“My Princess, the kingdom is lost. We cannot tarry lest your older sister find us. Our only option…is the Void. Heh-hehe. Keep a smile, My Love! Beyond it lies your father…or so the Puppeteer of Mischief has spoken. I will always be your loyal Jester, here to put a smile on your face!” - Castro, The False Jester, The Lost Diaries, Vol. XIII.

The crack of thunder, crying heavens, and the graveyard of transevil pulled Clover’s gaze in a slow sweep of the devastation that followed her battle with Isngneal and the shapeshifter’s departure.

Muddy water from the lake flooded into the river, mixing with the storm and drawing her mind back to the parties of her youth. A twisted, unheard melody of strings played just beyond the mist and rain, drawing her eyes to the shadows; she hardly noticed the gushing steam until the storm and chill settled in, yet it wasn’t what made her shiver.

A lump formed in her throat; it was as if an insect ran across her skin with the unsettling vibe the clown radiated lingering, unseen in the veil of the monsoon. Clover could still feel his neon-blue eyes on her and his masquerade mask smiling from places just beyond sight.

Four minutes passed, the only signs of movement being the heavy heavens, fog, and river. A somber gloom weighed on her mind while searching for exactly what the shapeshifter made her feel. It wasn’t fear but a weighted caution that made her hesitate, which irritated and made her want to scratch her skin.

Occasionally, a lightning bolt arced out of the sky to strike Isngneal’s motionless corpse, its purple static tracing the hole his final attack had left. It was a testament to Castro’s power and finesse, and everywhere she looked, Clover saw his hand in setting this stage—it had all been planned.

It wasn’t until the SPU Class-2 spirit users pulled up in an assortment of military vehicles above that Clover came to terms with what she’d experienced.

He’s unnatural—if he’s a male at all…

She recalled the scents of the underground base incident; the shapeshifter had played with the employees and AI, meticulously setting up each horrific isolated incident to illustrate his artistic love. It was as if the creature wanted to enjoy some grand show only he saw, and everything around him was on his stage, dancing to his strings. Judging by his parting words, he had some overarching plan in mind, and she was supposed to take the lead role now that Isngneal bored him.

The most frustrating part is that I can’t track him. Clearly, he loves to keep Castro’s form, even if he’s not a rassi. In fact, he could have taken on Castro’s identity from the beginning or been the clown from the start... How could anyone tell otherwise?

If he’s a part of the Gallant Cadre Faction—as everyone seems to believe—why is he here? A rassi group that centers on medieval stereotypes... He’s a jester, but occasionally the fool is the hidden puppet master.

Castro had temporarily overshadowed her hunger, and looking at the energy around her, waiting to be harvested, she had a bitter taste in her mouth that should have been a delight on her tongue.

I know I need to take their Desire Force... Yet, I can’t bring myself to enjoy it since I wasn’t the one to kill them. It’s like Castro left them as a welcoming gift to his stage…

A loudspeaker from one of the military vehicles called down to her, drawing her gaze to the dam. “Clover!” Erin yelled. “Are you safe?”

Figuring he couldn’t see her past the haze, she sighed and dismissed the Viper Blade; walking past Isngneal’s head, she sourly absorbed the force into her body, zig-zagging between the transevil bodies littering the dam before making it to the top area.

Erin continued calling out her name and contacting her earrings, but she rejected them, brooding on the information she’d gathered. Isngneal filled her with power, which sharply reduced the biting hole in her belly, but it didn’t abate the frustration of having a clean victory against the lightning wolf.

Eventually, the Earth spirit user’s vision was directed to her by the other spirit users, pointing out the vortex of color she produced as she gathered the Desire Force-infused items.

He met her on the rise, his slick orange jacket showing the SPU symbol on the back reflecting from the bright humvee lights. Erin was a bit breathless upon coming to a stop.

