"Clown! Clown! Stop him!"
Ravan's voice cracked. He stumbled backward through the air like a man trying to run on water.
His royal cloak tangled around his legs. His face had lost all color. His pride was gone. Only fear remained.
The Clown scratched the side of his mask lazily.
"Ah… right," he said as if he had just remembered something small. "I did promise he would not die."
He stepped forward.
Vivian halted mid-air. The wind stopped around him. His eyes locked onto the Clown.
The calm from earlier was gone.
There was anger now. There was resentment. There was something old and heavy inside his gaze.
For a moment he did not move.
He looked at Ravan again.
Ravan had already retreated far away. Nearly a mile. Still shaking.
That sight made the anger rise again. Vivian's fingers tightened around the black sword.
The sky darkened slightly.
Then—
He inhaled slowly. His eyes closed.
Faces appeared in his mind.
