I opened up my eyes and took in the dusty remains of the room.

The rays of the Sun came in from what once might have been a window, illuminating what little remained of the metal frames of whatever furniture the room might have had in the past.

Suddenly, I sneezed, which woke both Loki and me up.

No, I had not caught a cold, or at least I shouldn't have, because I had slept with Loki's big body covering me.

He did not suffer cold, not in the slightest.

We both stretched, and I went to the broken-down wall.

What paved in front of me was the ruin of what might have once been a small city, or maybe even a big city, I couldn't say. The only other example of a city I had ever known was Sundoor, and the City of Lights was too big for me to define it only as “a city.”

We were at the Eastern Dump, and although we had given it our all to fight creatures the previous night, we did not manage to level up once.

Peeking down from the ninth floor of the building, I could still see some of the remains of the slaughter we had achieved yesterday night.

There must have been at least the bodies of forty Frost-cats and hundreds of Dire-rats.

A few dozen Trash-gobbler had surely already dissolved.

As the name suggested, Trash-gobblers were huge creatures that gobbled down waste; it became part of their body, at least until one busted their fragile stomachs, then it would all come out and go back on the streets.

They were enormous sacs of fragile flesh with a wide mouth; they crawled on the ground with the only pair of arms they had and were relatively weak but had a dangerous spit.

They could spit whatever piece of trash came out from their esophagi. They could even disgorge waste at an incredible speed, which could be fatal if one was taken by surprise given the sheer amounts of things they ate.

We had amassed over seventy thousand Soul fractions each, but the creatures were overall too low-leveled to make any real difference.

I sneezed again, "Yeah, I might have caught a cold… after all."

"I have to find some way to get myself Cold or Ice resistance, Loki."

I turned toward my lion; he sat back down. It was clearly too soon in the morning for him.

"Wanna sleep a bit more?" I asked, “Sleep then; I'm going to look around for a bit.”

Saying so, I threw my knife to the ground, down the building, transferring in the middle of the street.

I appeared with a crack of frost near a couple of homeless people that had gone out of their hiding place to take the food I had left lying around the previous night.

"Be my guest," I said as I appeared.

I had removed as many of the creatures' Stones as possible; my satchel was full to the brim with them.

I did not feel pity for those people. The villages near Murk mountain range did not really accept anybody, yet nor did they utterly refuse people. So if those living in the Dump wanted to put a little effort into it, they could join the villagers. It was their choice to stay here. And I probably understood why.

It was the City’s call.

Nova and I had always felt it. But while I had always tried to ignore it, she had always craved it.

Now I could finally understand what she saw in it.

The hate I had in my heart for the lack of help they gave us was shedding away. Maybe it was because I was getting to know Aisha better and seeing the City through her eyes.

But was that all? Was it the new Flow Star I received as I Promoted my Tamer Sub-Class that pushed me to the City?

Or was it the new freedom I felt? It could have been both.

Anyway, I did not care. What I knew was that despite what Roana had said and what the others thought about it, I wanted to go. I wanted to visit the City. At least take a look at it since I had never done so.

With Aisha's help, I would be able to go, right?

But then I told myself, "I mean, Logan is a Shade-cursed like me, and he goes whenever he wishes to. Okay, he was born there, and he's a bit atypical as far as Shade-cursed go, so they must have some sort of weight in his relationship with the City, but Aisha can fix that for me, right? She said so herself."

If any of the homeless people here saw me speak to myself, they would think I was really one of them.

"Well," I said, keeping up with the speaking to myself pattern, "I do not have a real place to call home… treehouse or not, I just can't call that place my home, right?"

Alright, that was enough.

I stopped then, but not because I didn’t want to look crazy, but because Sixth Sense screamed at me to move away.

I felt a bang, and a little hole in the ground opened up near my feet as I moved away just in time to save my left foot.

I readied the bow I had around my shoulder then, but before I could nock an arrow, I felt a voice.

