Vivian pushed the sword deeper without stopping.
"Genesis Heart: Strings of Fate…" he muttered softly.
The blade sank further into the clown's stomach, steady and precise. There was no hesitation in his movement.
"Guh—!"
The clown spat out blood, yet a grin still spread across his face.
His teeth were stained red, but his eyes still carried that same strange madness.
"So… this is your Genesis Heart… huh?" he said, forcing the words out through pain.
Vivian stood behind him, his grip firm.
"Yes," he replied. "This is the Genesis Heart I spent seven years to understand."
There was no pride in his voice. No excitement. Only calm.
A short silence followed.
"But… why didn't you kill me when you had the chance?" Vivian asked.
The question was simple, but it carried weight.
"Kekeke…"
The clown let out a weak laugh as his hand slowly touched the blade. Blood slid down his fingers as he traced its edge.
"There was no reason… to kill you…" he said quietly.
"Haa…"
He let out a long, tired breath.
For the first time, he stopped acting. The madness faded, and he simply stared forward in silence.
"Tell me…" he said after a pause.
"How does your Genesis Heart work?"
His voice was calm now, almost normal.
Vivian looked at his back.
He said nothing.
Trust was not something he could give to an enemy, especially not now.
Still, the answer was clear in his mind.
His Genesis Heart, Strings of Fate, worked in stages.
Simple in idea, but hard to use.
The first stage was karma.
Karma was the link between cause and effect.
Without cause, there could be no result. Without both, karma could not exist.
During the game, Vivian controlled his own karma.
When he lost, he did not wait for death.
He chose it himself.
He cut off his own limbs.
He threw the sword.
He allowed it to take his head.
At that moment, the cause of his death was not the clown.
It was himself.
And that gave him control.
Just before the final moment—
He erased that cause.
He removed the reason that led to his death.
Without cause, there was no effect.
Without effect, there was no karma.
And without karma, there was no fate.
That was how he escaped.
Not by fighting fate.
But by stepping outside of it.
Still, this power had limits.
He had to stay in control at all times.
If his mind broke even for a moment, it would fail.
And he could not force everything.
Some events were too strong to change.
That was why he could not use it at the beginning.
The clown let out a faint chuckle.
"Such a troublesome power…" he whispered.
His body swayed slightly as his strength faded.
"But… interesting…"
His voice grew weaker.
"Very… interesting…"
The air fell silent.
Vivian did not move.
His hand stayed on the sword as his calm eyes looked ahead.
The fight was over.
And yet—
It did not feel like a victory.
"Now tell me… everything you know," Vivian said.
There was a slight impatience in his voice. From the very beginning, the clown had dropped hints, as if he knew far more than he should.
"So you…" Vivian started, his eyes narrowing.
"Wouldn't it be easier if you just killed me?"
The clown cut him off mid-sentence.
"And then use your power to turn me into a death knight…like Heartless," he added weakly.
Vivian's eyes widened slightly.
For the first time, a clear reaction appeared on his face.
"Why would you want to—"
"Let me tell you a story…"
The clown interrupted again.
His voice was fading now, growing weaker with each word.
"Once… thousands of years ago… there was a boy…"
A faint smile appeared on his face, almost nostalgic.
"He was six… maybe seven… running around, playing with his friends…"
His expression darkened.
"One day… some people came."
"They gave gold to his parents… and took the boy away."
"The boy was taken into a white room…"
His breathing grew uneven.
"Without a choice… they stuck a needle into him… and he lost consciousness."
"When he woke up…"
"He was inside a tube… filled with red liquid."
"Around him… there were many more tubes… just like his."
"The pain…"
His fingers twitched slightly.
"It was unbearable… but he couldn't even scream."
"His mouth was sealed… with a pipe."
"Every time he tried to cry… only bubbles came out…"
"He stayed there… for a long time…"
"I don't even know how long…"
"One day… he was taken out."
"But the moment he opened his eyes…"
"Someone was already standing in front of him."
The clown's voice changed slightly as he repeated the words.
"Another failure…"
"The man sounded calm… even kind…"
"But his words were not."
"Use him for the war," the man had said.
"And when it ends… send him to the continent of Elora."
"Let him test… 'him'… when he appears…"
The clown let out a weak breath.
"The boy followed every order…"
"Because he had no choice."
"He fought in wars…"
"Again and again…"
"Until nothing inside him remained."
"Then… he was sent to Elora…"
His voice trembled now, just slightly.
"Many years later…"
"The boy was given one final order…"
"To watch another boy."
"To observe him…"
"And report everything…"
The clown slowly turned his head, just a little.
His fading eyes met Vivian's.
"That boy…"
A weak smile appeared on his lips.
"…was you."
The clown gripped the sword as he spoke.
"I… was sold… for experiments," he said slowly. "I suffered my whole life… and carried that hatred…"
"Ugh—"
A groan escaped his lips as he forced the blade out of his body. Blood followed, dripping down in thick lines.
"That person… the one who did this to me…"
"I tried to remember him… tried to hate him…"
"But every time I think of him… I forget…"
His hand trembled.
The sword slipped from his grip and hit the ground with a dull sound.
He took a step forward, his body shaking.
Another step.
Then another.
Each one slower than the last.
"Now… I'm tired…"
"I just want to die…" he said softly.
"But my heart… won't let me…"
"It keeps telling me… to take revenge…"
His voice grew quieter as he raised his hand.
Slowly… he removed his mask.
His face was revealed.
Twisted.
Broken.
Hard to even look at.
But Vivian did not react.
His eyes stayed calm as he looked straight at him.
No disgust. No pity.
The clown took one last step.
Then his legs gave in.
He dropped to his knees in front of Vivian.
His breathing was heavy, uneven.
"So… I… who has forgotten my own name…"
He lowered his head slightly.
"Ask you… to accept me…"
"As your servant…"
"And turn me… into your death knight…"
His hand lifted weakly.
The mask rested in his palm as he held it out.
"Give me… a chance…" he whispered.
"To seek revenge…"
A pause.
Then, in a faint voice—
"…Master."
