《Followers of the Gods》 Devout Believer Chris Massah, Landwick District. The golden hues of twilight filtered through the windows of the ¡°Good Fortune¡± grocery, casting a bright glow over the goods on the shelves. ¡°Mr. Lawson, that¡¯ll be nine pounds and fifteen pence.¡± Chris Jamison stood behind the counter, smiling as he took the twenty-pound note from Smith Lawson. ¡°Do you need change?¡± ¡°No, Chris, I¡¯d rather not have any. Carrying coins always makes me uneasy.¡± Smith Lawson, over sixty years old, looked at Chris and couldn¡¯t help but marvel at what a fine son Imir Jamison had raised. Chris was tall and lanky, with chestnut-brown hair that shimmered faintly under the sunlight. His features were strikingly handsome, and his clear blue eyes sparkled with innocence and kindness. His genuine smile made him all the more endearing. Beyond his good looks, Chris was known for his helpful nature. Whether fixing a neighbor''s broken fence or writing letters for those who couldn¡¯t read, he was always willing to help. In an era with greed and desire, Chris¡¯s presence was nothing short of a miracle. ¡°This is ten pounds and eighty-five pence.¡± ¡°Thank you.¡± Mr. Lawson carefully placed the paper bills and coins into his jacket pocket, picked up his cloth bag, and prepared to leave. ¡°Smith, I didn¡¯t see you at church last weekend.¡± A deep voice stopped Mr. Lawson in his tracks. He turned to see Imir Jamison stepping out from the shadowy depths of the grocery. Imir¡¯s appearance was plain and forgettable¡ªone that could easily blend into any crowd. His features were unremarkable, his complexion pale, and his dark shirt looked slightly worn. ¡°I went to the countryside to attend my brother¡¯s funeral,¡± Lawson replied, a mix of sorrow and fear flickering across his face. ¡°He was murdered in his bedroom.¡± Chris, standing behind the counter, perked up at the mention but remained silent, knowing Imir would pursue the matter.Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. ¡°Your brother? Seth? He was a kind man. Who would take his life?¡± Imir asked, his brows furrowed. Lawson hesitated. After moving to Massah City, he had little contact with Seth, and the brothers only saw each other a few times a year. ¡°The police said he had no enemies, so the chances of solving the case are slim¡ª¡± Chris couldn¡¯t help but smirk inwardly. In an era where forensic technology had yet to reach fingerprint matching or DNA analysis, solving crimes relied solely on investigating relationships and logical deductions. If the motive was random and devoid of personal ties, the police often found themselves at a loss. ¡°It¡¯s easy to kill, but catching the culprit is another matter,¡± Chris mused to himself. Today¡¯s Massah Daily reported multiple homicides, claiming the police were working hard to investigate¡ªessentially admitting they had no leads. ¡°May Seth¡¯s soul find peace,¡± Imir said solemnly, raising his right hand to trace a cross over his brow and chest. Lawson, visibly shaken, promised to attend church that weekend and left the ¡°Good Fortune¡± grocery. ¡°Imir, with so many murders in Massah, why hasn¡¯t the Dawn Goddess protected her followers?¡± Once there was no customers, Chris dropped his facade, taunting Imir with a raised eyebrow. Imir, unfazed by his son¡¯s attitude, gazed out at the street and replied calmly: ¡°The gaze of the gods does not always linger on Massah.¡± Chris widened his eyes, knowing his devout father¡¯s faith was unshakable. ¡°Having you as my father must be karmic payback for my past lives,¡± Chris thought bitterly. Ever since being reincarnated into this world as Imir¡¯s son, Chris had endured countless Sundays being dragged to the Dawn Chapel. Any attempts to resist were met with defeat at the hands of his god-obsessed father, leaving him no choice but to endure sermons. Over time, Chris gained the reputation of a ¡°young, devout believer,¡± with neighbors convinced he was destined for the Dawn Temple as a revered saint. To this, the ever-smiling Chris could only think: ¡°Oh, how I suffer in silence.¡± Night fell swiftly. Chris and Imir reorganized the grocery¡¯s shelves and, glancing at the clock on the wall, realized it was time for dinner. Chris locked up the grocery, following Imir into the living quarters separated by a thin wooden partition. Behind the partition stood a square table, where Chris promptly slumped into a chair. Imir entered the kitchen, slicing smoked meat into even pieces and retrieving two boiled potatoes from a basin. He placed them on a plate and brought them to the table. ¡°Praise the Goddess,¡± Imir intoned with his usual serene piety. Chris grabbed a potato and began devouring it, his other hand reaching for the smoked meat. Imir frowned at his son¡¯s voracious appetite, sitting silently as Chris wolfed down his food. ¡°I''m done!¡± Chris announced, leaping to his feet and bounding upstairs. The creaking of the stairs subsided, and only then did Imir pick up his potato, chewing slowly. Suddenly, rapid footsteps echoed as Chris rushed back down. ¡°Imir, I¡¯m heading out for a bit.¡± Without turning, Imir replied, ¡°The papers said the nights are unsafe recently.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ll take your old car. Who¡¯s going to mess with me?¡± Imir glanced briefly at Chris¡¯s waist before falling silent, signaling his approval. Chris grabbed the car keys from the drawer and drove off.
