[Hogun - POV]
I looked at the girl standing before me.
Something about her felt… familiar.
That face—where had I seen it before?
[Doctor]: Good to see you too, Omen. Looks like you've come back after completing the mission.
Omen. That name struck me like shrapnel. I'd known someone by that name. Fought beside her. This girl looked the same. Sounded the same. But she wasn't her. She wasn't The Omen I know.
[Hogun]: So… are you the new leader of the Black Banner now?
She smiled, just enough to unsettle me.
[Omen]: Sorry, General. The Black Banner only follows one leader—the true Crow Lady, Omen of the Dark.
And just like that, the air turned cold.
This wasn't just a reunion.
It was a warning.
And to be warned by someone like her…
That was enraging.
[Hogun]: Good. Now, next time you speak to me like that—
I didn't finish the sentence.
I turned and drove my fist through the creature beside us—one of those twisted horrors still lingering from the battlefield. Flesh and bone crumpled under my strike, and in an instant, it exploded into dust and blood, a wet detonation that splattered across the stone and metal around us.
The room fell silent.
Even the Doctor froze. W blinked, mouth open mid-comment, and for once, said nothing. The others stood still, tense, wide-eyed, unsure whether they should be afraid of me, or grateful.
Omen was sweating now.
More than the rest.
She'd fought that creature earlier—paralyzed it with magic. I remembered: she used lightning, not shadow. Her spell hadn't destroyed it—just locked its spine in place.
She couldn't kill it.
She only stopped it from moving.
And she knew it.
Now she'd seen me erase it with a single blow.
Her fear was justified.
The air was still thick with blood and static.
Omen stood frozen, sweat trailing down her brow.
The Doctor shifted uncomfortably.
Even W—chaos incarnate—took a moment before breaking the silence.
[W]: If you could've done that earlier, we wouldn't be this tired, you know.
She said it casually, like she was commenting on the weather.
But there was something in her tone—half-joke, half-accusation.
I didn't respond.
Because she was right.
I could have done that earlier.
But I hadn't.
And now everyone was wondering why.
[Hogun]: That was me being polite. W.
I sounded calm.
I looked cool, composed, even.
But inside?
I was absolutely falling apart.
This body… It's hard to control. Even if it's mine now, I'm still new to this power.
Everything's too fragile. Too soft.
Just touching something wrong could snap bones or crush skulls like paper.
Every step feels like walking on glass while wearing a tank.
I didn't hold back because I was saving energy.
I held back because if I don't, every fight ends with someone turning into jelly—or just a pile of organs on the ground.
A walking disaster.
That's what I am.
But hey.
It's a good thing they don't know that.
[Hogun]: Now—Doctor. I've been meaning to talk with you. As for you, W…
I reached into my inventory and pulled out a handful of old Whiteveil gold coins—tarnished, rare, the kind you could buy a country with if you knew the right fence.
[Hogun]: Here. Payment for... whatever this was.
She snatched the coins with a grin, nodded, and took off toward that ridiculous machine she called a ship—if you could even call it that.
Treaded like a tank. Shaped like a whale. Covered in duct-taped weapon systems and half-melted signage.
Some kind of landship?
I'd think more about it later.
Right now, I needed to talk to this guy before something else—
CRUNCH.
The SAM Bar—that damn floating lander—chose that exact moment to drop down.
Not crash.
Not fire.
Just… settle.
Right on my head.
Of course.
I hate my luck. And I sure as hell won't tempt fate again—because every time I do, I lose something more.
Still… this brings back memories.
[Flashback]
The world bled white, then golden. Wheat swayed in the wind like an ocean of quiet fire.
I looked down at myself—clad in my old CS:GO skin, like some cruel joke of nostalgia given form.
Ahead, in the heart of the field, stood Adam. He was speaking softly with the girl dressed in an Eastern robe, her face hidden beneath a wide bamboo hat and a long purple veil. Beside her loomed an old man in black samurai armor, weathered but immovable, like a monument that still breathed.
Me, and? The others.
We stayed back at the edge of the field—silent, alert, making damn sure no one ruined the meeting.
The wheat swayed around us like waves in a golden sea.
In the middle of it stood Adam, calm as ever, his coat shifting in the wind. He wasn't alone. Across from him was the veiled girl in her eastern dress—the one they called Omen—and beside her, the armored figure everyone simply called OldFarmer.
They weren't here for war. Not this time.
They were talking about something bigger.
A city… A place we will call Whiteveil. Something new. Something that will last.
And just as those words hung in the air, a clump of soil and seed dropped square onto my head.
That was the day I learned why they called her Omen.
Not because of prophecy.
Not because of destiny.
But because she's pure bad luck made flesh.
If something can fall, break, or explode—it will, and usually on someone's skull.
[End of Flashback]
[Extra: The Great Hunter]
A figure cloaked in a dark robe stood at the prow of her ship, staring across storm-lit waters that clawed at the hull like living things.
She drew a whetstone down her harpoon until the steel sang with a hungry note. Then she closed her eyes, inhaling the metallic tang of rain and rust, exhaling with the patience of a predator.
She was Queen.
And today, she was meeting a guest.
[Queen]: You asked for my time, Miss Carmen. Use it well. And RedMist—keep your hand off that blade unless you're eager for a harpoon through the heart. This is the only warning you'll get. Remember it, because I never miss.
