Lucian sat in the dimly lit room of the inn, his back resting against the creaking wooden chair. The flickering candle on the table cast long shadows, making the corners of the room seem deeper than they were. The Soul Carver rested beside him, its surface gleaming faintly in the candlelight. Within it, the six souls of the men he had killed drifted like wisps of smoke, their formless energy swirling within the blade's core.
He stared at them, watching how they moved without purpose, without will. They were nothing more than remnants now, pieces of something that once was.
The mark on his hand pulsed, a faint glow spreading beneath the bandages wrapped around his palm. The grotesque grin of the Wildcard suit was still there, an ever-present reminder of what he was. He hated it. It was a beacon, a curse that made him a target.
A chuckle slithered into his mind, smooth and full of amusement.
"Ah, fixating on it again, are we? Still brooding over that wretched mark?" Triboulet's voice slithered into Lucian's mind, thick with amusement. "What's the matter? Can't stand the sight of it? Or does it burn knowing you'll never rid yourself of it?"
Lucian exhaled sharply. "You said you had a way to hide this damn mark."
Triboulet hummed, feigning thoughtfulness. "Oh, I do. But it's not as simple as you seem to think. You're not just hiding a brand on your skin. You're hiding the very essence of chaos that lingers around you. You see, my dear wildcard, there are plenty of people in this world who can detect energy. If you think a simple illusion is enough to fool them, you'll be dead before you know it"
Lucian scowled. "So how do I do it?"
"We craft a card, of course!" Triboulet's voice was gleeful, almost excited. "But not just any card. This one needs to be special, tailored specifically for you. And for that, you'll need to use the Soul Shuffle."
Lucian's fingers tensed around the Soul Carver. "So that's it? Just use Soul Shuffle?"
"Obviously," Triboulet mused, his tone dripping with amusement. "What, were you expecting some grand ritual? No, no. It's just refining ingredients and using a little imagination. The souls you've collected are raw and impure. Soul Shuffle strips away their pointless remnants, memories, emotions, all the useless baggage. Once they're clean, we carve them into something far more useful."
Lucian's lips pressed into a thin line. "And after that?"
"Then, my dear wildcard, you add the missing components. It's your blood, of course, to carve the energy pathways, and finally, a piece of your soul to seal it all together. Simple, yes?"
Lucian's grip on the Soul Carver tightened as a realization settled in. "So it's just like when I'm crafting cards... but this time, I'm the ingredient?"
Triboulet chuckled, a low, knowing sound. "Now you're getting it. The blood is just the carving tool, but the piece of your soul... that's what makes the card truly yours. It needs a tether, something to bind the energy paths together. And who better to provide that than you?"
Lucian inhaled slowly, his stomach twisting at the idea of severing a piece of himself for this. He had seen what chaos did when it was mixed into the soul. He had felt the agony of its touch. Even now, the whispers clawed at him, their voices growing restless at the mere thought of what was to come.
His wariness deepened, but there was no way around it. The mark had to be hidden. He exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face, forcing the hesitation aside. "Let's get it over with."
Triboulet's laughter was full of cruel delight. "That's the spirit."
Lucian pulled the chair back and moved to the center of the room. He took a deep breath and rolled up his sleeves, revealing the faint burn scars that ran along his forearms. With ease, he took the Soul Carver and pressed the edge against his palm. The blade bit into his flesh, and warm blood dripped onto the wooden floor.
The moment the first drop hit the ground, something shifted. The air in the room grew thick, heavy with unseen energy. The six souls within the Carver shuddered, their forms writhing as if sensing what was about to happen.
Then, the process began.
Triboulet took control, his presence swelling within Lucian's mind like an unseen hand directing the unseen forces. The Soul Carver pulsed in response, its runes igniting with chaotic energy as dark tendrils erupted from the blade. Lucian stood still, watching as the captured souls writhed under the force of the Carver's power.
The tendrils lashed out, striking the six souls one by one. The remnants of their memories, their emotions, their very essence were stripped away, leaving behind nothing but raw energy. The howling of their fading presence was silent, swallowed by the abyss before they were hammered down, compacting into the shape of a card.
Lucian exhaled slowly, observing the process unfold. He wasn't part of it yet. His blood and soul had not been added. He simply watched as Triboulet worked, his presence wrapped around the Carver like a sculptor shaping his craft. The souls, once individuals, were now nothing more than raw material, their former identities erased as they took on their new form. The realization settled in Lucian's mind. This was the foundation. The base of the card had been formed, but the real process had yet to begin.
And then, the real pain came.
