The carnival doesn't sell tickets.It sells pieces of your soul — one act at a time.
The first thing Asher Blackwood felt was the cold.
It wasn't just skin-deep.It was inside him — like his veins had been drained and refilled with frostbite and broken glass.
His limbs tingled numbly. His breath misted white.
And then… the second feeling hit.A smile.
Not his smile.Someone else's — inside his head.
His eyes snapped open, and for a moment he saw double:himself, grinning wide and hollow-eyed, hovering like a reflection just behind his vision.
Reality slammed down hard.
The reflection had pulled him in.Now, he was inside the mirror.
Meanwhile — District 7, outside the carnival:
Rosa Martinez tugged her gloves tighter, glaring at the carnival gates like they owed her money.
The place was a fever dream. Neon lights buzzed and flickered, casting everything in garish pinks and greens. But what really made her skin crawl were the posters.
Flyers fluttered everywhere. Some glued themselves to walls, some wrapped around lampposts like ivy.
And some… stuck to people.
She watched as an old woman, bundled in three coats, shrieked and clawed at a flyer that had pasted itself across her cheek.The paper wriggled, alive, fusing to her skin like some parasitic leech.
The crowd around her just laughed and clapped, as if it were all part of the carnival fun.
Rosa's stomach turned."Yup. That's cursed as hell."
She cracked her neck and rolled her shoulders."Alright. Time to punch something."
Back inside the House of Mirrors:
Asher stumbled forward, boots sinking slightly into the floor. It felt wrong.Like soggy carpet left out in the rain, every step oozing decay beneath his feet.
The air smelled like rusted metal and stale cotton candy — the rot of a thousand broken dreams.
A velvet curtain ahead parted.
Spotlights flared up, burning bright and harsh. Asher squinted — and froze.
There they were:
The Carnival of Faces.
A grotesque lineup of freaks, each act a twisted mockery of people Asher knew.
Rosa: A giant marionette, her limbs strung up and jerking with every flick of invisible hands. Her head lolled, her smile painted on, dead eyes flickering with broken light.
Father Lucian: His body fused to a set of cracked church bells, his jaw swinging open and shut like a shattered clock chime, every word ringing hollow.
The Succubus: She stood crooked, her wings torn and stitched back wrong, her sultry smile warped into something jagged and too wide.
And the audience?
Not people.Mirrors.
Rows and rows of mirrors — all reflecting him.Dozens of Asher-faces, each one laughing, crying, snarling, whispering.
The sound was unbearable. It echoed from nowhere and everywhere, bouncing around until it felt like it was inside his skull.
Then — with a dramatic swirl of his cape — the fox-mascot man appeared center stage.
The grin on his vulpine mask gleamed."Ladies and gentlemen," he boomed, spreading his arms wide, "WELCOME DETECTIVE BLACKWOOD!"
The crowd of Asher-faces roared and hooted.
"Tonight's show," the fox sneered, "is called — 'YOUR FAILURE!'"
The Rosa puppet twitched violently and lurched offstage, her wooden limbs scraping as she dragged a massive mallet behind her. Rusty nails jutted out like broken teeth, catching the flickering spotlight.
"You abandoned me, Asher!" she shrieked, voice ragged, eyes flashing.
Asher backed up, yanking out his gun — hands shaking — and fired.
CLICK.
The trigger jammed.
The mirrors around him cackled wildly, reflections doubling over with glee.
"Son of a—" He dove to the side just as the puppet's mallet smashed down, splintering the stage floor.
Panic rose in his throat. Every corner of this cursed place wanted to rip him apart, to peel off his skin and identity until there was nothing left but… another mask.
The Rosa puppet staggered, raising the mallet again, gears creaking as her strings jerked and tangled.
And then — a voice.
His own.
"Focus, Blackwood. This is fear. Fear makes the mask stronger."
His gloved hand twitched, instinct kicking in.
The mask.
The cursed mask still strapped to his side, burning hot against his hip.
He tore it free — the thing pulsing like a living heart — and slammed it onto his face.
Instantly, the world shifted.
Cracks spiderwebbed across the mirrors.The puppet Rosa screeched, staggering back as her head split down the middle, sparks flying.The succubus shrank away, her wings crumbling to ash.Father Lucian's chimes shattered, fragments raining down like holy ruin.
And Asher?His body stopped feeling fragile and glassy.
Instead, he burned.
Raw heat surged through him. His vision tinged red, and the reflections hissed and shrank back, cowering.
Asher's breath came ragged, but steady.
"Let's dance."
Meanwhile — outside:
Rosa kicked open the carnival gates so hard the hinges snapped, the entire entryway groaning in protest.
Inside, people danced around in slow circles — but their eyes were blank, wide, and empty.
Flyers had plastered themselves across their faces, melding into paper-mâché masks. Grins. Dead stares. Frozen.
She moved fast.
One man lunged at her, arms stiff, flyer-face grinning.
She ducked, drove a fist into his gut, and ripped the flyer off his head — skin peeling away with it like wet glue. Underneath:Nothing.A hollow black hole where his face should've been.
Rosa's stomach clenched."Yup. Definitely cursed."
She spat on the ground and cracked her fists, voice low and cold."Hang tight, Blackwood. Mama Rosa's comin'."
Inside the shattered maze, Asher raised his gun again — this time, steady.
The mirrors hissed, recoiling, their laughter turning into snarls.
And from behind the cracked stage curtain, the true boss stepped out.
A massive living mirror, its body rippling and bleeding mercury.Its surface twisted and shifted, playing every one of Asher's worst moments like a cursed slideshow.
It loomed, voice deep and fractured —"Let's see which face you wear… when you die, detective."
[End Of Chapter 54]
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Preview of Next Chapter (55) — "Glassbreaker"
Asher confronts the heart of the mirror maze in a battle that's not just for survival — but to reclaim every fractured piece of his soul. With the carnival's illusions unraveling fast, Rosa storms deeper inside, fists swinging, determined to punch the cursed straight out of everything. The final curtain rises… but when it falls, will the detective still be himself?