Mid-thought, an idea suddenly struck Michael—no, a realization.
"What am I even doing? Isn't the Association responsible for handling supernatural affairs?"
For a mont, Michael felt stupid.
It was clear that even with enhanced cognitive abilities, high ntal processing power didn't equate to perfect intelligence.
Then again, "smart" was a subjective term.
Not everyone could have handled the current situation as well as Michael did, even if they had better resources.
After the realization hit him that he was concerning himself with matters far outside his paycheck—sothing he didn't even have—Michael imdiately pulled out his phone.
He had a new plan: to inform the Association.
The Supers Association had its own hotline, with each branch maintaining specific numbers.
However, like most regular people, Michael hadn't morized it. If it wasn't the police hotline, it wasn't exactly common knowledge.
Okay, that wasn't entirely true.
Michael could've easily searched for the number online, but instead, he scrolled through his contacts for one person who'd reached out to him earlier that day.
Grace.
She had called him about his Advancent, and since they weren't familiar enough for personal calls, she must've used one of the Association's official lines.
Besides, it was easy to distinguish between regular contacts and those that weren't.
Trailing behind the suspicious duo through dark alleyways, Michael did his best to suppress his presence, sweat trickling down his back.
He located the contact and dialed it.
Ring. Ring.
The call connected almost instantly.
A calm yet serious male voice ca through the line.
"Hello, this is the Supers Association. Who am I speaking with, and how can I help you today?"
"Good morning. I'm Michael Norman, and I have sothing to report," Michael said in a low, asured tone.
"Please, go ahead."
"There are two n staying at the hotel I'm lodged in. I wasn't trying to ddle in anyone's business, but sothing about them seed off. When I followed them, I found them handling what looked like demon remains. The remains dissolved into the ground and they continued this in a structured pattern. I didn't know what else to do, so I called."
"Wait, demon remains?"
"Yes."
"And how do you know that?" The voice grew skeptical but also more serious.
"I'm an Awakener. It's one of my skills."
"I see. And you say the remains are dissolving into the ground?"
"Yes."
"This sounds beyond my jurisdiction. Please hold for a mont; I'll be right back!"
The man's voice beca hurried, and Michael could hear rapid movent in the background.
Before he could respond, the line went quiet.
Michael sighed.
The reaction only confird what he already suspected—this wasn't a simple matter.
"Demons? His tone changed as soon as I ntioned it. What's really going on here?" he muttered.
Before he could think further, a different voice ca through the phone, one he instantly recognized.
"Speak. Repeat what you just said."
"Teacher Brian?" Michael was taken aback.
It was indeed the voice of Brian from the trade center.
"You?" Brian sounded equally surprised but quickly returned to his usual businesslike tone.
"Where are you?"
Michael described the hotel and its surroundings, providing as much detail as possible.
Although the suspicious duo had moved away, the hotel remained the most recognizable landmark.
Once Michael finished, the call abruptly ended, leaving him stunned.
"What now?" he muttered, unsure of his next move. He was about to link his vision back to his undead when a voice suddenly spoke beside him.
"This is quite a good hiding spot."
Michael's heart jumped, and his body reacted instinctively. He swung his hand toward the source of the voice, but it was caught effortlessly with a force that nullified any power it had..
"Good instincts," the voice said calmly, "but poor form and terrible strength distribution, probably due to having so much."
Michael's eyelid twitched as he turned to see who it was.
"You're fast, Teacher Brian."
Brian nodded slightly, releasing his grip on Michael's wrist. "Mhmm."
Brian turned his head slightly, scanning the area like he was searching for sothing specific.
Michael noticed him fixating on the direction where the two suspicious n had headed—the sa direction where his undead were trailing them.
"No wonder we couldn't locate them for long. They're using advanced aura suppression arts. You'd have to get quite close to detect the subtle differences," Brian muttered aloud.
Michael listened intently. He knew what Arts were in the Cultivation world: techniques that utilized one's mana to produce various effects.
From Brian's words, Michael understood that the two n were likely bad people, given their actions and reliance on aura-hiding techniques.
"How did you manage to find them when our n couldn't?" Brian asked, his tone curious.
