Chapter 18: The Awakening. 2
Nov 2, 2025
'Sera. Amy. I'm sorry. If I had acted back then, in the diner, maybe you two would still be alive.'
'If I hadn't hesitated…if I hadn't worried …maybe I could've escaped and you two could've lived.'
'Your blood…your deaths are on my hands.'
'Sera. Amy. I'm so sorry. Please, forgive me.'
Those thoughts flooded Rex as he gently set the two child-sized bodies on the floor. His betrayal had been born of remorse and disillusionment. He'd been the recruiter—the man who brought starving kids in thinking he was saving them. Watching their suffering, and James's obsession, ate him alive.
He understood at last that Project Requiem wasn't salvation. It was controlled through cruelty. In that moment Rex became the fallen knight: the soldier who turns his sword against his master, even knowing he probably won't survive.
"Why did you betray us?! Answer me, Rex!" Alex's roar cut through Rex's thoughts. Rex turned; Alex's face was a storm even with his hair partially hiding his expression.
Alexander stood around 185 cm, noticeably taller than both Rex (178 cm) and James (175 cm).
Rex didn't turn to meet the challenge. He walked forward and stood beside Amon. "You ask why I betrayed you? I realized I would rather die here and now than be someone who's nothing," he said in a steady tone.
Alex's anger only mounted. He ground his teeth and made a fist; cold air leaked from him. That was Alexander's magic aura manifesting.
A person's Magic Power, or magic aura, varies greatly depending on their element, personality, and emotional nature.
Every type of magic carries its own feeling, color, and pressure. Magic Power isn't just energy; it's emotion and identity given form.
Emotion is what fuels magic. That's why no two mages ever feel the same, even if they use the same element.
A passionate fire mage's aura might burn and roar, while a calm one's flame feels steady and controlled.
The stronger a mage becomes, the heavier and more overwhelming their aura grows—so much so that ordinary people can barely stand in their presence. That crushing pressure isn't just about strength, but mastery.
A skilled mage can suppress their aura completely, while the inexperienced or unstable leak power without realizing it. Amon's case is a perfect example of this.
Every mage also has a distinct aura signature, unique to them alone—even among those who share the same element.
That's how someone like Nyx can identify who's nearby just by sensing their Magic Power.
In fact, that's exactly how she found Agnes back in the Celestial Spirit Realm.
Alex was about to strike when a voice stopped him cold.
"Think logically, Rex." James's tone was clinical. "You'll face Alex and me. You must also protect that boy from the scientists." He nodded toward a researcher. "They have magical guns."
One scientist angled a weapon and fired into the floor. The round punched the tile and sent sparks crawling across the surface.
"Guns magic: Spark Shot," James said with mild satisfaction. "To Amon it will only numb him, make him lose sensation. For you… I can't promise the same." The implication was clear: those rounds could be lethal.
"Trying to talk me out of it? That's not like you," Rex said with a mocking smile.
"Despite appearances, I do not wish to fight you, Rex," James answered. "Don't you get it? This is suicide."
Rex's smile curled into determination. "That's not a problem, I have enough desire for the both of us."
A bright green aura gathered at Rex's feet and spilled up his body. Fur and coarse hide bloomed along his right forearm; his hand warped into a massive wolf-like claw. Black ringed segments slid into place, circling each joint—organic yet mechanical—then extended curved talons that gleamed a cold blue.
"Beast Arm: Lupine Claw!" Rex declared, assuming a fighting stance. "I made my choice. I'd rather live a life worth living than one I'd regret."
A vein pulsed at James's temple. "I spent years trying to birth an artificial mage. I won't let some punk like you stop that."
James ripped off his outer garments, revealing a black compression shirt with subtle silver accents. On his right arm gleamed an obsidian-like alloy streaked with faint silver veins.
The Shackles of Tenebris.
knuckles to mid-forearm, each fingertip ending in a hooked claw. On his left arm sat a crimson-gold gauntlet that shifted between molten orange and ember-red.
the Emberfang Gauntlet.
its fingertip shapes are fanglike and cruel.
"You won't get in my way!" James shouted.
"Enough talk!" Alex roared, swinging his arm forward. A magic circle burst to life above him, gleaming with a cold, frost-blue light.
"Ice Magic…"
In the next instant, countless spear-like icicles formed within the circle.
"Icicle Shotgun!!"
A barrage of frozen lances erupted, hurtling toward Amon and Rex like a blizzard of death.
