Kesmorv: “The Clown Is Devil, And I Signed the Contract”

"Haaah! HUFF! Hufff!!"

Kesmorv jolted awake in a panic, gasping for air, sweat dripping from his face.

His chest heaved. His heart pounded.

He was back — under the same tree…

The same spot where he had been robbed.

> "A dream?"

"A really… horrifying one…"

He touched his face.

Looked at his arms.

Everything felt real. But—

He slowly lifted his right palm.

And froze.

The wound was still there.

A thin red cut, deep and fresh — still bleeding,

just like when he'd sliced it in front of Jester.

> "Aghhhhh!

NO!

No, this can't be real!"

His scream pierced the silence of the empty road.

His mind raced. His stomach churned.

Then… it hit him.

Almost instinctively, like muscle memory,

he whispered the words:

> "Jest… Jester oh Jester…

What are my Chores…"

The words barely left his lips.

But it was enough.

A cold glow formed before his eyes —

a system screen materialized, hovering in the air.

Kesmorv's face went pale.

Paler.

His breathing grew erratic.

And there it was.

---

Chore #1:

Eat Fedrovika and her family — to the bone.

And just beneath that…

A line of cruel, mocking text flickered in crimson letters:

> "Think of it this way…

You'll finally be inside someone's family or otherwise.."

Kesmorv gripped his bleeding palm as if trying to crush it in his own hand.

> "What the hell…

What the hell have I gotten myself into?!

What the hell!!

Oh God…"

His voice broke into laughter.

But it wasn't joy.

It was the laughter of a man whose mind was slipping.

Tears ran down his cheeks.

> "Eat a human…?

Fedrovika?

Her family?!"

His stomach turned violently —

he bent over and vomited.

The bile burned his throat, but he kept going,

retching again and again until nothing remained.

His body trembled.

He collapsed back on the dirt, chest heaving as though something heavy were crushing him.

Yet his gut still convulsed,

desperately trying to force out what wasn't there.

He gasped for air.

---

> "Fedrovika…"

Her face appeared over and over in his mind.

He'd never spoken more than a few words to her.

Just smiles in passing. A nod here. A warm greeting there.

But something about her made him feel… seen.

Human.

And now…

He had to do something unspeakable to her.

Kesmorv clenched his fists, slammed them against the dirt.

> "No.

I refuse.

I won't."

---

A sharp tone echoed in the air.

The system screen glowed red.

---

> ⚠️ WARNING: PENALTY FOR QUEST DEFIANCE! ⚠️

Contractee shall be punished in the same manner as the myth of Prometheus.

Your intestines will be devoured by a beast every day for 10,000 years.

And each time… they will be lovingly restored by your kind host, Jester.

There is no death. Only the fulfillment of the Contract.

Kesmorv cried for hours.

The sun had long set.

The world around him fell into darkness —

but he kept weeping,

until there were no more tears,

only dry, burning eyes

and a hollow stare that held no expression at all.

His thoughts spiraled.

It didn't make sense — no matter how he twisted it.

What made more sense?

To endure a mythical torment,

having his intestines devoured for ten thousand years?

Or to become a cannibal,

to devour a woman he barely knew

but always felt something for?

Every answer made him feel sick.

He screamed.

He cried.

He reasoned.

And nothing seemed right.

Only the weight remained —

pressing, choking, unbearable.

---

Then—

Something clicked.

A whisper of logic — just enough to breathe through.

> "Wait… the cycles…

If I finish this chore…

Maybe I'll become young again.

Maybe… go back in time."

His thoughts accelerated, desperate, reaching.

> "If that's true…

Then Fedrovika will be safe.

She won't even remember this life.

She'll… she'll be whole. Untouched."

He gripped his chest.

> "Yes…

That's it… it's just…"

But the words died in his throat.

Even with that flicker of hope,

the act remained monstrous.

He couldn't ignore the revulsion crawling under his skin.

But it was enough.

A hint of reason.

A foothold for his shattered mind.

And in a world where no choice is right —

sometimes, even the worst one with meaning

can feel like salvation.

But just as Kesmorv clung to that desperate sliver of reasoning—

he was interrupted by a voice.

Soft. Familiar.

> "Mr. Kesmorv…?

What are you doing out here?"

He froze.

Fedrovika.

She stepped closer, her face etched with concern as she looked at him—

his swollen cheeks, his bloodshot eyes, the dried vomit on his shirt.

Her voice trembled with hesitation.

> "I… I can't do much," she said gently, "but my elder son is away for a few weeks.

His room's empty.

