A few moments after Michael closed his eyes.
Crack!
An eerie fissure materialized within his bedroom, its not a crack in any tangible object or furnishing, but a shatter in the very fabric of the air splintering outward from a single point and veining across the room and beyond extending through the house and enveloping the entire city.
As the fracture shrouded the entire city, a cataclysmic explosion erupted from its core, hurling shards of glass-like fragments which each no larger than a palm scattering like deadly confetti.
Boom!
Every diminutive splinter bore the semblance of fragmented recordings replaying Michael's activities from today.
From his initial encounter with a certain blond man.
His detour on the way home after meeting that blond man
Until he returned home and encountered that inhuman man with bat wings.
Thousands of these fractured dimensional shards broadcasted it all with crystalline clarity.
And behind each of these shattered veils lay a chamber that Michael would have instantly recognized if he retained his consciousness.
It was the coffee shop he had visited earlier to surveil a particular detective across the street. Yet, unlike his last recollection, the establishment now stood eerily vacant with no patrons milling about and no staff bustling in attendance. Upon closer scrutiny, the surveillance cameras perched in every upper corner now dangled in ruin sputtering faint electrical sparks.
Within this desolate silent expanse sat three men lounging casually with coffee cups in hand, their gazes fixed upon the unconscious Michael which his head lolling back against his chair.
if Michael still retained his consciousness, he would have immediately identified one of them, the peculiar blond man who had approached him earlier was among their number.
"How annoying. Do we really have to use such complicated methods just for this guy?"
The blond man Michael had encountered spoke with undisguised dissatisfaction, slamming his coffee cup onto the glass table with a resonant clink that echoed sharply.
Disregarding the blond's impatient tone, a bespectacled man with chestnut hair, draped in a feathered red cape that cloaked his form, responded evenly.
"Did you not read the report we obtained from that detective? I know your brain capacity is limited, but at least use that small brain, Marsilio."
"Hey, Georg, you-"
Cutting short the futile protest about to spill from the lips of the blond-haired man known as Marsilio, the bespectacled figure named Georg continued undeterred.
"66 registered murders, 6 unregistered ones, this man accomplished all that in a mere six years."
"If we hadn't intervened today, tomorrow's tally would likely climb to seventy-three. Could you have achieved such feats before awakening your Sacred Gear? Ponder that."
Georg had verified the authenticity of the report procured from Michael's targeted detective, and upon examining the notebook concealed within that man's folds newspaper, he discovered seventy-three detailed entries chronicling the victims of his crimes.
That man was undeniably clever and cunning because he wrote his notes in Mandarin, a notoriously arduous language to master, thereby mitigating the risk of exposure should the notebook be lost. Alas, fortune had deserted him; he had crossed paths with him and Cao Cao.
Yet, this individual was profoundly repulsive. His roster of victims spared not even innocent children. And was it true that he selected his prey at random, like the report Cao Cao got from the detective?
Though Georg had arrived at the same conclusion as the detective after scrutinizing the full report and that man's notebook because no discernible pattern emerged in his choices, he remained skeptical of that man's motives and rationale. It seemed implausible that a mind as sharp as his would choose victims haphazardly.
There must be a purpose or pattern that he hasn't seen yet...
As Georg mulled over potential rationales for that man's selections, Cao Cao, seated beside him with his cherished spear slung across his shoulder, set down his coffee cup and fixed him with his gaze.
"How is that girl with that maiden spirit?"
Georg adjusted his spectacles before replying.
"Consumed by vengeance and rage. Her father death should catalyze the awakening of her Sacred Gear imminently."
"I've also tell Zhuge to accompany her in the interim."
Cao Cao nodded at that information; the little girl descended from Zhuge Liang should be able to keep the vengeful girl at bay for a while.
It had been a good decision to inform her of her adoptive father's killer. He wondered what mutations might manifest in her Sacred Gear.
After all vengeance was an extraordinary catalyst for the evolution of mutated Sacred Gears. Soon, his faction would welcome another promising recruit and a tool with the potential to have a Sacred Gear, the one he could deploy to eradicate that disgusting creatures that pollute his planet.
As he had remarked earlier, vengeance was indeed an extraordinary catalyst for awakening. There was a profound reason he had instructed Marsilio to orchestrate this elaborate drama, complete with additional players like that Astaroth Devil with his Paraselene Utopia.
Though he had once scoffed at that Sacred Gear utlity, he was not blind to the potential it held for exploitation. Any tool could prove invaluable, as long as the user knows exactly how to use it..
