In a well-lit office with a blood-soaked floor, heavy with the stench of iron, sweat, and death, two jesters stood facing one another.
One wore black, gold, and purple, crowned with a five-pointed jester's hat.
The other was dressed almost entirely in red, threaded with streaks of white and black. Her skin was pale, mirroring the other jester's complexion. She, too, wore a five-pointed hat—though hers was split red and black, embroidered with red hearts stitched in gold thread.
The same motif followed her entire outfit: from her single eyepatch, down her corset and skirt, to her stockings and shoes.
"Well, I got an eyepatch. Sweet," she said dryly. "At least I don't have to worry about it getting infected—for now."
Her remaining eye turned toward the man who had shot the other one not long ago.
"What are you looking at me for?" Qiren asked, his tone lazy and sleazy. "Maybe if you didn't suck so badly, I wouldn't have had to shoot you. Then you could've earned this card we spent a long time working on."
He showed Missy the king card. Its surface now depicted a one-room royal suite, a bed strewn with tousled clothes.
"What does it look like? I'm not complaining~" She stretched. "I beat your game with nothing but a lost eye. That's a win in my book. And besides—we can always do it again. Even without getting the card, you still got my adrenaline pumping."
Missy glanced down at the card in her own hand. It depicted her former self, bound in invisible chains.
....
Fifteen minutes earlier.
"To recap the rules," Qiren said, "you must flip over all the cards on the table. If you fail to match a pair, I load a bullet into my revolver. I'll keep doing that until you draw a pair of Death Cards—then I fire."
He shuffled the deck.
"This can be countered by matching a pair of Life Cards, which removes bullets from the chamber. If there are no bullets left and you trigger it again, we enter a special round. I'll load a single bullet and gamble with a game of roulette."
His explanation was directed at the woman seated across from him. Her gaze darted between the cards in his hands and those laid face-down on the desk. Her hair hung in damp, messy strands, clinging to her forehead.
"I remember you explaining those rules," she said, pushing her hair back into some semblance of order. Her hands reached for the white top beside her.
"Those are the core rules," he continued. "Aside from the two bonus mechanics, you can use the same Life Cards no more than ten times. Every two uses, I'll shuffle them into new positions to keep the game fresh."
He gave her a thin smile. "I wouldn't want you getting comfortable when all you need to do is match the cards before the time limit runs out."
He placed the deck down.
"And if you still haven't flipped all of them by then…"
His gaze settled on her.
"You'll have to draw a penalty card."
Missy, now mostly presentable, slipped her arms through the straps and pulled the soft fabric over her sweat-slicked body.
"I think I got it, so can I start playing now?"
Qiren looked at her, eager to begin. "One more thing. If you can beat the game in under fifteen minutes, you can look through and claim any one of the penalty cards."
He watched her eye light up. "That means you can have the king card—and all the memories I've stored in it—or pick any other blessing, trap, or transformation."
"Hmmm," she hummed thoughtfully, lifting one knee onto the chair—giving him a clear view of her stained panties beneath the thong she was wearing.
"Mr. Solitaire," she called.
Since she didn't know what else to call him—Mr. Jester, Mr. Incubus, Mr. Face-Stealer—she settled on the least offensive option.
"Do you like my hair up?" She gathered it into a ponytail. "Or down like this?" She let it fall loose again.
"Mr. Solitaire?"
"Yeah," she continued when he didn't answer. "Since you never told me what to call you, it's kind of confusing. Jester doesn't really fit, since you keep changing forms."
She tilted her head slightly.
"Then I got the idea to call you that when you started imitating all the face cards—king, queen, jack… even ace and joker."
She pointed toward the deck on the table.
"You were really hot when you turned into the Queen of Spades~"
Qiren froze.
After they'd finished getting intimate, he had begun crafting the penalty cards. That had required him to pour significant intent into the Queen—far more than planned.
He had instinctively envisioned a composite of the most striking women from his former life to create her, and the other queens too—using top models, actresses, and, unethically, his own patients.
"If you'd said that earlier," he replied flatly, "I probably would've bent you over and taught you a proper lesson."
The stray thought alone made his mouth go dry.
Missy blinked, snapping out of her own haze. "What? Why? I was just complimenting you."
She flipped over two cards—a six of clubs, then a four of hearts.
Not a match.
"I don't know," he said, loading a bullet into the revolver and spinning the chamber. "Maybe it sounded like you were testing my masculinity. So I'd respond by showing you how to behave."
Missy watched the bullet spin.
"I wasn't trying to offend you," she said, flipping the cards back over before choosing another pair. One was another six of clubs. She smiled, already planning her next move despite the double Death Cards. "I was just excited about the new possibilities that opened up~"
"You're not seeing the full picture," she added lightly—already imagining what else they could do together once the game was over, curious how far those differences truly went.
Click!
The gun clicked.
"You live," Qiren said. He had pulled the trigger. "Anyway, that was a one-time thing." He set the gun down. "I take it you have your first match now."
"Yep." She moved without flinching after her close call, flipping over two sixes of clubs. "You still didn't answer my question."
He looked at her. "I like it up."
Qiren stood, his expression blank, and moved around the desk as she flipped two Life Cards.
She found a three of spades and a seven of diamonds.
Swish—the sound of fabric shifting came from behind Missy's chair.
What?
She twisted in her seat, startled as her hair was suddenly pulled up. She felt a soft sensation press against her lips.
"You're looking better already," a woman said, wiping her face.
A dry cloth—one Qiren had used earlier—was drawn across her skin, cleaning the remaining streaks trailing down her peachy face.
That same face was now in front of her.
Smiling. Clear. Messy red hair, a white top—ember eyes digging into her.
"What… I thought you said I wasn't seeing the bigger picture~"
"How about now, little Missy? Is big sis thinking too small?" Qiren asked, his voice distorted, his body shifted into an almost identical version of Missy—down to every visible imperfection.
He let her hair fall and pulled her hand to his chest, then grasped her rear, drawing a moan from her as he lifted her—guiding her legs around his waist—and planted a series of kisses on her lips.
Missy's mouth twisted into a perverted smile.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her ample chest against another identical pair. Her tongue spiraled in a rush of pleasure, locking with Qiren's as they stole each other's breath.
Even though she wanted to keep going, she knew the game's timer had already been set. If she let this demon steal her focus, she'd regret it.
So this time, she was the one who stopped him.
"Thanks for showing me my lips taste amazing." She pulled back, lowering her legs elegantly. "I want to see what else on me tastes this good." Her hand trailed down Qiren's transformed arms to his feminine hips.
He leaned in anyway, pressing her closer. "I feel like there's a but coming," he said lightly.
"But~," she leaned in, voice low, "I have a card game to win~"
She pushed him away and strutted back to her chair. "It's also going to be taxing pretending I'm okay doing it with myself. I'm not that narcissistic—or eccentric—enough to not need a beer first."
Qiren didn't persist. "Very well." His hand went to the back of his neck, tracing a crack in his skin.
This method of shapeshifting seemed more sustainable than consuming a person's soul and gambling on compatibility.
With that method, there was no way to stop himself from cracking at the seams once a transformation was lost forever.
This way, he expanded his own spirit fragments, shaping his soul—granting greater durability. And if he started to crack—
His fingers brushed the fissures as they slowly knit back together.