Our house isn't big… but I suppose it'll do."

She hesitated, eyes scanning his battered form.

> "You can stay for the night, Mr. Kesmorv.

If you want."

Kesmorv stared at her in stunned silence.

Her voice was warm. Her face… kind.

This might've been the first time she had ever spoken more than a sentence to him.

And now—now, of all times—she offered him shelter.

He nodded instinctively.

He could've crashed anywhere. Slept near the roadside.

But part of him… the darker part… whispered:

> "Wasn't that easy?"

A low chuckle crawled into his ear.

> "Hha…ha…"

Jester.

Kesmorv flinched but kept moving, following behind her,

> "Why…?"

"Why are you being so kind to someone as… disgusting as me?"

Kesmorv's voice was low, cracked with self-pity.

He looked away, unable to meet her eyes.

Fedrovika, walking beside him and holding a lamp, gave a soft smile.

> "What do you mean?"

"Is it not the teaching of the great Haft — to never turn away from someone in suffering?

Offer what you can.

Kindness… is often returned with kindness.

It happened to me many times, Mr. Kesmorv. Haha."

Her voice was genuine.

And it made Kesmorv's expression darken.

He was ashamed.

He couldn't bear to look at her.

And then—

> He heard it again.

That quiet, distant laughter… crawling inside his skull.

He muttered under his breath, in the silence of his thoughts:

> "Jester… oh Jester… what are my Chores…"

And like a cruel answer, the system screen appeared.

Cold. Silent. Merciless.

> Chore:

Eat Fedrovika and her family to the bone.

It hadn't changed.

Any hope of it being a dream died.

Kesmorv's hand trembled.

He threw away the stone he'd been holding — a sharp, jagged one.

The one he had gripped so tightly his palm had bled earlier.

---

As they arrived, the street glowed gently under lanterns — a small alley tucked inside a lively, close-knit neighborhood.

Fedrovika's home was modest. Clean.

Inside, he saw a young girl — around twelve or thirteen — lying on a narrow bed, reading something by dim light.

She looked up at him.

Her face twisted in disgust.

The room was lit by two oil lamps, bathing everything in a warm orange glow.

And in that light—

Kesmorv was fully visible.

His face was bruised and battered, his white shirt stained with dried vomit and dirt.

His smell hit the room like a wave.

Even he couldn't bear it.

> "I'm… I'm sorry," he muttered. "I've been sick lately… I didn't mean to offend.

If you'd prefer, I can lea—"

> "Mr. Kesmorv," Fedrovika interrupted softly,

"I think you should take a bath."

She smiled.

> "Don't worry about clothes.

My late husband was tall — you're not too far off in size.

I'll find something."

> "Mother!" the girl snapped, clearly uncomfortable.

Fedrovika gave her a sharp look. The girl fell silent.

> "That's my daughter, Erika."

Kesmorv forced a smile at the girl —

but everything about the moment felt wrong.

Heavy.

He wanted to leave. Run. Escape the warmth before it broke him completely.

> "I truly apologize for the trouble.

May Haft reward your kindness, Lady Fedrovika," he said, bowing low.

"If you'd be so kind… please show me the way to the bath."

Kesmorv stood before the mirror, barely recognizing the man staring back at him.

His face was wrinkled. His long, greasy hair hung in strands, streaked with white.

His beard — wild and tangled — framed a face worn by time, failure, and shame.

His shirt clung to him, stained and tattered, a man rotting from the inside out.

And then—

The reflection moved.

Not him.

The man in the mirror grinned.

> "How does the warmth feel, Kesii?"

"Do you like it?"

Jester's voice slithered from the glass.

> "How about we begin the first chore?"

With a snap of his fingers, the system window blinked into existence:

---

📜 Chore Available – Conditions Met

> Chore: Eat Fedrovika and her family to the bone.

Reward: Eternal Youth

Penalty for Refusal:

Your intestines will be devoured by beasts for 10,000 years, and your kind host — Jest — will restore you each time.

Time Remaining: 34 days

---

The mirror flickered — and the twisted reflection was gone.

Kesmorv stared at himself again.

Same sunken eyes. Same filth.

But something was different.

His gaze.

It was no longer hollow.

> "I will," he whispered.

"Once this is over... everything will be alright.

Everything will be fine."

The doubt was gone.

All that remained was a grim resolve.

He reached into his clothes and pulled out a rusted blade —

the one he had once clutched for protection.

He stared at his beard — tangled and ragged like that of a mad Viking,

a look he remembered from his past life.

Without a word, he began to shave.