers, is it?"
"No."
Vincent didn't deny it. He thought for a moment, then said: "I suspect… Klein might also be a 'fellow countryman' of mine."
"Oh?"
Bernadette blinked. "You're sure? Wait — how did you figure that out?"
"After the Tingen incident, I contacted him again and had him pass a message to Mr. Fool. During that exchange… I had my suspicions. He seemed to understand Chinese."
Choosing to "reveal" Klein's identity now was Vincent's way of laying groundwork for eventually disclosing to Bernadette that Klein and the Fool were the same person — given how things stood, there didn't seem to be much reason to keep hiding it from her.
"!!!"
Bernadette was taken aback. She'd known by this point that her world had multiple arrivals from Vincent's world — but those had all been gods and divine beings. Klein was just a Sequence 7 nobody.
It suddenly felt… much more grounded. Apparently not every transmigrator ended up doing well.
She lowered her head to think, then her eyes sharpened. Without another word, she stepped through the Spirit World and reappeared in a hotel in the North Borough. She reached into thin air, pulled out a hat, and put it on — her figure instantly fading invisible. Then she produced a piece of paper, wrote several words, slipped it under the door, and knocked.
About half a minute later, the door creaked open, revealing a face — exhausted and haggard. Klein. Not in the woman's disguise from before.
The convenience of the Faceless: change your appearance whenever, wherever.
Klein quickly glanced both ways down the corridor, then picked up the paper from the doorstep. His pupils contracted to pinpoints the moment he read it.
The note contained only a few characters: I see you.
In Chinese.
"Confirmed."
Bernadette watched Klein retreat rapidly back into his room, and said quietly to herself: "He really is from your world."
Well.
Vincent felt a flash of helplessness. He hadn't expected Bernadette to move this decisively — and he definitely hadn't expected her to confirm Klein's identity like this.
Without needing to think about it, he knew Klein must be absolutely terrified right now.
To be continued…
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