“Clover! I-I can’t even... Satellites showed hundreds of transevil—you killed him instantly—we were sure it was a bug, but...is Isngneal really…”

“Dead,” she hollowly stated, moving past him to finish cleaning up the materials before the SPU could snag any more. She needed everything she could get against Castro, which Clover angrily figured was also part of his plan. “Is that all of them?”

Erin cleared his throat, running after her; it took a second for him to respond as he gauged her embittered mood. “Hmm... So far as we are aware. Every sign of the transevil in the area vanished from our satellites, meaning only Class-0 should be left, and we’re tracking down any stragglers. Did something happen?” he tentatively asked. “You don’t seem happy about winning.”

Clover’s jaw locked, and she took a deep breath. “Did you sense any other powerful creatures besides Isngneal?”

“No?” Erin asked, squinting at the blackened crater below before his focus drifted to the damaged areas. “Was there another transevil—a Class-3?”

Her serpent irises flicked to the handsome young man; nervous vibes were leaking off him. She’d done what he believed impossible, or at least he thought she did it. Then again, for all she knew, he could be Castro in disguise.

In any case, it was unlikely Melissa or Lily were the hidden snakes in her circle. Still, given how invisible and thorough the jester’s disgusting ability was, she couldn’t take a body double off the table, including clones or copies of himself. The transevil could multiply using some black inky method, so why not whatever Castro was?

“If you need nothing else, I’m going to go.”

Clover dismissed herself, leaving Erin confused as he slowed to a stop, watching her go; she weaved through the other spirit users without a word. Men and women saluted her as if she were a direct superior, with hope and respect in their bright eyes; it only served to make the taste in her mouth all the more tart.

Once a reasonable distance away from the bustling groups, Clover contacted Laurence; his emotionless tone and somewhat sleep-deprived face actually helped ease her restlessness a tad.

“I was wondering when you’d make contact... What’s the issue?”

“Heh-he,” a joyless smirk curled the corner of her mouth as she glared at the lush grasslands outside of Hollow Veil’s walls. “You know, in the short time I’ve known you, I’ve grown to appreciate that attitude of yours.”

“Likewise,” he said, dull eyes drifting to various monitors around him while puffing on his typical cigar and waiting for her response.

“I...want a straight answer.”

His focus returned to her, leaning back a bit in his chair. “I’m listening.”

“Did Wilfred kill Castro?”

Laurence’s teeth tightened around the butt of his claro, and after a moment, a lump dropped down his throat after a moment. Drawing on it for one more breath, he puffed out the smoke, took the cigar out of his mouth, and leaned forward.

“According to the report they submitted. Why are you questioning that?”

Naturally, from what she’d learned about the general, he’d taken her inquiry as a sign that she was throwing shade on the event; it wasn’t something someone in his position wanted to hear.

“Was Castro an extremely tall, lanky, jester-like man that wore a masquerade mask and had neon-blue eyes?”

A quake ran down the military man’s frame as he sat back again, taking a few draws of his vice before blowing it out in a long sigh. He pressed a few buttons, and Clover’s vision narrowed upon seeing the same figure she had described.

Castro danced across a stage in what appeared to be Hollow Veil’s shopping district; balloons fell around the panicking men, women, and children as they ran to the edges, only to realize they were trapped. Explosions of sickly-colored gas bathed the street, causing the people to writhe on the ground, choking and coughing.

It was strategic, starting at the exits and drawing the crowds closer and closer to the jester. He vanished in smoke to take petrified women by the hands; at his touch, they ceased their cries, beginning a waltz with the clown against their will, helpless tears falling down their cheeks, yet overjoyed smiles shone on their faces.

“Is this the creature you saw?”

Clover’s fingernails pulled against her palm as she watched the jester play with his victims, and puppet-like creatures burst out of the sewers to flood the streets, slaughtering the helpless crowds.

“That’s him.”

“Mmh... Are you telling me Castro appeared to you when fighting Isngneal?”

“He did.”

“I see…” Laurence’s eyes closed, fingers sliding through his slightly greasy hair. “Hmm... You’re sure?”