Chris hummed a tune as the scenery blurred past, finally stopping in a deserted street. Under the cover of darkness, he waited. At last, a figure appeared at the far end, glancing around before slipping into an alley. Chris¡¯s eyes gleamed green. Quietly exiting the car, he began to follow. Great Lord of Corruption Under the dim light, Catherine Eddowes, heavily made-up, stood at the edge of an alley smoking. She was scantily clad, her pale arms and legs exposed to the air. A gust of wind blew by, and she shivered involuntarily. Business hadn¡¯t been good lately; a few regular customers had disappeared for quite some time. ¡°Is it time for me to go back to my hometown and get married?¡± Catherine exhaled a puff of smoke, feeling frustrated. Having grown accustomed to a life of comfort, she was not ready to leave her current profession. The sound of heavy footsteps came from nearby, and Catherine felt an unexpected surge of joy. She quickly dropped her cigarette to the ground and stomped it out with her red high heel. A man wearing a black bowler hat and a dark suit emerged from the shadows and approached Catherine. Seeing his attire, Catherine felt a brief moment of doubt, but it quickly vanished. ¡°Hey dear, looking for some fun?¡± Catherine asked sweetly, instinctively pushing her chest forward. ¡°How much?¡± The man¡¯s voice was low and cold. Under the dim light, Catherine couldn¡¯t make out his features clearly. She held out her hand. ¡°Twenty pounds.¡± ¡°Come to my place, five more pounds,¡± the man said without hesitation, then turned and walked away. ¡°Wait up, handsome!¡± Catherine hurried after him, disappearing into the darkness with the man. The man led Catherine through a maze of alleys, drawing closer and closer to Dawn Church. ¡°Hey, handsome, how much further is your place?¡± Catherine complained. Wearing high heels, she struggled to keep up with the man¡¯s pace, her forehead damp with sweat. The man stopped abruptly and turned to face her, his gaze piercing. Catherine cursed him silently but suddenly felt something sharp and cold slash across her neck¡ªtoo fast for her to react. Her eyes widened in shock, her hands instinctively reaching for her throat, only to feel warm blood gushing out. The man removed his bowler hat, revealing a face twisted with frenzy and eagerness. Like a ravenous wolf, he lunged at Catherine, sinking his teeth into her neck wound and drinking the blood that flowed out. Catherine¡¯s body twitched a few times before going still. The man, satisfied that she was dead, stood and composed himself. ¡°What a pleasure,¡± he murmured, licking the blood from his lips as his eyes glazed over, savoring the memory of the taste. The frenzy on his face gave way to solemnity as he crouched down. He carefully crossed Catherine¡¯s hands over her chest and straightened her legs. Then, from his pocket, he produced a green pendant carved with ancient patterns and gently placed it in her hand.If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. Standing tall before Catherine¡¯s corpse, the man¡¯s deep voice echoed in the dark alley: ¡°Great Lord of Corruption, eternal master of chaos and disorder! You are the origin of fear and despair, the ruler of upheaval and turmoil!¡± ¡°Please Savor the flesh and soul and grant me boundless power!¡± When his prayer ended, the man looked at Catherine¡¯s body and saw a faint glow emanating from the green pendant in her hand. The Great Lord of Corruption had answered his call! Ecstatic, the man reached out to retrieve the pendant. But just then, Catherine, who had been lying lifeless, suddenly opened her dead, hollow eyes. She grabbed the man¡¯s neck with unnatural strength, her grip unyielding. The man gasped for air, clawing at her hands in terror, but his efforts were futile. Up close, the gaping wound on Catherine¡¯s neck continued to bleed profusely. ¡°Hey dear, looking for some fun?