He checked his quest rewards.
== << [| QUEST |] >> ==
Objective 1: Retrieve the sealed artifact and submit to the Ancients
Objective 2: Fight and kill all half-corrupted beings with no help.
Rewards: 1000 I | The power of Discerning |
== << [|---------|] >> ==
== << [| Rewards |] >> ==
You have received 1000 SWI!
Item will be stored in inventory!
You have obtained the fragment: The power of discerning!
== << [|-----|] >> ==
== << [| Fragment |] >> ==
Name: Power of discerning
Path: ?????
Rank: Divine
Manifestation: 1% | You are able to discern truths from lies.
Description: The power to discern truths from lies. Light from darkness and see the foundation of all things. No one and nothing can escape your eyes.
Note: Be careful, you might go mad.
== << [|---------|] >> ==
"That's a useful, and powerful fragment!" Amon exclaimed.
He sat on the green grass in a lotus position and began to meditate. He closed his eyes, intending to fall asleep, yet instead of rest arriving, countless thoughts surfaced.
This robe isn't suitable for battle at all, Amon reflected, recalling the earlier fight. It drags along the ground, restricts movement. I need something practical. Something that works no matter the weapon.
He sifted through familiar designs and common attire, ideas assembling and discarding themselves in his mind. When one finally settled, fitting his needs precisely, a thought followed naturally.
What if I bring it into
A small smile crossed his face.
He opened his eyes, stood, and extended his hand. Folding his fingers into a writing sign, he traced words onto the air itself:
I have an outfit suited for any weapon, any occasion, any environment, any path, anything at all.
At once, his black robe vanished, leaving him exposed beneath the open sunlight. His body was well-built and balanced, toned muscle defined by discipline rather than excess, strength shaped by use.
Black smoke stirred nearby, then surged toward him, clinging to his form as if answering a summons.
After a few seconds, the black smoke dissipated, revealing what lay beneath. A dark, fitted coat draped over Amon's frame, tailored close to the body yet loose enough to conceal movement and intent. The fabric drank in light, matte and heavy, designed for endurance and discretion. Beneath it sat a black waistcoat fastened with brown buttons, layered over a crisp white long-sleeved shirt, a neatly placed tie resting at the collar. Black shoes were fitted to his feet, black trousers were fitted to his legs, and a tailored blazer completed the ensemble. His black, long hair flowed down to his back, and his void-black pupils, remained as absent as ever.
"There we go," Amon smiled, checking himself.
"Now that I have gotten an appropriate attire, a weapon I can use, what's next?" Amon asked himself.
It wasn't boredom, nor weakness. There was simply nothing left for him to do.
Maybe I should pay that man a visit. I have his address and his number. Finding him won't be a problem.
A spark of interest surfaced.
Good. A way to pass the time.
He stepped into a white portal, which folded around him and absorbed him completely.
"Sixty-seven Adeel Close, Astralis Citadel," Amon muttered.
He raised his hand and wrote upon the air once more:
I am in Astralis Citadel, at the doorstep of 67 Adeel Close.
Space warped violently, collapsing inward like a void-born vortex, and swallowed him.
He reappeared before a two-storied house. Four darkened windows stared back at him. Bushes lined the sides, and a small garden rested at the front. A white door stood at its centre; a lamp fixed to the wall beside it. Night had already fallen, but darkness no longer troubled him. Since becoming an awakener, sight came easily, even without light.
Amon walked to the door and pressed the doorbell lightly.
Ding.
He waited.
Nothing.
Ding.
Silence answered again, unease settling in his chest.
He raised his hand to knock, but before his knuckles could land, the door creaked open on its own.
Amon's nerves sharpened. He summoned his inventory, drew his gun, and held it low as he stepped inside.
"Power of the Discerner," he commanded.
His vision shifted. Contrast intensified, light sharpened, and layers of reality peeled back. Soft currents of luminous energy swirled through the space, coiling around the foundations like unseen tides. Spirits, he assumed.
Then he looked up.
four figures stood ahead.
And in the air lingered the faint, unmistakable scent of blood.
Chapter 10: Murderer
Who is up there? Amon wondered. The scent of blood lingered upstairs, heavy and unmistakable, yet he chose to search the house first, hoping to find something left behind, some clue that might explain what had already gone wrong.
He scanned the living room. Two chairs rested against the wall. A table stood at the far right; a television mounted beside it. Ordinary. Painfully so. A plain room, he thought.
Then he saw it. A white door stood open ahead of him, leading into a darkened room where the lights had been left untouched. Amon moved without sound, gripping his gun tightly, concealing every trace of his presence. He paused by the doorway, then entered in a swift motion, prepared to strike should anything move.
The darkness offered no hindrance. His sight remained clear, and with the Power of the Discerner, even closing his eyes would not have blinded him. He could still perceive what lay before him, beside him, and behind him.