Her vision drifted to the city from her slightly elevated position, watching smoke pool out of chimneys and seeing the dull violet reflection of the tinted morning sun strike the taller buildings. Tyler would likely be looking out of his office window at this moment.

“Not exactly. It was the shapeshifter, and he took the form of Castro.”

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“The shapeshifter,” Laurence repeated, rubbing the scruff on his neck. “You aren’t sure about anything anymore, I assume. I don’t blame you. We’re dealing with a threat that could be Castro or something else entirely.”

He dragged on his cigar a few more times in silence as Clover slowly made her way back to Hollow Veil through the storm, allowing the liquid to wash over her.

“There were three things that exited the Great Void—some spirit user we assume uses a spear and shield, you, and another unidentified—we lost contact with the team I sent to investigate the last.”

“Spear and shield?” Clover whispered, vision darting to the decaying city barely visible through the easing downpour. “Well, I suppose everyone has their own way of fighting.”

The general looked to another screen, chair squeaking a tad as he swiveled. “We’ve been able to catch a small photo of her from surveillance footage we stationed around Sunny City—silvery hair, a big shield blocking our view of her face—it wasn’t that clear. As it stands, she’s possibly an irregular spirit user like yourself.”

“A silver-haired woman, hmm? Sounds familiar. I guess silver hair might not be so uncommon these days.” Clover looked up as a bolt of lightning streaked across the heavens before her vision lowered to the hazy, ruined cityscape. “It’s...possible the third person to exit was this shapeshifter, but I’m not so sure now.”

“Oh? Care to elaborate?”

Clover watched the smoke leave his mouth; the cigar was barely two centimeters from his fingers. “He manipulated Isngneal into attacking the town. Once he grew bored of the wolf and set his sights on me...he killed the transevil. I don’t know; maybe he was more focused on me from the start and this is all a game. It’s...hard to get a read on his goal.”

“Interest—” A short yawn left the man’s throat, eyes watering a little as he blinked and took a deep breath. “Hmm... So, in the end, he was the one that killed Isngneal and not you, Clover?”

“Yes,” she grunted, left finger twitching with agitation. “I was nearly finished with it—just another several seconds, and I would have had my SF attacks ready to deliver the final blow—but he showed up and killed him... I suspect he saw it as some kind of present to me.”

“Mmgmm... It’s in line with Castro’s mannerisms.”

Laurence leaned forward, extinguishing his cigar stub before opening a side compartment and extracting his pipe to change gears. He struck a match to light the end, and his demeanor gave the impression the commander was in total control, yet Clover figured it was the nicotine.

“From MASS reports from the north, Castro’s profile is sadistic, but he doesn’t take interest in people so much as the performance. You could be right, and this might be an imposter.” He breathed out a constrained sigh, head tilting to give another display a sidelong look. “You haven’t asked if Lily is cleared of suspicion since we’ve discovered the shapeshifter was near Hollow Veil,” he noted.

The low rumble in her throat mirrored the dying storm. “I haven’t... I don’t want to believe it, but you could say I’m more cautious than before. I don’t know if it is the shapeshifter or someone else; however, I do know someone is trying to use me to further their own ends—someone I’ll misread.”

The general’s lips pulled in around his pipe, tapping a fingernail against the wood on his desk for a time; he appeared to be taking everything she said and dissecting every word.

“Someone...you will misread, as in the future? That you’re telling me this could be interpreted in quite a few directions... I won’t speculate on that; I’m more concerned about this shapeshifter. Can you tell if it is a rassi?”

“Why not a transevil?” Clover pointedly asked, spotting the entrance to the town she’d used and making her way to it on the wet road; water flowed in a thin layer off the side of the crumbling asphalt. “I was told transevil can’t speak, yet Isngneal was intelligent enough to speak our language and strategize, to an extent.”

“Ominous. In the past fifteen years of attacks, this is the first I’m aware of such an advanced transevil.”

“Is it linked to his Class?”