Now, he needed only to ensure that this Michael did not encounter that girl Jeanne prematurely before his usefulness had been fully expended.
The husband yearned to exact revenge upon the devil who had stolen his wife, while the wife burned to avenge her father's death at her husband's hands. What a magnificent drama it promised to be, he truly anticipated its climactic unraveling.
How fortunate that he had not doubted his informant's tip about the girl born with the Maiden of Orleans' spirit in this very locale.
Had he harbored even a sliver of skepticism toward that intelligence, he might have forfeited this bountiful harvest.
A new faction member to bolster his standing within the Khaos Brigade, and a personal tool to purge those disgusting creatures meddling upon his planet.
He shifted his gaze to his faction comrade who now simmered with irritation at being overlooked.
"What troubles your mind, Marsilio? Speak it before we depart this place."
"I'm merely curious why I had to use my Balance Breaker for this insignificant man? My dream or illusion magic should have sufficed for recruitment, right?"
Cao Cao's eye twitched at the sight of the stone-brained man crossing his arms, tapping his foot impatiently against the floor.
Truly a rookie...
Did this dull-witted fool genuinely fail to realize he had been toyed with by the very man he dismissed as insignificant during their exchange?
Cao Cao knew Marsilio had been toyed by Michael because he had been seated directly across from them disguised by magic, allowing him to overhear every time Michael probed an information through their dialogue.
He harbored no doubt that Michael might have sensed something amiss even as their conversation unfolded.
Cao Cao was even convinced that while inside Paraselene Utopia, Michael might have had certain suspicions that something was wrong with his surroundings. This was clearly evident from how the man acted in the realistic illusory world that Marsilio had created using his Balance Breaker.
Paraselene Utopia had succeeded against the man only due to his fundamental ignorance of the supernatural; otherwise, he might have devised an escape from that realistic illusion.
And Marsilio, the one who casting that realistic illusory world remained oblivious that without his Balance Breaker, the plan would have crumbled. If they relied solely on the basic dream manipulation of his Sacred Gear, the man would have broken free far sooner.
Yet, Cao Cao would not spoon-feed this stone-brained individual for free. Let him unearth the truth on his own as to why even until now Cao Cao regarded him merely as a loyal rookie.
"That man is twenty-two years old now, and his recorded exploits began six years ago, when he was sixteen. What were you doing at that age?"
Cao Cao glanced at that man's ID card lying on the table which displayed his birthdate as April 15, 1990, before redirecting his gaze to Marsilio.
"If you're curious why I tell you to use your Balance Breaker, try employing only your dream manipulation once that man has acclimated somewhat to his current predicament. You'll understand then."
"And if you still fail to grasp it, you have no place here."
With those words, Cao Cao rose from his seat, heedless of Marsilio's reaction, and turned to Georg who had also stood.
"Replace the damaged cameras in this shop and in that detective's office, and adjust his clothing and wounds that should be present on him. We'll linger in this city for a while, preparing for his wakeup. The rest I entrust to you, Georg."
They could ill afford to let a sharp mind like his wander excessively beyond the path he had laid; it would be troublesome to lose such a potential asset, especially since brainwashing was sidelined, he doubted it would take hold on someone as astute as this.
After receiving Georg's nod, he strode out with his beloved spear slung across his shoulder.
***
Agony.
That was the first sensation Michael registered upon opening his eyes, his head throbbing with a gnawing pain that clawed at his brain.
It mirrored the discomfort of oversleeping, an uneasy malaise suffusing his body, his throat parched and desperate for water, his stomach rumbling in insistent demand, his joints rigid like a marionette's.
Even attempting to sit up from his supine position proved arduous, his stiffened form protesting alongside a sudden, sharp stab in his left chest.
This was unprecedented for him.
He surveyed his surroundings, the whole room felt strange and unfamiliar, because the bed upon which he lay bore no resemblance to his known bedroom.
This was unequivocally not his chamber.
Where was he? He strained to recall the hazy fragments of his last memory, all while enduring the relentless throbbing pain gnawing at his brain.
He remembered... someone or perhaps a devil? He couldn't be certain... but he recalled the man plunging into him and ripping his heart straight from his chest.
Was he dead? Yet this place bore no resemblance to the Hell or Heaven depicted in that scriptures... it resembled more an emergency room freshly purged of the dust that had haunted its confines for years.
