As I step out of the alley, the sounds of the world around me swell abruptly. The street, worn and weathered, is alive with passersby, their faces a mosaic of exhaustion, hope, and indifference. A little farther off, vendors shout, their voices cutting through the air as they hawk their wares.
Tingen is a small city, so modest that even mid-tier merchants and lesser nobles must pass through these commoner districts from time to time. Of course, when a noble's carriage rolls by, the vendors and pedestrians part like a tide, making way. Getting run over by a noble means death without compensation for a commoner. Absurdly, the victim's family might even have to compensate the noble for scuffing their carriage.
So, when I, dressed in a finely tailored suit, emerge from the dim alley, I draw little attention. My attire lacks any noble crest, marking me as a tasteful wealthy man—or perhaps a minor aristocrat slinking out after some unsavory business in the shadows. Such things are hardly uncommon in this era, and the common folk, scraping by, have no energy to meddle in others' affairs.
"Where am I? Tingen?" I murmur to my true self, the High-Dimensional Observer, in the quiet of my mind.
I stretch this body, savoring sensations I haven't felt in eons drifting through the starry void. Walking beneath the warm, radiant sunlight, I feel a flicker of something long forgotten—joy.
Read the memories of this body, I command myself. My lips twitch as I channel my spirituality, probing the lingering spirit of the body's original owner. From it, I extract the information I need… and the cause of this body's death.
I pause at the alley's mouth, silent, my steps carrying me forward while the corner of my mouth twitches faintly.
It's not that I lament my rotten luck—this Abraham family member I've possessed carries no extraordinary characteristics. No, what unsettles me is that the one who killed him was a "Secret Supplicant" of the Aurora Order. Worse, that Secret Supplicant likely hasn't gone far and may have witnessed my body's revival from the underworld.
A Secret Supplicant is manageable, but the deranged True Creator behind them is an enigma too perilous to predict.
Why the Aurora Order? My expression shifts, a flicker of unease crossing my face. After a moment's thought, I turn back into the alley. Using my true form's vision, I scan the spaces invisible to mortal eyes and quickly locate the Secret Supplicant's trail.
"Main body, transmit a Sequence 9 extraordinary characteristic to me," I say calmly. "That person… they're still here. They might have seen what I did. Whether they did or not, they have to die. It's a Secret Supplicant. Even if they don't understand what happened to me, the 'True Creator' might cast His gaze my way."
A gentle breeze stirs my hair, carrying a faint, whispering voice that makes me smile. I reach into my pocket and pull out a revolver, snapping it open with a crisp click to check the bullets.
The revolver is loaded with gleaming yellow bullets, each meticulously engraved with demon-hunting patterns.
To anyone looking, this weapon alone would reveal how wary this Abraham was of potential Beyonder threats. Yet, despite such careful preparation, this ordinary man fell to an unremarkable Secret Supplicant.
"Even a Sequence 6 Living Corpse would succumb to enough bullets," I muse. "A Sequence 9 Secret Supplicant? I doubt they'll survive a barrage. Judging by this body's wounds, the poor fool was ambushed. In a prepared sneak attack, a Sequence 9 Beyonder has an absolute advantage. He probably didn't even have time to draw his gun."
"But why would an ordinary Abraham family member be targeted by the Aurora Order? I can't make sense of it…"
The alley isn't long. I walk forward, muttering to myself. Within two minutes, I reach its end.
A few ragged vagrants huddle on the ground, whispering among themselves. Their eyes flash with menace when they spot me, but the sight of the revolver in my hand snuffs out their bravado. Their gazes clear, and they fall silent.
Beside them is a heap of garbage, the ground slick with sewage, reeking of rot—a place even the police avoid.
I tighten my grip on the revolver and gesture at the vagrants, signaling them to leave. They shuffle away, and the cramped alley feels suddenly spacious. I step forward, aiming my gun at the garbage pile. My finger curls, and I pull the trigger without hesitation.