Laurence shook his head. “In the Badlands—near the sealed Black Abyss—there are Class-5 transevil golems, and Shane dealt with many higher-class transevil. No, this is a new development, and we need to discover how it gained that level of sentience. Do you have any clues?”

It was Clover’s turn to shake her head. “No. All I know is that Isngneal somehow had forewarning that people were coming through the Great Void and made his way toward me.”

“The shapeshifter?”

“That’s my guess, but I can’t be sure. I’ll ask again: do you believe Ivan and Wilfred killed Castro, or do you think he simply pretended to be dead for them to leave—what about the body and extracted resources—could he be taking on the form of someone else?”

The man scratched above his left ear before picking at the dead skin on his bottom lip; the general really did need a break. “Hmm. Ivan delivered the finishing blow, and submitted the items, but, if he can control puppets... I won’t say it’s impossible. He was Class-5 material, for sure, and Ivan submitted some components in that category….

“Mmh. We still don’t know Castro’s objective for making such a long trip to the southwest, and the fact this shapeshifter can mirror his MO and personality so perfectly... I don’t know. Castro would have needed to get past The Great Inferno Tribe, and their heavy hitters would destroy him—without question.”

He puffed out a long breath. “It’s a mystery why he would risk so much to come to such a backwater area of humanity. All the Gallant Cadre are bound to their King. Castro must be here on some errand if it is him, but what is that? There’s also the possibility he was kicked out of his faction, which then puts into question where he takes his orders...or if he is a deserter, which would be a first recorded for the devout Gallant Cadre.”

“I couldn’t tell you,” Clover whispered, scanning the partially ruined area of southeastern Hollow Veil; a guard tower was operated at the walls now, peering into the storm, ready to report danger. “I can tell you he didn’t feel too far off from my skill level,which...is weird since he so casually escaped my notice and killed the mut when, currently, you say I’m Class-3. Am I really Class-3?”

“That’s pretty set in stone,” he mumbled. “Either your senses are off, or his deception abilities are powerful enough to outwardly match your level.”

Clover’s chest tightened at the possibility; she didn’t want to believe she’d misjudged the jester but the man made a valid point. “If that’s the case, he could have fooled your level assessment and actually be borderline Class-6. In that scenario, it doesn’t matter what we do, so...maybe Wilfred weakened him, and he’s been slowly rebuilding his strength. Maybe he didn’t want the attention for some other reason.”

Laurence straightened in his high-back chair. “Castro being weakened would be at least some decent news compared to every report I’ve gotten over the past few days... I suppose we can only hope you’ll continue to grow or Ivan makes it here in time.

Clover’s fingers closed into a fist; she didn’t know how to take that information. “Ivan’s coming?”

“It may take a week, but yes, he’s returning.”

“Huh. I look forward to meeting him.”

“In any case, I’ll keep an eye on Lily. The scientists are still trying to isolate whatever is in her blood. I assume you’ve been working your own angle with this underground group?”

“I’m planning on getting their opinion,” Clover sighed, thinking about the enigmatic masked woman. “How long will Melissa be resting?”

“Unfortunately, at least eight hours, considering the level of her Spirit Force and how much she pushed herself to heal those she could in Hollow Veil on her return. She’s sleeping in one of our spirit user houses.”

“Humph. I’m happy to hear it,” she smirked. “It’s surprising she hasn’t ruined herself already.”

“Melissa does have a big heart,” Laurence commented, drawing in smoke before exhaling it in a cloud. “There are many more things we haven’t touched on, but I’ll leave that for another time; I need to talk to Ivan about the possibility of Castro making his return.”

“Good luck.”

Her connection dropped, and she stared between the options of who should be her next contact. After a minute’s debate, Tamara’s masked face appeared, cloak billowing in the wind like the picturesque criminal she was, and, to enhance the scene, the rain didn’t seem to touch her.

“Clover, couldn’t wait to hear my voice again?”

“Hardly.”

