He checked his quest rewards.
== << [| QUEST |] >> ==
Objective 1: Retrieve the sealed artifact and submit to the Ancients
Objective 2: Fight and kill all half-corrupted beings with no help.
Rewards: 1000 I | The power of Discerning |
== << [|---------|] >> ==
== << [| Rewards |] >> ==
You have received 1000 SWI!
Item will be stored in inventory!
You have obtained the fragment: The power of discerning!
== << [|-----|] >> ==
== << [| Fragment |] >> ==
Name: Power of discerning
Path: ?????
Rank: Divine
Description: The power to discern truths from lies. Light from darkness and see the foundation of all things. No one can escape your eyes.
Note: This allows you to see the state of things, and the flaws of individuals. It allows you to have access to the foundation of things and manipulate them.
Note: The rank changes, based on usage. The higher you use the more you can see the foundation of things and manipulate them.
== << [|---------|] >> ==
"That's a useful, and powerful fragment!" Amon exclaimed.
He sat on the green grass in a lotus position and began to meditate. He closed his eyes, intending to fall asleep, yet instead of rest arriving, countless thoughts surfaced.
This robe isn't suitable for battle at all, Amon reflected, recalling the earlier fight. It drags along the ground, restricts movement. I need something practical. Something that works no matter the weapon.
He sifted through familiar designs and common attire, ideas assembling and discarding themselves in his mind. When one finally settled, fitting his needs precisely, a thought followed naturally.
What if I bring it into reality?
A small smile crossed his face.
He opened his eyes, stood, and extended his hand. Folding his fingers into a writing sign, he traced words onto the air itself:
I have an outfit suited for any weapon, any occasion, any environment, any path, anything at all.
At once, his black robe vanished, leaving him exposed beneath the open sunlight. His body was well-built and balanced, toned muscle defined by discipline rather than excess, strength shaped by use.
Black smoke stirred nearby, then surged toward him, clinging to his form as if answering a summons.
After a few seconds, the black smoke dissipated, revealing what lay beneath. A dark, fitted coat draped over Amon's frame, tailored close to the body yet loose enough to conceal movement and intent. The fabric drank in light, matte and heavy, designed for endurance and discretion. Beneath it sat a black waistcoat fastened with brown buttons, layered over a crisp white long-sleeved shirt, a neatly placed tie resting at the collar. Black shoes were fitted to his feet, black trousers were fitted to his legs, and a tailored blazer completed the ensemble. His black, long hair flowed down to his back, and his void-black eyes, remained as absent as ever.
"There we go," Amon smiled, checking himself.
"Now that I have gotten an appropriate attire, a weapon I can use, what's next?" Amon asked himself.
It wasn't boredom, nor weakness. There was simply nothing left for him to do.
Maybe I should pay that man a visit. I have his address and his number. Finding him won't be a problem.
A spark of interest surfaced.
Good. A way to pass the time.
He stepped into a white portal, which folded around him and absorbed him completely.
"Sixty-seven Adwell Close, Astralis Citadel," Amon muttered.
He raised his hand and wrote upon the air once more:
I am in Astralis Citadel, at the doorstep of 67 Adwell Close.
Space warped violently, collapsing inward like a void-born vortex, and swallowed him.
He reappeared before a two-storied house. Four darkened windows stared back at him. Bushes lined the sides, and a small garden rested at the front. A white door stood at its centre; a lamp fixed to the wall beside it. Night had already fallen, but darkness no longer troubled him. Since becoming an awakener, sight came easily, even without light.
Amon walked to the door and pressed the doorbell lightly.
Ding.
He waited.
Nothing.
Ding.
Silence answered again, unease settling in his chest.
He raised his hand to knock, but before his knuckles could land, the door creaked open on its own.
Amon's nerves sharpened. He summoned his inventory, drew his gun, and held it low as he stepped inside.
"Power of the Discerner," he commanded.
His vision shifted. Contrast intensified, light sharpened, and layers of reality peeled back. Soft currents of luminous energy swirled through the space, coiling around the foundations like unseen tides. Spirits, he assumed.
Then he looked up.
Two figures stood ahead.
And in the air lingered the faint, unmistakable scent of blood.