“I don't like violence.” Elijah says. “It's insane. Dirty. Ugly. Fetid. I don't like to see unnecessary suffering. But I don't care about it. Means to an end, that is, to get what I want. Everyone does what is beneficial for himself, after all. I'm not guilty of that. I do only what is logical, and what is logical is that I survive and prosper, even if others cannot, for those who are best able to do so survive. Normally, this is not a strict truth, since the prospering of others is more beneficial to everyone, which includes me.”

  “Great.” I say, then I walk towards the island.

  Pointed rocks colored in black contrast with the purple sky, now stuffed with an ore that glows gray, spreading like metallic veins throughout the structure and transmuted into golden machines on the surface. I propel myself to the ground and look around, for the first time seeing the green of abundant vegetation since I arrived on the islands.

  Why this particular one…?

  Elijah walks beside me, appearing as if he has never been left behind. “But it is also logical that you would not mind such a speech. You did not care even for the innocents you killed. Why would you care about the murderer of his soldier? No. My enemy is the demon king, after all.”

  “I have something more important to deal with.”

  “Of course, with this I do not argue. It is also beneficial for me if you ignore me and give me free pass to interact with the Clown.”

  I scratch my chin. “You're right. I should kill you.”

  “I don't recommend you try.”

  “Why?”

  “Without using chaos, you won't be able to do that on this island.”

  I raise an eyebrow, then conjure a fireball and throw it at Elijah. The spell envelops his body, but he manages to gather breath and erase it from himself.

  I frown. This interaction… it looks like the fairy world.

  “What are you?”

  “You flatter me if you think this is my fault. I will tell you, for you will find out sooner or later: it is the Clown who does this. Everything here operates in spite of the logics of the world, not within them. From your expression, I gather that you have already encountered something similar in the past or are used to it. The game is this: as long as that coward is alive, everything he does here can be overcome with something even more ridiculous.”

  I stare at the horizon. I wish I could bring everyone here. But if I leave, I'll lose sight of the Clown, or worse, Elijah will find him first.

  “I think we'll have a good time talking, don't you?” He says.

  I don't have time for that.

  I start to run. Pieces of metal constructions move by themselves, using the magnetism of special rocks embedded below the earth and covered with moss similar to what I saw on the seabed.

  “How much concern! How zealous for your mission!”

  “Your best strategy is to try to annoy me?”

  “I heard you spent your childhood being tormented by demons. I couldn't do it even if I wanted to! No. My mission is to understand it and then overcome it.”

  “What do you think your private mental system is going to do against me, exactly?”

  “You should not assume my abilities!”

  “I don't assume, I already know what you do and what you try to do. Like everyone else, he wants to use the title of demon king to ask a question and have an answer. But if I answer you, will you accept it or will you kill yourself to try to prove yourself right?”

  “And why do you assume that you are the one who holds the truth? If I kill you, won't I be the one to have it? The answer is the same in the end, and the actions do not change. I will not let my fate be decided by me.”

  I breathe in. “I know.”

  And then, in front of us appears the corpse of Atlas, the one who removed his mechanical face when he restored his sentience and realized that his carcass had been transformed into shiny metal. Once, he supported Arcadia in his thousands of arms—now only four, corroded and in pieces —, lifting the sphere that United them over his shoulders. At least, that's what the things of the abyss whispered to me as I waded through the Sea of Thoughts. Maybe it has something to do with that thing that stared at me under the ocean. I'm not sure.

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  Making his torso an abode, a golden ramp rises from the earth to his heart, where I can hear a shrill, annoying laugh. I recognize sis.

  “Is that him, then? What are you doing here?” I say.

  “Why do you expect me to answer you?”

  “You're right. You're useless.”

  “Why, you hurt me.”

  I make my way through the ramp. Gears. Pieces of armor. There is a narrow line that leads to the Clown, increasingly surrounded by decomposed garbage that looks even more advanced than the machines of the capital. It's not important. I can find him and take him with a conversation, or try to break the spell on the island and affect him in some way. Step by step, I dig into the structure, which looks bigger from the inside, a spatial trick that wizards with private dimensions like Hilda love to use, apparently. Sitting on a throne of toys, games and junk, there he was, a jester who pretends to be a king, wearing a broken crown while laughing looking at a piece of shiny gold. He stares at me as soon as I enter, and his laughter ceases. As his new interest, he jumps in a spin—two, three, dozens of them-while slowly falling to the ground. hIS face deforms to enlarge your eye, then returns to normal when you scratch your chin. “Oh boy. I don't remember inviting two weirdos to my palace. I'm going to have to send you both to the plate!”

  “Great.” Elijah says. “The salvation of my world is a retard.”

  The Clown crosses his arms. “And you, wise guy, want to save something? You must have your ass in your mouth to talk so much shit! Well, Bombardelli warned me that there were such stupid humans…”

  Bombardelli? “Humans? You're not human?”