“He-he, I’m sure—oh, I heard the good news—congratulations are in order! I assume you gathered the goodies?”

Clover let the question hang for a moment.

Out of everyone I know, she’s the most likely to be an imposter, but why would Castro disguise himself as her? I don’t know anything about her, and maybe that’s the point. Tyler also gave her the location on the underground base. Wow. I’m becoming paranoid…

“I did... I believe Castro isn’t dead.”

The woman’s head tilted to the side, a low rumble in her throat. “Interesting. If so, we can certainly use him to make a fantastic weapon for you, and the brooches he may have could prove useful. Mmm. How weak is he after Wilfred’s battle with the clown?”

She instantly accepted it and deduced he wasn’t at full strength. Tamara isn’t frightened of Castro, but I suppose this is a big fish in a small pond if she’s worked with Shane.

“Significantly...if he’s not fooling my senses, which is a possibility. That being said, I believe I’ll need my Soul Weapon to bridge the gap at this point—well, if it’s as useful as you make it out to be.”

“Quite useful,” she giggled. “Isngneal should provide you with enough materials for Yumi to develop something that can work for the short term. Are you heading there now?”

“No. I have another errand to run before that.”

“I see…” Her cadence darkened a tad. “Tyler, I assume... Hmm. Enjoy yourself, and let me know when you’re ready to do business.”

She ended the call.

Clover’s full lips drew into a line, tasting the liquid sliding down her head. I’m supposed to be the snake-like girl, yet I feel like I’m the one in a pit of vipers.

She used her energy to generate platforms to arrive at the flat roof’s edge, following her map to the area where she’d left the Banking CEOs folder. Making it to the protected H/VAC unit she’d slid the file under, she called upon her umbrella, only to realize she’d given it to Melissa.

Sighing, she used her water-repellent overcoat instead and brushed off her hands against her leather top, forcing the liquid to the ground. Reaching inside, she extracted the folder and opened it up.

Her serpent-like eyes latched onto a new page, and her gut tightened. Goosebumps broke out across her forearm, and she didn’t have to guess who the letter was from—written in light blue and flowing cursive—he’d signed it himself.

The pleasure is mine, my sweet!

If you will be so kind as to allow me to introduce myself, my name is Castro, and I am a humble jester who is always on the hunt for the best of all causatum performed in this cruel, ephemeral world rife with chaos.

Ho-ho! I fancy you to be quite astonished to find such a memorandum tucked inside your hidden dossier. No need to fret! I am quite competent at keeping little secrets.

Oh, my sweet dove, but you must understand, I could not constrain myself—nay, I was compelled—from the moment I witnessed the strength and majesty flickering to life as you spun in a dazzling dance before my obeisant eyes!

Radiant yet self-effacing, gorgeous yet unsightly, tranquil yet calamitous. I have deliberated long and hard on how to present these irrepressible emotions. Now, I know I am destined to craft and deliver you the most humble of gifts a mere jester can offer! A stage to perform on...to glow and shine like the death of a star.

Please, my love, refrain not from my affections. I beg of thee! This is all this lonesome jester can offer as a token of my adoration for you and your strength that has inspired me to seek after my stolen heart! Oh, where has my heart been taken?! Who has stolen it? I cannot say. But you have given this empty chest renewed vigor!

Alas, you must be patient, my sweet! Oh, how it pains me to keep such grand joy from you, yet I must prepare this tribute! My chest fractures with anticipation for our glorious event!

I sincerely hope...that you like it.

- Yours reverentially, Castro -

A quake ran down Clover’s bones as she finished reading the ‘love letter.’ He’s been watching me...for how long?

Turning, she peered past the veil of rain, scanning for anything out of the ordinary; not a thing caught her notice, but she was sure he was still out there.

Wonderful... I have a stalker.

Her focus returned to the jagged-fanged, smiling clown face imprinted into the letter, showing two gashes over its left black eye; whatever this gift was, lives would be lost, she was sure, and his twisted mind only saw it as a passionate waltz on a burning stage.