"Hello?" my mom answered, already uneasy, her voice barely steady.
A calm, distant voice replied,
"Mrs. Cole. This is the A.A.E.S. Your son was seen near restricted zones earlier tonight. We're concerned for his safety."
Mom's breath caught.
"Restricted zones?" she repeated. "He… he hasn't come home yet. I've been waiting."
There was a brief pause—too brief to be comforting.
"We believe he may be in danger," the voice continued. "For both your safety and his, we need you to come to our office immediately."
My mom's hand trembled as she pressed the phone closer to her ear.
I was late. Too late. And now this.
Her eyes drifted to the door, then to the clock on the wall. Each tick felt louder than the last, counting the seconds I wasn't here.
"…Okay," she whispered. "I'm coming."
The call ended.
The apartment felt unbearably empty, like my absence had left a physical weight behind. she grabbed her coat, her fingers clumsy, her chest rising unevenly as fear she couldn't suppress tightened around her heart.
This was my fault.
Every second she waited. Every thought spiraling through her mind.
When she stepped outside, the night air biting into her skin, she whispered through trembling lips— "Please… please be safe, my son."
All they needed was to plant fear and urgency.
Now, my mother was walking right into their hands, thinking she was helping me.
She had no idea she had become a pawn.
And they would use her to lure me out.
—
The alley we ducked into was cramped and dark—the perfect place to hide, imperfect for comfort.
One of my murderers I'd taken under my wing—the Saint of Will—read chapter one to catch up on the details. Why I decided to mentor one of my own killers? Chapter two has the answer.
He leaned against a wall, catching his breath. His energy flickered, raw and wild, though at least it wasn't tearing the city apart anymore.
"Listen," I said, crouching beside him. "We can't just run blindly. They'll cover the streets, the rooftops… drones, cameras, the works. If we stay in the open, we're dead."
He nodded, trembling. "I… I didn't know I could do that. I didn't know what I was doing."
"You weren't supposed to," I said. "That's the point. Powers like yours… they're dangerous when fear leads them. You control it, you survive. You panic, and you take the world down with you."
I paused, letting the words sink in. "Anchor yourself. One thing. My voice. Your heartbeat. A wall. Anything. Focus. That's how you control the power, and that's how we survive."
He nodded again, slower this time, more deliberate. Relief flickered in his eyes, though fear still gripped him.
"We need to move," I said, standing. "Come with me. Watch the corners, count the streets, trust me. I'll get us out."
We moved through shadows and back alleys, evading drones and patrols, and eventually found a temporary hiding spot in an abandoned warehouse.
"Name's Neo Zane Cole, but just call me Neo," I told him finally, allowing the first faint smirk. "What's yours?"
He hesitated. "Am Eli Origami. Call me… Eli."
"Welcome to the chaos Eli," I said.
After a short rest, I decided it was time to go back toward my house.
"I need to give my mom a proper excuse why I'll be out for a while," I said. "She worries too much."
Eli frowned. "Isn't that risky?"
"No," I said. "She trusts me. That's enough."
We moved carefully, sticking to shadows. But when we reached the building, everything seemed normal. No alarms, no sign of intrusion. I called out, "Mom?"
The living room was empty.
On the counter, a small note rested, printed and sterile:
Mrs. Cole is safe. She has been brought to a secure location for her safety. If you wish to see her, follow instructions carefully. Come to us— you and your friend.
I froze. They didn't have to force her—they had used fear and her worried state to lure her. My mother had left willingly, believing she was helping me.
I turned to Eli. "They've got my mom. But she went willingly. They're using her concern against us."
⸻
The next few hours were a waiting game. I could escape any moment I wanted— cameras, guards—they were all predictable. But I chose not to.
My past life murderer, turned buddy, Eli was placed in a separate room, one that could contain his unstable energy, and help him calm down.
Footsteps echoed. A tall figure entered. The Saint of Courage, Blake Rogers— arrogant, confident, radiating control and power.
"Finally decided to show yourself," he said, circling me. "You've been quite the nuisance these past two days."
"I'm just sitting," I said, calm. "Not cooperating. Not panicking. Just sitting."