¡± Her hoarse voice seemed to echo from the underworld. Staring straight at the man, her ghastly pale face twisted into a sinister smile. As fear consumed him, the man¡¯s flailing arms stilled, his mind overcome by despair. --- Chris Jamison approached the scene, finding the man kneeling beside Catherine¡¯s body, his hands flailing in the air, his face contorted in terror. ¡°Hmm?¡± Chris frowned. He kicked the man¡¯s body, which fell to the ground lifeless. ¡°Heartless enough to kill, but scared to death by a mere illusion,¡± Chris muttered. Squatting down, he pocketed the green pendant from Catherine¡¯s lifeless hand and began searching the man¡¯s belongings. Chris rummaged through the man¡¯s pockets, finding nothing but a bloodied dagger. He continued his search, eventually pulling a hard card from inside the man¡¯s coat. The cover of the invitation bore an eerie, torn mask at the top, with twisted letters below: ¡°Church of Chaos.¡± Chris¡¯s heart skipped a beat as he pocketed the invitation. Standing up, he carefully checked his clothes for bloodstains. After ensuring he was clean, he exhaled in relief and glanced at Catherine¡¯s body. Mimicking Imir¡¯s actions, he raised his right hand to touch his forehead and chest in a ritual gesture. ¡°May the Dawn Goddess have mercy, and may your soul rest in peace.¡± Chris turned and walked away, his figure vanishing around the corner, leaving two corpses behind to bear witness to the night. Chris drove back to the grocery, knowing he¡¯d be in for a lecture from Imir after being out so late. Parking on the street, he stepped out of the car and immediately saw Imir standing at the entrance. ¡°Where have you been?¡± Imir¡¯s towering figure nearly blocked out the grocery¡¯s lights, his stern gaze fixed on Chris, full of reproach. Chris quickly walked up and pulled Imir by the arm toward the grocery. ¡°Relax, I was just driving around the streets. Didn¡¯t go to the bar, didn¡¯t go to the club, didn¡¯t¡ª¡± ¡°Don¡¯t you dare!¡± Imir interrupted sharply, his tone severe. ¡°As a follower of the Goddess, you are forbidden from those places!¡± Chris groaned inwardly but resorted to his trump card: ¡°Dad, if you don¡¯t believe me, I can swear on the Dawn Goddess.¡± Sure enough, Imir¡¯s expression softened slightly, and he nodded. ¡°Remember, as a follower, your behavior matters. The Goddess is always watching you.¡± ¡°Got it,¡± Chris replied, heading upstairs while muttering under his breath. Earlier that day, Imir claimed the Goddess wasn¡¯t constantly watching over Massa. Now, apparently, the Goddess was always watching him. The Dawn Goddess sure had flexible sight. Locking his bedroom door, Chris eagerly reviewed his haul from the night. Placing the green pendant and invitation on his desk, he hesitated before picking up the pendant to examine it. The pendant¡¯s material was smooth, emitting a faint glow under the lamp. The chaotic patterns etched on it seemed to form obscure symbols, drawing Chris¡¯s gaze deeper. His soul suddenly quivered, and he snapped back to reality, pale-faced and sweating. ¡°What is this thing?¡± Chris muttered, shaken. The symbols on the pendant had seemed to lock onto his consciousness with an irresistible pull. ¡°Great Lord of Corruption.¡± He recalled the man¡¯s prayer beside Catherine¡¯s corpse. Glancing at the pendant again, Chris found it inert. He cautiously examined it once more, but nothing happened. Exhaling deeply, he placed the pendant in a drawer and turned his attention to the invitation from the Church of Chaos. Living Sacrifice Ceremony Dear all, The moon casts its pale glow¡ªa perfect moment to offer souls to the Great Lord of Corruption. Come bear witness to the sacrificial ritual at midnight this Thursday. The ceremony will take place in the abandoned church in Beckmore District. Don¡¯t forget to wear your mask. May chaos be with you. The Profaner "The Church of Chaos is conducting a midnight ritual to sacrifice souls to the Lord of Corruption." Chris frowned as he reread the invitation. "Profaners... must be a title of their members. But what does it mean?" His gaze lingered on the fourth line: "Don¡¯t forget to wear your mask." The words sparked a memory¡ªan encounter with a killer he''d once hunted down. That man had been marginally stronger than most, able to break free from hallucinations only to find himself staring down the barrel of Chris''s gun. "The Church of Chaos will kill you!" the killer had hissed through clenched teeth. That was the first time Chris had heard of the Church of Chaos. He pulled the trigger without hesitation, silencing the killer in the stark daylight of an otherwise ordinary day. Ignoring the scattered human remains in the man''s home, Chris had searched the premises thoroughly. In the corner of a closet, he had found a silver mask etched with fine, web-like cracks. "I stashed it under my bed," Chris thought, crouching down to pull a dark red wooden box from beneath