Ding!
[New Achievement Unlocked: Home]
[Congratulations, you have finally found your place in this world. A foothold through which you can rise from and run to in turbulent times.]
[+500 EXP & 1 Question]
I had just exited my pocket dimension when these messages came in. Reading them with narrowed eyes, I couldn't help but tilt my head in confusion.
Was this the heavens trying to force its will on me by making it seem like I had found a family I could rely on?
The way its wording was framed, it leaned towards a more intimate relationship, which I knew I could never share with anyone.
'Stay the fuck out of my business,' I warned, but Pamela's face popped up under mine, blinking repeatedly.
"Are you okay?" she asked before looking toward the ground where my gaze was focused.
Only then did I remember she was still with me. Calmly, I took a step back and rubbed my temple.
"Just a piercing headache," I lied while inwardly boiling.
For 99 lives, the heavens dictated my fate—punishing me with a painful death each time I deviated from the path they wanted. But not in this life.
This time I had the power to decide my fate, and I would do so. Not only would I join the Watchers as a member, I would subdue them and force them under me. I would kill and take the talents of members I deemed unworthy to serve me, and I would rebuild my empire—just like the one stolen from me by my brother.
This time, there would be no betrayals.
No compromise...
Just power and control.
"Are you sure you're alright?" Pamela asked with a tinge of genuine worry in her voice.
Once again, she had disrupted my thoughts—and this pissed me off.
My lips parted, but before I could say a word, the sound of sirens boomed—
WEE-OOO! WEE-OOO! WEE-OOO!
WEE-OOO! WEE-OOO! WEE-OOO!
My rage faded in an instant as Pamela and I exchanged worried glances, but she seemed more worried than me.
"Impossible. They can't be here now!" Pamela gasped.
"What do you mean?" I asked, but she looked at me and simply turned toward the direction of the walls, clearly lost in thought.
Annoyed, I grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her gently.
"What do you mean?!" I repeated in a firmer tone.
Pamela shook her head violently and snapped out of her daydream.
"Follow me."
That was all she said before she began sprinting toward the central part of the C.A.T.H.
"The command center..." I frowned, realizing where she was going.
I chased after her, huffing and puffing as her figure got farther with each passing second. I was in a weakened state, so I was not only lacking in speed but vitality too—my stamina was nearly non-existent.
We ran for minutes, and by the time we reached the towering 7-story building, I was sweating buckets, my clothes soaked.
"Ho-hold on," I yelled with the last of my strength just as we neared the entrance.
Pamela turned around, her eyes widening as she saw my condition.
"I'm so sorry!" she apologized and rushed over to help me.
She flung my hand around her shoulder to lighten the load, and we walked toward the glass doors manned by two anxious soldiers.
Upon seeing us, they saluted with fearful gazes, and I scoffed before looking away.
Now the enemy was at their doorstep, the respect had returned.
"Fake-ass bitches," I cursed under my breath.
The glass doors slid open, and the receptionist—a very young girl, probably around 18 or 19—ran outside with a tablet in her hand.
"Welcome, Guardians!" she said with unnatural enthusiasm fueled by fear. "They are waiting in the command operation room." She sounded extremely polite.
It felt forced.
'Whatever happened must be serious to get them spooked this much.' My frown deepened.
Pamela ignored her, and we kept moving. But the receptionist didn't give up on showing her fake care as she opened the elevator doors for us and bowed.
"Stop," I said in an irritated tone.
And Pamela stopped, gazing at me with a confused look. I pulled my hand off her shoulder, approaching the receptionist with shaky steps.
Using my index finger, I gently pulled the receptionist's face up until our eyes met.
"Just sit back there and do nothing," I said as my finger left her chin and I grabbed her by the neck, slamming her into the wall.
"Adam!" Pamela yelled, but I ignored her and leaned into the receptionist—our faces just inches apart.
I could feel her warm breath running down my sweaty face, and the politeness in her eyes had shifted to resentment.
That's it. This was the expression they gave us just over 30 minutes ago when we left the medical bay.
"You hate me, I hate you. Let's keep it that way," I said in a cold and threatening voice. "The next time you act all friendly with me again, I'll bash your skull into the walls and give your brains as a peace offering to the orcs."
"Adam!"
I let go of the receptionist and she fell to her knees, coughing loudly. Without sparing her a glance, I walked into the elevator and Pamela followed closely behind.
She selected the seventh floor while I leaned on the wall, eyes closed.
"You can't do that to anyone ever again," Pamela said. "At least, not in public places like this."
However, I didn't respond. She didn't understand how painful it was to receive fake love and affection from people all your life, only to get betrayed.
The receptionist's eagerness to please reminded me of my wife in my first life. Back then, I saw it as love—I thought she just wanted to do things for me and enjoyed expressing her affection all the time—only to realize she was just overcompensating to hide her real intentions.
"Understood," I finally muttered in a low voice.
Not long after, the elevator stopped and its doors slid open with a hiss.
There were numerous screens at the far end of the massive room, giving vintage views of the orc horde in the distance, slowly approaching the C.A.T.H.
"Come on!" Pamela's voice snapped me out of my reverie, and I walked out of the elevator.
Hiss!
The doors slid closed, and the temperature in this room was low. The cold was a bit disturbing for my condition, but it wasn't something I couldn't handle.
Seated behind the monitors were men and women in military clothes, each wearing headphones they used to communicate.
We walked toward the center where a 10-meter-tall holomap table displayed the C.A.T.H, the terrain, and the moving orc horde in real-time.
Surrounding the table were Viktor, Natasha, and two faces I wasn't familiar with—a man and a woman. Both dressed in military attire, but their pulsating blue veins exposed their Ascendant identity.
"You are late!" the man snapped.