A World Abandoned by God

"Thank you so much, Lucius. You did wonderfully again—the children were so happy," Maria said as she closed the door, casting one last glance at the sleeping children. They'd finally drifted off after a long day of play.

Lucius smiled. "It's my job, Lady Maria. Lucius the Clown is my name, and bringing happiness is my game."

A classic pun, he thought as Maria laughed softly. I think I'll make it my catchphrase.

"Here, take this." Lady Maria extended her hand.

Two bits? Lucius wondered. It's usually three.

"I'm afraid two is all I can manage right now," Maria explained. "Running the orphanage has become more and more difficult."

"No worries, Lady Maria—two is plenty," Lucius replied. Most people wouldn't even give a quarter. "If you need any help, just let me know. I can put on another show or lend a hand in whatever way I can. After all, giving these children a home is more important than anything."

"Oh, Lucius, you're as sweet as ever," she sighed. "If only he were a bit more like you…"

"What's wrong, Lady Maria?" Lucius asked gently.

"It's nothing… it's just—"

"If it's personal, I won't pry," he offered.

"No, I won't hide it from you," she said, meeting his gaze. "My husband has been restricting my funds. We've been having some… disagreements lately…"

She has a husband? Lucius thought, genuinely surprised. In the original Lucius's memories, she had never mentioned it. Then again, a woman of her stature wouldn't likely remain "on the market" for long.

Sorry, original Lucius—if you ever had hopes for her, that ship sailed long ago. He sighed inwardly.

A marital dispute, huh? Not sure there's much I can do.

"I don't think I can help much," he said, "but if it's serious, maybe I could talk to your husband? Sometimes a good laugh can solve most of the world's problems."

Maria shook her head. "He's not the type to listen to reason, Lucius. Anger and stubbornness are only two of his many shortcomings."

A lost cause, is it?

"Could you at least tell me his name?" Lucius asked quietly. "If we ever cross paths, maybe I can see what I can do. You've been such a help to me—I don't want to leave you in trouble."

Although he was planning to leave, he felt he owed her that much; she had been the only support in the old Lucius's life.

She smiled sadly. "It's Gerold Emisphere. You'd know him as the city's mayor."

"The mayor?" Lucius's eyes widened. "Wait—Kira's mayor? That mayor? The one who, uh… skewers people on a whim?"

Maria nodded, resignation weighing her gaze. "I know his reputation isn't the best, but yes, he's my husband."

"What the hell, lady?!" Lucius blurted, struggling to maintain his composure. He's basically skewering people, and you're married to him?

For a moment, he didn't know whether to laugh or bolt. He was genuinely at a loss for words.

Wait—does that mean the demonic girl who never laughs or cries is also her daughter? The thought sent his mind spinning. That can't be true… can it? Maybe I should ask… If I could help somehow…

But after a brief hesitation, he dismissed the idea. No—this would only drag me into more trouble than I can handle. My focus should be on leaving this city. Maria's problems and her daughter are not my responsibility. Sorry, old Lucius.

He cleared his throat. "I suppose there's nothing I can do, then. I hope things improve between you two."

Maria looked disappointed but nodded, managing a faint smile.

As he turned to leave, she waved goodbye. "Same time next week?" she asked quietly.

He paused, glancing back. I won't be here, but her hopeful expression makes it impossible to say that out loud.

"Same time next week," he replied, giving her a thumbs-up before disappearing into the night.

The walk felt endless, every step burdened by a hollow ache.

What a fantastic world, Lucius thought bitterly. In just a single day, it turned me into a liar.

Above him, the Broken loomed in the sky—a haunting reminder of his true goal.

"Old Lucius… maybe you really were onto something with that suicide of yours," he muttered, his voice colored by self-loathing.

He jingled the two bits Maria had given him, their metallic clink oddly comforting.

"Two bits," he murmured. "With today's earnings, I should have enough to sign up for that soul-awakening process. Should I do it tomorrow?"

A heavy doubt curled in his gut. That path came with risks—a weak soul at best, or an agonizing life as a cripple at worst. Neither prospect seemed appealing.

A chill wind carried the faint odor of scorched metal, and high above the city walls, the silhouette of the mayor's so-called "Seek Kababs" sent a shiver through him.

At least I'll survive, he told himself, gripping the coins tighter. At least I'll have a chance to keep looking for a way home.

He slipped the coins back into his vest pocket… and felt something unfamiliar there.

A letter?

He frowned. I don't remember putting anything else in here. Cautiously, he opened it.

It's from Lady Maria, he realized, scanning the contents.

When did she slip this in?

A strange sense of foreboding settled over him as he began to read.

Lucius stepped off to the side of the dimly lit street, leaning against a weather-beaten wall for support. The flickering glow of a distant streetlamp provided just enough light for him to read by.

Carefully, he unfolded the letter from Maria.

Dear Lucius,

First, forgive me for hiding this. It's hard to speak freely. Her eyes are everywhere.

I know you've been invited to that birthday party, and I understand your desperation. But please, don't go there. There is no hope where that is concerned.

You cannot do the impossible.

My only request is that you leave the city immediately. If you stay, your life will be in danger. Gerold will hand you over just to appease her.

I've seen her tantrums. They never end well.

This city is her domain. Every mercenary, vendor, slave, slave owner, debt collector, warrior—even animals—are under her sway.

I will do something tonight. If I succeed, you'll know. If I fail, you'll know.

You will get a chance.

Please don't interfere. Just escape. Beyond the city gates, her influence is weaker. Whatever happens here, don't look back. Don't draw attention. As of tomorrow, you'll have 48 hours. Go.

We and the children will always cherish the joy you've brought us, dear Mr. Clown.

Promise you won't forget us.

—Maria

Lucius let out a shaky breath, his eyes lingering on Maria's final words: Promise you won't forget us.

A cool night wind brushed against his face. In the lamplight's faint glow, shadows played across the letter, as though its message might twist and change at any second. Carefully, he refolded the parchment and slipped it back into his vest pocket, a cold knot of dread forming in his stomach.

He couldn't ignore Maria's urgent plea: Leave the city. Don't go to that birthday party. You have forty-eight hours. Over and over, her warning looped through his mind:

I've seen her tantrums. They never end well.

A chill rippled along his spine. Who is this 'she' that Maria fears so much? Her daughter?

I will do something tonight. If I succeed, you'll know. If I fail, you'll know. You will get a chance.

What on earth is Maria planning? And what chance am I supposed to have?

Suddenly—

CRAAASH—BOOOM!

A thunderous clamor erupted from the direction of the inner city—precisely where he'd come from. His thoughts cut off midstream as he turned to see the once-dark sky flare brilliant gold, a wave of heat washing over his face.

"Fire!" someone shouted. Panicked figures dashed past, yelling warnings. Heart pounding, Lucius sprinted toward the source without a second thought.

Moments later, he stood before the orphanage he had just left—now consumed by a raging inferno. Flames clawed at the windows, black smoke billowing high into the sky. All around him, people hovered in shock and terror, some crying out, others paralyzed by fear.

Lucius's stomach lurched. Maria… the children… This place, once a haven amid Kira's chaos, was now engulfed in searing flames.

"This world," he murmured, voice trembling. "This world… it's hell."