Lord of Mysteries 2: Circle of Inevitability

210 Performance
Upon glimpsing the two figures lurking in the shadows, the impostor Ive was taken aback. He raised his right hand and pointed accusingly at Lumian, his voice filled with inquiry.

“Who are you? Why are you pretending to be me?”

As he berated, he hastened his pace, pulling himself out of the tunnel and leaping onto level ground.

In the past, Lumian would have charged forward, ready for close combat or drawing his revolver to unleash a barrage of bullets at his foe. He would have granted no opportunity for words. But this time, for some inexplicable reason, he yearned to put on a show. He desired to witness the other party’s abilities before seizing the perfect moment to display his own.

Without an adversary, there would be no performance!

Franca shared the same sentiment. She eagerly longed to stand in for Lumian, refraining from an immediate attack.

Behind the impostor Ive stood Charlie, disguised as a waiter. As he crawled through the debris, he caught sight of a figure beneath the dual glow of a carbide lamp and a lantern.

He froze in shock at the confrontation between the two Ciels. For a moment, it felt as though he was trapped in a dream. He couldn’t discern who was genuine and who was counterfeit, who aimed to harm him, and who sought to aid him.

The only certainty he held was that danger loomed over him once more!

The impostor Ive assessed Lumian and turned to Franca, his voice laced with anxiety and anger.

“Wake up! You’ve been deceived by this impostor! When have I ever worn such attire?”

After Lumian warned Charlie, he wiped away his makeup but made no change to his clothing. He still sported an unusual combination of a simple formal top and cargo pants. In comparison, the impostor Ive’s white shirt, black vest, brown pants, and laceless leather boots seemed more in line with his usual style.

Franca couldn’t resist putting on a performance.

“Is that so? Then enlighten me, what is my code name?”

The impostor Ive asked in exasperation and amusement, “Madame Red Boots, have you forgotten your moniker?”

Franca couldn’t help but chuckle.

She took a couple of steps backward, blending into the shadows at the periphery of the carbide lamp’s illumination.

The underground, where darkness held sway, was an ideal setting for Demoness combat!

As the fake Ive beheld the scene, a sense of unease swelled within his heart. He knew all too well that his attempt to masquerade as the genuine article had likely been exposed, leaving him unable to maintain his charade. Instantly, he altered his approach.

Discarding the lantern, he lifted his gaze to meet Lumian’s, his countenance growing frigidly cold.

The corners of his mouth curled into a chilling smirk.

“I can’t decide whether to pity or congratulate you for seeing through my guise, but this definitely isn’t advantageous for you.”

With lantern in hand, the fake Ive’s aura surged, transforming into a fearsome volcano teetering on the brink of eruption.

Quivering, he lowered his head, unable to meet the other’s gaze directly. However, his longing to perform and his unwavering resolve compelled him to raise his head, struggling to fix his gaze upon the fake Ive’s face.

Simultaneously, the darkness beyond the light seemed cloaked in an eerie green glow. Vines and branches sprouted from the abyss, entwining the ceiling and rocky walls.

Franca, concealed within the shadows, succumbed to intimidation in the face of the fake Ive’s aura, rendering her unable to maintain her abilities. Her form materialized less than two meters away from the impostor.

Meanwhile, Charlie, still sprawled within the passageway, trembled even more violently. He buried his face in the gravel and earth, his mind blank.

With a disdainful glance toward Lumian and Franca, the fake Ive spoke. “You dare to pursue me, utterly ignorant? The only fortunate aspect is your considerable attractiveness. I find it hard to dispose of you outright.”

His words entered Lumian and Franca’s ears, instilling them with fear, compelling them to turn and flee.

This sensation prompted Lumian to realize something profound.

A demigod!

The fake Ive was a demigod, possessing godhood!

Gritting his teeth and summoning his courage, Lumian delved into his pocket, hopeful that Mr. K’s finger could serve as a temporary deterrent, buying him and Franca an opportunity to escape the Underground Trier.

So what if you’re a demigod? I’ve encountered demigods before. Fear won’t break my spirit or halt my resistance!

Just as Lumian’s right palm was poised to make contact with Mr. K’s finger, and Franca was on the verge of fleeing, unable to contain herself, a cracking noise resounded from above.

A rock the size of a fist descended, mirroring the former descent of its brethren, hurtling toward the fake Ive, who had been arrogantly observing Lumian and Franca’s reactions.

Caught off guard, the impostor Ive managed only to lower his head, barely evading the projectile. The gravel struck his left shoulder, fracturing bone and causing the flesh to sink inward.

He emitted a brief cry, nearly toppling to the ground.
This unexpected turn of events dispersed the menacing aura and godlike presence, leaving behind a scant few turquoise vines and brownish-green branches as testament to the recent occurrence.

Snapping out of his shock, Lumian, driven by his desire to perform and seizing the opportunity to provoke,

discarded the carbide lamp, clutched his stomach, and erupted in laughter.

“A fake? Is everything about you nothing but fake? Don’t tell me that thing of yours is a mere piece of wood?”