He smirked. "Confidence. Boldness. Foolishness. I like that… but you are here now."
I let him circle. Watched every subtle movement, every microsecond between his steps. I wasn't worried. I wasn't afraid. I was entertained.
⸻
The doors opened again. Three government officials stepped in, stiff and nervous.
"Mr. Cole," the lead official began, voice tight, "we need your help."
I leaned back, eyes half-closed. It was a surprise to hear that from him, I wasn't planning on getting caught, so I didn't bother finding out how this conversation would go, now that I've awakened to my bio-mark powers — even if it's just a faction of what it once was.
"Oh, and you show that by kidnapping my mother?" I responded with a cold stare, "what makes you think you've earn the right to ask for my help after causing that amount of stress to the only person I care about?"
I was really pissed, and I made sure they felt it.
The room went quiet.
The lead official exhaled slowly, like he'd been holding it in the entire time. "We didn't kidnap your mother."
"That was the only way we could get you to come in without turning this into a public incident," he said evenly. "You've been avoiding us for two days, Mr. Cole. Every time we got close, you disappeared."
My jaw tightened.
Another man stepped forward, younger, clearly uncomfortable. "She's safe. She's been treated well. She still is."
"That doesn't make this okay," I said flatly. "I want to see her."
The lead official hesitated just long enough to piss me off.
"Now," I added.
He glanced at the others, then nodded. "Fair."
One of the guards tapped a tablet, and a side door slid open with a soft hiss. "She's in the medical wing. Stress check. Nothing invasive."
"If there's a single scratch on her—"
"There isn't," the younger man said quickly. "She's been asking for you since she arrived."
That twisted something in my chest.
They led me down a narrow corridor, white walls, quiet except for the hum of ventilation. No windows. No signs. Whoever built this place didn't want people remembering how to leave.
We stopped in front of a glass door.
Inside, my mother sat on the edge of a bed, hands folded in her lap. No restraints. No IV. Just a thin blanket over her shoulders and that familiar worried look she always tried to hide.
My breath caught.
"Mom."
Her head snapped up. "Neo?"
The door opened before I even realized it had unlocked.
She stood up too fast, crossed the room, and pulled me into a hug like she was afraid I'd vanish if she let go. I froze for half a second… then held her back just as tightly.
"They said you were safe," she whispered, gripping my jacket. "But they wouldn't tell me where you were."
"I'm here," I said. "I'm okay."
I pulled back slightly, scanning her—eyes clear, hands steady, no signs of injury. My shoulders loosened a fraction.
When I faced them again, my expression hardened—not furious anymore. Controlled.
"You've proven she's safe," I said. "That's the only reason this conversation continues."
The lead official inclined his head. "Understood."
I took my mother's hand.
"Now," I continued, "am going to hear what you need my help with."
"But if I don't like what I hear," I added calmly, "we're walking out of here together."
"understood." The older man said. Then we returned to the room I was in before, I told my mom I will be back.
—
"So," I said, exhaling slowly, "what do you all actually want?"
I felt steadier now that I knew my mother was fine—but not trusting.
"I got labeled a saint-level anomaly during a routine bio-mark scan, nearly got dragged off because of it, and now—out of nowhere—you need my help?"
"We are sorry for the confusion, Mr. Cole, that was our blunder" they looked sincere enough.
I just scoffed, and he took that as a sign he was allowed to continue.
"Mr. Cole… do you know what saints are?," as he asked I kept a straight face, denying it, then he continued, "Bio-Marks," he said, "are only the beginning."
Sure. I already knew that.
But I let him talk.
"When a person awakens a bio-mark," he said, "they gain a base-level ability. A mutation. A gift. It varies per person — some can manipulate elements, some enhance their bodies, some shapeshift, some heal… the abilities are almost endless."
"And?" I asked.
He adjusted his glasses nervously.
"But Saints are different."
I leaned my head back slightly.
Here we go.
