"Bol, Bol. Are you sure he was here? There is no one here."
Cheryl said it in a childish way, her face different from the night at the bar. It seems the creepy smile is only there when she is causing trouble.
To her side, the beautiful blonde man Bol scanned the room.
They had come to investigate Makun from orders high above upon his signature disappearance. However, on the lieu they saw nothing.
The room was old. In a poor state and what not. However it was empty.
Bol stayed silent at Cheryl's question. However Cheryl followed with another question of her own.
"Do you think he knows of us, Bol? Does he know we are coming?"
Bol sighed.
Honestly, working with this petite brunette was quite a strain for him, but what could he do? She had skills they needed.
"This is the place where his signature disappeared. The higher-ups never said anything about him being aware, so he should be back here."
Cheryl looked at Bol. Giggled.
"Then what if he left? Is it going to be a hunt?"
To which Bol replied, "If he left, then we have to search for him. It has not been long since it disappeared, so the chances of us succeeding are high."
Bol went around the old room. Touched the wall. Closed his eyes as if feeling something.
"We should investigate."
He paused. Opened his eyes.
"In the morning, let's get some information from the neighborhood, people who live here, the landlord and whoever we see. And at night I am gonna try accessing dreams."
"That works" Cheryl agreed.
She could feel the excitement closing up on them. That was what she lived for.
Both disappeared from the scene. The room empty as if two individuals, a Man and a petite girl were never there.
.....
Hope's Rest.
Sunday.
7 AM.
Makun stretched as he woke up from bed, ignorant of the people tracking him down.
From Zack to Bol and Cheryl.
He had knew nothing of what transpired last night. He knew nothing of Zack using the demonic mirror to track him down and finish him up. No knowledge of the darkness that swallowed Zack up.
He had no knowledge of two people being at his old place right now looking for him.
He just knew he had the book to read and information to gain .
After waking up, Makun picked his bag and went out.
No place to shower. No place to clean yourself in such a shelter. He could just go out in hopes of getting fresh air as the smell was quite something.
He walked around.
The area outside Hope's Rest Shelter looked worse in daylight.
Cracked concrete stretched in every direction. Weeds pushed through the gaps, yellow and dying. The building itself sat at the edge of an industrial zone, surrounded by empty lots and rusted chain-link fences.
To the left, an abandoned factory. Windows broken. Graffiti covering the walls. To the right, a storage yard filled with shipping containers stacked like forgotten blocks.
The street was quiet. Too quiet. No cars. No people. Just the distant hum of the city somewhere beyond the decay.
A few other homeless people lingered near the shelter entrance. One man sat against the wall, staring at nothing. Another pushed a shopping cart filled with plastic bags down the empty road.
No one looked at Makun. No one cared. Everyone here experienced their own trouble.
The cold morning air bit through his jacket, but it was better than the stench inside. Sweat and mildew and desperation compressed into one space.
He kept walking.
Then he saw a bench.
Nice, he thought.
It sat near the edge of the lot, half-hidden by a cluster of dead bushes. The wood was warped. Paint peeling. But it was empty.
He approached the bench. Sat. And took the book.
However, looking at it, he knew if he got too absorbed then he was gonna collapse, similar to last time.
He still has not ate. Beer was the only thing he consumed.
Anyway, information about this world was all he needed right now. Food could come later.
He held the book.
The Goal of a Mystic.
The title etched in faded gold on the leather cover.
He opened it where he last left.
Last time when he tried turning the page, he fell asleep. This time, he hoped it was gonna turn.
He slowly turned the page and paid extreme attention.
With his Sight having been active after tedious concentration.
When the page was turning, Makun saw energy streams leaving his body. Entering the book. Then the book turned.
Makun could now see the writing etching themselves on the book.
THE GOAL
So what is the true purpose of mysticism?
Not wealth. Not power. Not dominion over others.
The goal is simple:
Return to the Source.
Break the chains that bind your soul to flesh. Transcend the divisions that separate you from wholeness. Ascend the tiers not to rule, but to remember.
To become, once more, what you were before the fall.
Complete.
Infinite.
Free.
This is the path of the Mystic.
This is why they fear you.
Because you seek to undo their design.