"State your business!" they said.

"State your business, son of a Moon walker!" I answered, "Why in the Abyss did you shoot at me!?"

I realized right away where the shot had come from. It was from a building at my left, the fourth- no, the fifth floor.

There was a sniper with a Flow-rifle aimed at me.

Sawyer Hasanat, Sharp-shooter Level 47 (321.555/470.000), Farseer Level 47 (345.026/470.000)

Health: 100%

Stamina: 98%

Agility: 23

Constitution: 30

Strength: 10

Focus: 15

Perception: 38

Willpower: 15

Strengths: Aim, Reflexes

Weaknesses: None

Class Skills: Speedy Exit (Agility), Kill-Shot II (Strength), Sniping Tactics (Focus), Trace II (Perception)

Sub-Class Skills: Saving Spree (Agility), Reserves (Constitution), Danger Sight (Perception), Unbending (Willpower)

Race: Half-Elf, Half-human

Sex: Male

Height: 180 cm

Weight: 79 kg

Age: 26

Origins: Sundoor

Family: None

What in the vast, deep Abyss was going on?

What was such a powerful individual from Sundoor doing here?

But, after I noticed what his Family information said, I could roughly guess what a Half-Elf without a family would be doing in such a place: shady business.

"I repeat, state your business!"

I knew I couldn't really do anything right then if not leaving, and yet… whatever it was that they were doing here took my interest.

So I raised my arms and slowly backed away; I could not just let him shoot me. Flow-rifles were good weapons. He was a Sharp-Shooter, which possibly gave him a Constitution Skill to resist the Flow overload from the massive amount of Flow that the weapon would gather.

The problem was that he did not have that sort of Skill, which meant that he could not overuse his Rifle; no matter how much he increased his Constitution, he had to rely on his Kill-Shot Skill to make short work of his enemies.

But, the man had Traced me with Trace II, and although unlikely given his Class, he might have Promoted Trace Minor Perk with Untraceable Tracking.

I had just been Tracked and Traced, and I could not allow that. Whatever he had seen in my Tracing could not be allowed to be passed down to anyone nor my location.

It was clear then; the man would have to die.

I raised my arms in the air as I slowly backed away, yet I still held my bow tightly in my clock-arms hand grip. It would never let go.

Yet my mind was already planning my next several moves.

I knew perfectly how a future sight Skill like mine worked. There was only one sure way to counter-attack it, and I had learned it by studying the Forms with momma Jane.

The core of the problem was never to display your real intention.

Knowing that, my mind started overflowing with all the possible moves I could display. If I was doing it correctly and the man indeed had a future sight ability, he would be looking at too many of my movements to gauge which one I was more likely to take correctly.

I knew I had confounded him when I heard a shot, but I was not there anymore.

I had thrown my knife far to my right.

The Sharp-Shooter was looking at the world through the scope of his viewfinder; there was no way he had been able to follow my instantaneous movements; I took that chance to nock a regular arrow, aim at him, and release.

When I forced myself through the narrow frame which my Trick Shot's copied arrow offered, I materialized right on the man's face, my clock-tech knee got him on the nose, sending him to tumble on the floor.

I had aimed way too fast to hit him properly; in fact, he hadn't had the time to go back into cover. However, my arrow had not hit him. It had encased itself on the upper portion of the window frame.

As I sat on top of the broken-down window, I removed the arrow from the partially crumbled stone frame, taking a look at the arrowhead.

"It's still usable," I said to myself, more out of necessity than anything. "I was running short on arrows."

I nocked it back and aimed the arrow at this Sawyer guy, "I'm sorry, Sawyer, but you should not have Traced me. I've got a bad experience with it."

I was about to end his life with my three cold-blooded fingers, but then I heard… applause.

"Bravo… bravo!" Somebody said, "That was the most beautiful entrance I have ever seen in my whole life! Bravo!" He said as he kept on applauding.