It was a kitchen.
Cupboards lined the walls. An oven sat beneath the gas cooker, a washing machine beside it, a dishwasher to the left. Everything was in its place. A few steps further stood a brown wooden table, four chairs tucked neatly beneath it, resting on a soft white carpet. At the far end sat a larger chair, a seat of quiet authority. Opposite it stood another, smaller yet deliberate. Along the sides were two child-sized chairs, each fitted with a pillow to give height.
The two chairs at the length of the table, must be the ones for the children. while the seat of honours at the width of the table must be for the parents Amon realised.
Seeing that nothing seemed out of place, he turned to leave.
A man in a black mask stood directly opposite him, a knife clenched in his right hand.
Amon halted and studied the man for a few seconds before calmly raising his gun.
"Who are you?" the man asked, shifting his stance, prepared to fight at all costs.
Amon did not answer. He took a step forward every two seconds, forcing the man to retreat in kind.
"What are you doing here?" Amon asked in a doubtful tone. "And why is your knife bloodied?" His voice dropped, low and grave. "Did you kill someone?"
"I, I… it was a mistake!" the man blurted out, his voice trembling.
"So, you did," Amon sighed, his tone heavy.
BAM!
BAM!
Two shots rang out in rapid succession. One bullet tore through the man's heart. The other pierced his head.
"That's all I need," Amon said gravely, watching the body collapse with a dull thud.
He paused, and looked at the lifeless body before him, with a surprising, calm mind.
Strange. I've just killed someone, yet my heart isn't pounding with fear or pressure. Instead, it's racing wildly, unrestrained, almost mad. Is it because I've become an awakener, or because of my encounters with corruption? Either way, it helps. I don't feel fear. I don't feel hesitation. I don't feel pity. "Well then, this is quite mad," he let out a quiet laugh.
Amon stepped past the corpse and turned toward the staircase. His steps were faint and deliberate as he began to ascend, each footfall placed with quiet precision upon the wooden stairs.
The house felt unnaturally still.
The silence that lingered in the air did not belong to peace. It carried the heavy weight that followed violence, the kind that clung to walls and floors long after the noise had faded.
When Amon reached the upper floor, he paused for a moment.
Three doors stood before him.
One door faced him directly across the narrow hallway. Another stood opposite it on the other side, while a third room lay slightly farther down the corridor, its door left partially open. A faint light spilled from that opening, stretching across the wooden floor like a pale ribbon.
Amon's eyes narrowed slightly.
Through the power of the Discerner, the wooden doors before him meant nothing. His perception slid through them with ease.
Two of the rooms were empty. No blood stained their floors. No bodies lay inside them.
But the third room told a different story.
Inside, two small bodies lay motionless upon the cold wooden boards. Their limbs were still, their forms fragile and lifeless beneath the dim light.
Standing over them were two adults.
A man and a woman.
Both were breathing heavily, their chests rising and falling with strained exhaustion. Each breath escaped them unevenly, as though every inhale scraped painfully through their lungs. Their panting echoed softly through the quiet room.
The two small bodies were most likely their children.
And the two figures standing above them were the parents.
Amon approached the door without haste. His movements were careful, his presence controlled. When he reached the entrance, he pushed the door open just enough to slip inside.
His heartbeat slowed.
His breath faded.
His footsteps dissolved into silence.
"Babe. Who is that?"
The woman's voice trembled as she spoke.
She wore a loose white shirt and small shorts, her hair dishevelled and her face pale. The moment she noticed the shadow near the doorway, fear spread across her expression. Instinctively, she stepped back and moved behind the man beside her.
The man stood in front of her protectively.
He wore a plain white shirt and black trousers, both slightly wrinkled. His eyes widened for a moment when he saw Amon standing quietly within the room.
"Who are you?" he muttered.
Shock lingered in his voice, though it quickly hardened into caution.
Without hesitation, he reached toward the corner of the room and seized a sword leaning against the wall. The metal blade slid free with a faint scraping sound as he lifted it.
He stepped forward and raised the weapon, pointing it toward Amon with a guarded frown.
"Are you Vell?" Amon asked calmly as he lowered the gun in his hand.
"Yes. And who are you?" the man replied.
Hearing the name seemed to steady him slightly. The sword dipped a little as he examined Amon more carefully, though he did not fully lower his guard.
"Do you remember the boy in a black robe?" Amon asked with a faint hint of amusement.
He lowered the gun completely and stepped further into the light, revealing himself fully. Then he extended his hand casually, offering a handshake.
The gesture confused the man for a moment.
Then recognition slowly spread across his face.
His eyes widened again, but this time with realization.
"You…"
Memories stirred.
Earlier that day, a strange boy dressed in a black robe had waved to him in passing and casually promised that he would visit later.
The sword lowered completely.
"Is that really you?" the man asked quietly.
