"Movie props~?" the jester Danny had threatened chuckled. "If you think these are nothing but toys, you're sorely mistaken."
He continued to juggle, his focus settling on the head on the floor. Its skin began to writhe.
"Ha… haha… ahaha—"
It started to laugh.
Its teeth spiked. Its eyes rolled back as its eyelids curved into crescent shapes.
A needle appeared, threaded with string, piercing through its lids.
Its face contorted, whitening as it became even more demonic, thrashing violently back and forth.
The people around it backed away even farther.
"Heck no, this' some voodoo, man," a gangster muttered, holding out his knife as one of the heads transformed into a ghoulish circus imp right before their eyes. It jumped on its stump.
Its neck supported its head as it laughed, hopping up and down. It snapped toward the mechanics with a hungry gaze—but this wasn't the only head to become ghoulish.
No, the creature hopping on its own severed neck wasn't the only one.
In front of the mechanics, four other heads were being transformed into something similar—eyes stitched shut, puffed collars piercing their flesh, faces painted, pointed teeth exposed, purple-and-black jester hats forming atop them.
A sadistic transformation, brought upon them by the jester juggling limbs for sport.
"Can it! This is just part of this clown's tricks!" Danny Miller—a scruffy, bearded man with ear piercings and a face tattoo—yelled.
He refused to believe this was anything but a hallucination. Drugs. Mushrooms. Or some kind of advanced tech.
"In the name of madness, I call upon the memories of madness—spirits of misfortune, pain, and fear—into my art of terror. Show these foolish ones your dark light."
Qiren continued his chanting, finally imbuing all three of his core aspects: memories, emotions, and curses…
But as he reached for the remnants of misfortune, he found nothing.
!?
He couldn't pull anything out—though some residue leaked through.
Only his mixed memories and emotions were drawn into the multiple spirit constructs.
Bang! Bang!
The female jester dropped her baggage and leapt forward the moment gunfire rang out.
"That's not so nice, Danny," she said, blocking his bullets with a machete.
"Lady Scarlett…? The fuck—why are you dressed like that?"
He stared at his superior, Missy Stormhill.
But she didn't answer.
One of the demonic vestiges Qiren was juggling was hurled straight at him. Its mouth opened wide, ready to bite.
Danny's combat prowess was nothing to scoff at.
He dodged, throwing his gun into the imp's maw, jamming its jaws just long enough to counter as it landed behind him—
Crunch! Scrap!
It bit down, snapping the metal with ease.
Danny drew his spare gun and fired into the still-chewing head. Bullets tore its skull open until his chamber ran dry. Only then did his eyes flick to his belt.
He ripped free a few bullets and reloaded.
Ahhh! AHHH!!
"Fuck! Get off me!" a man screamed, tearing a jumping head off himself. It laughed—and leapt right back onto his thigh.
Danny turned toward the screams, watching as another imp sank its teeth into a worker's shoulder, chest, and face—like rabid dogs let off a leash.
"Missy, open your bag~"
Qiren snapped his fingers toward her sack, conjuring a baton and leading his imps like a conductor orchestrating a symphony of screams.
Missy hadn't noticed it until now.
Two figures were reaching for her bag.
She turned—and froze.
Two crawling skeleton torsos, painted purple, with demonic ridges and hardened bones, dressed in his carnival theme.
?!
How far did Qiren Lin's powers go?
Missy couldn't comprehend the scope of his abilities—shapeshifting, object conjuring, contract creation, mind control, mental illusions, blessings, curses.
Qi, karma, spirit manipulation.
This was only what he'd shown her, and she already felt overwhelmed, even as she forced herself to stay calm. After a lifetime of questioning whether the supernatural was nothing more than fables, this shattered everything.
If he could read her mind, he'd chuckle. This wasn't even half of his arsenal—just the culmination of what he currently wielded in this world.
Spirit intent. Personas. Doppelgängers. Cursed objects. The imparting of victims' memories and spirit fragments as card-blessings—somehow leading them both into her inner sea.
Missy let the bag drop. The skeletons lunged for it, tearing open its hem.
Qiren smiled and continued to conduct chaos.
For the existence he had become, pivoting came easily. Others might see his abilities as omnipresent—new spells born from nothing.
But the truth was simpler.
Unrestricted freedom.
As a human, he had relied on textbooks, structure, approval—acting in accordance with imposed principles.
Doctors. Scientists. Chemists. All bound by ethics, laws, regulations.
How humane actions should be.
When they should occur.
Funding.
Laboratory costs. Equipment. Facilities.
Fail once—or twice—and credibility vanished. Funding cut. Projects handed to more "competent" groups.
Bottlenecks on a genius's ingenuity.
The two skeletons seized the heads of Swift and Michael, giggling like the wild imps tearing through the mechanics.
The heads locked into place.
Half-complete, Swift's head was painted with the same stitched eyes, hat, and face paint as the imps. Michael was different—his head had been cleaved from the nose up.
Only a hat covered what was missing, stitched directly into his lower face.
Michael laughed. What remained of his head turned toward the crowd as his fingers produced a deck of cards. He flung them with brutal precision—slicing legs, arms, and lodging into chests.
Not fatal.
But semi-immobilizing.
Swift's body wasn't idle either.
It turned toward the group fleeing for the garage gate. Its eyes tore open through stitched lids.
"Hee… hee… hehe…"
It laughed maniacally, crawling and leaping with frightening speed. It ripped free a pair of ribs and began killing.
Outside, it hunted—stabbing those trying to escape.
Stevie watched, frozen, unsure whether to flee into the woods or run back inside.
"What the hell is going on!?"
He gripped his tire wrench like a lifeline.
Behind him, others tried to escape—only to be overtaken by a stronger imp.
Qiren no longer operated under mortal restraints.
He was free.
As a demon, he had one objective: spread sin.
His weapons. His Dao. His skills. His constructs.
All designed to amplify terror, power, madness.
By abandoning morality, he grew.
He took the world by force—and twisted it into something unrecognizable.
"Hahahahaha!"
Qiren laughed as his muscles bulged. His jaw split apart. His limbs elongated.
Drool spilled from his mouth as countless souls rose into the air.
Yes. This kind of killing suited him best.
His figure towered, a tail extending behind him. His outfit retained its purple, black, and gold—but now bore card symbols: diamonds, hearts, clubs, spades.
Golden devil-theater masks hung from his waist. He tore one free and pressed it to his grotesque face as more mouths split open beneath it.
He lunged for Danny, grabbing him before he could escape.
"Grrr—graaa!"
Danny struggled as he was lifted off the ground.
"Eat my dick!" he shouted, firing wildly.
Bullets dented the golden smile mask, hiding whether Qiren was laughing beneath it.
Danny felt the grip tighten around his neck. He reached for his belt, grabbing bullets—dropping one by accident.
He reloaded, preparing to fire again—
"Tell me," Qiren said softly.
A tail slid from his lower back, coiling around Danny's wrist, stopping the trigger pull.
"Do you still think this isn't real?"
Danny clawed at the coil. His face purpled as oxygen vanished.
He grunted—and fired once.
Bang.
Qiren went manic, savoring the fear. He lifted the mask.
His head had fully transfigured—dozens of maws opening at once.
"N-no—"
Crunch!!!!