When Faust opened his eyes, the physical world of the Herzog's training grounds was gone.
He was floating, completely naked, suspended in a thick, suffocating crimson void. The space was wrapped in a heavy, bloody red darkness that felt warm, viscous, and ancient. Faust opened his mouth to speak, to call out, but his lips refused to move. Instead, his thoughts projected outward, echoing into the expanse with a terrifying, hollow clarity.
"Where... is this?"
The silent projection of his mind was the only sound. To his surprise, his left eye throbbed with a sudden, violent heat. The white bandage was gone, and his glowing amber iris flared to life, acting like a brilliant, solitary lighthouse that cast a golden, piercing light across the endless red fog. Below him, stretching as far as his enhanced vision could reach, lay a vast, silent lake of liquid blood.
Suddenly, a massive vibration rippled across the surface of the lake. From every direction, the crimson waves began to churn, their vibrations converging into a single, thunderous voice that bypassed his ears and echoed directly within his soul.
"Mephistopheles."
As if summoned by the very sound of the name, a singular card—jet-black and lined with shimmering silver—emerged from the depths of the bloody lake, floating up to hover directly before his face. Faust knew the card too well.
XV. The Devil.
The card did not possess lips, yet a gravelly, mocking voice vibrated from the paper.
"Finally... someone has awakened me as their first card."
Before Faust could comprehend the words, the crimson water beneath him began to boil. One by one, more familiar shapes broke the surface, floating upward until there were precisely twenty-three cards hovering in a massive, perfect circle around him.
All the Major Arcana.
The cards began to speak. They spoke in unison, a chorus of twenty-three distinct voices—some shrill, some deep, some melodious, and others resembling the dry scraping of autumn leaves—yet they blended into a flawless, terrifyingly arrogant harmony.
"We are the Holy Tarot. The first cards ever forged. The progenitors of destiny."
Faust's heart hammered against his ribs. He immediately clamped down on his consciousness, violently suppressing his runaway thoughts. In this place, his mind was an open book; if he didn't control his thinking, these entities would read every secret he possessed.
The cards trembled in the air, amused by his sudden mental discipline.
"You were the first person to awaken our zealous brother, the Devil," the chorus chanted. "He is a little crazy, but he is honest."
Faust's mind flared with a sudden, icy fury.
"So... the voice inside my head. The malice, the bloodlust that has been clawing at my sanity... that was your doing?"
The cards vibrated, their collective voices carrying a chilling confirmation.
"Yes. That was the call of our brother."
"Curse you," Faust's thoughts snarled, the red curtain of his anger rising. "I believed it was a shadow curse from Baphomet. I believed my body was failing. But it was nothing more than a stupid deck of cardboard!"
The Devil card let out a hysterical, mocking laugh.
"What an exquisite irony!"
The other twenty-two cards violently trembled in unison, emitting a sharp, spiritual shockwave that forced the Devil card to shut its maw and fall silent.
"Dear Mephistopheles," the chorus continued smoothly. "Our brother was not simply chosen by you. He was awakened by what you are. Tell us... have you ever truly performed a divination upon your own soul? Do you even comprehend what the Devil represents?"
Faust remained rigidly quiet, his amber eye burning in the dark.
"Our brother does not represent literal, profane evil," the cards explained, their voices carrying a heavy, ancient wisdom. "He represents self-imposed bondage. Addiction. The shadow self. Instead of a demonic tyrant, he symbolizes a soul trapped by toxic habits, materialism, or deeply limiting beliefs. Crucially, the chains around the figures on his face are loose—a permanent reminder that the wielder always holds the power to free themselves."
The cards leaned closer, their silver borders catching the amber glow of Faust's eye.
"And thus, Baphomet merely loosened those chains. We must apologize for the violence of the transition, but notwithstanding the entity's cruel methods, our brother simply exposed your true self. The bondage you hide beneath your scholarly demeanor. The beastly nature you desperately try to reject. The knowledge you are eager to get."