Bang!
A sharp cry erupts. The Secret Supplicant, driven by pain, tumbles out from their hiding spot, traces of ritual magic clinging to their form. The bullet struck their abdomen, blood gushing uncontrollably, their face contorted in agony.
They clutch their head, wailing. Having witnessed my body's restoration earlier, they're teetering on the edge of losing control. The pain accelerates their transformation into a grotesque mass of flesh. But I step forward swiftly, pressing the cold barrel against their increasingly bestial form.
Pop, pop, pop, pop, pop!
The remaining five bullets pour into the Secret Supplicant's skull. Their transformation halts, and their mutated body collapses limply to the side. The voice of my true self in my mind fades, leaving only a faint connection. I tilt my head skyward, knowing the divine war has ended. The Seven Gods have resealed the barrier, locking the outer gods outside once more.
I need to act fast, I think. I must use the Secret Supplicant's characteristic to mask the outer god characteristic within me, or it'll be too late. Choosing the True Creator's pathway isn't a bad move—His ravings pose no threat to me.
I find a comfortable spot and sit, waiting for the characteristic to manifest from the monster's body while calculating when the Evernight Goddess will return to Loen.
My situation is precarious. My true form, up in the cosmos, can only offer aid through ritual magic. Meanwhile, my avatar must act without arousing suspicion from Adam and others, either helping Klein overpower the Celestial Worthy or ensuring the Lord of Mystery never emerges at all.
I scribble notes in the notebook I carry, silently thanking the Abraham I've possessed for their foresight in keeping one on hand. It makes my habit of observing and recording the mortal world from behind my veil feel deeply satisfying—one of the few entertainments I've had in millennia.
Beyond observing and recording, my favorite pastime as the High-Dimensional Observer is clashing with the Celestial Worthy's painstakingly built interstellar empires, turning orderly planets into chaotic messes. Or, at the Circle of Inevitability urging, I'll topple the Primordial Hunger's "dinner plate" and then retreat into my Safirah, watching as the Circle of Inevitability and Primordial Hunger fight until characteristics scatter everywhere.
"Time's up," I mutter, snapping to attention. I seize the characteristic extracted from the monster's body, swallowing it whole, then close my eyes to guide the Beyonder characteristic within me. My pathway as the High-Dimensional Overseer has two branches: one devastatingly destructive, the other focused on enhancing my innate abilities.
Being a high-damage mage is tempting, but the chance to nail the Celestial Worth's coffin shut is likely a one-time deal. I decide to play it safe, ensuring Adam doesn't detect my outer god nature in his meticulously scripted plans.
Because if I'm exposed, I'll go down in a blaze of laughter, losing any chance to compete in Earth's divine struggles. If I don't tip the scales enough in Klein's favor, whether the Lord of Mystery emerges with Klein or the Celestial Worthy in control, I'll be swept aside like my kin still waiting foolishly outside.
My body trembles slightly, a natural reaction to swallowing an extraordinary characteristic without a potion. A soporific breeze swirls around me, but I remain unfazed. The second characteristic in my body is fully masked by the Secret Supplicant's aura—even if I cross paths with Adam, he won't see through me. Trying to evade now would only draw unnecessary attention.
As the aura within me stabilizes, I complete the potion's absorption. I turn quietly, gazing out of the alley. My steps carry me forward, pausing briefly as I pass a patch of faintly reddish ground. I adjust my top hat and step into the bustling street.
"Unknown Abraham," I say solemnly to the lingering spirit within this body, unwilling to depart, "I've dealt with your killer. From today, your body and name are mine. I'll take over everything—your name, your connections, your destiny. From now on, I am Adrian Abraham. You want me to look after your kin? Fine."
With my promise, the last trace of the nameless Abraham's spirit dissipates. In its place, I sense a faint mystical connection forming above.
It's the voice of Mr. Door.
(End of Chapter)