As I turned toward the source of the noise, the rest of the broken palace came into my view.

Calling it broken was a far cry from describing how it fared.

The building was entirely hollowed out.

The floor on which I stood was one of the few which was still partially standing; the pavement was held up only by the powerful still frame which these buildings seemed to be equipped with.

Most of the other floors had crumbled down to the ground, forming giant hips of rocks into the palace's empty frame. How it still stood, given its conditions, was a mystery.

Practically, the only thing that remained standing were the outer walls.

My eyes were then drawn toward the source of the noise, though; it came from atop the giant pile of broken-down floors that had formed a mound on the ground.

A man standing tall by a chair was still applauding me, whistling joyfully to my performance.

He was not alone, not by a long shot. There were many armed people around him and all around the inside margins of the building.

In front of the applauding man stood another group, a different group of people; they did not seem to belong to them. I could tell so by their appearance.

The second group looked much more well-dressed, more refined, and just gave off a different feeling than the people who garrisoned the building; I was ready to bet they came from the City.

Although the one in front of the others was definitely an outlander given his red hair, they were not really the ones shining in the place. Not even with their fancy clothes, polished boots, Dungeon-born weapons, and outlandish appearance.

The one who really filled the wide space with his overwhelming presence was the man applauding.

He was a Flow-blessed, a giant of a man, with a massive frame, slicked-back hair, and leather clothes that, although hiding his skin, did little to hide the prowess of his body.

But that was not all; the man exuded a powerful presence, the likes of which not even the Inquisitor that had come to visit Logan, Aisha's father, showed. This man was just incredible.

At that moment, I knew that he was messing with my head somehow. So, I was forced to Track and Trace him.

Yet even before I did, he said, "Go ahead, Trace me, boy. You know you want it!"

Christopher Ronen, Chosen Level 70 (Max/7.000.000), Boss Level 70 (Max/7.000.000)

Health: 300%

Stamina: 298%

Flow Capacity 200%

Agility: 20

Constitution: 30

Strength: 36

Focus: 20

Perception: 10

Willpower: 60

Strengths: Body, Family, Looks, Power, Standing, Constitution, Strength, Willpower

Weaknesses: None

Class Skills: Flowing Step V (Agility), Metal Flow Body V (Constitution), Solar Chop (Strength), Submit V (Willpower), True Flow-Blessed (Fortune)

Sub-Class Skills: Never Submit V (Constitution), Ambition V (Strength), Paternal Bond (Focus), Lie detector V (Perception), Unbending V (Willpower)

Race: Human

Sex: Male

Height: 223 cm

Weight: 135 kg

Age: 54

Origins: Sundoor

Family: None

Another walking monster.

This man was as incredible as Cyrus, if not even more terrifying than him.

I couldn't help but gawk a little, with much of his enjoyment.

He proffered a mile-long grin, and it was damn disgustingly attractive. It made me smile as well.

But then I finally got free of his incredible Willpower.

This man could likely do what Roana was capable of but without any need for Skills.

"Christoph, what are we waiting for? Just have the intruder killed, and let's continue; I don't have all the damn day to waste in this place," said one of the beautifully dressed men.

I smirked, then I aimed my arrow at him; attack was the best defense.

"I can kill you right now if you want, so you won't feel like wasting time anymore. I bet the Abyss is full of surprises for a man as busy as you."

I did not Track and Trace him, still too shaken for having seen the Tracing of the incredible man in front of me.

The nicely-dressed man slowly turned his head toward me, looking displeased, then waved his hand, and a beam of what couldn't else be but compressed Shade exploded forth, flying at me.

My instinct screamed to evade as if my life depended on it. No matter my Shade supposed resistance, no matter how much I thought I was blessed by Shade. Sixth Sense said that if that beam of dark light hit me, I would no longer be in the land of the living.

I backtracked two huge steps, and yet the beam moved with his hand, following me.

