A man in orange robes sat on his knees at a tea table, his gaze trained on the sea. His hands moved with broad, precise, and relaxed gestures, stirring the tea leaves in a transparent teapot.

A small stone platform, which offered a view of the fairway, was shielded from the wind on two sides by a dense plantation of tall shrubs. The third side seemed to be cut off from the rest of the world, concealed by the wall of a rural bungalow.

After brewing the tea, Hyungang Tu Chong drew in a deep breath of fresh air, filled with the scent of the sea and the forest. This breath held much: the joy of a new day, the serenity of the sea, the rustling of leaves, and a barely noticeable note of regret.

The Maker knew - today was his last day.

Visions and revelations no longer came to him; this morning was increasingly shrouded in a thick veil of dark, jagged fog. He didn't know how he would die, or more accurately, cease to exist. He had an inkling due to his intelligence and vast experience, but it was not precise knowledge.

The vision predicting his death had been so lucid, so steady, and so irrefutable...

Having analyzed the situation, the sensum, who was accustomed to trusting his Enlightenment and who knew he was entirely healthy, concluded that he would be better off spending his last day alone.

Whoever was to come after him... Or those who were to come... They would achieve their aim regardless... The walls of the Abode of Knowledge would not deter them... The other monks and novices wouldn't pose an obstacle for them... But he wished to avoid any incidental casualties...

It was his choice, his decision, and as a grown individual, he didn't want others to bear the cost of his choices. Thus, he took a day off and retreated here - to this bungalow on the northern shore of the bay, some twenty kilometers from the capital.

A secluded, lesser-known place. He often came here to meditate or to read while swaying in a hammock. Plus, tea brewed in the center of this small platform, paved with smooth stones, always had a particularly delightful flavor.

A fitting place for a final breath.

The first sip of the day was so exquisite that Hyungang involuntarily closed his eyes, immersing himself fully in the flavor.

He wasn't frightened. He felt regret, yes. Slightly...

His right hand drifted towards his thighs, that felt an unusual weight. His palm rested on the grip of the Vermilion 44. No, this potent ten-zero-five caliber pistol wasn't meant for self-defense. It contained only a single explosive bullet in its magazine. If things went completely awry, he would depart this world of his own accord, by his own volition. The secret he had discovered was far more significant than his mortal existence. And those who were coming after him had ways of making anyone speak. He had no doubt about this, not because his Enlightenment suggested it to him - no, it was merely plain logic, nothing more.

Having finished his tea, the sensum carefully placed the cup back onto the table and turned his attention towards the bungalow.

Soon...

Access to this area was solely possible through the house. On all other sides, the path was blocked by the sea and dense bushes, while the cliffs were too steep and sheer.

Sure, one could reach this place by air, perhaps via a helicopter, but the drone of propellers would have been audible from a distance.

Soon...

The primitive silence remained undisturbed, save for the distant cries of seagulls soaring above the water and the murmur of the morning breeze through the bushes' branches.

Now.

Almost...

Hyungang's senses heightened to their utmost limits. It wasn't Enlightenment but the five years spent in the Bodhidharma monastery, where warrior monks were trained — the eastern equivalent of the Western Inquisition — that came into play. Tu Chong was a seasoned fighter, and with his strength and training, he could engage a master shapeshifter in hand-to-hand combat and stand a fair chance of emerging victorious.

The surrounding environment dulled — only crucial details and any slight movements were perceived with enhanced clarity and distinctness. Combat meditation. He didn't want his death to be swift. Hyungang was curious and wanted some of his questions answered before his demise. Just... for himself.

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A dark shadow loomed in the window. The glint of stranger's eyes behind the glass.

Something wasn't right!

The Maker hadn't been awaiting these individuals while he sat quietly on this platform. Not these...

A swift motion, three automatic gun bursts, bullets struck the stone, shattered the tea table, reducing it to splinters.

"Vermilion" retorted, and one of the shadows, shattering the window, hung on the windowsill. Dressed in black camouflage, a bulletproof vest protecting the body, face hidden behind a balaclava, a hole in the eye socket.

A new chorus of gunshots clipped branches and foliage off the bushes — five more fighters in black stormed into the area.

The first one perished quickly.

A top-class mercenary, credited with dozens of kills and successful operations. All his life, from the age of three, he had learned only one thing — to kill as efficiently as possible. He was merely human. The serene smile before his eyes was the last thing he saw. The crack of vertebrae...

The machine gun changed hands.

The noise of gunfire echoed. The volume of fire was such that even a fly crossing the area would get its share of lead.

It seemed so...

But the bright orange death remained indifferent to probability theory. It whirled around, spitting out short bursts of gunfire, each one diminishing the count of the shadows by one.

Yet as soon as the last one in black camouflage fell, new ones took their place. When they too depleted, the elite entered the fray. Gliding on the stone and leaping from the roof, seven animal forms darted towards the orange death. Their bare tails sliced through the air in a frenzy.

Shapeshifters-warriors. Seven against one.

They too meet their demise.

Hyungang Tu Chong had been anticipating his death, prepared for it, but under the claws and paws of THESE, he staunchly refused to succumb!

He had already realized the errors in his calculations.

And comprehended why THESE had come for him!

Now he had a single objective — to not die before he could raise the alarm!

The combat meditation of the Maker and a machine gun in his hands.

Shapeshifters are extraordinarily resilient and swift, but even the strongest can't survive when a bullet penetrates their eye socket, exploding their heads.

Almost no one can match a shapeshifter in transformation; an average person is unlikely to land a shot, not just in the eye, but even their silhouette. But Tu Chong was no ordinary person. He was a Maker, trained by warrior monks! And this fundamentally tipped the balance.

If Makers were not so scarce, then shapeshifters would never have been able to subjugate people. However, for every sensum of this level of Giftedness in the world, there were more than a thousand shapeshifters.

Six remain. This time in human form: four masters, one patriarch, and a peculiar man, his aura as dark as a moonless night emanated something is long forgotten.

There were seven machine guns scattered across this ten-by-ten-meter site.

How long could this battle continue? Two or three seconds?

Everyone exhausted their ammunition simultaneously. And only two masters were left sprawled on the stones after a near-minute of open gunfire. It wasn't the first time that trained shapeshifters had encountered sensums in battles, and they too had their own aces up their sleeves.

The monk's foot found the hilt of a sword behind one of the lifeless bodies. A swift movement of the leg — and the Maker offered an inviting smile to the remaining four adversaries. He knew they were the last...

Tears flowed down the monk's cheeks.

It wasn't a cry of fear.

It was the salt of regret.

The Dark Adept's black aura eclipsed his foresight, and the shapeshifters snatched victory, paying for it with yet another life.

The two swords pierced Tu Chong's heart nearly simultaneously.

He had failed. Made an error.

And now those who trusted him would bear the brunt of this mistake.

For his error...

They would pay...

Hyungang Tu Chong, abbot of the Abode of Knowledge, mentor of the Break Knights of Novilter, Maker — perished.

The last sentiment he experienced in his life was not pain but regret and guilt...