The Two Faced Emperor

The sky was pouring with heavy rain, and thunder struck mercilessly, until lightning flashed like a sword in the darkness, revealing the silhouette of Faithless in his jester form.

He stepped slowly toward the two guards, his footsteps contradictory—slow like death, and fast like illusion, making no sound, as if the ground itself dared not betray his secret.

"Do you feel something?" asked the first guard, his eyes scanning the shadows.

"You're imagining things. Darkness makes the mind weave delusions," the second replied mockingly.

"It's not a delusion… Hermes is here."

The voice whispered from behind the second guard, just before Faithless waved his dagger and sliced his throat with a single touch. The other guard tried to scream, but Faithless was faster; he grabbed his neck with a steel grip and snapped it in an instant.

Blood splattered across his face, painted in red and yellow, while his smile remained wide, cold, and terrifying.

Then he heard footsteps approaching… a third guard.

Faithless moved like a thread of a needle in thick darkness—unseen, unheard. The guard was whistling casually, hands behind his back, eyes looking up at the sky.

"Strange weather… even the clouds seem to be running from something…"

Suddenly, he stumbled over a body. At first, he thought it was a pile of trash, but when he lit a match, he froze in place at the sight of the massacre.

"Who did this?!" he gasped, placing a hand over his face, then looked up—only to meet Faithless's gaze, standing like an unmoving mountain.

The guard drew his sword, attempting to strike, but Faithless raised his dagger, blocked the attack at the elbow, then snatched the sword from his hand and stabbed him in the abdomen.

He tried to scream, but the dagger tore through his throat in an instant… he collapsed without even understanding how he was killed.

Faithless looked at the bloodied dagger and wiped it carefully with his other hand, his eyes narrowing in anger, yet his smile never fading.

He murmured quietly:

"The blood of traitors and heretics… does not suit Hermes' dagger."

From within the tall grass, he peeked toward the palace perimeter.

Six men: two at the outer gate, four in the corridor leading inside, one guard at the main hall door, and another watching from the balcony.

'Everything is quiet… an artificial quiet, as if they don't want to awaken something.'

He snuck toward the right side and hid behind a massive stone pillar. His eyes scanned; his mind calculated.

'I need a plan to bring down the gate guard without alerting the others.'

When the idea struck, a wide grin spread across his face—wider and wider—until it became terrifying.

He extended his hand, slowly opening his palm, and muttered in a raspy voice:

"Apollo."

His hand glowed with a golden light, and from it emerged a medium-length chain, sparking faintly like smoke, whispering silent laughter only the wielder could hear.

He felt the chain was alive, as if it breathed between his fingers… as if every weapon he summoned whispered to him from another world.

He stepped back for a moment, then spun the chain quickly and hurled it toward the seated guard… it wrapped around his entire body, including his weapon, and dragged him silently.

The guard wanted to scream, but the chain had already sealed his mouth. He looked at Faithless with terrified eyes.

Faithless raised a finger to his lips and whispered with a mad voice:

"Don't worry… you'll just be a puppet."

The guard's eyes widened in horror, and then his neck was broken with a single grip. Faithless picked up the corpse and recreated the sitting position precisely—the cigarette in the mouth, the sword on the knees.

Then he entered the palace, opening the door with the silence of a killer.

Moments later…

"Did you hear something?" one of the guards asked.

"The door moved… probably the wind," replied the other, trying to push away the doubt.

Faithless was standing in the palace courtyard. The courtyard was fairly large, with portraits of the nine kings spread across its walls—yet they were all smeared with black stains… and another portrait, torn horizontally and unclear, bore a faint, beautiful smile.

At the front stood a spiral staircase leading to the first floor, and directly beneath the stairs stood a massive wall bearing the portrait of the mayor: a fat man with a thick beard, small eyes, and a hat on his head. His features alone revealed him to be a filthy, exploitative man who believed in no principle.

To the left, a wide hallway stretched toward an unknown location. To the right, there was a grand hall dedicated to receiving guests and holding important events.

"This is how the heretics live, as if they're the kings of the world," Faithless muttered sarcastically, eyeing the filthy mayor's portrait.

His eyes moved left as his ears picked up the sound of two girls speaking. He silently leapt upward and settled atop a pillar holding a massive vase, observing from above.