The Devil's voice suddenly bypassed the union, assaulting Faust's temples with a direct, suffocating pressure.
"Open your eyes!"
But the other cards instantly asserted control, suppressing the whisper.
Faust let out a cold, mental laugh that echoed through the crimson void.
"Holy Tarot? What is holy about a relic that drives its wielder mad and demands the slaughter of innocent humans? You call the Devil holy?"
To Faust's complete confusion, the entire circle of twenty-three cards erupted into a sudden, deafening chorus of laughter.
"But who ever said that the Devil is profane?" the Devil card mused, its tone dripping with dark amusement before the others silenced it once more.
"Forgive him," the chorus chanted. "Our brother is simply far too excited to finally be chosen as the first peek. Allow us to explain our nature. We are an all-knowing, holy relic, forged in the ancient dawn by the First—"
The voice suddenly cut out. The final word was entirely muted, as if a hand had been clamped over the universe's throat. Faust strained his mind, trying to catch the name, but there was only a dull, empty static.
"By who? Who forged you?" he demanded.
The cards completely ignored his confusion, continuing their collective narrative.
"He spilled the blood of the gods. The pure, fading essence of the progenitors. A brilliant, mad human gathered the remnants of that divine blood, bringing twenty-three drops together to forge our physical vessels. But we lost our connection to our creators. We succumbed to destiny, mixing together into something that is neither holy nor corrupted. We became a human relic... and we long to return to the source."
The circle of cards drew in tight, boxing Faust into a sphere of silver and black.
"We offer you a deal, Mephistopheles. Twenty-four years. One year for each of us, and one final year for you. In this time, you must systematically unlock and awaken the latent power of each of the twenty-three cards. In return, when the final year concludes, we will grant you a single, absolute wish."
The cards trembled, their voices dropping into a solemn whisper.
"Our brilliant, desperate creator tried to uncover the ultimate truth behind the divine blood, but he failed his own challenge and was consumed by his creation. The terms of the deal are entirely dictated by the card the wielder awakens first. Because of the sheer difficulty, no human has ever completed the trial, no matter the magnificent benefits we offered."
Suddenly, a violent vibration shook the boundaries of the bloody world.
A web of crystalline, snowy haze began to rapidly spread across the crimson sky, freezing the red fog into delicate, glowing patterns of frost. The liquid lake of blood beneath Faust's feet began to crack, a low, rumbling groan echoing from the depths of the relic.
The cards shook in alarm, their voices fracturing.
"It seems your young godson is turning exceptionally nervous on the outside. His winter aura is encroaching upon our domain. We cannot hold your consciousness here for much longer. It is time to strike the deal."
The Devil card flew forward, separating itself from the circle and hovering mere inches from Faust's chest.
"As we have spoken, you must conquer the trial of the twenty-three. You have already managed to awaken fifteen of us up to the Devil. Thus, our brother will offer you his unique gift to begin your journey."
Faust stared at the card. He wondered, with a deep, scientific curiosity, if the drop of divine blood that had been forged into this specific card had truly belonged to a devil, or if it was something far more ancient.
The card slowly turned in the air, revealing its true, terrifying image. The silver lines shifted, depicting a horned beast with wings of shadow, its chains loose and dangling.
"I offer you Knowledge," the Devil hissed, its voice vibrating with a primal, absolute promise. "Endless, absolute, and uncovering. Anything in this world that is hidden from mortal eyes shall be laid bare before your gaze. No secret, no lie, and no ward shall ever keep you in the dark again."
Faust looked at the card, the freezing web of Isfrid's frost closing in around them. A sharp, brilliant smile broke across his face, his golden amber eye glowing with a savage, triumphant fire.
"Perfect," Faust's thoughts projected, a dark confidence filling his soul.
He reached out his hand, his fingers clamping firmly onto the black paper of the Devil card.
The moment his skin made contact, the massive, bloody lake of the relic violently shattered into a million sparkling shards of red glass, and the darkness collapsed.