Support me and be 30 chapters ahead of webnovel:
patreon.com/Draco_
Guys, I have a request. I'm short on my college sem fees, and if you could donate, that would help me immensely!
paypal.me/Un1que01
I will gift everyone who donates a membership to my patreon equivalent to their donation. I will appreciate your help!
******
Guiding fate? Seeing through destiny?
Don't make me laugh!
The future is ever-changing—any decision made now could alter it entirely.
The future that person foresaw was just one among countless possibilities.
Mike glanced at the shadow screaming within the prison of the mind and shook his head.
The loom that sealed her served not only to sustain her existence but also had another vital function: to strengthen her soul over time.
The founders of the Assassin Brotherhood hoped that, one day in the future, she could be reborn through another's body.
Her soul had been nourished for centuries by the loom crafted from that special material. It had long since surpassed anything ordinary. She could have successfully reincarnated through most people in the world. Unfortunately for her, she encountered Mike.
With a mere thought, Mike obliterated the shadow within the prison of the mind.
Since she had already been dead for hundreds of years, she had no business coming back to wreak havoc again.
Mike thoroughly scanned his mind using psychic power to ensure she hadn't left anything behind. Once certain, he exited the psychic domain and curled his lip slightly.
"What was that? What just happened to you?"
Cross, seeing Mike regain movement, couldn't help but ask, his eyes fixed on the severed finger in Mike's hand.
In just a short time, that pale, severed finger had rotted and shriveled.
"You like it, huh?"
Mike casually spoke to Cross, stuffing the finger into his hand. "It's yours."
Cross froze, holding the finger, then asked again, "What is this? Why was it in there? What the hell is going on?"
"Why it was in there—how would I know? What's going on—who should I ask?"
Mike answered with two back-to-back rhetorical questions.
Cross: "..."
He looked at the finger in his hand, then at Mike, his face full of helplessness.
He was sure Mike knew something, but since Mike wasn't talking, there was nothing he could do.
Mike rolled his eyes, snatched the finger back, tossed it to the ground, and stomped on it.
Thud!
A muffled sound echoed as cracks spread beneath his foot, and the finger turned to dust.
Cross's eye twitched.
What terrifying strength was that?
Suddenly, a gunshot rang out in the textile factory. Moments later, a barrage of gunfire followed.
Cross's heart jumped.
Wesley!
Without hesitation, he charged out.
Mike watched Cross's retreating figure, gently rubbing his chin.
Had Fox and Wesley uncovered the truth from Sloan?
Could the assassins of the Brotherhood withstand those three?
Also, years ago, because of the incident with Raven, he owed Sloan a favor.
It was time to repay that debt—Mike didn't like owing anyone.
The power he had manifested would last a while longer.
With a thought, his psychic energy surged outward, enveloping the entire textile factory in an instant, allowing him to see everything.
Fox and Wesley were locked in battle with the factory's assassins. The two were in a precarious situation, surrounded by a large number of enemies. At that moment, Cross joined the fight, temporarily stabilizing the situation.
As for Sloan, he seemed injured and was about to escape the factory.
A favor…
Now seemed like the perfect opportunity!
With a thought, Mike stepped forward and vanished, reappearing in front of Sloan the next instant.
Clutching his chest and sprinting with unnatural speed for his age, Sloan nearly crashed into Mike, startled by his sudden appearance.
"What are you doing here?"
Sloan's eyes widened. He immediately took a step back and asked, "Are you with Cross and the others?"
Mike shook his head. "I'm just here to settle a favor."
"A favor?"
Sloan paused, frowning slightly.
He seemed to recall something.
Mike pointed at Sloan. "You're losing too much blood."
Sloan's mouth twitched as he stubbornly replied, "I'm fine. I can hold on a bit longer."
"Haha!"
Mike chuckled. "You haven't changed a bit."
As he spoke, a card appeared in his hand, then vanished, replaced by a swirl of green energy wrapping around Sloan.
Startled, Sloan gripped his gun tightly.
But then, he felt his wound suddenly stop bleeding, and to his amazement, the injury began to heal rapidly before disappearing completely.
"What's this? Are you a mutant?"
He looked at Mike in surprise, releasing the hand that had been pressing against his wound.
Mike didn't explain. He simply waved his hand and said, "Now, we're even."
Sloan let out a low laugh, sizing Mike up. "All these years, and you haven't changed one bit."
Mike pointed to his temple. "Say that again—this time with your hand on your conscience."
"Conscience? In this line of work? Who has a conscience?"
Mike raised a thumb. "I admire your honesty!"
Sloan fell silent for a moment, then asked, "Are you with Cross and the others or not?"
Mike thought about it and replied, "I was. Now, not anymore."
Sloan squinted at him.
What kind of answer was that?
Just then, a sudden idea struck Mike. "I've got a business proposition for you. Interested?"
Sloan gestured toward the textile factory behind him, where the sound of gunfire was constant. "You want to talk business now?"
Mike slung an arm around Sloan's shoulders. Sloan exhaled sharply, suppressing his instinct to dodge, and allowed Mike to pull him aside.
Not only was he no match for Mike, but he hadn't even seen how Mike appeared earlier. Add to that Mike's mysterious healing ability…
He had no room to resist.
"What kind of business?" Sloan asked in a flat tone.
Mike pointed a finger at Sloan's forehead, transferring all the memories of what had just happened, including everything he'd learned from the shadow, directly into Sloan's mind.
Sloan's body jolted—once, then again, and finally he trembled violently.
His gaze locked onto Mike, shifting from shock to disbelief, then to elation, until he couldn't help but burst out laughing.
"Fate? Ha! Fate wants me dead? Hah! Absolute garbage!"
He danced with excitement, unable to contain himself.
Once, he had been a devout believer in Fate. But ever since his name appeared on Fate's hit list, he'd been confused, disillusioned—and with a tinge of guilt—he had turned his back on his faith.
Now, after learning the truth about "Fate" from Mike, he realized there was no such thing.
Even the so-called fate-issued kill orders were under someone's control.
"Ha ha ha ha!"
He laughed wildly, tears streaming down his face.
"Bullshit! All of it—bullshit! Damn that so-called Fate!"
A wave of relief washed over him.
He turned to Mike, his tone sincere. "Mike, thank you."
Mike waved him off. "Pay up."
Sloan responded readily, "No problem."
Amidst the gunfire, he pulled out his phone and made a call to the manager overseeing his funds. Turning to Mike, he asked, "Account number?"
Mike recited a long string of digits. When he heard the amount Sloan quoted, he raised his eyebrows and said, "Generous."
With that, he could buy three or four more estates like Xavier's School.
(End of Chapter)