Chương 91: Faker

Alaric left the arena and made his way outside, slipping into a narrow alleyway between two nearby buildings. Oz was already waiting for him, leaning casually against the wall in his oversized purple robes, pointed hat, and ridiculous bunny slippers. Despite resembling an ordinary twelve-year-old dressed for bed, he was the Wing of Greed, one of the most dangerous members of The Crows.

"I'd like to thank you for your assistance," Alaric said with a smile, adjusting his glasses as he approached.

"Defeating Fraser without your help would have been considerably more difficult." Oz studied him through his circular glasses.

"I've been wondering about something."

"That rarely leads anywhere pleasant."

"How come only half of you belongs to The Crows?" Alaric's smile weakened slightly, though his expression otherwise remained unchanged. Oz pushed himself away from the wall and folded his arms, his yellow eyes narrowing as he continued.

"Phobia may be secretive, but she's still our third-in-command. Meanwhile, you keep your hands clean, pretend to be an innocent therapist, and still receive favors like this whenever you need them. How exactly does that work?"

"I don't believe that's any of your concern," Alaric answered calmly. Oz pouted.

"Fine. Then answer my other question." Alaric released a tired sigh, already suspecting what the immortal boy intended to ask.

"What is it?"

"Who is Phobia?" Oz leaned closer.

"She's somehow even more secretive than the leader, and barely anyone knows anything about him. And why won't she speak to me? I swear she avoids me every time we're in the same room." Alaric went still for the briefest moment. Of course Phobia avoided Oz. She could never risk speaking too freely around him or allowing anything familiar to slip through her disguise.

Beneath the name Phobia and the body she shared with Alaric, her true identity remained Dorothy Swallowtail—the mother of the immortal twelve-year-old now staring suspiciously at him. Alaric concealed the thought behind a tired smile.

"We all have our secrets."

"That isn't an answer."

"There's no need to pry into hers." Oz continued staring at him, clearly unconvinced. Before the boy could ask anything else, Alaric quickly changed the subject and placed one hand inside his coat.

"Now, allow me to return what I borrowed." Oz tilted his head.

"You're sure you don't want to keep it for the rest of the tournament?"

"There's no need. I won't be participating any longer."

"You're dropping out?" Alaric merely smiled, offering no further explanation. He had already accomplished what he intended by defeating Fraser. There was no reason for him to continue fighting, especially when the remaining matches no longer concerned him.

"Suit yourself." Oz raised one hand as golden light began gathering within the alleyway.

"Come to me, my Regalia. The Tomb of Greed." A massive book materialized beside him, floating silently in the air. Its dark cover was decorated with countless glowing magic circles, while chains of golden script crawled across its surface. The book opened, and its pages began turning on their own as Oz extended one hand toward Alaric.

"Now give me back my stolen miracle."

"Of course." Alaric raised his right arm.

"The One-Handed God of Oaths." The crimson chain markings wrapped around his skin began peeling away from his flesh. They rose into the air link by link before being pulled into the open pages of Oz's book. The moment the final chain vanished, Alaric's borrowed Regalia disappeared with it. The Tomb of Greed was arguably the most powerful Regalia in the world.

Its ability allowed Oz to steal the Regalia of anyone he personally killed, imprisoning the constellation connected to that legend within the pages of his book. Dozens of stars had been forcibly trapped inside it, their legends reduced to weapons Oz could summon whenever he pleased. Only when he called upon one of their Regalia—or temporarily lent its power to someone else—were the captured constellations granted even a brief moment of freedom. Alaric watched as the enormous book closed.

"What an absurd ability." Oz smiled proudly.

"I've heard the constellations often order their contractors to assassinate you," Alaric continued, adjusting his glasses.

"Apparently, they take great offense to your crimes against the stars." Oz placed one hand against his chest and feigned surprise.

"I can't imagine why." Alaric chuckled.

"Oh, Heavenly Thief of the Night Sky."

"What an overly dramatic nickname," Oz complained, rolling his eyes.

"It suits you." The Tomb of Greed dissolved into golden light, leaving the alleyway dim once again. Oz turned toward the street and slipped his hands into the sleeves of his oversized robe.

"Well, I'm heading back to my hotel. I have no idea what the plan is for the rest of this tournament." His bunny slippers dragged lightly against the stone as he walked away.

"But if I had to guess, today's final match has already been rigged, so it probably isn't even worth watching." Oz yawned and disappeared around the corner without another word. Alaric watched him leave before chuckling quietly to himself.

"What a perceptive child." Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site. He then turned and walked in the opposite direction. Meanwhile, Charlie stood alone in the center of the arena. The match should have already begun, yet Adam was nowhere to be found. Several minutes passed as Charlie waited beneath the confused gazes of the crowd, their anticipation gradually fading into uneasy murmurs. Lord Ars leaned over the edge of the imperial balcony and looked toward the empty entrance.

"Well… this is rather anticlimactic." Charlie awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck, uncertain whether he was expected to keep waiting. Adam did not seem like someone who would abandon a match without reason, and the longer Charlie stood there, the more unsettled he became.

