Chapter 21: Uncovering Mysteries
"Go, I'll hold them off," his roommate said, his voice firm and resolute. Omen didn't waste a second. He nodded in silent gratitude and ran at a moderate speed out of the hall, careful not to arouse suspicion of his abilities. People already knew he had only night vision, and he intended to keep it that way.
As he exited the hall, the cold, stinging air of the frozen landscape assaulted him. The cold breeze blasted over his face, contrasting dramatically with the oppressive heat and exertion he had just escaped. The surroundings were gloomy, a wide expanse of white that stretched in all directions. The sky was a drab grey, laden with the prospect of additional snowfall. Omen's breath created clouds of mist as he moved, and his thoughts raced as he tried to absorb what had transpired.
His roommate's burning crimson eyes quickly assaulted his thoughts. How can he be a master? And why did he decide to help Omen? The questions raced through his thoughts, each more confusing than the last. The snow continued to fall, adding to the heavy covering that had formed on the ground. Omen's strides became more arduous as the snow thickened, but he persevered.
The previous night's blizzards had long passed, leaving behind piles of snow that reached Omen's knees. The air was still bitterly cold, but the two suns overhead provided much-needed warmth, which began to soak into his bones. The scene was a wide expanse of white, punctuated only by small clusters of slaves slogging through the snow in pairs or threes, their breath visible in the crisp air.
Omen ignored the other slaves. He had a different goal in mind. Trusting that his slim roommate was capable of holding his ground against the trio, he focused on reaching the purge point.
Like before, the area was enormous, capable of holding a thousand people at once. Despite the snow, the ground was completely smooth, revealing a bare concrete floor. The podium was solemnly placed at the front of the oval-shaped arena, devoid of any seating. At first glance, there was nothing particularly special about the place, but Omen's instincts told him otherwise.
Omen carefully observed the concrete, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinized the surface. Something was off. Activating his [exogene sense], he felt a constant flow of energy moving through hidden arrays. Though no visible runes marked the surface, he suspected they were cleverly concealed, woven into the very fabric of the arena. Curiosity and caution mingled as Omen placed his palms on the odd floor, activating his vibration sense. Immediately, he sensed a warmth emanating from beneath the surface. The warmth quickly grew in intensity, becoming almost unbearable. With a yelp of pain, he jerked his hands away, shaking them to dispel the lingering heat.
Omen knew there was no way of predicting the next purge. The masters' unpredictability was part of their strategy, keeping the slaves in a constant state of fear and uncertainty. But If he could uncover more about these magical arrays and their purpose, he might find a way to disrupt the masters' plans.
Omen didn't want to go back into the hall for fear of encountering the violent trio, nor did he want to face his master-eyed roommate. Instead, he decided to idly explore the entire perimeter of the barricade. To any sane person, this would have seemed pointless, but Omen had plans. As he moved, he ignored the deadly gazes of the masters, aware that they were failed experiments unable to act against their orders, orders which were to kill anyone attempting to escape. At that moment, Omen wasn't attempting to escape—not yet at least.
He meticulously counted the master's as he circled the barricade, occasionally touching the barricade metal. The metal gave off a small warmth, similar to the unusual purge point, which piqued his interest. Each touch was a discovery, adding to the puzzle he was slowly putting together in his mind.
The barricade was a massive edifice, a huge, unsettling fortification that stretched as far as one could see. It was made of an unusual metal that appeared to shimmer gently under the light of the two suns. The warmth it emanated was peculiar and unpleasant, implying a concealed energy source similar to the one found beneath the purge point.
Omen continued his exploration, his fingers trailing lightly over the warm metal surface. He made note of the number and positions of the masters, their expressions vacant yet menacing. They were spread evenly around the perimeter, their eyes following his every move with cold precision. These were once humans, but now they were nothing more than puppets, tied by the Entity's merciless sorcery.
As he touched the metal, he felt a faint pulse, almost like a heartbeat, reverberating through the barricades. The warmth intensified in particular areas, implying hidden systems or power sources within. Omen's thoughts raced as he considered the various alternatives. The master's technology was considerably more advanced than he had previously imagined, combining magic and machinery in ways he could scarcely grasp.
He paused at a particularly warm section of the barricade, placing both hands against it. The heat was intense, nearly too much to bear, but he forced himself to persevere, hoping to sense the flow of energy beneath the surface. He felt a rhythmic thrum, a constant beat that appeared to pulse in sync with his own heart. It seemed as if the barricade itself was alive, propelled by some dark, unfathomable force.
"Interesting," he said to himself, taking a step back and wiping the sweat from his brow. There was something vital here that he needed to grasp. The warmth, the pulses, the positioning of the masters—it all pointed to a larger design, a complex system that governed the purges.