"They are called Saints because, back then, everyone believed their abilities came from some far greater being," he said. "Nowadays, Saints aren't just awakened anymore. Sure, normal anomalies still exist, but Saint-level anomalies are… reincarnated. They carry the soul and essence of ancient figures from the Old Era. Their powers are definitely biological, but there's also something… spiritual, conceptual… almost divine. We still don't fully understand it, but one thing's for sure—they're very special."
He continued:
"Saints can dominate multiple abilities, not just one.
Their souls store memories from previous lives — even if fragmented. Some does not remember their past life at all" as he said that he glanced at Blake Rogers.
It would seem so far, I was the only one that regained any memories from our previous life.
"Their presence alone can influence weaker awakenings.
Their abilities evolve without limit, unlike normal bio-mark users who plateau after a few stages."
He exhaled shakily.
"And the most important part…"
The room went silent.
"Saints gain power in proportion to the strength of their conviction."
I opened my eyes fully at that.
Oh?
That's new.
"Meaning," he said, "the stronger their belief in a concept—the stronger they grow. Limitlessly…. hence why, the Saints of Justice, Courage, Wisdom, Mercy, Will power and Jealousy was born"
Of course.
It explained why I had once risen above all of them.
He continued, "Your bio-mark awakening is just the surface. If you are who we think you are, then you're capable of much, much more."
I stared at him for a moment, expression unreadable.
"So?" I asked. "What does this have to do with me? I already said I'm not interested. And am not an old dude form the stone ages." I continued denying.
The lead official exchanged a glance with the others before speaking.
"Our readings didn't just flag you as powerful," he said. "They classified you as the most dangerous saint-level anomaly in recorded history."
I didn't react.
"You were a dictator once," he continued carefully. "The worst of that generation. Entire continents moved at your command." He paused. "But even then, every major decision you made served global stability. The world hated you—but it survived because of you."
That got my attention.
"Three years ago," he went on, "the first saint appeared in our rival nation— The Darkshore Union, The Saint of Justice."
My jaw tightened.
"Since then, The Darkshore Union has been making moves," he said. "Military positioning. Political pressure. Strategic alliances that don't make sense unless they're preparing for something big. Something violent."
"War," I said.
He nodded. "Yes, they want control as the greatest nation in the world."
The younger official stepped in. "When our analysts realized there was a chance—just a chance—that you might be the Legendary Saint of Wisdom… we couldn't ignore it."
"So you took a gamble," I said coldly.
"Yes," the lead official admitted. "And we handled it badly."
He bowed his head slightly. "We scared you off. For that, we apologize, Again."
Silence followed.
But then—
Something clicked.
A pressure brushed the edge of my mind. Familiar. Sharp.
Their words were honest.
Their intentions… weren't complete.
I felt it then—clear as a spike of ice. They didn't just want me to prevent war.
They wanted me first.
Before The Darkshore Union.
Before any other country.
The strongest Anomaly on their side—an unbeatable deterrent. A living guarantee that their country would stand above the rest.
They never said it out loud.
They didn't have to.
My bio-mark pulsed once.
I met the lead official's eyes, and my voice came out calm—dangerously so.
"…You should've led with the truth," I said.
His expression stiffened.
Because he knew.
I knew. But I won't admit I did.
And now the balance of that room had shifted.
I smirked faintly, letting the silence stretch.
"I'm not interested," I said. "Saint, or not. In this life, I plan to live as a human. Eat. Sleep. Go to school. Have a normal job. Worry about nothing else. Am just a kid, I can't be involved with the world's chaos."
They pressed on, desperation mounting. "If the Saint of Justice acts, millions could die. We need someone to predict his strategy—someone who can outthink him—"
"Someone like the Saint of Wisdom," I finished for them, bored.
"Yes. Exactly. So if you really are—"
"I'm not," I interrupted, firm.
Even if I remembered everything— which am never going to admit am starting to… even if I was that powerful… I had made my choice. I wasn't playing their game.
—
When I was the Saint of Wisdom, I was literally a god on earth.
I had Absolute Control over the future, I didn't just see the future, I force the most favorable outcome to happen, no matter how dyer it may be. I don't predict outcomes, i select them.
It made me unbeatable without brute force.