I moved in the direction of the still downed Sniper, and the beam, disintegrating everything in its path, was following me; it would undoubtedly hit the Sniper; likely vaporizing him.

Then there was an explosion, and the beam disappeared.

I looked for the origin of the sound; the giant man had interposed his hand to the beam; he was literally blocking it with his hand shining in Flow light.

I took that chance to Track and Trace the nicely dressed man.

Gustav Hernàndez, Dark Magician Level 70 (Max/7.000.000), Sage Level 70 (Max/7.000.000)

Health: 200%

Stamina: 95%

Shade Capacity: 300%

Agility: 20

Constitution: 20

Strength: 10

Focus: 70

Perception: 27

Willpower: 30

Strengths: Name, Power, Standing, Focus, Willpower

Weaknesses: Strength

Class Skills: Plastic Shade Body V (Constitution), Disintegrating Beam (Focus), Evil Eye (Perception), That is Mine V (Willpower), Shade-Blessed (Fortune)

Sub-Class Skills: Through the Books V (Agility), Master of Knowledge (Focus), Prediction V (Perception), Catch the Moment V (Willpower), Luck of the Draw (Fortune)

Race: Human

Sex: Male

Height: 181 cm

Weight: 79 kg

Age: 59

Origins: Unknown

Family: Trisha Hernàndez

I heard the big man say, "Gustav, there's one of mine's there, your stupid beams hurt, come on." After saying that, he gave a hearty laugh, and the other man did indeed listen to him.

I was fucking confused. Not only because this other monster in front of me had seventy… seventy fucking points in Focus and was a Magician, but for something that couldn't but have drawn my eyes to it like a Flow Season moth to a candle flame.

This man… I thought. Even in my mind, I couldn't find the words to say what I was thinking.

But there could be no other explanation; he even looked a little bit like her… without a doubt, this man was Harlow's grandfather, but Sunny shit, he looked way too young.

"Now, Christoph, tell me why I should let this boy live?" He asked, then turned toward one of his men, "Does he have Trace?"

"Level three, Prof," said one of them. He was half-outlander, half-Flow-blessed.

"See?" The man called Gustav said to the giant. "Would you let him go now that he's seen all that?"

"Gustav…" he answered, "Oh, Gustav. You are way too focused for your own good!" Said Christoph with a big smile, "Look at him, what do you see!?" He asked with passion in his voice.

I, on my side, was starting to be damn terrified. Why, for the whole Abyss, did I follow my stupid instincts again.

I could have left...

Could I sincerely escape these men?

"What should I see?" Gustav asked. "A little Shade-cursed fox snooping where he shouldn't. Like it's even the first one that tries to put his nose where it doesn't belong," he shook his head, "I sincerely have no idea why we're even talking about him."

"Well, I've already seen what you fail to see, Gustav. Look at him. Short hair, bow, shoddy clock-tech arm-"

"Hey!" I couldn't accept that statement, "My girlfriend made me this. It's not shoddy at all!"

The man, surprised, chuckled, then apologized; he really apologized.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I meant, low-end clock-arm. But really Gustav," he turned to his speaker, waiting for something, "Do you see now?"

Gustav slightly bent his head to the side, then he grinned.

"Oh, I see now. Good eye, Christoph."

"What's going on," asked one of the giant's men, "What should we see?"

Then I heard the barrel of a rifle nudging the back of my head, and yet my Sixth Sense didn't trigger.

"The fucking Night Hunter. That's what you should see, dumb ass," said the Sharp-Shooter behind me.

He spat blood on the pavement before saying, "You broke my nose, fucking asshole."

That was the moment when I realized that if I had been terrified before, then I was utterly horrified by the current circumstances.

These men knew who I was and had caught me red-handed.

Should have stayed training with momma Jane, I thought to myself with a sigh.

Yet what came out of my voice was a curse, a curse directed at Aisha: "Thank the Sun the place was only for bums, right? Damn city girl..."