Content warning: This arc contains crass humor, mocking of political figures, strong language, violence, implied sexual acts, implied drugs (love potions), Duman, and using cake for negative purposes. Things get weird. Viewer discretion is advised.

The crowd watched in awe as Duman, mid-air, shifted seamlessly from a tiger jumping through flaming rings into a seal, juggling balls with his flippers. Without missing a beat, he morphed into a monkey, swinging effortlessly across the trapeze. When he landed, the transformation was complete: a man with a pink mohawk and purple eyeshadow, grinning as he took an exaggerated bow. The crowd roared its approval . Duman reveled in the positive affirmation, finally feeling like more than just a trophy.

Unbeknownst to Duman, he was being observed by a different kind of audience.

"You were incredible today, Duman..." the circus manager began, though his voice carried hesitation. His eyes flickered to the bag of gold in his hand, unsure if this was a transaction he wanted to make. The shapeshifter was a star attraction—everyone loved him.

Duman opened his mouth to thank the man but froze when he saw the gold. Ah, another sale, he thought with a weary sigh. This wasn't new for him. He'd been bought and sold more times than he could count, a novelty item to those who saw value in his shapeshifting ability. Sure, anyone could learn a disguise spell, but true shapeshifting—being anything, with no limits—that was something only few could do.

Still, he had grown fond of the circus. Out of all the places he had been, this one had felt a little like a home.

"Let me guess," Duman said, his tone playful rather than accusatory. "You just couldn't resist, huh?" He wasn't goong to chastise the man, that was too much energy to put into something like this.

Before the manager could respond, Duman's attention was drawn to the figures standing a few feet away. The man in front was practically glowing with vanity, his outfit an explosion of gaudy jewels and flamboyant fabric.

'Didn't get enough attention as a child.' Duman thought.

Standing beside him were two others—a scantily, dressed man with a heart shaped burn on his chest and no life in his eyes,

'Drugs. It's definitely drugs.'

and a heavily scarred blonde with a hollow expression on a leash. Their eyes met, and for a fleeting second, Duman saw something in him—a quiet understanding of shared pain.

'Ooo big guy on a leash—certainly can't be anything foreboding .'

Duman raised an eyebrow. Oh, this is going to be fun.

"I am Ogron, king of the Magic Dimension," the man introduced himself with a sweeping gesture. "This is my darling lover, Ana, and this is Gantlos."

Duman's lips curved into an amused smile. "Oh, Your Majesty, what an honor. I must say, I didn't realize we were calling clowns royalty now."

Ogron blinked, momentarily taken aback by the insult disguised as wit. His forced smile twitched. "Oh i see~. You're quite the comedian."

"And you," Duman continued, "are quite the disaster. Did you get dressed in the dark? Or did Mama Peacock lend you her wardrobe for the day?"

Ogron began losing his charming facade. "Alright you've had your little laugh. Now, let me explain what I'm trying to do—"

"Based on how you're dressed, I think you meant to say 'who' you're trying to do here," Duman interjected smoothly, his tone dripping with mockery. " you certainly can't be that expensive— look at you, the cheap whores always show off."

Gantlos blinked, wide-eyed at the implication that the king of the Magic Dimension was being compared to a prostitute.

Ogron cleared his throat, his voice strained but controlled. "I'm building a coven. My Circle seeks the most powerful men to—"

Duman cut him off with a snort. "A coven? Sweetheart, where I come from, that's called a harem. But you can dress it up however you like."

A ripple of laughter passed through the nearby crowd, and Ogron's face flushed. He forced a stiff smile. "I assure you, this is serious business."

"Serious business?" Duman mimicked, exaggerating the words. "The only serious business you're conducting is a fashion crime. What's with the get-up? Are you trying to seduce donkeys?" He pointed lazily toward a pen of donkeys nearby, drawing more snickers from the onlookers.

Ogron's composure cracked for a split second, but he pushed through. " I'm trying to conquer—"

Duman cut him off with a laugh. "Oh, you're just walking right into them now, aren't you?"Duman's voice dripped with sarcasm. "Must've been a rough childhood though, right? Mommy didn't hold you enough, so now you need all this attention?"

Ogron's face twitched slightly. "I had no mother."

Duman chuckled, his grin widening. "Don't worry your gaudyness , I could tell."

The king's face was red, but he couldn't lose his composure . "Perhaps we should discuss this back at the castle."

"Oooor," Duman drawled, "you can skip right on back to whatever cotton candy dreamland you came from. Sip your little man-wine in your little man-bed while I stay here and mind my own business."

Ogron clenched his jaw. "You seem to misunderstand—I own you now."

Duman's smile disappeared, replaced with a look of quiet defiance. "You don't own me. No one does. What you own is the thought of me, that should be enough for your left hand I think."

Ogron clenched his fists

"I don't think I want to go anywhere with you, especially with that one—" Duman pointed sharply to Anagan, who was lost in a dazed haze, "—looking like he's so high he's touching the moon." He pointed to Gantlos "And I don't even want to know what you did to that one." His gaze flicked to Gantlos, who stared back blankly.

Ogron's eyes flared with irritation. "You don't have a choice."

Without missing a beat, Duman deadweighted himself onto the ground. "Make me ya rich bastard."

"Oh come now, you're a grown man," Ogron tried pulling him up, only to look like an absolute fool as he fumbled with the man on the ground.

"For godsake—GANTLOS! Pick up this clown!"

Gantlos stepped forward, expression unreadable. Duman, ever the joker, glanced up from his position on the ground. "Oh, hello there, big guy. Gonna sweep me off my feet, huh? You look like the strong, silent type." He grinned mischievously. "I bet you're a real sweetheart once you get past all the stoic brooding."

Without hesitation, Gantlos scooped him up effortlessly, lifting Duman as if he weighed nothing.

Duman, now slung over Gantlos's shoulder, patted the man's backside lightly. "Nice form, lovely ass. Ever thought about a career in show business? Maybe we could trade places—let me wear the leash next time."

Gantlos didn't respond, though a flicker of something—perhaps amusement—passed over his face.

Ogron, his patience hanging by a thread, turned sharply, motioning for the carriage. "Let's go."

As they began walking, Duman raised his voice again, grinning at the crowd. "Don't worry, folks! I'll be back! Or maybe not. Depends on how much glitter I have to scrape off."

And with that, they were gone, Duman's laughter lingering behind as the circus tent closed for the night.