And in that moment—time itself seemed to slow.
Rex's hand twitched, about to move. The scientists raised their guns in unison, aiming. Even James, though still, subtly shifted his weight, his stance lowering.
But before anyone could act, before thought even caught up, something happened.
Amon's violet eyes began to glow faintly. His magic had always been tied to emotion.
When grief struck, his pupils warped and shimmered.
When rage flared, his hair stood on end and his aura ignited like fire. And when his magic awakened… his eyes burned with light.
For most children, magic manifests in moments of extreme emotion or mortal danger—an instinctive, desperate cry for survival.
Amon fit that pattern perfectly.
Cornered. Terrified. Breaking apart.
His subconscious mind surrendered—
And his magic answered.
This wasn't a spell.
It wasn't intention.
It was instinct.
His power moved before he did before he could even think.
In an instant, the countless ice spears veered sharply off course. Shooting upward, piercing the ceiling and exploding in a storm of frost and dust.
The room filled with smoke and silence. For several seconds, no one moved.
When the haze cleared, Rex was the first to react. He scanned the lab, The scientists stood frozen, guns still trained on him.
Alex and James hadn't budged either.
Rex exhaled softly, confused.
'If it wasn't them… then who?'
Slowly, his eyes fell on Amon. The boy hadn't moved an inch. Still standing. Still breathing.
Expression calm.
"Amon! Are you—" Rex stopped, his voice breaking. His eyes widened in disbelief.
Amon blinked, confused by the sudden tension. He turned slightly, feeling something warm run down his nose.
He wiped it. Red stained his fingers.
"…Blood?"
Before Rex could answer, Alex's voice broke the silence.
"Even if you awakened, it doesn't matter!" he barked, forcing out a laugh. "It doesn't matter if you've got the Spatial Attribute—you're still just a kid! Physically weak! Powerless!"
Amon said nothing. His expression didn't change. But in his mind, a single word echoed.
'Attribute?'
He didn't care for Alex's mockery, only for the meaning behind that term.
James, meanwhile, remained still, eyes locked on Amon. His mind raced.
'How did Alex's spell miss?' he thought.
One moment, the icicles were aimed straight at Amon and Rex.
Next, they were blasting toward the ceiling.
A wild thought crossed his mind, then vanished just as quickly.
'No… there's no way that boy did it.'
But logic disagreed.
Let's take the bullets, for example.
A single magic round, about the size of a 9mm bullet, weighing 7.5 grams, fired at 350 meters per second, would reach its target in 0.0286 seconds.
Twenty-nine milliseconds.
Human reaction time? Between 100 and 250 milliseconds. Even elite mages couldn't react that fast.
To stop such a round midair within 0.01 seconds would require around 263 newtons of force.
enough to hold a 27-kilogram weight with one hand.
Now multiply that by ten.
Ten magic bullets.
That's 2,630 newtons—the equivalent of holding up 270 kilograms.
And that's only for ten. Amon's magic halted dozens, simultaneously.
It was impossible by human standards.
Which meant one thing: his magic wasn't obeying thought.
It was instinct.
His very Ethernano reacted to danger before his consciousness could.
If Amon froze those projectiles mid-flight, it meant his magic reacted in under a millisecond.
faster than lightning.
In short:
By pure reflex, Amon performed a superhuman feat of spatial control—
stopping multiple high-velocity attacks before his mind even realized what was happening.
Because that's what Amon is.
An anomaly.
A child born of emotion and instinct.
A living contradiction that defies logic itself.
Powerless? Weak?" Amon's voice cut through the tension, trembling not with fear, but fury.
"Who are you to label me?" His hands clenched. "I'm getting sick and tired of you people calling me an object!"
His words echoed through the ruined lab, each one sharp, raw, and trembling with emotion.
Before he met Sera and Amy… Amon had no warmth, no trust, no one. He lived in silence — watching, enduring, surviving.
His world was cold and narrow, bound by the walls of a lab. He didn't dream of freedom or happiness. Those were luxuries for people who mattered.
To Amon, existence meant endurance.
The world is cruel. You either endure it… or disappear.
He saw himself as nothing more than a test subject, even before James called him one.
In his heart, a single truth festered:
"If I can't be human… then at least I can be useful."
Feelings were weak. Weakness led to pain. And pain was the one thing he understood too well.
So he buried his emotions and lived like a ghost — without purpose, without anger, without hope.
Until he met them.
