2025-06-13 19:59:10The first thing Michael felt when he came to was the sensation of being dragged and soft, wet sand beneath him, the ocean breeze on his skin.
He gasped and sat up abruptly, heart pounding like a war drum. His lungs screamed as he inhaled sharply, and he doubled over to cough out a lungful of seawater, retching violently. Then the memories hit him all at once. Victor. The gunshots. The suitcase. The plunge into the ocean. 'That bastard really tried to kill me…' It wasn’t often that Michael got angry, but now he felt a sensation that was so cold and seething, deeper than anything he’d ever known. Still, he pushed the emotion aside and focused on something more pressing. He should be dead. He remembered the bullets, the blood, the pain. And yet, when he examined his body, there wasn’t a single wound. No blood. No torn flesh. His shirt was still damp with holes and some red stains, but his skin beneath it was whole. Then he realized that there was something still clutched tightly in his hand. The injector. The device he had stolen from Victor. Suddenly, a light-blue interface shimmered into his vision, almost like a HUD from a video game, except… he wasn’t wearing anything on his face. > [Congratulations! Objective: Host Resuscitation Completed] [Completion Time: 5:20:45] [Completion Rank: B] [Rewards Granted:] – Full Integration with the Wargod System – Soul Skill Tree Unlocked – Soul Skill: Observe Obtained – Soul Skill: Foresight Obtained Michael blinked hard. Then blinked again. The display was still there. What the hell was this? He turned the device over in his hand. On its smooth metallic shell, one word was clearly etched: RISAX. He focused his thoughts and sent out a mental question. 'What are you?' > [The Host is referring to the Wargod System] [The System is a prototype nanotech construct, designed for full biological integration at the cellular level] A prototype? So this was really one of a kind… No wonder Victor lost his mind when I took it. Michael exhaled slowly, trying to make sense of it all. 'System', he asked silently, 'that message from earlier, something about an objective? What does that mean?' > [Objectives are personalized missions determined by the Host’s circumstances and environment. Completing objectives results in rewards. Failure may result in penalties, including physical harm or financial loss.] His breath caught slightly. This thing wasn’t just some glorified health boost. It was alive—or at least functioning like a hyper-advanced AI—and it had goals, missions, even stakes. And it had chosen him. He focused again and instinctively brought up the interface. > [Host Designation: Michael Grey] Level: 5 Health: 100% Energy: 86% Willpower: 100% > Strength: 10 | Agility: 15 | Endurance: 13 | Control: 15 | Intelligence: 14 > [Soul Skills:] – Observe (Lv 1): Provides intel on selected targets. Depth depends on level comparison. – Foresight (Lv 1): Grants a two-second glimpse into the immediate future. Michael stared at the screen, then at his hands. They felt… different. Lighter, more responsive in fact, almost strangely so. And then he caught his reflection in the water. His hair that had once dark like his father’s, was now a clean, snow-white sheen. He tilted his head, half in awe, half unnerved. So this was the cost of rebirth. --- By the time he made it back to his street, Michael had gotten a better sense of the Wargod System’s interface and inner workings. It wasn’t intrusive like he had expected something in his own mind to be. Instead it felt like an extension of his own thoughts. Its connection to his Biz-Watch confirmed what he’d guessed: it could tap into his financial data, among other things. But there was no time to process that now. As he turned the corner to his home, a small crowd was gathered outside. His stomach dropped. Without hesitation, he pushed through the people until he reached the center. And there, standing above a kneeling William Grey and a sobbing blonde girl held down by two suited thugs—was Victor. Michael’s pulse surged. His father was bowed in pain, one hand bracing his side, the other stretched protectively in front of Ari. She was crying and begging, her face still beautiful even through the tears, but completely powerless against the brute strength of the men holding her down. “Please, Victor!” she cried, her voice raw. “You don’t have to do this. Whatever happened, please, we can fix it. We can find another way!” Victor smirked, stepping toward her with mock sympathy. “You should be grateful you’re not on the ground with him,” he said, reaching out. “Don’t make me—” His words were cut short by a hand. A hand clamped around his wrist with terrifying force. Victor turned, and froze. Standing there, dressed in torn clothes, eyes filled with a frozen storm, was the cousin he had killed. “If you touch my sister,” Michael said, his voice low and ice-cold, “I’ll make sure you never use that hand again.”
