Chapter 2100: Chapter 2100

The stage transformed. The painted backdrop for the final act looked much like the one from the beginning when the rules were first explained—rows of theater seats rising at an angle. The difference, however, was stark. While the real theater contained only Jenkins and the metal puppet, the seats in the painting were filled with puppets in all kinds of attire.

The girl puppet and the coachman sat together in the carriage. They remained still as the background shifted around them, signaling a change in location. Once the new backdrop had fully descended, covering the old one, the girl puppet leaped from the carriage. She moved to the center of the stage and, accompanied by the background music, began to sing.

Jenkins was incredibly tense. The events of the third act had been troublesome, but still manageable. This final act, however, was certain to demand a true display of his power. He didn't know what was coming, but he could feel it wouldn't be simple.

The puppet reached the center of the stage and sang:

"Here at last, the magic will begin..."

The lyrics once again expressed her delight and boasted of her own beauty. Jenkins had to admit that despite the strange voice, the puppet's singing was remarkably skillful. If only Hathaway were here, he thought, this Mysterious Realm might have been much easier. Even combat-focused realms often had alternative solutions, and he suspected the key this time was hidden in the song. Unfortunately, Jenkins couldn't carry a tune to save his life.

"Oh, magic, my dearest magic~"

The song went on. In addition to her self-praise, the lyrics revealed the delicate inner thoughts of a young girl—a yearning for acceptance, a secret crush on the young postman who passed her window each day.

The first few verses were normal enough, reflecting the typical daydreams of any young girl. But then, the lyrics took a chilling turn:

These lines clashed horribly with the background music. Their meaning seemed to hint at the truth behind the puppet show. But before Jenkins could ponder it, the music stopped, and the puppet began to speak in a narrative voice:

"Yes, I need an assistant."

A percussive clang, like a gong, sounded from backstage.

"Mr. Mirror, how about you?"

The girl puppet turned to look down at Jenkins. In an instant, the lighting shifted. The warm, yellow glow on the stage vanished, replaced by a cold, clinical light somewhere between white and blue.

The music resumed, its tempo urgent, as if compelling one's heart to race.

"I can't participate, because I can't move."

He called out to the stage.

"No matter. My magic can do anything."

And so, without any warning, Jenkins fell straight into a black hole that abruptly opened beneath his seat. Then, with a deafening crash, he plummeted from above and slammed onto the stage.

He scrambled to his feet on the stage and stared at the puppet, which tilted its head up to look back at him. A cold sweat trickled down his neck. Jenkins had braced himself for something outrageous in the final act, but he had never imagined this.

It wasn't that he hadn't considered the possibility of being pulled onto the stage. What he hadn't expected was that this puppet, strange from the very beginning, would actually possess the power of a Beast of Calamity.

In other words, the creature before him was just as dangerous as the mechanical worm and the aerial abyss from the first two Mysterious Realms.

Jenkins was certain that the Difference Engine's power had not deeply infiltrated this third Mysterious Realm, and he was equally sure it hadn't tossed the power of a Beast of Calamity in here. This meant his unconfirmed suspicion, which had been nagging at him, was likely true.

The reason the Difference Engine couldn't deeply penetrate this place, yet had still designated it as the third Mysterious Realm, was because it contained something far more dangerous than the Engine itself.

"Because this place itself is host to..."

He froze, not daring to move an inch, as the girl puppet reached out and caressed his arms. Orıginal content can be found at Novᴇl_Fire(.)net

"Mr. Mirror, you truly are my treasure."

the puppet recited, the craving and greed in its voice undeniably real.

"If only I could keep you by my side forever. How wonderful that would be."

Jenkins dared not speak. He remained silent, fighting the desperate urge to pull away as the puppet continued:

"Mr. Mirror, let's perform a magic trick together."

She gave him no chance to object. Taking a single step back, a large wooden crate descended from above, enveloping him. Its four sides weren't solid panels but slatted bars, like a cage. It looked like a small prison, and theoretically, Jenkins should have been able to smash his way out.

But that was only in theory. The moment the crate surrounded him, he found himself utterly immobilized. To think that not even frozen time could completely stop him anymore, yet here, in this Mysterious Realm, a simple wooden crate had done the trick. He could only think of one possibility. Only one being was powerful enough to manifest in such a way.

Among the seventeen Beasts of Calamity, only one could manifest this way and wield such power.

"This is my first performance, and it will be my last."

the girl puppet chanted. As Jenkins's mind raced, a longsword materialized in the puppet's hand.

A single glance was enough to connect the sword with one word: ancient. It was unremarkable, with no ornate patterns on its hilt or blade. This weapon was forged for function, not for display. And yet, this very sword sent a palpable wave of danger washing over Jenkins.

he thought, summoning the motes of light that represented his abilities. His body might be immobile, but not all of his powers required physical movement.

"My magic trick: The Great Escape."

the girl puppet announced. Then, with a practiced stance, she aimed the terrifying weapon at him. Without another word, the blade slid through the gaps between the wooden bars, thrusting toward the imprisoned Jenkins.

He'd wanted to use Psychography to conjure something—not to block the sword, but to create a heavy object that would fall and knock the crate aside, letting him dodge the blow. But before he could even fully activate the ability, he knew it was futile. No matter how he tried to evade it, the sword was fated to pierce his heart. That was its destiny.

He cried out in his mind. Though his body was trapped, a flicker of purple flashed through his eyes. In that fatal instant, upon this very stage, the destiny of the sword—fated to strike him—collided with his own destiny, creating a complex and fractured resonance.

And so, he once again gazed upon Destiny itself.

And so, the wheel of fate began to turn.