Chapter 11: The Damned Clown
28th May, 2026
Tariq stared toward the clown.
The clown was sweating heavily. Pure terror showed in his eyes.
For a brief moment, the clown stopped performing his dangerous stunts.
And instantly—
The chaos stopped with him.
People looked around in confusion. Some still had their fists raised while others remained braced for impact.
Then the clown grabbed a real sword from the ground.
He tilted his head back, opened his mouth wide, and slowly shoved the blade down his throat.
After that, he climbed onto the monocycle and resumed juggling the heavy metal balls.
"?!"
The chaos returned instantly—far worse than before.
People grabbed weapons and attacked each other against their own will. Others screamed helplessly as violence erupted everywhere.
Harith stood there completely bamboozled, his jaw practically hanging open.
Tariq, however, remained calm with his arms crossed.
"So… whenever he stops performing, the chaos stops too."
"And if I try this…"
Tariq intended to step toward the clown—
But an unseen force stopped him.
Instead, he stepped backward.
"Uh huh… and if I do this…"
This time, Tariq intentionally avoided approaching the clown—
And suddenly managed to step forward.
"And that's how I cracked your code, sweet mustard."
Meanwhile, Harith was fighting off a random civilian. Electricity flared around his fist as he landed a brutal low blow, launching the man straight through part of the roof.
"Harith."
Tariq called sharply.
"T-Tariq! I can't stop attacking innocent people! What do I do?!"
Sweat covered Harith's forehead while blood stained his hands.
"You need to intend to fight them instead of trying not to!"
"What the hell are you even saying?!"
Harith suddenly found himself standing before a trembling little brown-haired girl clutching a teddy bear.
Electricity crackled violently around his raised fist.
"Harith!"
Tariq's voice grew even sharper.
"You have to trust everything I say. Understood?!"
Harith glanced around him.
The ground was smeared with blood.
So were his clothes.
Because of how many innocent people he had already killed against his own will.
Then his fist shot forward toward the little girl.
Everything slowed down.
(This damned clown…)
(He turned an event people were supposed to enjoy… into a battlefield.)
(I'm this close to killing an innocent little girl who has nothing to do with any of this…)
His fist drew closer and closer to her face.
The electricity nearly touched her skin.
(Tariq… I trust you completely.)
At the last possible second, Harith reversed his intentions—
Now genuinely intending to attack her.
And instantly—
His fist stopped right before touching her cheek.
Only a tiny spark escaped, lightly zapping her face.
"It worked…"
"That's what I thought."
"Now for you…"
Tariq locked eyes with the clown while reaching into the brown waist pouch at his side.
He pulled out a large chef's knife.
"Let's just say things aren't gonna go buttery smooth for you anymore."
The clown immediately realized they had figured out his Disposition.
One of the heavy metal balls slipped from his hands.
Then he gently squeezed his blue clown nose.
As Tariq prepared to throw the knife using reversed intentions—
His muscles suddenly froze.
Then he slowly turned toward Harith instead, knife in hand.
"Tariq?! Didn't you already figure out his Disposition?!"
"Don't worry about me, Harith."
Then suddenly—
Tariq turned back toward the clown and hurled the knife with terrifying force.
The clown quickly reached for his nose again—
But too late.
The knife pierced straight through his ribs.
Blood burst from his side as the sound of tearing flesh echoed loudly enough to stop everyone around them.
The heavy metal balls crashed onto the floor, crushing the surface beneath them.
The clown collapsed.
At the same time, the sword lodged inside his throat ripped through his insides, forcing him to spit it back out along with blood.
The sight was brutal.
But finally—
The chaos stopped.
"Holy… Tariq, that was insanely precise."
Without looking at Harith, Tariq kept his eyes fixed on the fallen clown.
He slowly raised a hand.
"Hold on… this guy…"
Then the clown started laughing.
And laughing.
And laughing.
Harith and Tariq exchanged confused looks.
Then suddenly—
The clown got back up and sprinted away while still laughing hysterically.
"GET HIM, HARITH!"
(Thankfully… my Disposition also has a passive.)
(As long as I keep laughing, the pain I feel gets massively reduced.)
The clown thought while escaping.
To be continued..