Wrapping his hands around the briefcase, Orin picked it up and forced it open, his eyes scanning its contents as it dropped behind his feet.
Inside lay a silver talisman, etched with the intertwined symbols of the moon and sun.
He bit his lip, drawing a small drop of blood, and pressed it onto the talisman. Then, in a low whisper, he spoke the words he remembered:
"Blessed be the Goddess of Path,
She who cleanses the unclaimed,
She who purifies Fate."
The talisman shimmered faintly, its glow spreading in silent waves through the house, purifying everything it touched.
Yet even as the corruption retreated, something remained untouched—
The legacy that had already taken root…
Of an Oracle.
After the cleansing, the red-haired lady was nowhere to be found.
Orin rushed downstairs, searching for Klaus. Deep down, he already knew—the potion would not work. Even the strongest humans, those with immense spirituality, could not fully digest such power.
A potion was never a gift.
It was the key to madness itself.
As he descended, the illusion of the house faded completely. What remained was decay—rotted wood, scattered debris, and thick webs clinging to broken walls.
Then he saw him.
Klaus lay on the floor, coughing blood.
Orin ran to him, stopping just short. For a moment, he froze—not in surprise, but in quiet acceptance. He had expected this.
Yet the emotions rising within Percy's body were not his own.
Slowly, he knelt beside him.
A faint smile forced its way onto his face. "Hey… you. I see you're still playing around."
The words felt чуж—wrong. Not his.
Klaus smiled weakly, blood trailing from his lips. "You're… a bad liar."
He let out a soft laugh. "You've been acting strange these past few days…"
Orin hesitated, then spoke in Percy's voice, "Don't worry. Nothing will happen."
But even as he said it, he could feel it—the quiet farewell between two friends. And yet… he was not the one who belonged in this moment.
"Don't worry… nothing's going to happen, silly…" Klaus whispered, his tone light, almost playful.
Too late.
His body was already decaying. Flesh began to peel, collapse, and twist. Fragments of something deeper—something unnatural—emerged from within him. Pieces of a manuscript embedded themselves into his being, consuming him.
This was the price of losing spirituality.
The manuscript took control.
Klaus's body shifted grotesquely. His lower half warped, transforming into something inhuman—a writhing, caterpillar-like mass fused with fragments of human limbs.
He was no longer Klaus.
Orin stepped back, his jaw tightening. Slowly, he raised the revolver, pointing it at what remained of his friend.
Tears streamed down Klaus's face—yet Percy's eyes mirrored them.
Neither of them truly owned those emotions.
But the pain was real.
Orin pulled the trigger.
The shot echoed. Klaus's body disintegrated, breaking apart into nothingness. Yet his voice lingered, fading into the air:
"You think you can fool me… I know it wasn't you…"
Silence followed.
Orin swallowed, wiping the sweat from his face. His hand trembled slightly as he lowered the revolver.
Slowly, he turned and walked away from the house.
He could not understand the emotions surging within him. They were not his—yet they felt real, heavy, suffocating.
He remembered the first time he took control of this body. Back then, he could feel everything—the memories, the emotions of the dead officer.
And even now…
He refused to let go.
Forcing himself forward, Orin Morvane continued on, carrying a body that no longer truly belonged to him.
As he slowly walked away from the house, stepping back into the world as if nothing had happened, life continued on.
People passed by, reading newspapers. Carriages rolled along the streets. The world moved forward—unaware, untouched.
He stepped outside, turned to his left, and walked on without looking back.
A faint glance brushed past him.
Lady Ophelia Ravenscroft stood at a distance, watching him leave. She understood what had happened… and chose not to stop him.
After some time, he followed a path his mind barely recognized, yet his body knew well. It led him to a familiar place—the usual spot Klaus and Percy once shared.
He stopped before a blooming tree… though its branches carried lifeless leaves.
Orin did not understand why he stood there, nor why Percy—or Klaus—had ever found this place comforting.
As he stepped closer, his mind filled with fragments of thought, scattered and incomplete. His strength gave way, and he lowered himself to the ground beneath the tree.
Beside him, something lingered—
A faint illusion of Klaus.
Or perhaps a memory.
Orin said nothing at first.
Then, with a quiet breath, he offered a goodbye.
A gentle smile formed on his lips—
A small, foolish smile.
Back at the building—the house where Klaus had died—the officers were already at work.
They moved with precision, cleaning the remains of the scene and retrieving every trace of the holy artifact. Nothing was left untouched. Every mark, every fragment, was carefully erased so that no ordinary person would ever stumble upon what had happened there.
The dead were taken away.
Klaus's body was carried with care, sealed within a silver-gold coffin. The sound of machinery echoed as the officers transported him to the mortuary.
A week passed.
The sky was heavy with rain, as if the world itself mourned. Beneath the endless downpour, Klaus was buried among the ranks of fallen officers.
People came and went—colleagues, observers, strangers paying silent respect.
Yet, every time…
There was one person who stood afar from the crowd.
Orin Morvane.
Though he had the right to stand among them, to say his final words, he remained distant. These past weeks, he had no choice but to be there—and yet, at the same time…
The body he wore was not his.
He simply watched.
The dream of a boy who wanted to become something greater… ended here. A dream buried with honor, yet filled with sorrow.
A friend had died.
But not his friend.
Weeks passed in quiet grief.
Then, Percy was summoned once more by the Black Crows.
"This is unfortunate," one of the officers told him. "To lose a companion on such a simple mission…"
But duty did not wait.
Inside the hidden layer of reality, within the illusions of the manuscript he had taken from Klaus's body, Orin stood once again in the Mechanism—seated upon the throne of blades.
He had gained authority over it now… after reclaiming part of his spirituality.
His voice was low, steady.
"Athena… mirror the room we were in before."
"Yes, Master," Athena replied.
The fog shifted, forming an image—the apartment, the building they had once stood in. Weeks had passed, yet the memory remained intact.
Orin watched.
He saw the final moments of Percy's foolish friend.
But there was something missing.
He could not see what had happened when Klaus drank the potion—what he had become in that brief, hidden moment.
Orin tapped his leg twice against the floor. The image shattered and disappeared.
"Master… What is the problem?" Athena asked.
Orin shifted his gaze, then smiled faintly.
As he walked toward the glowing light, his voice echoed softly,
"Nothing… nothing is wrong."
Stepping forward, he returned to reality once more.
From a narrow corner, his figure emerged at the location arranged by the commander of the Black Crows.