He also noted that he was clad in a hospital patient's gown of verdant hue, with an IV needle pierced into his wrist channeling an unknown fluid into his veins.
Could the prior events have been merely a dream induced by a prolonged coma? He had heard tales of such occurrences where comatose patients lived out extended second lives within their subconscious dreams.
He lifted the neckline of his gown slightly, peering through the opening at his left chest; his eyes widened fractionally at the sight of a circular scar encircling the area just as a sudden surge of pain assaulted him precisely there.
Damn... so it wasn't a dream? But how could he still be alive? A heart transplant? Impossible... such a scar would require time to heal and dry...
Though he had no inkling of how much time had elapsed since his coma, he could deduce it was likely no more than a week judging by his body's relatively robust condition merely in need of nutritional replenishment to restore full vitality.
So... was it truly magic? That seemed the sole plausible explanation after witnessing that inhuman man apparition he suspected to be a devil earlier.
If it was indeed magic... who had saved him, and why?
As he pondered this, the creak of a door swinging open disrupted his thoughts, drawing his gaze to a black-haired man whose features unmistakably betrayed Asian heritage entering and positioning himself before him.
"I trust you've had ample time to contemplate your predicament?"
Observing the attire of this man which echoed that strange blond man he had encountered before, though this one incorporated traditional Asian garments likely from his homeland cinched at the waist to distinguish him from that blond man.
"Ah... so you're the one behind that rookie?"
Michael noticed the man's microexpression which twitched slightly before he laughed.
"Heh.. it seems Marsilio left quite an impression on you. What do you make of him?"
"A rookie. But I must concede, that man is impressively adept at concealing his presence."
The man before him merely shrugged with disinterest upon hearing the effusive praise bestowed upon that blond man named Marsilio.
"Merely basic skills in our world."
Cao Cao was not lying; concealing one's presence and aura is a basic skill commonly possessed by people like them.
"I assume you're the one who rescued me?"
Michael inquired while shifting to a seated position while suppressing the aches riddling his body.
"Yep. Magic is indeed omnipotent. Though you should still feel pain in your chest, as what replaces your heart is merely a past shadow." The man conjured a chair from thin air and seated himself... must be that magic bullshit.
"Past shadow?" Michael stroked his left chest which continued to emanate pain even now.
"Though I say magic is omnipotent, there are limits such as regenerating a heart from nothingness. Thus, we could only provide an alternative, like this past shadow."
"You may regard it as a projection of your heart from the past. The method is imperfect, but it grants you temporary reprieve."
"Temporary? Does this approach carry bad effects?" Michael furrowed his brow at the explanation, utterly bewildered by this magic bullshit.
"This method has no bad effects, but the devil who absconded with your heart, that's the bad effects. You could liken your heart to half your soul; if that devil learn of your survival, he could curse you through it in many ways."
"If you're wondering how I know your heart was taken by that devil, it's because I recognize that devil. That bastard harbors a fetish for hearts and nuns."
"So the man who abducted my wife was truly a devil, huh?"
Though he had harbored suspicions before that the man was indeed a devil, he couldn't confirm it definitively given his utter ignorance of such matters. But now, hearing this from the man before him, he could at least elevate the probability by several percentage points.
While scrutinizing the micro-expressions of the man opposite him, he wondered how this individual would respond to the baited question he deliberately tossed to gauge his stance.
And sure enough... the man snorted derisively before answering.
"Wife? How thick your face to call the woman you kidnapped as your wife with that calm face."
"Yes. I know what kind of person you are, a psychopathic bastard who serves no function in human society beyond squandering space."
With a contemptuous snort, he threw down a small notebook that was very familiar to him.
As he had anticipated... he was utterly unsurprised to learn that this man knew his identity; the return of his notebook merely confirmed the suspicions that had already taken root in his mind.
From his observations of the man's bearing, his meticulous choice of words, to the piercing gaze that tracked every minute gesture throughout their exchange, he knew this man was profoundly intelligent and cunning and likely a leader of a group given by his extraordinary charisma.
With no rationale to evade the assertions laid before him, he could only offer a wry smile and shrugging despite the persistent ache in his left chest.
"Since you know all that, why save me?"
"Because you could be useful if your blade were directed toward its rightful targets."
"A personal assassin, huh?"
Michael knew nothing came without a price; he simply hadn't expected this seemingly cunning figure to lay bare his intentions so forthrightly now.
Or... was there another motive and his true purpose lurking beneath? And this overt declaration merely a feint to lower his guard?
