"Why... do you... want to... kill me..."
With his clown mask on, Klein stared at his archenemy and replied indifferently, "No reason."
"No..." With his eyes wide open, Lanevus collapsed to the ground in the sewers, unable to accept his fate. He was pointing at something with his hands. Finally, his breathing came to a stop.
At that moment, Klein, who seemed to be extremely calm, suddenly stepped forward, tightened his right leg, and, with all his strength, kicked him in the head.
Bam!
His neck, which was already badly mutilated, could no longer bear the pressure and was sent flying like a rubber ball. It slammed heavily into the wall, creating a red and white patch!
Upon seeing this scene, Klein suddenly crouched down.
"Hahaha, hahaha!
"Hahahahahaha."
He laughed crazily with a suppressed voice. The "clown" mask looked so very happy.
The corners of those raised lips, the bright red nose, and that white face wore a very happy expression.
"Haha, haha... Hahaha..." Klein laughed so much that he went out of breath; his laughter was more jarring than crying.
After a few seconds, he finally calmed down. He slowly straightened his body and winked with his left eye at the darkest part of the sewer. Then, he smirked and muttered to himself, "Captain...
"Look, we've saved Loen once again..."
In the dark sewer, Klein wiped his neck and turned his attention back to Lanevus's cracked head and decapitated body before turning to the two tarot cards that were stuck in Lanevus's eyes.
When he finished throwing the cards, Klein paused for a moment and turned his gaze to the place Lanevus had pointed to in his final moments. His eyes locked onto an old door faintly illuminated in the distance. Behind the closed door, there was a powerful aura… It resembled Lanevus's, but it was much denser. Just like Megose's. Sinister, suffocating, and dark.
The aura had grown so intense it was almost visible. A terrible feeling gripped Klein's chest. He feared another disaster like the one in Tingen. As memories of the past flashed before his eyes, he moved with a mix of fury and responsibility. He approached the door with careful, cautious steps—yet driven by a sense of urgency. With each step, the aura intensified, and the presence of the True Creator grew stronger and stronger.
Finally, he reached the door. Taking a deep breath, he pushed it open.
The sight before him took his breath away.
In a dark room, a group of cultists were kneeling in front of a young boy bound with chains. The boy was clearly in agony, his body convulsing and screaming in pain. A black, tar-like liquid dripped from his skin. The whites of his eyes had vanished completely—replaced by a bottomless black void. The cultists were so absorbed in their ritual that they didn't even notice the sound of the door opening.
Klein realized it instantly — this was a possession ritual. The True Creator was attempting to take over the boy's body. Klein wasn't sure if he could stop this terrifying process. The room was crowded, and one figure stood out among them — different from the rest, likely the leader.
He readied a few of his Paper Knives and threw them at the man who seemed to be in charge. Some of the knives were intercepted before reaching their mark, but it was enough to interrupt the ritual. The leader flinched and stopped chanting. But Klein sensed the imbalance immediately. He couldn't win this fight. He had just survived a battle, and his enemies here outnumbered and outmatched him. One of them was likely a Sequence 7 — higher than him. His eyes shifted back to the child. There was no way he could save him alone.
'I'm sorry...' he thought, and made the decision to retreat.
But in that moment, time seemed to freeze.
The boy's screams from the room behind him suddenly stopped. Immediately afterward, a choking aura spread through the room — but it wasn't the True Creator's aura. It was something else, different, oppressive, and impossible to describe. It felt like a blade was pressing against his throat.
Disgusting, wet, explosion-like sounds echoed through the chamber.
Then came the screams of multiple people—cut off just as quickly as they began. And then... silence. Total, suffocating silence.
Klein flinched. Slowly, he turned around.
The cultists were no longer alive. Their bodies were torn apart, split in two, and scattered across the room. The white-haired boy who had been chained now stood tall among the carnage. His eyes were gradually regaining color—yellow, snake-like eyes. His hand was raised, collecting the black liquid dripping from his body into his palm. The scene around him was filled with blood, death, and darkness.
The boy slowly began walking toward Klein. Klein wanted to run, but he couldn't move a single step. The boy exuded an overwhelming power. Every step he took suppressed Klein's instincts.
He finally came to a stop in front of Klein. Their eyes met. With a sincere smile, the boy spoke:
"I never thought a clown would be among those who'd save me. Thank you. If it weren't for you… something worse than death would've awaited me."
Klein remained cautious, but there was genuine gratitude in the boy's voice.
"My name is Morpheus," the boy said. "What's the name of my savior?"
Klein hesitated for a moment before reaching out his hand.
"… Sherlock Moriarty," he said quietly.
Morpheus nodded. "Sherlock… To repay my debt to you, I'll grant you three requests. As long as they don't involve killing innocent people… I'll do anything."
Klein glanced around. The Nighthawks were nearing the scene. They couldn't stay here any longer.
"We need to go," he said curtly.
There would be time to talk later. Morpheus understood what Sherlock meant. In a world he didn't recognize, following the one who had saved him seemed like the better option. He nodded and began suppressing his aura. As the suffocating presence faded, Sherlock felt a little relief and started running ahead of him.