Dimitri didn’t know, or at least Tom suspected he didn’t. The human fighters were right there and whatever magic it used to hide itself seemed to be fully fooling them despite their years of experience and purchased abilities.
How was it possible he could see it and they couldn’t?
He remembered Dimitri telling him that the fate attack had been directed explicitly at him, that Eden had let slip something specifically notable about his past, an event that eluded his memory. Not for the first time, he examined his memory holes more closely, trying to analyse them through different lenses. Maybe there was something there; if he looked at them cross-eyed enough, he could conclude that some of the holes corresponded to times where strategy had shifted and changed.
Tom knew from how Dimitri acted; he knew that his role must have been larger than he remembered, but how significant was it? A significant one, if he believed all the other evidence.
That was not the only thing he thought about. He recalled how shocked April had been at his affinity. It had been so impressive that a million-year-old trial administrator was surprised.
These represented more data points to build his case.
And now there was this: the skill or title that had let him pierce the illusions that covered the assassins, a feat that even Dimitri couldn’t manage. A second miraculous part of his build, and he had read enough of the accounts of other reincarnators to know that they didn’t have surprises like this. Yes, soul-bound items got converted into traits or affinities, but that was with mathematical precision.
The two anomalies in him – the two that he was aware of - were on a different scale.
They were unique to him.
Were they evidence of the oversized impact he had in the first life, with the memory of how he had earned them having been stripped from him? But if so, why? Why did DEUS not want him to remember this stuff? If he had this level of power available, if he was that unique, then why hide it from him? Was it because someone had directed for him to be hunted? But if so, who? And… the assassins were a terror race. The dragon wouldn’t be sending creatures against him. But if that was the case, then he imagined the next link up the totem pole. If the head of a terror race wasn’t calling the shots, then who would be, instead? What could command multiple races?
His brain shut down. Raw, primal fear shot through him. A distant memory, an echo of meeting a GOD. It was real, and he was so small and insignificant. Mentally, he curled up. Why was he even doing this? It would be safest to give up, leave his system room, proclaim who he was and let everything end. It was too overwhelming, and he did not want to meet an angry GOD again.
White static descended on him. It felt like being wrapped up in cushions, soft silk sheets and boundless love. It lifted a moment later, and he found that he remembered, but didn’t. That specifics weren’t important, and exploring that particular thought further would be a mistake.
Standing in the safety of his system room, he shivered and could feel the blood pounding in his veins. Genuinely afraid, he checked his vital statistics of his body and was relieved to see that the heart rate had not changed. It was just the part of him here, in the pseudo-system room, that was affected. Which was a relief, and at the same time, also not. This trembling fear, the aftereffects of his memory, was the result of a soul response and not the innate, instinctive reaction of a biological body. Tom knew that, if he considered that too deeply, it would be as terrifying a revelation as that half-formed memory that he absolutely wasn’t going to think about again.
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What the hell had happened in my last life? He wondered. His mind drifted back to the question of why he was being hunted and by whom. Once more, it felt like the universe was resting upon his shoulders.
He tore himself away from his spiralling thoughts. “Stop it,” he screamed and jumped up and down to distract himself. Then he stood and breathed in and out slowly and exhaled three times in a row to settle himself. Exploring that topic, he knew, would have consequences he was not willing or able to bear currently.
So, nothing about why or who was directing what. However, he figured if he considered only specifics and not the broader questions, he would be fine.
And then there was the question of his anger. That was another curiosity. The rage contrasted poorly with his ability to see through illusions. That latter one was a part of him. Even if he couldn’t consciously remember what it was, it had never felt alien – rather, that it had been a component of his build in a previous life.
The unhinged fury that he suffered from was different. It did not feel familiar. It felt new and ugly.
Abruptly tiredness washed over him, and Tom realised his body had fallen asleep. He could succumb, or take control of his body and wake it. Between those options there was no choice. In moments, darkness claimed him.
He came awake with a jerk.
The whole room shivered, which was a setting he had put in place to indicate when people touched him. The screen flashed. The positions he was being impacted were highlighted. It was confusing. There were multiple spots, most of which were non-critical. however, some were over vital weaknesses. Briefly, he experienced all senses to feel things directly, and then abandoned it just as fast with a feeling of relief. Someone was climbing clumsily over him to get out of bed.
A moment later, he saw Bir on a screen dashing toward the toilets. His body stretched and then, less urgently, followed.
Tom ignored direct events and focused on his Danger Sense in the hope the situation had changed overnight.
It hadn’t. An assassin was still in the room.
His body had no idea and didn’t look up, but he knew what waited on the ceiling.
The noise of one child waking set off an avalanche and soon ringed by warriors they were escorted to the main gymnasium. There were even more armoured humans than before.
Grim faces were all around.
Dimitri made another speech. Tom listened and felt his stomach drop out. There had been attacks on the five-, eight-, and thirteen-year-olds. Five enemy agents had been eliminated, but Dimitri didn’t know if the crisis was over or not.
“It is possible that we have killed them all,” he proclaimed. Tom cringed at that, knowing that he was wrong. “But it is equally likely that the enemy has extra waiting in reserve, so we’re not changing our plan. Key trackers with the senses to confirm either way will arrive in three days. Reincarnators must continue to…”
Tom ignored the familiar refrain. It was a broken record and after last night, after the presumed death of at least three reincarnators, none of them needed extra motivation to be careful. Tom felt terrible for whoever Ba had been. Almost a year in his younger self’s body, and then to be killed before he could have contributed anything. He wondered what mistake the man had made? What had compelled him to abandon the pseudo-system room? Had it been boredom? Did he give himself away when the alarm first went off, before they had received a warning? Had he erroneously thought that the isolation room was safe? Or potentially, had he foolishly tried to protect someone? Any of those could be an explanation, and Tom doubted he would ever find out.
The execution itself had been carefully planned to flush out the other reincarnators. Ba, he was sure, had been a dead man walking for days.