Omen resumed his circuit, his mind racing. He was confident that if he could learn the barricade's secrets, he would be able to exploit its flaws. The masters were formidable, but not invincible. Their power had limits, which might be tested.
As he finished his exploration, he took one more look at the barricade and committed its details to memory. The warmth remained on his fingertips.
The total number of Masters present was just twenty-four. Omen hadn't encountered any acolytes, but he was sure their numbers would be much smaller. By the time he was ready to go back in, it was already dusk. He decided to wait longer, standing patiently against a withered tree as the night deepened and two moons surfaced in the sky. At night, his eyesight was astounding, turning the dark landscape into a clear and vivid scene.
From his vantage point, he silently observed the Masters standing like statues on the barricade fence. Their glowing red eyes were visible even at this distance, and Omen felt a chill, suspecting they could see him just as clearly. They stood rigid, their presence an ever-looming threat.
After a while, Omen decided to return to the bunker. He snuck into the bunker and moved silently along the poorly lit hallways. Fortunately, Anna was not having sex tonight, so the typical sounds of debauchery were absent. He proceeded effortlessly to his room, his mind constantly repeating the day's events and the secrets he had discovered. Just as he was about to enter his room, a hand appeared from the darkness and stopped him.
Omen had just activated his [instant dash], his muscles primed for a fast getaway, when he noticed something odd. The hand reaching out to him lacked the rough callouses he associated with Jacobi and his thuggish entourage. With a wary glance, Omen turned to see a strikingly beautiful blonde girl with golden eyes, the kind of mesmerizing gaze that would make you second-guess your life choices. Her pupils were slit like a cat, and her nose had an almost feline curve to it.
Omen recognized her immediately as the same girl who had snatched bread from him with telekinesis earlier—talk about a subtle entrance. She was holding a grilled slab of meat, the kind that could make a vegetarian reconsider their life choices and offer it to him.
He raised an eyebrow, observing her as she tried to shove the meat towards him with an air of frustration. The girl's face betrayed her inner turmoil; parting with that slab of meat was a sacrifice of epic proportions. Her eyes flickered with a mix of pain and determination as if she were deciding between a moral high ground and her stomach's insistence.
"What's this?" Omen asked, trying to mask his amusement. "A peace offering or an attempt to make me a carnivore?"
The girl's frustration grew as she pushed the meat closer, nearly jabbing him with it. Her intentions were clear, she wanted him to have it.
He accepted the meat, chuckling softly as he sensed the genuine struggle she faced. Her loyalty or sense of fairness—or maybe just her unwillingness to part with the meat without some sort of acknowledgement—was evident. As he took a small bite…making sure not to swallow, he couldn't help but wonder if she was as conflicted as she seemed, or if she was just really, really hungry.
"You can take it, I'm not hungry," Omen said, his voice soft but firm.
To his surprise, the girl's eyes immediately welled up with tears. It was as if he'd just given her a golden ticket to a theme park. Her previous reluctance to part with the meat seemed to melt away, replaced by sheer, unfiltered joy.
Before he could react, she threw her arms around him in an enthusiastic embrace. She seemed to be saying "Thank you so much!" but Omen couldn't recognize the language, her voice high-pitched and filled with uncontainable glee.
The suddenness of the hug, combined with the fact that her body was now pressed against his, made Omen's face turn a shade of red that could rival a freshly ripened tomato. Her scent was heady and intoxicating, a mix of something floral with a hint of smoky meat—quite the sensory overload. Omen found himself momentarily lost in the overwhelming closeness. What the hell is going on today?
The girl's excitement seemed boundless as she continued to cling to him, her elation almost palpable. Omen awkwardly patted her back, unsure whether to laugh or to run away. Amidst the chaotic blend of emotions, he tried to regain his composure.
"So," he managed, clearing his throat, "do you always react this... enthusiastically to people accepting your food?"
The girl looked up at him, her eyes still sparkling with happiness. "Only when it's someone as nice as you!"
Omen was at a loss for words, once again unable to understand her. It seemed like his day had taken a bizarre turn, and he could only hope the rest of it would be less... confusing.
The girl didn't waste a moment. With a determined leap, she snatched the meat from Omen's hand and sprinted off on all fours, her movements surprisingly agile. She raced toward the female wing of the bunker, the slab of meat clamped firmly in her mouth like a prize she wasn't about to lose.
Omen shook his head with a bemused smile as he secretly spat out the small morsel he had bitten earlier, then headed to his room. To his surprise, his roommates were all fast asleep—well, almost all of them. The slim boy who was awake looked at him with wide, panic-stricken eyes, as if he'd just seen a ghost.