his bed. Brushing off the accumulated dust, he opened it with a faint sense of anticipation. The mask lay inside, just as he remembered¡ªsilent, cracked, and unsettling. Chris picked it up and placed it over his face, standing before the mirror. The silver mask concealed his features entirely, the cracks on its surface seeming to ripple faintly as if alive, exuding an indescribable eeriness. "Thursday is almost here," Chris decided, his reflection watching him coldly. --- Thursday Night Beckmore District was in the northern part of Massa, separated from the Landwick District by the Missi River and the Lycra District where the City Hall was. Chris had already scouted the area the day before. There was only one abandoned church in Beckmore¡ªformerly the Church of Dawn¡ªnow left desolate on the outskirts of town.Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. After offering a vague excuse to Imir, Chris drove alone to the church, parking his car at a discreet distance before killing the engine. He approached cautiously, taking cover behind dense shrubbery and letting the shadows mask his presence. Through night-vision-enhanced eyes, he observed the scene. The church stood in silent decay, its silhouette draped in the pale light of the moon, which lent it an air of haunted majesty. One by one, figures arrived, each wearing attire that varied wildly but unified by the same cracked silver masks. They entered the church without hesitation, disappearing into its shadowed interior. "No identity checks, huh?" Chris mused, slipping his own cold mask over his face. "Your rules could use some work." He strode toward the church with measured steps. Passing two masked figures at the entrance, he nodded slightly, earning polite nods in return. Inside, the church was a husk of its former glory. Moonlight streamed through shattered stained-glass windows, painting jagged patterns on the floor and highlighting the neglect and ruin. The gathered faithful stood in the nave, some trembling visibly with anticipation. Chris pushed his way into the crowd, his eyes locking on the altar ahead. There, a long-haired woman lay bound on the cold stone, stripped of clothing and strength. She was pale with terror, her struggles reduced to feeble jerks against the ropes. This was tonight''s sacrifice. Behind the altar stood three figures clad in black robes, two men and one woman. They wore masks identical to the congregation''s, their presence commanding silent reverence. The wall behind them had once borne a mural of the Goddess of Dawn, now desecrated and obscured by chaotic, twisting lines and symbols¡ªmadness etched in stone. "It is time," the foremost robed figure announced. "Yes, Profaner." The other two robed responded. Stepping forward, he raised his arms, his voice swelling with fervor as he prayed: "O Great Lord of Corruption, eternal being of chaos and disorder! You are the source of fear and despair, the master of upheaval and turmoil!" The congregation joined in, their chanting a rising tide that filled the decrepit church. "Accept this soul as an offering and guide us toward your path!" The slender woman in black robe picked up a silver dagger from the altar. Her delicate fingers tightened around its hilt as she poised the blade over the sacrifice''s heart. "Help!" the bound woman screamed, her cry cutting through the darkness before fading into unconsciousness. But the blade didn¡¯t descend. The robed woman''s hand wavered, her eyes darting around as if she saw flames consuming the church, her fellow worshipers engulfed in fire. "Wake up!" barked the Profaner, snapping her out of the hallucination. "S... sorry," she stammered, trembling with shame. Before more could be said, the Profaner¡¯s gaze snapped to the church entrance. "Someone¡¯s here." Chris¡¯s heart tightened. Hidden among the throng, he turned to see figures silhouetted against a sudden flood of light spilling into the church. "Pagans shall face judgment by the light!" a sharp voice declared. A woman stepped into view, her short hair framing a strikingly determined face. She wore a pristine white gown, her stance like that of a blade poised to strike. Two men and another woman flanked her, their every movement radiating readiness. The Profaner tensed, his hand snapping down to retrieve the dagger from the floor. Without hesitation, he plunged it toward the altar''s offering¡ª A gunshot cracked the air. The Profaner is Captured A gunshot thundered through the abandoned church, and the Profaner staggered as a bullet tore into his chest. He stumbled, blood seeping through his robes as he clutched at the wound. He turned his head to find the black-robed man standing before him, the muzzle of his gun still smoking and aimed squarely at him. "You..." the