I had Perfect Decision Optimization. I could instantly calculate the best possible action among millions of future.
I see many futures, and I could collapse weaker ones.
Certain outcomes simply just stops being possible around me.
Enemies feels 'unlucky.' And reality started avoiding bad outcomes for me. Unless I let it happen myself.
No hesitation. No mistake.
Even emotional manipulation becomes precise.
I don't just read minds, i read what anyone was going to say or do.
Interrogation becomes useless.
Lies fails before spoken.
I could also rewind my own awareness seconds or minutes, not the world. If something goes wrong, my mind snaps back. Others never notice.
I was pretty good in combat too, i see an attack before it begins, and halt the body's intent.
Muscles lock.
Reflexes fails.
Weapons feels heavy.
Enemies lose before they move.
I had adaptive Evolution. My body changes in advance of harm.
Skin hardens before impact.
My nerves deaden before pain.
Healing starts before injury.
Damage becomes theoretical.
I nudge small events that cause massive global outcomes.
One delayed message.
One misheard order.
One altered meeting.
Wars end before they begin.
The world subconsciously aligns to the role I chose to occupy.
If I acted like a savior, events support it.
If I acted like a tyrant, systems obey.
I became a keystone existence.
I can let others see the future I saw.
Just enough to terrify.
Just enough to convince.
I used this particular ability the most in my past life.
No fight needed.
I was also exceptionally skilled in alchemy. You could call it my second Saint ability, though I never really saw it as a gift—more like a talent I honed.
I created living armies without hesitation. Losses didn't matter. If they fell, I simply made more.
Most of the time, I only used them when I grew bored—when a nation became too stubborn, but not stubborn enough to deserve being crushed outright. I preferred to be entertained along the way.
See? I wasn't exaggerating. And I wasn't being arrogant either.
In my past life, I truly was like a god—even among other Saints.
Well I did have weaknesses too, but you have to wait till future chapters to find that out.
For now, just know, I was a genius.
But that isn't who I am anymore.
All I want now is a normal life.
And honestly? I wouldn't mind never regaining my full power. Not even a little.
—
The Saint of Courage, Blake Rogers grunted, clearly annoyed. But I stayed calm, pulse steady.
"You talk a lot for someone who claims to be 'just a kid,'" he said, arms crossed. "Kids don't scare rooms like this."
I shrugged. "Then stop putting me in rooms like this."
The lead official raised a hand before Blake Rogers could snap back. "Enough."
The officials exchanged uneasy glances, whispering among themselves. Their desperation was becoming painfully obvious — I could almost taste it in the air.
Finally, the lead official stepped forward.
Voice quieter now—less authority, more calculation. "You say you want a normal life. We believe you. But normal lives don't exist anymore, not with Saints wakening in the world."
"That's your problem," I replied. "You chose to build a world where power decides borders."
"And you chose to be born with it," the younger official said.
I laughed softly.
"No," I corrected. "I chose to walk away from it."
That earned me a reaction. Subtle, but there. The way their shoulders stiffened. The way Courage's jaw tightened, like he wanted to test me—just once.
The lead official exhaled slowly. "Then let me ask you something, Mr. Cole."
He leaned forward.
"If the Saint of Justice attacks tomorrow… and we fall… will you still be able to live normally knowing you could've stopped it?"
And there it was.
The moral blade. Carefully sharpened. Meant to cut no matter how I answered.
I met his gaze. "Yes."
The room froze.
I sighed. "Sounds like a personal problem. By personal, I mean a you, problem."
The three officials looked like they were on the verge of collapsing from frustration.
Then the lead official took a breath.
His voice steadied.
"Then what about your mother.?"
Something inside me cracked.
In my past life, I was an orphan. I never knew parental warmth. Never knew love.
This life was different.
My mother was the one constant. The one thing that mattered more than power, more than survival, more than any future they could threaten me with.
Even if I never said it out loud, the truth was simple.
I loved her.
And I had to admit it.
I wouldn't want her living in the world they described.
Even if I kept her safe.
Even if I knew she wouldn't want me to choose her.
I exhaled slowly.
Damn it.
They got me. Clever bastards.