He inclined more toward this possibility than the one the man had deliberately proffered.
"No. But as a blade for humanity itself."
Upon hearing those words, Michael yearned to hurl back the very accusation the man had leveled earlier, how thick your face to say such bullshit with an calm face?
"Humanity? I truly didn't expect words like that to escape your lips."
Hearing that, the man just smiled ignoring what he said.
"Rather than turning your knife on innocent humans, why not aim it at the disgusting creatures like devils that polluting our planet?"
"Moreover, the only other reason you're still breathing is that you make a suitable substitute for that girl with the maiden's spirit."
Once again, this man spouted bullshit that eluded his comprehension entirely.
"From your words, I'll assume there are beings beyond devils walking among us on this planet and what is this bullshit about the girl with the maiden's spirit again?" Michael was utterly weary of absorbing this barrage of incomprehensible new information; the more this man spoke, the harder his mind labored to decipher these novelties.
"All recorded mythologies are real. Every last one." The man snorted derisively as he uttered this, implying that even the gods might have been lurking nearby all along. "And Jeanne, the girl you call your wife, carries the spirit of the Maiden of Orleans, Joan of Arc, within her body."
"She was the sole reason I came here, but I hadn't anticipated that Astaroth Devil targeting her as well. It seems like fate, for since I couldn't recruit her, I'll recruit you at least." The man shrugged as if all that had transpired were merely the whims of destiny.
"Joan of Arc?"
"Damn... I've fucked up, right?" Michael felt profoundly that he had indeed fucked up if this man's claims held true.
If all he said was accurate that every mythology was real down to the God chronicled in Abrahamic scriptures, then he... who had abducted what might be the reincarnation of Joan of Arc... had royally fucked up.
Yet he couldn't help but wonder if this was truly coincidence?
Michael and Jeanne... damn, he wouldn't be shocked if he himself turned out to be an avatar of the Archangel Michael.
So overwhelmed was he by contemplating his current predicament that he grew uncharacteristically crude unable to rein in his mouth from spewing curses.
"Indeed. You've fucked up spectacularly." The man's voice jolted him from his reverie. "I'm genuinely curious why those doves haven't hurled their judgment at you for defiling that girl."
"So after you know that... are you interested in joining us?" The man inquired with a broad grin.
Michael finally realized how despicable and cunning this man was; he had the audacity to pose such a question after unloading all that bullshit, as if he hadn't deliberately informed him that he was now in dire straits potentially targeted by God and His angels, not to mention that devil if he discover his survival.
And as if utterly detached from it all, he appeared with that wide smile and extending his hand to offer the sole lifeline Michael could grasp in this moment.
"At least I should know who invited me, right?"
"Ah, it seems I've neglected introductions... Allow me to introduce my self, I am Cao Cao, the descendant of the famous Cao Cao, Cao Mengde, who was recorded in the Records of the Three Kingdoms."
"Leader of the mightiest faction currently held by humanity, the Hero Faction."
"I'll ask once more, as Leader of the Hero Faction, are you interested in joining us?"
The man known as Cao Cao rose extending his right hand toward Michael.
DING!
"I can't refuse my only lifeline, right? Count me in." Michael clasped the man's right hand with a smile, ignoring the peculiar robotic chime that echoed in his mind.
"Pleasure to hear it. I truly look forward to our future collaboration."
Collaboration? What utter bullshit... perhaps he'd believe it if it were assassination orders. But what choice did he have? This man was indeed his sole lifeline for now.
Once he adapted to this new world, he'd seek out whether better options existed beyond this.
"Very well, then. I'll entrust the next session to my friend as there's considerable homework for you to catch up on to avoid being blind and deaf to your new world, especially if you want to take back your heart and your wife."
"Until our next meeting, comrade."
After releasing their handshake, Cao Cao waved to him and left the room carrying a spear on his shoulder which Michael had just noticed.
---
A/N: Who was expecting this plot twist? If you saw it coming, I'd legit bow down to you, lol.
In chapter 2, I clearly hinted that Michael put Jeanne in pajamas without any underwear, but then in chapter 3, it's mentioned that Jeanne is wearing underwear? Lol, it's a small detail, but it's still a clue, right?
Also, in Chapter 2, I totally dropped hints about how Michael indirectly crossed paths with Georg and Marsilio.
And I gotta say, I love writing stuff tied to symbolism, lol. The numbers I've been throwing in all along are packed with symbolism and meaning that you can easily figure out if you dig a little.