Chapter 258 - In New World

Before Athan opened his eyes a tad bit, he squirmed when the back of his head and spine ached against the cold, hard ground.

Unable to hold it any longer, he forced his weakened body to stand upright, only to look around, and found himself in long and tall walls, albeit smooth and bland to his eyes, almost reaching the skies and enough to cast a long shadow.

What his eyes greeted afore him got darker and darker, and he had no idea what was ahead of him—no different from a bottomless abyss, or so he thought then— but he didn't want to venture over there.

Only until the loud ringing inside his head dwindled, it was now replaced with incessant chatter, giggles, and thuds echoing around him. He turned around, and it was nothing but bright light.

Out of instinct, he stood up for whatever energy he had left, leaning against the wall, and trudged towards it.

The noise got stronger, and the light turned out brighter and covered against its warmth and luminescence.

When an ample warm breeze smothered against him, he slowly opened his eyes, and then gasped for what he had seen so far.

An array of buildings, tall, thin, and chic popped up, sprawled from left to right, and another line about several yards away from it. 

'No way…'

To him, it bore similarities like magic towers but not an ounce of magic seen as it was only filled with glass panels by its windows— like a palace as what he'd known for now.

'W— Where am I? What— is good— where is this—?!'

But then, he couldn't help but hide when blaring horns raked his ears, on both sides, and he couldn't help but freak out from the fast-moving carriages that went adrift. Only no horses or any familiars dragging these seemingly metallic gears around.

He lurked back to the corner of the wall, holding tight on it, and got bewildered with the people that walked past him remained unperturbed.

Moreover, he took a glance at their clothes— bore deep contrast to his clothing, a baggy cloak with a different highly embroidered suit and trousers underneath it— the rest of them remained simple yet bizarre in their own right.

Ladies of any age showed skin he never thought that it wasn't a big deal to them, and men also wore minimal clothing, but very comfortable and light for them to wear like no other.

Though it struck him with great resemblance, he remembered that this was in another dimension.

Right now, he seemed to be the only different one, and he had to recall his objectives for a while.

On the other hand, he had nothing to do in here as he got thrown out by Arnold himself; albeit he would take his chances to explore where he was for having his ears opened: something to do with Mystique as she became unconscious.

He peeked a tad bit, and he noticed a child that stared at him, eyes almost popped. In that glimpse, he hid before his ears caught the sudden calls.

"Mom! I saw a weirdo beggar over there—"

However, the sound of a lady hushed him, mumbling, "Don't make a scene!"

'What? Me— weird, no—! Wait! Beggar?! How dare that child—!' Then, realization dawned upon him when he thought they could see him, as though it was not an illusion. He took notice of his hands, clasping a tad bit, and nodded he was in such a reality.

Looking around, little to no mana found within their human bodies— of any gender and race— even some birds and animals on the streets turned out not to be any different.

But he was dumbfounded that they were lively and healthy; he heightened his senses for a while, and their veins were fresh and intact.

So far, he learned that blood is as rich as their mana, and he lived with that idea. But right now, he scrunched his forehead.

'Even this place has such a low mana—' he pondered, looking around once more. 'Did they absorbed all of the mana to their bodies like some archmages at the Imperial Court— No, impossible, not even them could do this—'

Getting all preoccupied, he failed to notice the simplest sign as he turned around, and saw a group of thugs, in ragged clothing, and held knives and whatnot on their hands.

The man in a tad bit ragged suit stepped forward, grinning, "Look what do we have here? A shabby, baggy man…"

"Must be a criminal like us?"

"Who knows?" A smirk came from his scarred face, and they looked at the rest of his goons in bald, in shades, and punk tattoos on their bodies chimed well.

'Right off the bat, I sense hostility… They called me a criminal?' Athan narrowed his glance, scoffing under his hood.

"You! What are you laughing at?!" 

"Are you the ringleader?" Athan mused.

"Why'd you ask?" He then picked up a metal barrel in his pocket, giving it a lick while staring at him, dead in the eyes. "You're nervous now that you know it's us?"

They now hollered with such mockery at him, but it didn't get to him when he wondered at the moment.

'That thing he holds is dangerous… Damn it, why have I been seen? I must react right away…'

"Boss! Don't scare him; he's standing and scared witless already!"

"I agree, we don't even need to threaten him—"

Athan cut off one of his men, muttering, "Who said I'm scared?"

"You dare talked back?"

"Why not?" A smile came from his lips, only as what they've seen from half of his face. Which then unsheathed their weapons no less than a few seconds.

A simple question, not even close to a taunt, already riled them up.

The ringleader then pointed the gun at him, threatening, "Watch your words, punk. You're only one and unarmed."

"Who said I am unarmed?"

"What—"

Before he could continue, he gaped in horror when the shroud of his hood revealed two gleaming crimson eyes, flaring bright, and flinched the thugs in their stead.

Their leader pulled the trigger, but the bullet couldn't catch up with his speed, turning into a blot of a shadow that sailed nimbly around.

Only when he got so close to the man, he twisted his neck and chomped on his neck spurting with blood. 

'Never thought that this dirty man had delicious blood!'

"M—Monster! Run!"