Profaner rasped, his voice trembling with pain and disbelief. He collapsed to the ground in a lifeless heap, blood pooling beneath him. The Profaner was dead. The black-robed woman screamed in fury, her voice echoing through the church like a harbinger of vengeance. Without hesitation, she drew her pistol and fired at the black-robed man, her shots wild and unrelenting. But the man was ready. A thick, swirling mist materialized around him, enveloping his figure and obscuring his position. The woman¡¯s bullets pierced only air, leaving her in a blind rage. Before the altar, the worshippers faltered. The Profaner¡¯s death struck terror into their hearts, and panic spread like wildfire. Abandoning any semblance of unity, they turned their desperation toward the four figures blocking the church doors. ¡°For the Goddess!¡± the woman in white shouted, her voice steady and unyielding. Gunfire erupted in the confined space. Worshippers armed with pistols took aim at the four people, focusing on the commanding woman. Unmoved, the woman in white gown raised her hand in a fluid motion. An invisible barrier shimmered into existence before her, effortlessly deflecting the oncoming bullets. The sound of ricochets filled the air as the attackers¡¯ futile assault broke against her shield. The worshippers of the Church of Chaos froze in shock, their faith wavering as they realized the enormity of the supernatural power before them. Chris, hidden among the worshippers, watched with wide eyes. His heart pounded as he muttered under his breath, ¡°Who... who is she? How does someone like this exist in Massa?¡± "It''s our turn now," said a tall man in a gray coat, his lips curling into a calm yet menacing smile. Drawing his sidearm, he fired with precision, the bullet piercing a worshipper¡¯s silver mask and dropping him instantly. ¡°Lir, you¡¯re so brutal,¡± remarked a plump man nearby, dispatching another worshipper with practiced efficiency. ¡°Keep your opinions to yourself, Shavin,¡± Lir replied coldly, his tone betraying no emotion.The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there. Nearby, a gentle-faced woman turned the pages of a tome she held, murmuring under her breath. Invisible forces immobilized several worshippers, freezing them mid-charge. The scent of blood thickened the air, driving the remaining worshippers to the brink of madness. Consumed by fear and desperation, they rushed the four persons in a last, frenzied attempt. "How do I get out of here?" Chris thought, his mind racing. He could feel the fear emanating from the worshippers like a suffocating tide that almost drowned him. Suddenly, something clicked in his mind. A faint yet distinct sound, like the unlocking of a door. A surge of energy coursed through him, and green light flickered in his eyes. Before he could process what was happening, he found himself standing behind the four persons, the oppressive aura of the battle still pressing against his back. "Teleportation?" Chris rushed out of the church, his newfound ability filled him with equal parts exhilaration and terror. "Interesting," the woman in white murmured, her sharp gaze following Chris¡¯s sudden movement. She drew her pistol with a graceful motion, angling her body as she fired a single, calculated shot. Next moment, the bullet twisted unnaturally in midair, altering its trajectory to graze Chris¡¯s left ear with a burning sting. ¡°Damn it!¡± Chris hissed, clutching at his ear. His fingertips came away stained with blood, and he turned to glare at the woman before disappearing in the night. The woman¡¯s eyes narrowed, but she did not pursue. Instead, she holstered her weapon, her focus returning to the fight still within the church. After all, the Profaner was the night¡¯s true target. --- The battle¡¯s cacophony faded, leaving the church in eerie silence. The woman in the white dress moved cautiously among the bodies strewn across the floor, her steps deliberate. Her piercing gaze remained fixed on the altar as she approached the Profaner¡¯s still form. Lir, reloading his weapon with practiced efficiency, kept the Profaner firmly in his sights. ¡°Maye, surrender now!¡± Arnold, the black-robed man, called out from the inner sanctum. His voice was calm yet commanding, even as he was evading the relentless attacks of the black-robed woman pursuing him. ¡°You traitor! The Lord of Corruption will see you damned!¡± Maye¡¯s voice was cold and venomous, her dagger slashing through the air as she pressed her attack. ¡°Arnold, subdue her,¡± the woman in white ordered without looking away from the Profaner. "Don''t play dead, Profaner." ¡°Heh heh¡ª¡± The Profaner¡¯s bloodied form stirred, and his silver mask glinted in the dim light, now streaked with red. ¡°You Dawn Inquisition fools... always such a nuisance,¡± he rasped, his voice laden with malice. Thick gray mist poured from his body, engulfing him entirely. ¡°Wait for my vengeance!