The boy's hands shook as he pushed open the tavern door. The stench of sweat and spilt ale hit him first. Then the laughter—the same nobles and brutes who had beaten his father bloody for their amusement.
They didn't even pause their drinking when they saw him. Just a boy, red-eyed, clutching a rusted kitchen knife in his trembling grip.
Noble (mocking): "Well, well. The jester's brat. Come to dance for us, little fool?"
Boy: "You killed my father."
Another Noble arose while drinking.
Noble (mockingly): "So what? Will you avenge him?"
The boy screamed and rushed forward. His knife slashed wildly, clumsily, desperation driving it. They swatted him aside with ease, sending him sprawling into the dirt. The room filled with cruel laughter.
Another man kicked him in the ribs, forcing the air from his lungs. His vision blurred. Tears and rage mixed until all he could see was red.
Noble: "If he wants to see his father again, let us grant him his wish."
The nobles all shouted out loud, celebrating this idea.
Then—silence.
The laughter stopped. The air thickened. A presence filled the tavern, heavy and cold, pressing against every breath.
From the darkest corner, he emerged. The figure's form was draped in tattered black robes, chains dragging against the floor. His face was pale as a skull, cracked and veined with crawling shadows. Black smoke writhed around him like living serpents.
??? (low, resonant): "You call this laughter?"
The men staggered back, terror breaking through their drunken bravado. One drew a sword. Another fumbled for a club.
Too late.
The man raised a skeletal hand. From his palm erupted a tide of cursed energy—black fire laced with writhing chains. It crashed through the tavern like a wave, shattering tables and tearing through men as though they were paper. Screams rose and were swallowed in shadow. Flesh peeled from bone, eyes burst, and souls crushed under the sheer weight of it.
When the smoke cleared, the tavern was silent. Bodies lay broken, twisted in grotesque positions. Not one man still breathed.
The boy, stunned, stared up at the figure. His knife clattered to the ground.
??? (calmly): "You wanted revenge. I gave it to you."
The boy trembled, trying to speak.
Boy: "W-who are you?"
The man crouched, chains clinking. His skull-like visage leaned close, hollow eyes glowing faintly.
???: "I am the echo of men greater than me. A shadow, one you will learn to walk within, if you wish to survive."
He extended a hand, not a skeleton one, but a pale hand with black smoke curling from his fingertips.
???: "Come, boy. Leave behind your name. Leave behind your pain. I will give you something greater."
The boy hesitated—but in his chest was only emptiness. Father gone. Grandfather is gone. No home, no warmth. Only rage, only loss.
He took the hand.
Years later.
The boy had grown into a young man, his hair bearing the color pink, his laughter now sharp, manic, echoing like broken glass. He mastered the art of both soul and cursed energy, shaping it into illusions, masks, and weapons of chaos. Every kill was a performance, every mission a stage.
One night, after a successful strike for the Syndicate, the man who was also the leader of the Syndicate summoned him.
They stood in a chamber lit by nothing but cold fire, shadows writhing like smoke on the walls.
Leader: "When I found you, you were nothing more than a broken boy, wishing for revenge—revenge for the wrongdoings of your father and grandfather. But I also found a boy, filled with seeds growing for the cause."
The boy bowed down to the leader. His head now was covered with a jester-like hat, his eyes covered, and his face painted brightly with a smile.
Boy: "When you found me, I was just a broken boy, asking for the shadows to do what I was too weak to do."
Leader: "The boy is dead. You are no longer that broken child. You are mine now. And I will give you a name worthy of the madness you wield."
The leader's hand rose, shadow etching the name into the air like a brand of fire.
Leader (commanding): "From this night, you are Harlekin. Harlekin von Shadow."
The name rang through the chamber like a curse and a blessing all at once. The young man smiled—a wide, painted grin carved into his very soul.
Harlekin: "Harlekin… yes. I will let the world laugh with me… or let it drown in my performance."
The leader's hollow grin never changed, but his chains rattled as though in approval.
And thus, the jester's son became the world's nightmare clown—born not of laughter, but of madness.
After several missions, Harlekin's name was whispered by everyone who had ties to the dark Underworld of the world.
It was said that those who whispered his name too soon were greeted with a cruel death.
Nobody dared to call his name out loud, until…
Harlekin sat on top of a roof, his legs hanging downwards, and in his face wasn't the slightest care for the world.
From behind him, a shadow lingered.
Harlekin could only smile.
Harlekin: "I heard from you and your new silly little group."
Null: "In you I can feel the pain, the pain of your enemies that the world begged to be freed from."
Harlekin: "I don't care about your group or whatever you want from me."
Harlekin waved Null away, but Null didn't move one bit.
Null: "I am not here to be waved away so frequently; what I seek is you and your abilities to bring laughter even in the darkest moments."
It hit Harlekin to his bones, his smile grew wider, and he turned around to face Null.
Harlekin: "And what if I tell you that I am the one that brings the dark moments upon them? Am I still suited for your little group project?"
Null: "The objective hasn't changed; if you are the one that brings the darkness or the laughter to brighten it, it is all the same for the cause I am assembling this group for. All I ask is if you are willing to join."
Harlekin didn't understand what the yet unknown man wanted from him or what that cause was, but something told him that this man was a very interesting one, and also something about this man was indescribable. Whether it was his looks or his powerful aura, Harlekin couldn't help it; he had to say yes.
Null: "Once I have them all, I will call upon you. Until then, my friend."
Null disappeared into the shadows, stunning Harlekin; he didn't know what to say or what to feel, so he laughed. As loud as he could and as wickedly evil as he could.