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Inside the Assassin League headquarters, there was a room only Sloan could enter.
Mike stood quietly, eyes filled with curiosity as he looked at the constantly moving loom, its threads twisting and turning.
The Loom of Fate.
He stepped closer, carefully examining the fabric woven from countless threads.
The interlacing lines really did resemble a person's destiny.
On the way to the weaving room, after some discussion, Fox and Wesley went to find Sloan to confirm the details about the fate-issued kill order, while Cross was brought here by Mike.
Watching Mike's back, Cross's heart was in turmoil.
Surprise, admiration, wariness—and a hint of resentment.
All Mike had done was take out two cards, and suddenly they had the power of invisibility. Just like that, they swaggered past the assassins throughout the weaving facility and reached the Loom of Fate.
This room was normally empty; only Sloan was allowed in. After decoding the encrypted messages from the loom, he would assign kill orders for the assassins to carry out.
Cross looked at the loom, his gaze flickering.
Like Fox, he believed in the Loom of Fate—or rather, he had no choice but to believe.
To disbelieve it would mean everything they had once revered, everything they had pursued, was nothing but a joke.
They weren't agents of destiny—just plain killers.
That's why he had to take care of Sloan.
Sloan had deceived him and defiled his faith.
Cross's eyes grew firm, and suddenly he asked, "Mr. Kent, do you believe in fate now?"
Mike turned and smiled. "Believe in fate? Isn't fate something to be changed?"
Fate isn't meant to be worshiped—it's meant to be defied.
"But fate is predetermined. No matter how hard we try, we can't escape its grip."
Mike raised an eyebrow. "If you're talking about death, then yes, that's everyone's fate. But how you die—that depends on your choices."
"But how do you know your choices aren't influenced by fate itself?"
Mike chuckled. "Fate's guidance or personal choice—does it really matter?"
Cross froze for a moment, then nodded slowly.
It mattered—to him, it mattered deeply.
All these years, he had followed 'fate's' guidance, killing only those 'fated' to die. It was fate that gave him direction and stopped him from losing himself.
But if that guidance wasn't truly fate… then everything he had done over the years—
Mike stroked his chin, shrugged, and said, "Alright then, you keep believing in your fate."
Faith only exists if you believe in it. If you don't believe, what's the point of worshiping it?
Cross couldn't help but ask, "But if you don't believe, why did you join the Assassin League in the first place?"
Mike thought for a moment, smiled, but didn't answer.
The reasons were complicated.
Because he had crossed over from another world, because he was curious and wanted to change his life, because he got caught up in an Assassin League mission, because he had received assassin skills from his system…
Cross fell silent. Meanwhile, Mike turned with a smile and focused on the loom, activating his super vision. As his gaze landed on the shuttle weaving through the loom, his eyes narrowed sharply.
Was that... a finger?!
Shock surged in his chest as he reached out and grabbed the shuttle mid-flight, pulling it free.
Cross looked puzzled.
But Mike peeled off the outer iron shell of the shuttle, revealing the intricately carved wooden core. With a squeeze, the wooden shuttle shattered in his hand, and a magic circle within it dissipated.
Mike frowned. Under Cross's stunned gaze, he pulled something from the debris—a finger?
"What... is that?" Cross murmured, feeling his entire understanding of the world begin to crumble.
At the moment Mike held the finger, an overwhelming spiritual energy surged into his mind.
His expression shifted slightly as the glowing light from his card faded. Now expressionless, he stood frozen in place.
And inside his mind, a shadowy figure appeared.
"Haha!"
Feeling Mike's powerful body, the shadowy figure laughed in delight.
This body was hers now!
"What the hell are you?" Mike's voice echoed in the darkness.
"I am Fate!" the shadow proclaimed.
"Fate, my ass!"
Mike couldn't help but curse.
The figure stiffened for a moment, then snapped angrily, "I am the god who can see Fate!"
See fate?
Mike paused in thought and asked, "That finger—was it yours? How did you end up inside it?"
"I… What does that matter to you? This body will soon be mine!"
So, she's not entirely brainless.
Mike had initially thought the entity, locked inside the shuttle for who knows how long, would be eager to boast and gloat the moment she sensed freedom and a new host.
"Sorry to disappoint you," Mike said calmly.
Suddenly, the darkness of his mind lit up, and the figure froze, terror flashing in her eyes.
She was in a cage, and in front of her stood Mike—towering like a giant.
When? When had this cage appeared?!
She stared at the giant-like Mike in horror.
Mind Domain.
When Mike had seen the finger, he'd already drawn a card labeled Professor X. By the time the entity attempted to invade his mind, the card had been activated.
So instead of her entering his mind—it was he who pulled her in, silently entrapping her within his mental prison.
"No!" the voice shrieked in anguish.
With a single thought, Mike's immense psychic power surged into her, forcibly scanning her memories.
She had once been an ordinary textile worker, a mutant who had awakened the ability to foresee the future.
After awakening this power, she began calling herself a Messenger of Fate, using her visions to guide her fellow weavers, helping them avoid disasters and misfortune.
Over time, she became an object of worship—seen as a beacon of hope, a divine guide in the eyes of the people.
Then one day, in one of her visions, she foresaw someone who would kill her in the future.
Terrified, she instructed her devoted followers to kill that person in advance, claiming it was the will of fate. She told them that destiny had decreed the person's death, citing that he would one day bring great slaughter.
Her followers—utterly devoted—never questioned her. Thus, the Assassin League was born.
From that day onward, the league had one mission: to, under her guidance, eliminate those she foresaw as causing harm in the future—to prevent future bloodshed.
Eventually, the Assassin League killed someone they shouldn't have. Vengeful enemies came for them—and killed her.
But the league still needed fate's guidance. So, through a magical ritual, they bound her soul to one of her fingers and sealed it within a loom shuttle, continuing the so-called divine guidance… until now.
(End of Chapter)