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Chapter Sixty Six: Double Edge
The strategy chamber of the LA was always cold. The air filters kept it at a constant mild chill to counter the underground thermal heat from the walls. Smooth slabs of metal ran floor to ceiling, broken only by screens and hollowed-in terminals, their blue light soaking into every corner.Michael sat at the end of the long table, his hands steepled in front of him in thought. A few feet from where he was, Lea was leaning back with her boots on the table, eyes scanning the room with practiced nonchalance. Stella sat straighter, her gaze flitting between the others before landing on Lea disapprovingly, not that the other girl cared much. Erin was seated comfortably on her chair as though she owned the place, her fingers dancing on the screen of her datapad. At the far side, Commander Cane stood with his hands clasped behind his back, the heavy black of his uniform absorbing the sterile light from above.“Good work on your assignment, Michael,” Cane said, h
Chapter Sixty Five: Razor
The ringing in Michael’s ears faded faster than it would have under normal circumstances. His body had taken the brunt of the explosion, but the changes from becoming fully Awakened had hardened him more than any blast-proof vest could. He stood amid fractured steel beams and dust, brushing fragments of concrete from his shoulder as shouts echoed through the gutted factory. A quick glance at his stats in his System confirmed what he was already feeling; he had suffered basically zero damage from that explosion.Gerald Hardyn strode toward him through the haze, unbothered by the chaos around them. His men were already moving in disciplined formation, securing breaches, dragging the wounded aside. The older man’s scarred face was calm, but his eyes pinned Michael like searchlights.“I want to believe that you were not so stupid as to orchestrate this?” Gerald asked in the same gravelly voice.Michael turned his head to look at the rest of the building, dust
Chapter Sixty Four: The Watchdogs
The Hell’s Enforcers made their home in the bones of an old factory at the edge of the Southern Sector. The district here was quieter than the docks, its streets lined with warehouses long abandoned by industry and now claimed by gangs. The factory’s towering smokestacks had probably not coughed smoke in decades, but its reinforced walls still stood firm, scarred but unbroken. The gang had taken it and rebuilt it into something that looked more like a fortress than a hideout with barricades welded from steel plates, guard posts along the roof, floodlights rigged to cover every angle of approach.Michael walked toward it alone, the crunch of his boots against gravel echoing under the pale afternoon sky. There was no Stella, Lea, or Don at his side this time. Before coming here, Michael had done his research on these guys and he knew that they were not people that could be bought or intimidated into submission. If he was going to win these men, he needed to show th
Chapter Sixty Three: Testing the Waters
The southern docks smelled of salt and rust, a briny heaviness that clung to the air and mixed with the sharp tang of oil and old wood. Cranes loomed overhead like crooked skeletons, their cables rattling faintly in the ocean breeze. Night hadn’t yet fallen, but the sky was bruised with thick clouds, and the setting sun barely filtered through, throwing long shadows between stacked shipping containers and weathered warehouses.Michael stepped onto the cracked pavement, his boots crunching against bits of broken glass scattered near the chain-link fence. Don led the way with the confidence of a man who had walked these docks a thousand times, his broad shoulders shifting under a dark coat, gold chain glinting faintly at his throat. Stella and Lea followed just behind Michael, each of them scanning the surroundings with different kinds of wariness. Judging from their behavior, Michael knew the girls had never been to this part of the Southern Sector. He himself had
Chapter Sixty Two: Gang Business
Over the last few weeks, the Mirage Vault had become known as Don’s kingdom to the rest of the Southern Sector. From the balcony, Michael could see how well it was thriving. The lights sparkled with a false warmth, the tables churned steadily, and laughter filled the space without joy. It was a machine disguised as leisure, each patron no more than a cog feeding Don’s operations. But beneath all the clinking glasses and shuffling cards, everything still belonged to Michael.He sat with Stella and Lea in a secluded booth above the casino floor, the hum of conversation muffled by distance. Don joined them soon after, brushing the smell of smoke from his suit jacket, his cigar clamped loosely between his fingers. He looked a lot more like a gang boss than the man Michael had first seen over a month ago, and now that he had the man working for him, Michael was a bit glad he had not killed the Don back then.Still, he did not waste time on pleasantries. “You've don
Chapter Sixty One: The Next Step
The ocean stretched beyond the cliffs in a restless sway, the rhythmic crashing of waves echoing faintly into the Libertas Aeterna command chamber. Michael sat opposite Commander Cane at the long steel table, his hands clasped in front of him, listening to the steady voice of the man who had pulled the organization through more than a decade of survival against impossible odds. Erin stood at Cane’s left, her arms crossed, her sharp violet eyes fixed on Michael with an expression that was both skeptical and curious. To Cane’s right, the holographic map of Whitewood flickered faintly, casting pale blue light over the chamber.Cane’s tone was even as always. The man never seemed to have to raise his voice whenever he spoke but Michael recognized the weight behind his words. “The Ordo Supremus will not strike us head-on. Not yet. They’ve lost Crysta, but their Families thrive on patience, positioning, and inevitability. We cannot match their wealth or reach. What we c
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