The fake Ive, who had just recovered from the pain, was overcome with emotion. His gaze fixated upon Lumian, his eyes tinged with an otherworldly green hue.

Unbeknownst to him, Franca had already sprinkled herself with fluorescent powder, vanishing into thin air with a hushed whisper.

In the blink of an eye, Lumian found himself consumed by an intense yearning for the pleasures of the opposite sex.

If Franca hadn’t rendered herself invisible, he would have been utterly powerless against the impulse. However, he wasn’t entirely bereft of reason. It was just that his actions had become burdensome, both physically and mentally.

Struggling, Lumian extracted the revolver from its holster, endeavoring to take aim at the fake Ive.

In his current state, he inexplicably found the other’s visage profoundly alluring.

Bang!

Lumian squeezed the trigger, but his shot missed the impostor Ive.

Fury ignited within the fake Ive’s eyes. With agile grace, he closed in on his target, his hand rising to deliver a resounding slap across Lumian’s face.

Instantly, his appearance underwent a subtle alteration, as if he possessed limited control over his image. He softened Lumian’s masculine features, lending them a touch of femininity.

Lumian gasped for breath, his finger squeezing the trigger once more.

A tumultuous surge of desire threatened to consume him. He yearned to embrace the female rendition of the fake Ive and indulge in unspeakable acts.

Amidst the maelstrom of his intense emotions, he instinctively recalled the words of the psychiatrist, Madam Susie, and promptly began taking deep, steadying breaths.

Bang!

Lumian found a measure of tranquility, successfully discharging another shot from the revolver.

The fake Ive hadn’t anticipated the unwavering fortitude of his adversary, who managed to retain his sanity. Narrowly evading the bullet that grazed his arm, rending his garments and scorching his flesh, he couldn’t suppress a pained grunt. In that moment, Lumian, warily mindful of the opponent’s abilities, ceased his pretense, seizing the opportunity to grip the ritual silver dagger and plunge it into his own ribs, refraining from extracting it.

The pain jolted his senses, quelling much of his desire.

Likewise, the fake Ive shook off the lingering effects of Provocation, regaining a measure of clarity.

He understood that the current circumstances were ill-suited for an extended confrontation. Swiftly producing a golden coin, he hurled it toward the crevice obstructed by debris.

Lumian, overcome by an uncontrollable avarice, lunged toward the gleaming coin with the ritual silver dagger, eager to claim it as his own.

Seizing the opportunity, the fake Ive sprinted deeper into the underground, displaying swiftness surpassing that of ordinary mortals.

Suddenly, his feet skidded, and a slick swoosh echoed through the air.

Unbeknownst to him, the path had been encased in a layer of frost!

Struggling to regain his footing, the fake Ive endeavored to restore his balance.

However, in that very moment, a towering figure clad in a black robe and hood materialized behind him.

With a swift motion, Franca extended her right hand, revealing a hidden blade enveloped in black flames. She aimed to plunge it into the fake Ive’s back, employing the full force of an Assassin’s strike.

With a pfft, despite the fake Ive’s best efforts to evade and rely on some kind of performance to toughen his skin and muscles like stone, the blade managed to pierce his body.

His eyes widened, and he twisted his body forcefully, capturing a glimpse of Franca through his ghostly green gaze.

Having successfully executed her attack, Franca intended to take a step back and utilize the shadows to create distance before triggering the detonation of the black flames coursing within the target’s body. However, her limbs suddenly grew weak, and she bent over.

She clenched her legs together, a watery light flickering in her eyes resembling a serene lake.

Having anticipated the deep connection between the fake Ive she was tailing and the deviant Hedsey, Franca was prepared for the current circumstances. Without hesitation, she reached into her concealed pocket, aiming to retrieve the smelling salts she had acquired earlier.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Lumian, having secured the golden coin, discharged three shots at the severely wounded fake Ive.

Desperately attempting to evade, the fake Ive’s precarious footing on the icy surface undermined his ability to maintain even basic balance. Eventually, he plummeted to the ground with a resounding thud, one of the bullets piercing his abdomen.

With a chance to catch her breath, Franca inhaled the scent of the salts, the invigorating aroma jolting her senses awake. Suppressing her desires, she clenched her left hand.

Black flames erupted from the fake Ive’s body, devouring his soul and eliciting a mournful cry.

Lumian aimed once more and pulled the trigger.

The final bullet erupted forth, instantaneously puncturing the fake Ive’s forehead.

With a deafening bang, the fake Ive’s head split open, spilling forth crimson and white.

Observing Franca bend over once again, Lumian hurriedly made his way to her side, circling around the frost-covered area.

Franca raised her gaze, her eyes moist as she softly gasped for air.

Suddenly, she embraced Lumian, but her nostrils detected the presence of a metal canister with an open lid pressed against her nose.

The indescribably potent scent compelled her to sneeze repeatedly, diminishing much of her desire.

“Dammit, this stuff is far more potent than smelling salts!” Franca blurted out as soon as she regained consciousness.

Lumian quickly took a sniff himself and let out a sneeze.

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