Kevin Adams moved through the darkened streets of East Borough with the practiced silence of a ghost, his Static Veil ensuring that even the air itself refused to acknowledge his presence. The revelation of the night's dealings lingered in his mind—an exchange of immense value, one tied to the supernatural underpinnings of the world. A Sequence Five formula, an enigmatic sealed artifact, and whispers of a monstrous killer prowling the city. He had learned much, but it was far from enough.
Arriving at his modest residence on the outskirts of the district, Kevin ensured his path remained untraceable. He wove through alleyways, erased his footsteps where needed, and avoided the watchful eyes of night-dwellers who might be inclined to remember a lone figure moving with purpose. Only when he reached the heavy wooden door of his home did he finally release a quiet breath, unlocking the entrance and stepping inside.
The room was dimly lit, a single lantern casting elongated shadows along the walls. Kevin methodically removed his coat, then the Reaper's Dagger, placing the weapon into its hidden compartment in the suitcase beneath a false floorboard. The dagger pulsed faintly, reluctant to part from his touch, but he pressed it down and secured it. Next came his belt of tools—small, precise instruments of espionage and assassination—each returned to its designated place.
Stripping away the rest of his garments, Kevin changed into loose-fitting home attire, a simple tunic and trousers that offered comfort over function. The tension of the night's events settled into his muscles, the weight of knowledge pressing against his mind. As he lay upon his bed, he allowed his consciousness to slow, steadying his breathing as he prepared for what came next.
In his mind, he recited the words he had long since memorized:
Fate of the beginning, Lamb of the fallen, Circle of fate, Eternal resting of all fates.
As the final syllable left his thoughts, a shift occurred. The physical world faded, dissolving into mist, and his spirit body was drawn into his Sefirot.
---
The crystalline palace emerged around him, its vast and transparent structure hovering above an endless golden river. Beneath his feet, the clear floor allowed him to see the steady flow of the river below, its currents carrying countless strands of shimmering light—fates, destinies, possibilities. The entire palace was an illusion of solidity, appearing fragile yet eternal, suspended within the void of the unseen.
At the heart of the palace lay a long table, its surface engraved with symbols older than the known world. Surrounding it stood high-backed chairs, each marked with an image signifying their dominion. Above the table, affixed to the ceiling yet untethered to reality, floated an illusory sixteen-legged spider brooch, shifting between existence and nonexistence. It was the uniqueness of his Path, the anchor of his power.
Kevin's gaze moved across the seats until it settled upon the one meant for him—the high-backed chair at the end of the table, adorned with the eight-spoked wheel. An intricate carving of an individual watching over the wheel had been etched into its surface, a silent observer of fate's endless cycles.
He stepped forward, his spirit body merging seamlessly with the palace's aura. The golden river below shimmered with increased intensity, as if recognizing his presence. As he reached the chair, he placed his hands upon its armrests, allowing himself to sink into its embrace.
The palace reacted.
Threads of fate unraveled before him, revealing glimpses of possible futures. Shadows moved within the depths of his vision—werewolves prowling beneath the full moon, zombies tearing through helpless victims, and something deeper, something lurking beyond the veil of understanding. The presence of the sealed artifact lingered in these visions, an anomaly disrupting the weave of destiny itself.
Kevin exhaled, steadying his thoughts. This was his domain, his sanctuary, where the tangible and the ephemeral converged. Here, he could parse through the entanglement of fate, distill truth from uncertainty. But tonight, he did not seek mere knowledge—he sought understanding, though he knew that overuse might lead to loss of control.
His fingers curled against the chair's armrests, and with deliberate intent, he began to trace the threads of fate linked to the events of the night. The meeting, the transaction, the artifact—all of it held significance beyond its surface value. He needed to know where the threads led.
As he pulled on the strands of fate, visions flickered before him.
A stormy night. Blood dripping onto cobblestone. A figure standing amidst the carnage, eyes gleaming with something inhuman, pure madness as his body shifted, slowly gaining more hair and becoming bulkier as he looked at the moon.
A candlelit room. A monocle-shaped artifact resting on a pedestal, its glow pulsating in time with an unseen force. A voice whispering, incomprehensible yet undeniable in its power.
A pair of hands, trembling, inscribing symbols into flesh. The air thick with the scent of iron, blood, and decay as the person knelt to pray before the defiled corpses.
Kevin inhaled sharply. The threads snapped back into place, leaving him with fragments, half-formed insights. Whatever was coming, it was tied to something far more profound than a mere supernatural killer. The city was shifting, and he was standing at the precipice of its unraveling.
He leaned back, closing his eyes for a moment before standing once more. His time in the Sefirot was not yet complete, but he had seen enough for now. If he were to use the ability to witness fated outcomes that the Sefirot offered, there might be a chance of seeing something he shouldn't—perhaps a complete mythical creature or a conversation between angels. If he saw something out of place, he knew he might have to use his life as payment for the knowledge he gained.
Understanding this, he steeled himself as he imagined falling. As he did, his vision blurred, the river below surged, and the world around him changed.
As his consciousness returned to the waking world, he found himself once again lying in his bed, the lantern's light flickering against the walls.
Kevin exhaled, rubbing his temples. The night had been enlightening, but it had also left him with more questions than answers.
Tomorrow, he would begin his search anew. The threads of fate had revealed their hints, and he would follow them to the end.
Though hunting a Sequence Six or Seven was dangerous, if he were to get in contact with them and have their fates intertwined to a certain degree, he would be able to use the individual's fate as a cover for his advancement to Sequence Eight—a level he had been trying to safely reach for the past few years.
[End of Chapter]