The Clown and the Dead Forged

The next breath began inside the alley.

Dhaz had returned, better than when the party last saw him and carrying a letter from PP5, but there was no quiet reunion waiting for him. My Alchemical Romance had been separated from Wisdom Division and cornered by Flesh-linked attackers while something worse played out deeper in the alley.

A clown-like figure held up a forged body and danced.

The movement was wrong. It had gone on too long, tired and compulsory, while dead rats were crushed beneath the steps. Maine recognized the shape of the magic as something like Otto's Irresistible Dance, but altered: longer-lasting, curse-twisted, not behaving like the normal spell should.

The attackers closed in.

Nick answered with fire. Jonah filled the alley with Spirit Guardians. Flesh thugs and rats dropped or scattered under the pressure, and the mage lost control of the field faster than the ambush expected. Maine focused on stopping the dance without simply destroying the clown, because even here the party could see the difference between an enemy and a person being used by magic.

When the violence cleared, the alley looked less like a random attack and more like a public desecration.

Flesh had not only killed or stolen from forged people. It had staged them. It had turned a body into spectacle and used curse magic to make the horror keep moving.

Lawful would arrive soon enough to collect what was left.

But My Alchemical Romance had already learned the important part: the Stormcall crisis was no longer hiding in basements and warehouses. It was dancing in the street.