The wind shifted. The lake howled.
Her weapon gleamed like a shard of moonlight, steady in her hand.
[Carmen]: Lady Black Sailor… we didn't come for blood. We came for hope. The City rots with a sickness—'the disease of the mind.' Its citizens are losing themselves, their humanity devoured piece by piece. We believe the cure lies within Whiteveil. We've traced fragments, records… enough to know you may help us reach it.
Queen finally turned. Her eyes were sharp, merciless, her silhouette carved against the lightning ripping the sky apart.
[Queen]: Hope? I've followed a dreamer full of hope once before… let me show you how that ended.
She pulled open the door to her ship. The creak echoed like a gallows rope in the storm.
[Queen]: Mist, you can come as well. And the man skulking behind her? He may step aboard, too. But understand this—any of you take one wrong step, and you'll decorate my harpoon before the hour's out.
As they entered the door behind them closed, and they walked after Queen, on the hallway walls, photos were everywhere.
Carmen looked at them with interest, from pictures of monsters never seen before to people with weird looks, to one picture that made Carmen stop and look at it for a long time. The picture was of a White city with endless golden fields.
[Queen]: Beautiful, isn't it? Whiteveil. Or at least… a fragment of it. Built by a dreamer not unlike you. A person brimming with hope, who thought a city could outlast hunger, greed, and time.
She tapped the frame, then shifted her hand to the picture beside it.
The same city, the same shining towers—but now drowned in fire, its walls blackened, its streets choked with ruin.
[Queen]: But nothing built lasts forever. And greed? Greed is always waiting.
Carmen's breath caught. Her eyes widened as if the truth had just struck her like lightning.
[Carmen]: No… it can't be. Whiteveil is destroyed?
Queen's expression didn't change. If anything, her eyes grew colder.
[Queen]: Destroyed? No. Whiteveil was sold. A fate worse than ashes—bargained away piece by piece until even its bones weren't its own.
She leaned in, her voice dropping to a rasp sharp enough to cut.
[Queen]: Tell me, Carmen… are you willing to bleed for a dream that devours every dreamer who touches it?
The storm howled, pounding the hull as if demanding her reply.
[Carmen]:…If that dream can save even a fragment of The City, then yes. I'll bleed. I'll burn. Whatever Whiteveil takes, I'll give—because the alternative is letting the sickness hollow out everyone I swore to protect.
Her hands trembled, but her gaze didn't waver.
Queen studied her for a long, suffocating silence. Then, slowly, a smile that wasn't quite amusement tugged at her lips.
[Queen]: Bold words. I've heard them before—from saints, from kings, from killers. Do you know what they all had in common?
She lifted the harpoon, letting the stormlight dance across its edge.
[Queen]: …They all bled. And most were forgotten. But to hell with that.
Her grip tightened, eyes flashing with something rawer than the storm.
[Queen]: I followed Adam. And I never regretted it. Not once.
She turned sharply, the steel of her boots ringing against the deck as she beckoned Carmen forward.
[Queen]: Come here, Carmen.
Queen opened a heavy iron door. Behind it stretched not cabins or cargo holds, but a vast chamber lined with shelves. Old tomes, cracked spines, and forbidden bindings glimmered in the dim lantern light.
Carmen stepped inside, her breath catching as she read the titles:
"Ego and the Human Subconscious."
"The History of Adam von Flama."
"How to Date a Mafia Boss."
It was a library—a graveyard of knowledge, stolen and preserved against time.
Queen rested the harpoon across her shoulder, her gaze drilling into Carmen.
[Queen]: Now tell me… are you ready to be a hero? Or just another body the City will forget?
The words echoed through the chamber like a verdict.
Elsewhere in the hallway, a man with dark hair and golden eyes paused before a framed photograph. The frame itself was tarnished, its glass cracked, yet the image within remained sharp—almost alive.
A bar. Dim neon lights. A haze of smoke curled above bottles that no longer existed.
At the center of the picture sat Queen, younger, her expression unguarded in a way none would believe now. And beside her—
A man in a dark tuxedo, his posture effortless, his smile sly. A capo's hat tilted just so, round red glasses hiding his gaze. A Cuban cigar smoldered between his fingers, the smoke curling like a crown of ash.
He was Sam.
Queen's fiancé.
The man in the hallway lingered on the photo, the storm outside groaning against the hull. For a moment, it felt as though the picture itself whispered of something lost—something that explained why Queen's eyes had never softened since.
He was also wondering why there was a faint smell of cigar smoke fills the hallway.
But what none of them knew—what none of them could know—was that the man in the picture was not entirely still.
Sam.
Behind the red lenses, his painted eyes slid, following the stranger in the hall. The ember of his cigar glowed faintly, far too real for ink on paper.
A trick of the light.
Or something far worse.
[Chapter End]
Hello, I'm back again, just finished my exams yesterday, and now I'm waiting for the resolution.
But for now, I'm diving back into stories. Also, I have three new titles for you, so choose one so I can make it.
[The Multiversal Tool Seller of Skyblock] [World: Minecraft Skyblock]
[Project Moon: Clone Editor in the City][World: Project Moon]
[The Slow Life of a Cheatless Reincarnator][World: Fantasy isekai]