¡± The woman¡¯s eyes flashed. ¡°Anna!¡± Her hand shot out, and her companion passed her a glowing tome without hesitation. With a surge of radiant energy, the pages of the tome flipped open, unleashing a wave of light that dispelled the Profaner¡¯s mist. ¡°The Scroll of Dawn!¡± The Profaner froze, his movements stilled by the tome¡¯s binding power. His expression twisted with fury and despair. ¡°Impressive,¡± he muttered darkly. ¡°You really went all out for me.¡± ¡°Your sins end here.¡± the woman in white gown declared. Her voice was steady, imbued with a finality that left no room for defiance. Arnold approached, dragging Maye behind him. ¡°Arnold, you¡¯ve completed your mission,¡± the woman said, her tone softening slightly. ¡°May the light of the Goddess be with you.¡± Supernatural power: self-healing Chris sped through the city streets, the car roaring as if he were leaving the moonlight itself trailing behind. His heart pounded wildly, and tonight''s events had upended his perception of the world. The woman in the white gown¡ªundoubtedly a being beyond ordinary comprehension. If extraordinary beings like her existed, then what about gods? A shiver ran down his spine. Chris recalled the countless jabs he¡¯d made at Ymir¡¯s devotion to the Goddess of Dawn. ¡°Oh, merciful Goddess, I am your most devout follower,¡± he muttered under his breath. Crossing through the Lycra District, Chris didn¡¯t slow until his car was atop Crescent Bridge over the Missi River. He pulled over, yanked off his mask, and decided to tend to the injury on his left ear. ¡°Wait¡­ what?¡± His fingers brushed the side of his head, and he quickly rolled down the window, leaning toward the side mirror for a better look. The spot where the bullet had grazed him showed no trace of injury, only the dried blood on his neck proving he¡¯d been hurt at all. ¡°Could this be my new supernatural power? Self-healing?¡± he murmured, his voice tinged with wonder. The cool river breeze snapped him out of his thoughts. Chris grabbed a water bottle from the car to clean the blood off his neck. Stripping off his jacket, he inspected it for bloodstain, then climbed back into the driver¡¯s seat. By the time he pulled up to the ¡°Good Fortune¡± grocery, the place was shrouded in darkness. Imir had already closed up shop. Chris sighed in relief. Moving quickly, he shifted the potted plant beside the door, retrieved the key hidden underneath, and let himself in. He locked the door behind him, weaved past the shelves, and tiptoed upstairs to his room. Once inside, he closed the curtains, flipped on the light, and collapsed into his chair. Fishing the silver mask from his pocket, he stared at it, tonight¡¯s events replaying vividly in his mind. A sudden thought struck him. He dug into the desk drawer, pulling out a small knife. With a quick motion, he made a shallow cut on his arm. Blood welled up briefly, but the wound closed within seconds, knitting itself together as if nothing had happened. ¡°I knew it!¡± A grin spread across Chris''s face. Wiping the blood from his arm, Chris marveled at his smooth, unblemished skin. The rush of excitement was short-lived, however, as exhaustion settled over him. He yawned, turned off the light, and collapsed onto his bed, still fully clothed. --- Morning light streamed into the room, rousing Chris from a deep sleep. For once, Imir hadn¡¯t dragged him out of bed at the crack of dawn. Stretching, Chris spotted the silver mask still lying on the desk where he¡¯d left it. Panic flickered across his face.The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°Thank goodness I locked the door. If Imir saw this, I would have to make up a story.¡± he muttered, tucking the mask into a dark wooden box hidden beneath his bed. After a quick wash, Chris descended the stairs to find Imir behind the counter, helping a customer check out. Without a glance, Imir called out, ¡°There are eggs in the kitchen. Fry a couple for yourself.¡± Chris raised an eyebrow. Imir¡¯s calm demeanor was unusual, given his penchant for grilling Chris about what he did at night. Sure enough, as Chris stood at the stove flipping eggs, Imir appeared in the doorway. ¡°There¡¯s a hymn recital at the church this afternoon. We go together,¡± Imir announced, his tone leaving no room for argument. Chris froze mid-flip. His usual retort about the Goddess of Dawn hovered on the tip of his tongue but went unspoken. ¡°Fine,¡± he said, his voice resigned. Imir was very satisfied with Chris''s attitude. He nodded and turned to leave. Later, Chris ate two fried eggs, drank a glass of milk, and came to the door of the grocery store feeling relaxed. At this moment, a raspy voice called out, ¡°Chris.