Lucian's breath hitched as his blood, still warm against his skin, suddenly reacted. It trembled on the floor before vanishing in an instant, evaporating into nothing. A sharp, unnatural pull tore through him as the blood reappeared inside his mindspace, swirling like liquid crimson mist.
Triboulet was already waiting, his manic grin stretching impossibly wide. With a flick of his will, he guided the blood forward, letting it merge with the chaotic energy surrounding them. The moment the two forces connected, Lucian's body seized in pain. It wasn't just the sensation of something being drained from him. It was raw, invasive, as if the energy itself was trying to carve into him alongside the blood.
The searing agony barely gave him time to think before the blood reacted again. It moved with purpose, guided by Triboulet's will, seeping into the newly formed card. The crimson fluid traced intricate paths along its surface, burning into the compacted souls and carving deep channels of energy into the card's form. Every line, every curve sent fresh waves of pain through Lucian's body, his breath ragged as he struggled to endure.
As the carving process neared its end, Lucian barely had a moment to breathe before Triboulet's voice slithered into his mind, sharper than before.
"Now for the final touch," he said, his usual amusement dulled by something more sinister. "Brace yourself, Lucian. I'm taking a piece of your soul."
Lucian's entire body tensed. The words had barely registered before the Soul Carver pulsed violently, the runes along its blade glowing with an eerie brilliance. Then it struck.
A force unlike anything he had ever experienced tore into him, latching onto something deep within. The pain was immediate and absolute, searing through him as if his very essence was being carved away. It wasn't just physical, it was deeper, as though something vital, something intrinsic to his being, was being unraveled thread by thread.
His vision blurred, his thoughts fraying at the edges as a deafening void threatened to swallow him whole.
Then, through the agony, he caught something strange.
Triboulet flinched.
For the briefest moment, the ever-mocking entity recoiled, his form flickering like a candle caught in the wind. His manic grin faltered, his presence within Lucian's mindspace wavering. It was quick, so quick that if Lucian hadn't been watching, he would have missed it.
He felt that too.
Lucian's mind raced despite the overwhelming pain. This wasn't just a coincidence. Triboulet had flinched, reacting not out of amusement or mockery, but as if something had physically affected him. The realization struck like a blade carving through his thoughts.
It wasn't just him suffering.
The Soul Carver, Triboulet, and himself were connected.
The Carver wasn't just a tool. It was something deeper, something alive, a bridge tying them together. When his soul was carved, the pain didn't just ripple through him but it echoed between all three. That brief flicker of weakness in Triboulet was proof.
But if their souls were connected, then what did that mean?
Who really was Triboulet?
Lucian had always assumed he was a joker bound to him through the Wildcard mark. A parasite feeding off his descent into chaos, a voice whispering madness in his ear. But now, he wasn't so sure. If Triboulet could feel his pain, then their bond wasn't just one-sided influence. It ran both ways.
Were they truly separate?
A shudder crawled down his spine.
The thought made him uneasy. If Triboulet wasn't some detached being, if he wasn't just a tormentor whispering from the void, then what was he? Was he simply a foreign presence inhabiting Lucian's mind, or was he something worse? Something that had always been there?
Another memory surfaced, the one where he was transported to a different realm. The entities in that world thought that I was Triboulet and he planted a seed of madness in my dreams to be grown as a gate.
Lucian hadn't really put any thought into it at the time since he was really focused on escaping. Just the words of some unknowable entity that had no stake in his survival. But now, the meaning twisted inside his mind like a blade.
Had Triboulet been lurking inside him long before he even realized? Had this bond, this connection, started before he became a Wildcard?
Lucian gritted his teeth. He refused to believe that. But the unease wouldn't leave him.
Lucian barely had time to process the revelation before the pain surged again, raw and unrelenting, dragging him back into the void. But even as the agony ripped through him, even as his consciousness teetered on the edge, the thought remained, burning in the back of his mind.
If they were connected, then there had to be a way to sever it.
And if Triboulet had planted something inside him long before all of this, then the most chilling question of all still remained.
Has he ever truly been free?
Then, it stopped.
He collapsed onto the floor, gasping. Sweat dripped from his brow, his body trembling from the sheer intensity of the ordeal. His limbs felt heavy, his breath ragged, the emptiness where the piece of his soul once was a hollow ache that would not fade.
His vision swam but as the haze settled his focus shifted inward to his mindspace. There, suspended in the void, the card floated, pulsing faintly with an unsettling rhythm. Its surface was smooth yet ever shifting as if it couldn't decide what it truly was. The edges warped subtly, the emblem at its center flickering between forms, caught in an endless cycle of transformation, deception, and instability.