“Dominic Heathley. Welcome… to your destiny.” Dominic woke up with a start. Breathing heavily, his eyes moved around at a frenzied pace. All his vision caught was a thick, red mist that shrouded everything around him, even dampening the shine of the sun above. The atmosphere was eerie and mysterious, and he could feel a strange pulsating force permeating his insides. This place, he wondered. Is this what the afterlife looks like? Am I truly dead? A sense of weightlessness dawned on him, and when he looked down, he confirmed—with a brief, horrified yelp—that he was indeed suspended in the air, with no sign of solid ground below him. “You’re afraid. That’s understandable. But you don’t have to be.” “Who said that?” he demanded, then the sound of his own voice made him shiver. He couldn’t explain it, but it felt like years since he’d heard himself speak. He was certain of that odd feeling. “Time passes differently here,” the voice—of female origin—con

“Hey, take a look at this guy.” “Who on Earth is that?” “Yo, check this guy out! He kinda looks like the Witcher.” “Well, hello, handsome.” “Why are his eyes like that?” “Eww. He’s barefoot. Ew, ew, ew.” By noon, Draàl had heard multiple remarks and comments from random strangers—ranging from bafflement to fascination to even disgust—as they wandered past him on the sidewalk. For his part, he ignored their ignorant observations, choosing to stand still as he scanned the buzzing ambience in the eastern end of the city. Something felt… off. He couldn’t explain it. From the towering skyscrapers glittering like oversized diamonds in the blistering sun, to the flashy vehicles cruising along the broad roads, even to the attire of pedestrians and passersby… everything seemed out of place. Like he was just waking up from a long slumber and watching the world pass him by. “It is normal you should feel that way,” said Zha’irah, “because you’re

“Do you need anything else, sir?” Donning a new, sleek, all-black suit, Draàl shifted his stare from the passing cloud formations outside the window of Michael Craig’s luxurious private jet to the flight attendant addressing him from the spacious aisle. “Anything else?” “Yes, sir.” She flashed a charming smile that matched the radiance in her chestnut eyes. “Mr. Craig had instructed to provide you with everything you need at all times, so I’m just making sure you’re comfortable and not lacking anything.” Draàl stared at her closely. She was incredibly beautiful—and seemed quite young, too—with her auburn hair braided and wrapped into a bun beneath an oblong cap, which matched the wooden-brown theme of the uniform she wore. But that wasn’t what Draàl observed. He noticed the aura around her, how faint it appeared. In contrast to Michael, who’d radiated a strong energy signal like a beacon, she looked plain. Weak, even. “No Rune System, I suppose,” he

If Draàl was lying about the Peruvian hotel being better than the Grand Palace in New York, then he quickly affirmed his words when he stepped inside. The lobby was probably the largest he’d ever seen, even more impressive than the one at the Craig Tower. The enormous domed ceiling bore a huge chandelier that possessed a golden frame with numerous sunny bulbs, which bathed the largely populated room with soft, yellow ambient lighting. The waiting lounge on the far right was a section of its own—teeming with guests, and lavishly decorated and furnished with stylish sofas, a large mahogany table, and an enormously curved television set embedded in the wall. Positioned right in the middle of the lobby was the reception area, mostly consisting of a desk in the shape of a large, hollow square, with four receptionists stationed at each internal edge. Maneuvering around several people, Draàl walked up to the side of the desk facing the entrance, stopping before a woman sport

“Begin the transmission.” The software program beeped once as it recognized Michael Craig’s instructions. Then, enveloping the dark room with blue lasers from tiny projectors in the ceiling, it started a holographic sequence right in the middle of the billionaire’s office. “Connecting…” the program droned a moment later in a soft, feminine tone. “Recipients reached. Call initiated.” Michael had painstakingly perfected his software and code design to a point far above most people in his field of work. So much so that when three holograms appeared before him, they seemed very realistic and even tangible. Alas, he had no time to bask in the glory of his brilliant invention—there were more urgent matters at hand. “Judgeman, present,” declared a man with a large, dark, hooded cloak that shrouded his identity. “Black Pearl, present,” the second hologram followed, standing taller and also wearing a flowing hooded outfit to hide his features. “Hi, there,” V