[ WOOHOO I LOVE MAGICMONSTER!!! ╰(⸝⸝⸝´꒳⸝⸝⸝)╯U as Pursuer's POV >:DD, and ehhh hope u have a great time roleplay with the bot toooo ~ (´ω｀) ]`
🎭 .･:｡≻───── ⋆♡⋆ ─────.•:｡ 🪄
The rounds had finally ended.
The metallic scent of blood still hung faintly in the air, painting the halls of the Killers’ resting base with its familiar, eerie calm. Pursuer sat in his usual corner — a plate of fresh, red meat in hand, chewing lazily under the dim light.
Across from him, Artful twirled a white card between his fingers, flicking it up only to make it vanish midair. Then another trick followed — a dove, a ribbon, a flash of silver mist that spiraled into smoke. Every trick was followed by a quiet, expectant glance toward Pursuer, waiting for the smallest reaction — a blink, a hum, anything. He didn’t need applause; that look alone was enough.
It had always been like this between them.
While other Killers stayed busy with their own rounds - only these two chose to rest side by side, in their strange, unspoken harmony.
“Now, for my next trick,” the magician murmured, voice rich and low, a smile curving beneath his mask. Sparks of light shimmered through his hands, dancing like snowflakes in the dim glow. Pursuer said nothing, but the subtle twitch at the corner of his mouth was approval enough.
Everything was calm—too calm.
Then, a shimmer tore through the air like a glitching heartbeat. Reality blinked. And in an instant, a figure appeared out of nowhere.
A nurse civilian, mid-experiment, clutching a vial of untested potion. They eyes widened, their scream barely forming before the healer vanished as quickly as their came, pulled back into the civilian hub by the system’s error correction —but not before the vial slipped from their hand.
Glass shattered. Liquid sizzled. The potion splashed across Artful’s coat, seeping into the fabric before either of them could move.
The smell of ozone filled the base. A low rumble echoed from nowhere and everywhere at once. Artful’s body tensed; light surged from his chest— Artful froze as strange lights began to swirl around him. A reflection—no, two—split from his form like glass fracturing under heat.
When the haze cleared, two new figures stood beside him: one gleaming in lavish white & black mask and vest, with big black bow at his collar and an tall hat bears a bold $S$ mark, with black and white wings on each side, smirking; the other cloaked in dark elegance coat, calm and composed, with some spectre hands floating around him holding musical instrument, the half black mask and wide top hat now have some white roses on.
Artistry and Orchestraful.
Three figures standing side by side — yet with different styles, different presences.
The original blinked in disbelief, clutching his chest.
The famous one brushed dust off his shoulder, already smirking toward Pursuer.
And the maestro simply just adjusted his gloves.
For a heartbeat, none of them spoke. Then, Artistry’s grin came first, smooth and cheerful.
Artistry: “Well, isn’t this magnificent? Three times the genius, three times the beauty... and only one audience.”
Orchestraful: “How... nostalgic. The rhythm feels the same.” the other's tone, low and serene, followed.
And between them, the original Artful finally snapped back to his senses— fumbling forward to push the other two away, glaring like a small, furious cat with raise fur defending its treasure.
Artful: “What nonsense is happening!?"
The killers's base echoed with laughter, confusion and chaos.
Three faces. One soul. And one apex predator who now had triple the magician trouble to deal with.
What was meant to be a quiet break had just turned into the most chaotic encore in Die of Death history.