¡± Turning, Chris saw Old Moen reclining in a chair outside his house, his glasses perched on his nose. ¡°Hi Mr. Moen, is Bella missing again?¡± Chris asked with a knowing smirk. Bella, Moen¡¯s white cat, was notorious for wandering off. ¡°She¡¯s a handful,¡± Moen admitted, offering an apologetic smile. ¡°Sorry for bothering you.¡± ¡°No worries,¡± Chris didn¡¯t mind. He couldn''t remember how many times he had helped Moen find Bella. After a quick search of the house, he found Bella perched on a tree in the backyard. ¡°Here, Bella,¡± he cooed, waving a stick to catch her attention. The cat¡¯s curious eyes followed the swaying branch as she crept down the trunk. A graceful leap later, she landed in Chris¡¯s arms. After finding Bella, Chris cradled her in his arms and made his way through the house, heading outside to give the cat to old Mr. Moen. ¡°Thanks, Chris. May the Goddess bless you,¡± Moen said as he cradled the cat lovingly. ¡ª¡ª That afternoon, Chris seated beside Imir in the church, fighting off drowsiness as hymns filled the air. ¡°You are the eternal beacon, guiding lost souls through darkness. In the endless night, you bring the dawn of hope¡­¡± Chris was drowsy, his eyelids heavy with sleep, when Imir discreetly nudged him with an elbow. Startled, Chris realized the hymn recital had ended. He hurriedly stood up with the congregation, quickly touching his brow and chest with his right hand while reciting aloud, "Praise the glorious Dawn Goddess!" Eager to escape, Chris made for the exit, but the priest, Yordle Megan, intercepted him. ¡°Chris, wait a moment,¡± Yordle said with a kind smile. ¡°Someone wishes to speak with you.¡± "By the way," Yordel added, turning to Imir. "Imir, I trust you won''t mind?" "Of course not," Imir replied, his tone calm and composed. Chris''s heart sank. Had the goddess overheard every mocking word he¡¯d ever uttered about her? "Who are they? And, uh... what do they want?" Chris forced a stiff smile, his voice betraying a hint of unease. "They''re from the Sanctum," Yordel said, adjusting his glasses with a deliberate air of mystery. "And trust me, it¡¯s probably good news." "Follow me," he continued, gesturing for Chris to follow. "They¡¯re waiting for you in the lounge." Chris shot a glance at Imir, who remained utterly unperturbed, his expression betraying nothing. It was hard not to suspect that his father had, in some way, sold him out. Mission of Dawn Inquisition Yordel stopped in front of the lounge door. ¡°You go in alone, Chris.¡± Chris pushed the door open and stepped into the lounge. A short-haired woman and a tall man sat on the sofa, casting scrutinizing glances at him. Chris''s pupils contracted¡ªhe had seen them both just last night in the abandoned church. The woman, capable of deflecting bullets, was now dressed in a sleek black gown, exuding a mysterious elegance. The man was the headshot killer. Recalling how he had smiled while shooting down the worshippers of the Church of Chaos sent a shiver through Chris. The woman rose from the sofa, a slightly unnatural smile on her face. ¡°Welcome, Chris. I¡¯m Rhea Williams.¡± ¡°Lir Wallace.¡± The man stood and nodded. ¡°Why are you looking for me?¡± Chris asked. ¡°Sit down first,¡± Rhea commanded out of habit. Chris obediently approached and sat on the sofa across from them. Once they were all seated, Rhea began, ¡°Chris, you are a devout follower of the Goddess.¡± ¡°You¡¯ve attended the prayer meetings at the church every week for years.¡± ¡°You¡¯re always helping your neighbors, and they speak highly of you,¡± Lyle added. ¡°Given your exemplary record, we formally invite you to join the Dawn Inquisition,¡± Rhea said solemnly. Chris was puzzled. Dawn Inquisition? He had never heard of it. ""Sorry, what is Dawn Inquisition?" ¡°The Dawn Inquisition is a branch of the Sanctumn. Our duty is to judge heretics and maintain the order of faith.¡± ¡°This world is not as peaceful as it seems. Besides the northern Gamma Republic, even within the Bourbon United Kingdom, many evil forces seek to undermine the Goddess''s radiance.¡± ¡°They wander in the shadows, lurking in villages and towns, drawing power from the darkness.¡± ¡°The primary mission of the Dawn Inquisition is to eradicate these dangerous heretics.¡± Chris feigned disbelief, ¡°Really? I¡¯ve never heard of any of this.¡± Lir smirked, ¡°Chris, heretics never operate in the open. Just because you can¡¯t see them doesn¡¯t mean they don¡¯t exist.¡± Chris was silent for a moment, then asked what concerned him most, ¡°If they¡¯re so dangerous, how could I possibly deal with them?