Sera — the shield that stood firm. His quiet strength and steady resolve showed him that true power wasn't domination, it was protection.
He taught Amon discipline. That power without restraint was just destruction.
Amy — the light that refused to fade.
Her honesty, her warmth, her simple compassion… reminded him what it meant to feel without fear. When Amy laughed or cried, Amon saw emotion not as weakness — but as proof of life.
Their friendship didn't erase his pain.
But it gave it meaning. And in that meaning… he found a reason to fight.
Not as an experiment.
Not as a weapon.
But as himself.
"I don't care what you call me anymore," he muttered. "But I'll never be your tool again."
He looked up — his violet eyes now glowing fiercely.
"I want to live… not as your experiment, not as your weapon. I'll escape this place… and see the world for myself. Then I'll decide what I'll become — savior, monster, or something in between."
His voice dropped, cold and certain.
"And anyone who stands in my way…"
His hand rose, shrouded in dark aura.
"…can all die!"
The air itself shuddered. Space seemed to twist around him — an invisible pull radiating outward.
The scientists panicked, shouting over one another.
"W-what the hell is this?!"
"Something's pulling on me!"
"It's that brat! He's doing something!"
They tried to resist, but their arms shook violently. One by one, they lost their grip.
Their magic guns flew from their hands — all ten of them — suspended in the air above Amon.
He stood still, eyes glowing brighter, the pressure around him thick and heavy.
The fallen bullets from before began to lift too, trembling as they hovered.
Then — with a deafening crash! — the floating desks, keyboards, wires, and shards of glass shot upward, smashing into the airborne guns.
The entire lab trembled.
Rex could only stare. "I… I don't believe it," he muttered, mouth open in shock.
Alex's eyes widened. "He's altering the relationships between points in space…?"
"No." James shook his head slowly, disbelief creeping into his voice. "That's not simple manipulation. That's… spatial control on a micro level."
He trailed off, eyes locked on the boy surrounded by swirling debris and light.
"…But that would be impossible," he whispered. "Especially for a child.
Amon's laugh split the air — high, brittle, and wrong. "Hahahaha!" The sound bounced off steel and glass like a cracked bell.
Blood dribbled from his mouth and nose, but he didn't slow. He kept gathering: guns, wires, keyboards, stray bullets — everything the lab had offered up. They slammed into his outstretched arm with a cacophony of metal and plastic.
"It's messy. Incomplete. Sloppy!" he said, grinning with something that wasn't a smile. The words were playful and poisonous all at once. "But that's fine."
The salvage obeyed him. Pieces locked together, fused by the pressure of his will until the ruined instruments formed a single, monstrous right arm — an improvised limb of iron and circuitry, riveted together by raw Ethernano. It loomed like a new horror on his shoulder.
"Run!" one of the scientists — a middle-aged man with tired brown hair — turned and sprinted for the exit. He was halfway there before the echo of Amon's mirth chased him down.
"Where are you going? The fun's only just begun!" Amon called after him, that broken grin widening into something feral.
Around the room panic took over. A young woman with bright orange hair shrieked and bolted; others spat curses, dropped equipment, prayed to gods that didn't answer. Money, paychecks, self-preservation — none of it mattered now. Fear did.
Amon bent his knees, coiled like a spring, and launched. He moved too fast for feet — a blur of motion that skimmed between tables and floating shards of glass. He crossed the lab in a heartbeat and arrived behind a scientist who hadn't made it far enough.
The woman's scream cut off as Amon's makeshift hand closed around her. She dangled for a moment, weightless, utterly exposed. Her voice shook. "P-please— I have a family—"
For the smallest of seconds something like pity flickered across Amon's features. He reached up and brushed a tear from her cheek with the same tenderness one might use to close the cover of a book.
"See?" he murmured, soft as a lullaby. "It's okay."
Hope — a thin, trembling thing — surfaced in her eyes. Then it was torn away.
"Because after I kill you," he whispered, cold and precise, "I'll go for the rest. I'll take everyone you love. I'll make you feel what I feel."
The plea turned to choking, garbled wails. "No— no, please—"
He didn't hesitate. The monstrous arm tightened. Bone-crunching sounds filled the lab, wet and final. Blood flared across the floor in a sudden, horrifying bloom.
Amon laughed again — but now his laugh was a thing of edges and echo, a sound that crawled under the skin and refused to leave.
"HAHAHAHAHA —" The lab answered him with silence and the metallic scent of terror.
...
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