The city burned.
This was no metaphor—entire streets were engulfed in violet flames, fueled by gunpowder barrels modified with Origin. The stench of charred flesh and molten metal choked the air. Screams echoed from all directions, but not all were of terror. Some were of ecstasy.
"Awaken! Die and know the truth!"
(Note: As mentioned in the previous chapter, upon "death," a person awakens (awakening = the ability to perceive Origin energy in their surroundings)—the manual essentially contains basic information about Origin energy and common manipulation techniques.)
A man in bloodied rags leaped onto a destroyed wagon, his eyes wild with religious fervor. In his hands, he clutched a pulsating artifact—a crystal sphere filled with writhing black threads, squirming like worms.
Shaw recognized the technology. It was similar to the crystal he had stolen—but corrupted.
Before he could react, the fanatic hurled the object into the center of the square.
The explosion wasn't physical.
A wave of black energy expanded in slow motion, swallowing everything in its radius. Guards, civilians, even children—all those touched by the pulse dropped dead instantly, without wounds, without pain.
And then, a second later, they rose again.
But something was wrong.
Their movements were spasmodic, mechanical. Like puppets with broken strings. And their eyes—
They all had the same eyes.
Dilated pupils, irises replaced by a familiar amber glow.
Shaw needed no explanation.
They had been forced to Awaken.
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The Battlefield – Vision of the Damned
This time, Shaw didn't die—he was dragged.
The world blurred into fractals, and suddenly, he was back on the endless plateau. But now, he wasn't alone.
Hundreds—thousands—of people flickered into existence in bursts of light, confused, terrified. Some screamed. Others ran in panic. Most simply stood frozen, staring at their own hands as if they didn't recognize them.
And then, the Predators arrived.
Creatures of shadow and teeth emerged from fissures in the ground, attacking the newcomers. Not just to kill.
But as a sadistic game of hunted entertainment.
Shaw saw a man ripped in half—his upper body still crawling, trying to escape, before being swallowed by a mass of tentacles.
"Welcome to the real training grounds," a voice whispered in his ear.
He turned and saw her.
A woman—or what had once been one—clad in armor of twisted bones. Her face was hidden behind a mask of melted silver, but Shaw could feel her smile.
"The fanatics think they're helping us," she laughed, "but all they do is deliver fresh meat."
Shaw had no intention of fighting. Nor of saving anyone.
While the Predators feasted, he moved in the opposite direction—toward the edges of the plateau, where the dark sky cracked like shattered glass.
Fragments of knowledge floated here, remnants of devoured souls. He snatched a few as he passed:
Combat Technique: Serpent's Style (from a warrior torn apart).
Memory: Location of the Royal Armory (from a woman with a dagger lodged in her throat).
Fear: They're coming for our world (from a sobbing child).
Each fragment burned like poison, but Shaw swallowed them anyway.
The portal appeared when he least expected it—a tear in the air, revealing the interior of the noble palace. Someone was dying there, and their agony had opened a passage.
Shaw leaped through.
He awoke in an inner garden, his body slick with sweat and dried blood. The city was still in chaos, but here, within the palace walls, the illusion of safety remained.
The nobility was gathered in the council chamber, debating in hysterical voices.
"—the fanatics are using the forbidden artifacts!"
"—if this continues, the Battlefield will be overcrowded!"
"—we need more soldiers on the front lines!"
Shaw listened, invisible, his new power humming in his veins.
Now he understood.
The nobility knew. Knew about the Battlefield. Knew about the Predators. And they used the "Awakened" as cannon fodder in an interdimensional war.
The fanatics? Just pawns being manipulated.
And him?
Shaw looked down at the crystal in his hand—the same one he had stolen from the assassins. Now it pulsed in sync with the screams outside.
"A ticket to the frontlines," he realized.
He smiled.
There would be so much to steal there.