  “I'm the Jester! Only just that!”

  “What's your name?”

  He shrugs. “Court Jester.” Say, then grab our hands. His feet become wheels, and he starts running while leaving a trail of dust behind, until we are in a room filled with playing cards.

  The jester jumps up to a chair, reclines and lights a cigar. His voice becomes hoarse. “Let's bet?”

  “I'm not here to play. Listen to me, The Illusionist is looking for you and wants to use you to open a Rift in the outside world. I can't use chaos in this place, and we need you to help us defeat it and minimize the damage it will do to my comrades… Are you listening?”

  No. He is counting coins and betting his house on a game with Elijah, which he narrowly wins and starts laughing in each other's faces. The elegant man inhales and comes to his senses, then looks at his hands while perplexed. “What? I don't remember having…”

  Elijah frowns. “Of course. This place is the domain of the fool. We are subject to his powers. Here he is as strong as The Illusionist…”

  “Stop!” He shouts suddenly and frowns. “This is not fun. Talk about fun stuff, or next time I'm going to force you to bet your ass.”

  “Sorry, but I already have an owner.” I spit out a laugh, then inhale.

  What?! I didn't say that. Is the bastard making me say everything I think?!

  “Oh!” He covers his mouth, then turns into an old woman. “Speak!”

  “You know, doctor, there are two women that I -” I cover my mouth. “No! Snap out of it! We need to kill someone!”

  “No! We have to play and tell secrets!”

  “Indeed.” Elijah says. “We don't have to do anything we don't want to, Sieghart. You are nobody to decide the fate of others. See, the Jester prefers to stay. At least he decides. I empathize with such action. We should not be at the mercy of the supernatural to decide what we want.”

  “If you don't do what you're supposed to do, it won't just be bad for what's around you, asshole. Everyone—especially you-will be hurt. The world is in danger.”

  “We can talk about the world later.” Elijah says. “Why should I trust what I do or don't do to something that might burn my hand if I try to extend it? Don't you realize how stupid this is? I will not be the puppet of a thing whose absolute will radiate in this world like a doll. My intelligence was given to me by chance, and I will give it meaning without becoming a slave!”

  I pierce the jester with my gaze, who counts his coins and makes imbecile jokes that we can not stand to not laugh on account of his influence. When I catch my breath, I face him.

  “If you don't want to become a slave, then you shouldn't stay here. Freedom comes with the deliberate choice of Honor. Sooner or later, reality will find you, and you can no longer be distracted from it.”

  The jester spits out a laugh, but I see a drop fall from the side of his head. “W-Well, that's not a good thing to talk about!”

  He's getting weaker.

  “ONE MORE GAME!” Elijah says.

  The room transforms. A competition. Elijah and the jester throw themselves above bulls and begin a rodeo, from which I am transported against my will. We spin until my stomach turns, but I hold back my laughter and stare at the jester until he is uncomfortable, and the bulls turn into mere imitations of wood.

  “You're not being funny! Stop it!” He says.

  “We need to get out of here.” I say.

  “No!”

  “What's your name?”

  He frowns. “COURT. JESTER.”

  “That's not your name.”

  His face turns red with hatred. And somehow, the already red uniform begins to glow, and smoke comes out of his ears.

  “It's not a good idea to stress a king in his palace, Sieghart.” Elijah says. “In fact, the Jester is what he is.”

  “You're scared, aren't you?” I say. “I'm sorry. You are a chaos user, so your life must have been difficult. If your childhood has been stolen from you, or if you think it's unfair that this has fallen on your shoulders, I understand it. But we need to do that. People depend on you.”

  The jester grinds his teeth and clenches his fists, then looks away. “I never asked for it. Never.”

  “No. But you were chosen for a reason.”

  “A reason that doesn't matter to you! Elijah says. “If it weren't for him, it would be someone else! None of that matters, why! Are you going crazy, Jester?! It was he who forced him to hide in this place! Don't believe their lies!”

  “I didn't do anything. But you need to do.”

  “Me...”

  “You don't have to do anything, Clown!” Elijah says, then comes to his senses again and looks at his hands. Part of his mind had returned, and with it, his composure. A consequence of weakening. “Great. I'm safe.”

  I frown. “What do you mean?”

  Elijah raises his posture as the jester shakes and hides behind his throne, now returning to the original setting. “H-he's here…!”

  A presence. I look back, and in white robes and eyes purple as the sky, the Illusionist stretches.

  He spits out a laugh. “A good speech, Sieghart.” He says, in a low, soft voice. “But I must ask you… To save something, you need that something to exist, don't you?”

  A tremor extends below the Earth;

  And, beneath the Sea Of Thoughts, The metamagic of Death awakens.