The two girls emerged, both wearing maid uniforms. Each carried something; one held a matchstick, the other carried extremely poor-quality food—so bad that one might hesitate to serve it even to a dog.

"Take this candle while you go downstairs… leave the food there and come back quickly," said the first maid with a disgusted tone.

"Ugh… I hate going down to the cellar and seeing that filthy bunch," grumbled the second, dragging her feet.

"Just drop the food and get back fast. We've got more tasks," added the first, heading toward the wide corridor.

The second maid looked at her, then turned her gaze to the giant portrait of the mayor hanging on the wall. She approached it and knocked three times—revealing a hidden iron handle, which she pulled, causing the portrait to open like a secret gate.

Faithless was surprised at the scene, and he whispered mockingly:

"That fat fool… seems he has soft meat inside that filthy skull of his."

The maid entered the cellar, and the gate was about to close. Faithless leapt silently and slipped through the gap, entering a world drowned in darkness.

The maid turned around to check if anyone was following, but she saw nothing. The terrifying part was that she didn't know Faithless was standing right behind her, smiling a devilish grin.

She descended the stairs slowly, lighting her path through the thick darkness. The place felt strange, like a palace that housed another palace within it.

As she walked, she suddenly stopped, glancing around—but she saw no one.

"Must be my imagination… this darkness is messing with me. God, I hate this place. I just want to get out," she mumbled in a nervous tone, placing a hand on her chest.

When she looked ahead to continue, Faithless was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, silently staring at her.

After a long walk, she reached a medium-sized cell, dimly lit. Inside, there were a group of small children, shivering from the cold, crying in the darkness.

The girl placed the matchstick at the cell door, then threw the food toward them carelessly, her expression filled with disdain and arrogance. The children crawled slowly toward the food, but their weakness prevented them from moving much.

"This is your food, you pigs," she spat out with contempt, then turned to leave—only to bump into Faithless.

The matchstick fell from her hand out of sheer terror, its light reflecting off the jester's horrifying features.

The maid dropped to her knees, trembling. She tried to speak, but the words choked in her mouth.

Faithless stepped closer and slowly bent down until his face was aligned with hers. The girl whispered with a trembling voice:

"Demon… you're a demon."

"No, I'm just a clown," he replied with a cold smile, then tapped her chest three times until she passed out.

He stood and walked toward the gate, grabbed it with both hands, and shattered it with force. The children—ten in total—recoiled into a corner, huddling together in fear.

Faithless entered the cell and looked around. He saw small corpses of children who had died from illness or hunger… and some who had been tortured to death.

He clenched his fist tightly, grinding his teeth in rage. In the corner, a small boy was crying. Faithless noticed him and gave him a faint smile.

The child was afraid of him because of his terrifying appearance.

"They seem scared of how I look," he said as he touched his face with a sorrowful tone.

He lowered himself, gently patted the child's head, and said with a warm voice:

"I'm just a happy clown… don't be afraid of me, little angel."

A little girl grabbed his hand and fell asleep holding it. Another child did the same. Faithless felt fury bubbling in his veins—madness mixed with grief—because of the injustice these children had endured.

And in the midst of this state, someone ambushed him from behind. He was stabbed hard in the back, then his hand was severed and thrown violently to the ground, crashing into the wall.

The children were terrified and withdrew to the far corner. Faithless was in shock, his eyes slowly shifting toward the attacker.

It was a massive man, wielding a huge sword, his face hidden under a bloodstained black cloak, wearing a black coat.

Then Faithless noticed a girl standing behind him… and when he focused, he recognized her. It was the mysterious girl who had told him about the mission.

She stood at the cell entrance and spoke mockingly:

"What a fool… the rat has walked into the cat's trap. I'll leave him to you, Krans…"

The girl walked away, while Krans laughed wickedly, slapping his belly. Some of the children attacked him, hitting his foot, but he kicked one of them violently—sending the child flying into the wall.

"Haha… stupid little brats," Krans said with an infuriating tone.

He approached Faithless and grabbed him by the coat, preparing to decapitate him. But Faithless opened his black eyes wide and slashed his dagger at Krans.

Krans blocked the strike, but stumbled backward from its sheer force.

Faithless reattached his severed hand, shocking Krans.

Faithless laughed maniacally and said:

"That bitch thinks she's smart… but she doesn't know she put a giant rat into a tiny trap."