"Yes. Your fellow colleague told me your name and gave me your address and telephone number," Amon said with a light, almost casual smile.
With a small gesture of his hand, a pale cube of white light appeared before him. The air rippled softly as the space within the cube folded inward like a silent void. Amon slipped the gun inside the glowing container and the weapon vanished without a trace. The cube dissolved soon after, fading back into nothingness.
He then stepped forward.
His bare feet passed beside the small bodies lying upon the floor. He did not hurry, though his gaze lingered upon them for a brief moment before he reached the bed standing near the wall. Amon sat down calmly on its edge, the wooden frame creaking faintly beneath his weight.
The man remained standing.
"Why are you here?" he asked in a low voice.
Amon tilted his head slightly.
"First of all, the man downstairs is dead," he said calmly. "So you have nothing to worry about."
Then his eyes shifted toward the woman standing behind Vell. A faint expression of pity softened his face as he offered her a small reassuring smile.
Only after hearing his words did she step forward from behind her husband. Her shoulders trembled slightly as she lowered her head.
Vell exhaled deeply. The tension that had been tightening his body slowly loosened.
"We thank you," the two of them said together.
Both of them lowered themselves toward the floor in prostration.
Amon raised a hand lightly.
"No worries," he replied with an easy smile.
"As for why I am here," he continued, resting his hands loosely upon his knees, "I simply wanted to pass some time. And remembering you from earlier seemed like a good way to do that."
His voice remained gentle, almost conversational.
"Although," he added, his gaze drifting toward the cold floor again, "I did not expect to see the man downstairs."
His eyes moved toward the children.
"And this."
A faint frown appeared on his face.
The room grew quiet.
"I am very sorry for this mishap," Amon said softly.
He lowered his head slightly.
"May GOD, who lives eternally and blesses us with miracles and divine guidance, grant you other children," he prayed.
The words hung gently in the air.
Vell and his wife, Sarah, remained silent for a moment. Their faces were pale and hollow with grief. Finally, both of them murmured quietly.
"Amen."
Amon lifted his gaze again.
"Now," he said calmly, "explain to me what happened."
His eyes moved between the two of them.
Vell hesitated.
He turned his head and looked at his wife, worry clouding his expression. Sarah's eyes were red, her hands trembling as she clutched the edge of her shirt.
Vell swallowed.
"We leave our children at home," he began quietly. "Both of us have to work, and we cannot afford the cost of keeping them in schools or daycares."
His voice wavered.
"Today, when we returned home…"
He paused.
His breathing grew uneven.
"When we entered the room," he continued, his voice breaking, "we saw our children die right before our eyes."
The words seemed to tear themselves out of him.
Tears filled his eyes as he lowered his head.
Amon said nothing.
His gaze slowly moved over the small bodies lying on the floor. The faint cuts and stab wounds across their fragile forms were clear signs of violence.
For a brief moment, an unreadable expression crossed his face.
Then Amon smiled faintly.
"Do not worry," he said quietly.
"Your killer is dead."
His eyes lifted toward the grieving parents.
"So, sleep tonight."
The room fell into silence once again.
"Our children died. And the killer, he stormed away, leaving us to cry over the children I spent nine months carrying!" Sarah cried painfully. Tears streamed down her cheeks as mucus ran from her nose with quiet sniffles.
"I will be leaving now," Amon said quietly as he rose from the edge of the bed.
The words carried no weight of anger or comfort. They were simply final.
For a moment he remained standing there, as though allowing the room one last chance to hold him back. It did not. Only the sound of quiet sobbing lingered in the air, thin and fragile, like something already fading.
He turned toward the door and opened it slowly. The faint creak of the hinges cut through the silence.
Before stepping out, Amon paused. He placed one hand against his chest and gave a small, gentleman's bow. It was respectful, almost gentle, yet painfully distant. The gesture felt less like courtesy and more like a farewell to something that could never be mended.
When he straightened, he did not look back.
He stepped into the hallway and began descending the staircase. Each step sounded hollow beneath his feet, echoing through the quiet house like the ticking of a clock counting down the last moments of something broken beyond repair.
At the foot of the stairs, his eyes drifted to the man lying motionless on the floor.
The sight tightened something inside his chest.
Amon looked away, bitterness surfacing in the silence of his thoughts. A quiet curse formed on his lips, meant not only for the dead man, but for the chain of events that had led to this moment, for the suffering left behind upstairs, and perhaps for himself as well.
None of it mattered now.
He reached for the door.
Cold air slipped through the gap as it opened, brushing against his face like the breath of an indifferent world waiting outside.
Amon stepped through the doorway.
For a brief moment his figure stood against the pale light beyond the threshold. Then he walked forward without hesitation.
The door slowly closed behind him.
And with it, Amon disappeared, leaving nothing in the house but grief and the quiet sound of people learning how to live with it.