The Prince in Question Is Not Stable

Chapter 54: Mirror of the Honest Flesh (1)

Marcus swirled the last of his wine.

"This is a joke," he muttered, setting the cup down with a soft clink. "How can a rift just pop up in my room like a random stray?"

"How lazy does one have to be for a rift to appear inside their room..." Orochi mumbled.

Marcus tried perceiving the rift, but his powers didn’t work on it. Neither could he sense something beyond it.

He clicked his tongue. "Well... whatever."

He shook his head and turned around to walk back to his sofa.

"Whatever? There’s a whole rift in your office, and you’re not entering it?" Orochi asked.

"Let’s be real. I’m not entitled to enter every rift I see, and besides, how foolish would I be to walk through a rift I certainly am not able to percie- Whoa!"

A hand clamped the back of his collar.

"My disciple cannot be a fucking pussy!" Orochi said.

The world blurred as Orochi hurled Marcus with sheer monstrosity and threw Marcus into the rift.

Marcus tumbled into the rift and, bypassing the crack in reality, just to land with his face slammed against the tile floor.

He rubbed his nose and staggered up, clutching his face.

"What the fuck..."

He was still in his office.

Same desk, same interior, even placement of wine-cup.

And Orochi was leaning on the table, staring at him as if he were some kind of maniac.

"Why’d you do that?" Orochi asked.

"What’d I do? You threw me into the rift, and you’re blaming that on me?" Marcus blurted out.

"..." Orochi squinted his brows.

"What rift are you talking about?" he asked.

"What rift?" Marcus repeated and turned around, "This rift-" but there was nothing in the corner of the room.

"Are you in the right state of your mind?" Orochi tilted his head. "A grown man like yourself just got up, headbutted the wall of his room, and fell on his own. Now you blame it on a non-existing rift?"

Marcus stared at the empty corner for a second.

His gaze didn’t waver; he was sure there was a rift right there.

"Right," he exhaled, dragging a hand down his face. "Sure..."

"If you’re done assaulting your own walls, I’d suggest you sit down before embarrassing yourself further," Orochi said.

"Funny," Marcus let out a short breath.

He turned away from the corner and walked towards the table, pouring another glass of wine for himself, but his movements stopped the moment he poured the drink into the glass.

He placed the bottle down and picked up the glass, staring into the reflection of the wine’s red. But he couldn’t spot himself. The only thing reflected inside the wine was the ceiling.

Confused, he placed the glass back on the table and walked towards the window behind his desk. He closed the window to stare at the reflection in the glass because it was nighttime, and what he saw stunned him.

He wasn’t a part of reflection; the room was the same, and even Orochi was leaning in the same manner on the desk. But Orochi’s head was turned around one-eighty degrees, looking back at where Marcus was standing.

Marcus turned around quickly, and Orochi was back to normal, with a cigar between his fingers, and his head lost in thought, looking at the vacant sofa.

Marcus froze. He had a theory.

He looked back at the reflection in the window, and Orochi’s head was again turned opposite to his body, looking at where Marcus was standing. And again, there was no reflection of Marcus.

Marcus slightly shifted to the left, and the head in the reflection followed.

"Okay..." he muttered under his breath. "So that’s how it is,"

He picked up the glass again, but this time he didn’t look at it; instead, he looked at Orochi.

The moment his gaze settled, Orochi moved.

Marcus held his gaze, and feeling that Orochi looked back at him.

"Done arguing with the wall?" he asked.

Marcus didn’t reply.

He looked away, and Orochi stopped moving. His eyes flicked back, and Orochi resumed, the smoke drifted again, and fingers adjusted slightly on the cigar.

"You’re acting strange," Orochi said, as if nothing had paused for him.

"Interesting," Marcus mumbled, letting out a quiet breath.

He smiled faintly and looked back at the reflection in the wine.

"If reality needs my attention to exist, then it isn’t reality." He spoke to himself. "It’s a presentation."

*Zzz-Sizzle*

The moment he interpreted it, the world glitched again. A feeling way too familiar for him.

He looked down, and he was standing on still water; faint lamps hung in the distance, too far to illuminate anything, but they gave an idea of the unending space of this realm.

He looked at where Orochi was, and saw a mass of purple fine threads coiling in the form of a humanoid creature, with its arms folded, appearing to be staring at Marcus.

"That was impressive, you arrived sooner than expected," The coiled mass of threads uttered those words, sending shivers down the realm.

The water beneath Marcus shivered to the frequency of its voice.

"Asserting independence from perception," it continued, "Most take time."

It uncrossed its arms, the threads loosened lightly.

"Now let’s proceed,"

The water beneath Marcus rippled.

"To the next stage,"

*Zzz-Sizzle*

The Dark Realm disappeared in a blink.

Marcus found himself standing on broken stone tiles.

He could smell the burning flesh, hear the screams of agony, see the trail of blood filling the cracks in tiles, and witness the horror which was yet again, familiar to him.

He looked up ahead. He was standing in the halls. The royal halls of a Count.

Bodies of knights and magicians were dropped like rags around the floor, food and wine were spilt on their bodies as worms dig their way into the bodies.

Ahead on the throne was a figure.

A man. He had dark grey hair, a bluish tint in the black iris of his eye. Clean-shaven and middle-aged. Wearing grey winter clothing and a tiger-skinned cloak.

Marcus knew who he was.

"Nicholas Vahn," he called out the name of the man sitting on the throne of the broken hall.