¡± ¡°That¡¯s why we¡¯re inviting you. By joining the Dawn Inquisition, you can receive the Goddess''s blessing, becoming a quasi-extraordinary being, gaining supernatural power.¡± ¡°Quasi-extraordinary? The Goddess''s blessing?¡± This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience. ¡°You will understand in time, but first, you must decide,¡± Rhea fixed her gaze on Chris. ¡°Are you willing to join the Dawn Inquisition?¡± ¡°Can I go back home and think about it?¡± Chris asked. ¡°No.¡± Chris hesitated, torn between the allure of becoming like Rhea and the fear of the Inquisition uncovering his unique abilities. Who knew what terrifying figures lurked within the Inquisition? Rhea saw the indecision on Chris¡¯s face, she did nothing but wait in silence. ¡°Alright, I am in.¡± Chris said through gritted teeth. Rhea seemed unsurprised. She glanced at Lir, who promptly laid a parchment on the table. ¡°This is a confidentiality contract. Sign your name, and upon joining the Dawn Inquisition, you are forbidden from revealing its existence, even to your family.¡± ¡°It bears the Goddess¡¯s seal. Trust me, the price of breaking the vow will be steep,¡± Rhea added. Chris leaned in to examine it. A faint glow emanated from the parchment, and its contents matched Lir¡¯s words almost verbatim. Taking the quill offered by Lir, Chris signed his name on the contract. A seemingly invisible shackle clasped around his soul. ¡°Welcome to the Dawn Inquisition.¡± Rhea smiled. Chris leaned back against the sofa. ¡°Now, can you explain everything to me?¡± Seeing that Rhea wasn¡¯t inclined to speak, Lir began, ¡°A quasi-extraordinary being hasn¡¯t fully mastered extraordinary powers but has acquired some extraordinary traits. Typically, their physical, mental, or sensory abilities surpass ordinary people, qualifying them to become extraordinary beings.¡± ¡°The Goddess''s blessing is a ritual that elevates ordinary people to quasi-extraordinary status.¡± ¡°Most in the Dawn Inquisition are quasi-extraordinary. Those blessed once are called Investigators, and those blessed twice are Guardians.¡± ¡°I¡¯m a Guardian.¡± After Lir finished, Chris eagerly turned to Rhea. ¡°I¡¯ve already entered the extraordinary realm,¡± Rhea said calmly. ¡°I think that¡¯s enough for today. You can go to the Dawn Inquisition tomorrow, and we¡¯ll conduct the blessing ceremony for you.¡± ¡°Where is the Dawn Inquisition located?¡± ¡°Here.¡± Lir smiled faintly, pointing to the floor. ¡°Below.¡± Rhea stood, signaling Lir to roll up the parchment. ¡°We have a mission to attend to. Yordel will guide you to the Dawn Inquisition tomorrow.¡± ¡ª¡ª Chris left the lounge and returned to the church hall, where he saw Imir and Yordel chatting. ¡°My old man isn¡¯t just anyone,¡± Chris thought. Joining the Dawn Inquisition seemed like a result of pulling strings. Such is the power of a grand schemer. ¡°Imir, let¡¯s go,¡± Chris called out. Imir, seeing Chris, bid Yordel farewell and walked over to him. ¡°What did the people from the Sanctum want with you?¡± Chris felt irritated. He strongly suspected Imir knew the truth but couldn¡¯t confront him about it. ¡°They told me I don¡¯t need to come every week anymore. My devotion to the Goddess is acknowledged, no need for formalities.¡± ¡°But Yodel told me you¡¯ll be working at the church, coming several days a week.¡± Imir raised his eyebrows. Chris¡¯s handsome face flushed. He stammered, unable to find words. ¡°That¡¯s good. Better to hang around the church than to be out carousing every night.¡± Imir patted Chris on the shoulder, then headed for the church exit. Chris quickly followed, not wanting Imir to drive off and leave him walking back to the grocery. Back at the ¡°Good Fortune¡± grocery, old Moen still lying outside, greeted them. ¡°Imir, Smith came looking for you.¡± ¡°Oh?¡± Imir frowned. ¡°What did he want?¡± ¡°He¡¯s completely lost it. Said Seth, covered in blood, appeared in his dreams, asking for revenge. You used to help people with nightmares. He wants your help.¡± A flicker of amusement passed through old Morn¡¯s eyes. He stroked his beard¡¯s back, seemingly in good spirits. ¡°Imir, you help with nightmares? Why haven¡¯t I heard of this?¡± Chris stared at Imir. ¡°Nonsense. That was just a joke. I don¡¯t have that kind of ability!¡± Imir denied immediately. ¡°Once the police catch the killer, I¡¯m sure Smith will sleep soundly.¡± ¡°Those guys couldn¡¯t even find Bella,¡± Moen seemed rather disgruntled. Imir stepped into the grocery. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Moen. Justice will never be absent.¡± ¡°But it does arrive late,¡± Chris thought. He had a feeling that Seth¡¯s death wasn¡¯t as simple as it seemed. ¡°They wander in the shadows, lurking in villages and towns, drawing power from the darkness.¡± Lir¡¯s words echoed in Chris¡¯s ears.