One week ago...
"You're not exactly subtle, are you?" Goren had muttered, leaning against the alley wall, arms crossed.
Blood still clung to Fri's knuckles. The enforcer they'd taken down lay unconscious behind them, face smashed against the cobblestones.
"He was going to rob that woman."
"And get himself killed doing it. You jumped in without knowing anything."
Fri didn't answer. His fists trembled—not from the fight, but from the sick satisfaction he'd felt when the thug hit the ground, he did the same another time, jumping before thinking on the situation.
"I've seen that look before," Goren continued, his tone quieter now. "You want to do good, but you're too close to the edge to pretend you're any different than me."
That was how it started.
Not with trust. Not with friendship.
Just survival—and a mutual need to awaken.
***
'How the hell did I end up like this? Why do I have to team up with a half-bug man whose face alone could scare someone to death?'
As Fri thought that, he glanced sideways at Goren—the middle-aged man who now walked without the hood he'd worn when they first met. A long, hellish week ago.
'Not only did I fail to awaken... now I'm stuck with this "companion".'
"Shh. He's right ahead," Goren whispered.
He pointed toward their target: Alexander de Gorza, Admiral of the Royal Guard, and one of the most despicable men in the entire city.
Despite being an Awakened, Alexander was one of the few who chose to remain in the real world rather than spend his days within Ominis. Typically, only those who regretted awakening—those with lives already fulfilled, or those hiding dirty secrets—chose to stay behind. People like Effie were rare exceptions.
Their goal was simple: fragments were needed to awaken.
But rather than hunting innocents close to breaking through, they had taken a far riskier path—targeting someone who had already Awakened.
Though Awakened were considered far above regular humans, the ones who remained in the real world weren't that much harder to deal with—at least, not with the right preparation. And luck.
Awakened evolved through ranks. "Awakened" was merely the first step. From there, they ascended through various tiers until they reached the peak of human potential: the Angels.
Rumors spoke of even higher stages, especially with the existence of the Falls and the creatures that crawled out of them. But for now, all eyes were on the Adones, expected to surpass the Angel class within a decade.
A blink of an eye compared to how long it would take a regular Awakened to even dream of reaching that level.
"Let's go over the plan one more time, Fri. He's not like the others we've dealt with in our short-lived alliance."
Target's routine? Memorized.
Rope and flame? Ready.
Distraction set.
Lockpick in place.
"Everything's ready. As soon as the sun sets, we move," Goren said flatly.
Taking down an Admiral wasn't easy.
Goren's contacts in the black market had helped piece together Alexander's dirty history—whispers of corruption, trafficking, and worse.
He was the perfect target. One who deserved no less.
Since the day they met, Fri and Goren had spent more hours tracking him than they could count.
Their strange alliance had begun to bear fruit. They trusted each other's skill sets.
After all, they'd survived trying to kill each other.
Night fell.
Inside the luxurious office, portraits and statues—every single one of the same man—lined the walls.
That man now sat by the window in a leather chair: Alexander.
"Fools. Do they even realize who they're dealing with? I am royalty. I am Awakened! My presence alone should be a blessing—yet they choose to rebel? Tomorrow, they'll regret it. The plan is nearly complete. Soon, this city—this entire continent—will remember my name."
Then, a thin trail of smoke rose from an overly ornate trash bin.
Alexander turned to inspect it, expecting flames… but found instead a rope, marked with two faint red lines.
One near the center. The other slowly creeping toward it.
To the right, a torn piece of paper with a rough sketch of a pincer. Beneath it, a message:
"Look up."
Without hesitation, his eyes shot upward and a wave of crimson energy followed.
Nothing.
Then he noticed it—the window, previously shut, now wide open, or that's what he feels.
Someone had been here.
He was in danger.
"Do you even realize I'm an Awakened!? You can't hide from me!"
Another beam erupted toward the far corner, melting furniture in its path.
Still, nothing.
The rope reached the first red mark.
A sharp 'snap' echoed.
Alexander's ears rang. His vision blurred. A foggy haze clouded his mind.
"Did it work?"
Goren slid silently through the window, whispering to Fri.
It had.
The rope had been laced with a rare variant of copper chloride—one that released potent hallucinogens within seconds, especially in a room with poor airflow.
The sealed window had done the trick.
The toxic mist dulled Alexander's senses just enough for the two half-awakened to stand a chance.
Lighting the rope and slipping away unnoticed had been the riskiest part—but they'd accounted for that.
They'd ignited it earlier that day, using a minor enchantment from Goren to reinforce the unmarked portions of the rope, ensuring it only reached the ignition point after nightfall.
"Looks like it did. Waiting paid off."
Before them stood a trembling man with curled blonde hair and ostentatious clothes.
He mumbled nonsense, unable to even call for his guards—who would never dare enter the room uninvited.
Fri had studied his prey well.
That was the only way to ensure a clean, quick kill.
Someone like Alexander was easy to read.
"Your turn."
Fri nodded. Goren already knew what came next: silencing the Admiral without a sound.
The plan was simple—poison him, knock him out, make it look like a natural death, and leave behind forged evidence.
Alexander's vices were no secret. Like many nobles, he had a serious drug habit, even looks like the effect of our trap was enhanced for some interactions between them and rope.
His Awakened body could endure far more than the average man—but there had been other cases. Others who died chasing the next high.
Then, a faint light began to rise from Alexander's chest.
It pulsed slowly, rhythmically—like it had a soul of its own. A shard of Ominis, dense with promise and memory.
A fragment.
The key to awakening.
But they hadn't discussed—Who would take it?
Goren stepped forward, just a fraction.
Fri didn't move, but his fingers curled slightly.
The glow between them hovered, warm and silent, casting long shadows on the walls.
Few had ever stolen a fragment from an Awakened.
Fewer still had lived to use it.
Fri stared at the light.
Then Alexander's lips twitched.
A whisper escaped—a name neither of them recognized.
And the fragment pulsed, once. Violently.
Fri took a step back.
The glow dimmed… then blackened.
Like blood curdling in real time.
"What the hell is that?" Goren muttered,the air started to turn dense, metallic, wrong.
From Alexander's chest, the fragment twitched.
Then split—a hairline crack running through its center, oozing something like smoke, or shadow, or both.
Fri's voice caught in his throat.
That wasn't supposed to happen.
And the Admiral's body opened its eyes.
Not the ones on his face.
Something deeper. Buried. Staring right through them.