Michael hesitated, confused about why they weren't pursuing the suspects imdiately. "Their aura… It felt very ominous."
"Ominous? In what way?"
"It felt… resentful. The death energy around them didn't seem like sothing you'd get just from killing monsters."
Brian narrowed his eyes. "That depends. After all, not every monster cos from a crack."
"Huh?" Michael blinked, puzzled by the cryptic response.
"Just continue," Brian urged, his tone brisk.
Michael adjusted his thoughts before speaking. "The death energy around them," he began, pausing under Brian's intense, unreadable gaze. "It spoke, and for so reason, I knew it didn't co from monsters."
"It ca from humans?"
"Yes."
"Then they're demonic cultivators."
Michael's eyes widened in shock.
He'd suspected sothing dark about the duo but didn't dare to conclude.
Now, learning they were part of a group responsible for nationwide crises and mass sacrifices two centuries ago left him shaken.
Brian didn't give him ti to dwell on the revelation.
"Interesting thod you've got there. But don't be too quick to assu soone's guilty just because of what you sense. As an Awakener, I'm guessing your class allows you to detect certain things others can't but it still depends on you to discern what and what is actually as it seems."
Michael frowned. "But you just said they're demonic cultivators. Isn't it possible you're wrong?"
"Oh, I'm not wrong."
Brian raised his hand toward the sky, and Michael, puzzled, followed his gaze. What he saw made his breath catch.
The sky was riddled with cracks.
Familiar cracks Michael couldn't be anymore familiar with.
They were dinsional cracks.
And looking at their appearance, they were corrupted type cracks.
Worse, their corrupted edges tinged with a faint red glow.
A clear sign of an impending crack break.
"To think, even after all our efforts, they'd still succeed. Those damned demons," Brian muttered bitterly.
"Can't we stop it? As long as nothing cos out, there's still a chance, right?" Michael asked, his voice tinged with urgency.
He wasn't naïve.
He didn't know why cracks would suddenly appear in the sky but he understood the stakes.
If those cracks broke, half the city—if not the entire city—would fall.
The chaotic energy in the sky intensified, growing from a faint hum to levels surpassing what Michael had felt even near a Level 2 crack.
Michael hastily linked his senses to his undead phantom, Morpho, and his undead Spicebush Swallowtail moth.
His heart sank as he saw what they had discovered.
The two n had activated a magic circle in a secluded alley while Michael was distracted, speaking with the Association.
It was obvious everything had been planned in advance and Michael hadn't been able to stop it.
No wonder Brian hadn't bothered chasing them—it was already too late.
"There's nothing you can do to stop a dinsional crack from opening, except—"
"Except?!" Michael interjected sharply, desperation evident in his voice.
Brian wasn't offended.
Instead, for the first ti, Michael saw a clear expression on the man's face—one of yearning.
"Except if you were a god," Brian said quietly.
"Stopping a crack? It's a natural disaster. To go against nature, you'd need to be as strong as it."
Michael fell silent, his mind racing.
If there were a god in Woodstone City, they would have already stopped this.
He also didn't ask why Brian was so calm in the face of catastrophe.
Michael had his own guilt and worries to bear.
Guilt for not acting sooner and fear for his family.
The cracks in the sky stretch so much he could tell there were already dangerously close to the area where his aunt and cousin lived.
For a mont, Michael felt paralyzed by the weight of it all.
Then Brian's voice broke through his thoughts.
"You might feel guilty for not acting sooner, but your actions wouldn't have changed much. Even if you'd stopped those two, you'd have only delayed a few cracks or prevented a handful of stronger monsters from appearing. The outco would still be the sa."
Brian's eyes narrowed, his tone sharp.
"If you want to bla soone, bla the Federation."
As the two conversed, the streets gradually filled with people.
The sight in the sky was impossible to miss.
The previously dark streets lit up as residents erged from their hos, drawn by the ominous spectacle above.
Phones were whipped out, their caras capturing the cracks spreading across the heavens.
Michael watched it all unfold, a sinking feeling settling in his chest.
He partly understood sothing then.
This city was halfway dood.
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