"I suppose Charlie Jupiter wins by default!" Lord Ars finally announced. Scattered applause rose from the stands, though it lacked any real excitement. As the crowd murmured among themselves, Charlie turned and headed toward the tunnel beneath the arena. He should have felt relieved to advance without another fight, but something about Adam's absence felt wrong. Charlie entered the darkness beneath the arena and stopped. A corpse sat against the tunnel wall.

His breath caught as he recognized the white wedding dress and the long crimson hair hanging around its pale face. Streams of blood poured from its eyes like tears, staining its cheeks and dripping onto the fabric below. Flare. Her body rested limply against the stone like a broken doll someone had carelessly discarded. Charlie knew she could not truly be there. Flare had been dead for a year now, yet the sight of her still froze him in place.

"Why…?" Her voice came out wet and strained.

"Why weren't you there?" The corpse raised its head, blood spilling from between its lips as its empty gaze settled on him.

"In my final moments, I remember crying for you… as I choked on my own blood." Her hands scraped against the floor as she slowly forced herself upright. She stumbled toward Charlie, every step stiff and unnatural, while the blood continued streaming from her eyes.

"Where were you?" The World Core fragment burned within Charlie's palm, eagerly feeding upon the horror, guilt, and grief surging through him. Flare stopped directly before him, her ruined face close enough for him to smell the blood coating her mouth.

"Where were you while I died?" Charlie dropped to his knees, his hands trembling uncontrollably as his breathing became rapid and shallow.

"I was…" The memory returned with perfect clarity—the alcohol, the laughter, and the long walk home.

"At the bar," he whispered.

"Drinking." His chest tightened as the rest of the memory followed.

"I came home. June and Mars were still asleep, and I found you on the floor…" His voice broke.

"Crying blood. Dead on the floor." Something moved beneath Flare's skin. Maggots began pouring from her eyes, falling alongside the blood and writhing across her cheeks. More crawled from her mouth and pushed through her flesh with every passing second until the corpse collapsed beneath their weight. Charlie stared in horror as the maggots gathered into a crawling mound. Thousands of pale larvae twisted over one another, slowly forming legs, arms, and the distorted outline of a human body.

It was not truly a man, only a writhing mass of insects pretending to be one. The creature reached toward a coat abandoned along the tunnel wall and draped it over itself, concealing most of its constantly shifting form. It then approached Charlie and crouched in front of him.

"Hello." Hands formed from tightly packed maggots gently lifted Charlie's chin. Several larvae crawled from the creature's fingers and sank their tiny teeth into his skin, taking small, painful bites.

"Charlie Jupiter." The imitation of Flare collapsed behind it, disappearing into the swarm.

"I am Faker," the creature said, tilting its head.

"The Wing of Wrath." A wet laugh crawled through the tunnel. Somehow, Faker spoke clearly despite his throat and vocal cords being made entirely from writhing maggots.

"How pathetic. You won your first match with borrowed power, and now you advance without even having to fight." The larvae beneath his coat shifted as he leaned closer.

"You truly can't earn anything for yourself." Charlie remained on his knees, struggling to control his breathing.

"I'm not accepting your deal." The crimson sun marking burned within his ruined hand as he clenched it into a fist.

"I won't kill Noah." Faker tilted his head.

"I recommend reconsidering." He slowly rose, maggots falling from his sleeves and disappearing between the cracks in the floor.

"The power to protect what you love is incredibly valuable, especially for someone who already knows the cost of arriving too late." Charlie clenched his teeth as the tunnel seemed to darken around him.

"You never know who may turn against you," Faker continued.

"Your brother." His voice briefly resembled Leonardo's.

"Your friends." Then it became Noah's.

"Anyone may betray you once they discover the truth." The voices merged into one, echoing throughout the tunnel.

"That you made a deal with the vile Crows." Charlie forced himself to stand, though his legs trembled beneath him.

"Go to hell." Faker chuckled.

"We're already there." He stepped backward as his body began losing its shape. The maggots beneath his coat scattered across the floor, causing the empty fabric to sag around him.

"It's fine," Faker said as his arms collapsed into crawling streams.

"You'll come around eventually. It's only a matter of time." Charlie watched the creature disappear piece by piece. Faker's chest caved inward, and his face began splitting apart as the insects composing it separated.

"Just remember…" The two halves of his face peeled away from one another.

"This was your final warning." The last of Faker's body collapsed. Thousands of maggots crawled into every crack and crevice within the tunnel, vanishing into the darkness until no trace of him remained. Charlie stood alone, his breathing growing faster as the image of Flare's corpse remained burned into his mind. Her blood-filled eyes, the maggots spilling from her face, and the question she had asked him repeated endlessly within his thoughts. Where were you?

Charlie clutched his chest as the World Core fragment flared violently. It devoured his fear, guilt, and anger, consuming every desperate emotion Faker had dragged to the surface. The crimson markings spread farther up Charlie's arm while an unbearable heat gathered beneath his ribs. For a brief moment, something inside his chest beat out of rhythm with his heart. Once. Then again. Charlie dropped back to his knees, unable to understand what was happening to him.

Yet deep within the World Core fragment, fed by everything he feared and hated about himself, something continued to grow. A Dark Heart moved closer to being born.