Chapter 950: Returning to Where It All Began

Ethan stared at the feather resting in his palm, his thoughts moving faster than he could follow. The faint shimmer along its edges confirmed what he already suspected.

"Those damn bird-people again... Vatican City."

He muttered the words quietly, almost unwilling to hear them spoken aloud.

Before entering the Divine Sea Trial, he had overheard the Temple Master speaking with one of them. The visitor had been unmistakable, a four-winged angel newly promoted, and it had come directly from Vatican City. At the time, Ethan had dismissed the conversation as background noise, but now the memory returned with sharp clarity. Vatican City was not just a base, it was their gathering ground. They supported one another, trained together, and advanced as a collective force.

Sooner or later, he would have to go there himself.

He had never planned to clash with the bird-people this early. Too many things were unfinished. Yet the Silverwood family’s hidden territory was now completely sealed, and Shatterstar, the warship that had hovered above it, had disappeared without a trace.

Shatterstar was not ordinary technology. It came from the First Universe, a true warship-grade mech. Before leaving, Ethan had personally ordered it to enter stealth mode, a concealment system advanced enough to evade nearly anything in this world. Someone had still detected it, bypassed its defenses, and taken it away.

That alone told him everything he needed to know.

Even inactive, Shatterstar was not something a group of Energy users could casually move. Ethan doubted the combined powerhouses of Earth could have shifted it an inch. Which meant only one possibility remained. Whoever had taken it possessed power beyond Uncle Jed and the others, perhaps beyond anything Ethan himself currently understood.

"Hmm... a big demon passed through here."

Vasuki smacked his lips and sniffed the air like a hunting hound tracking prey.

"A demon?" Ethan asked, surprised. He had sensed nothing unusual at all.

"Mm. That feather came from it," Vasuki said, eyes narrowing. "I didn’t expect such a powerful existence hiding among humans. Someone managed to injure it though. Knocked off a feather at least."

He shook his head slowly.

Ethan lowered his gaze to the feather again. So Vasuki meant the bird-person. Then he remembered something the little monk had once explained: any non-human being that gained intelligence was considered a demon in his worldview. By that definition, the angels absolutely qualified.

"You’re saying it’s strong?" Ethan asked carefully.

Vasuki himself was terrifyingly powerful, and he despised demons more than anything. Normally he would already be shouting about extermination.

"Strong isn’t enough to describe it."

The monk fell silent. His gaze drifted westward, heavy and thoughtful.

Ethan frowned. This was wrong. Vasuki was never quiet when demons were involved. No excitement, no righteous fury. Just restraint. Was he... worried? Afraid even?

"I need to go somewhere," Vasuki said at last. "I won’t follow you for now. Before I come back... don’t go after that demon."

He turned to leave.

Unexpected warmth rose in Ethan’s chest. The little bastard was actually worried about him. And the phrase before I come back meant Vasuki intended to return, perhaps stronger, perhaps ready to help.

Ethan reached into his spatial pouch. "Wait. This belongs to you."

He pulled out the vajra scepter. During their earlier clash, it had been knocked away, picked up by a homeless man, and eventually bought back by Ethan for ten thousand dollars. An absurd price, but worth it.

Vasuki accepted the weapon without comment. He took a single step forward and vanished completely. No flash of light, no surge of energy, no sound barrier breaking. One moment he was there, the next he simply no longer existed.

’Teleportation.’

Silence settled around Ethan.

Everyone connected to him was gone. Out of reach. Even Shatterstar, his greatest trump card, had vanished. The feeling resembled a wealthy heir waking up to find every asset stripped away overnight, leaving nothing but empty accounts and unanswered questions.

For the first time since his rebirth, he didn’t know where to go.

He wanted to march straight into Vatican City, to tear answers out of whoever stood behind this. Yet the expression on Vasuki’s face lingered in his mind and stopped him. If someone like Vasuki hesitated, charging blindly ahead would be suicide.

He wanted to find Lyla and the others even more desperately, but desperation was not stupidity. Rushing in alone would be like throwing raw meat into a pack of wolves. He might never find them, and he would likely die before learning anything useful.

He needed strength. Real strength.

Morzan was no longer guiding him. The road ahead belonged to him alone now.

"What do I do?"

Ethan stepped into the air and hovered, letting the wind pass through him as memories replayed one after another. His rebirth. Entering Ethereal. Gaining power that should have been impossible. Crossing worlds. Handling the affairs of the Ninth Division. Every moment unfolded in sequence like scenes from a film.

Until now, he had always followed the path Morzan prepared for him, walking forward for Earth’s survival. A joker like him forced into the role of savior.

If he were honest, he hated that title.

He preferred an easy life, staying home, playing games, letting problems drift past without concern. No responsibility, no pressure. That had been his ideal existence.

But fate had chosen otherwise.

He was the one reborn. The one who gained impossible power. Maybe he did not care about saving an entire planet, but he cared about his brothers, his family, his friends, and the women he loved. For them, he would shoulder anything, even a mission that felt unwinnable.

Leaving the Ironvale Mountains behind, Ethan flew aimlessly, thoughts tangled and directionless. Only when he glanced downward did he realize where he had arrived.

"I ended up here?"

Harbor City. The so-called City of Romance. Familiar, yet distant, like a memory half forgotten.

He adjusted his direction and descended toward a residential district. From above, little matched what he remembered, but then he spotted it: a rusted sheet-metal shack sitting on the roof of an aging building.

He landed softly.

The shack was worn and scarred by time. Rust ate through the metal in several places. This was where he had lived in his previous life, his very first life. He had returned here briefly after rebirth as well. The small holes scattered across the roof were unmistakable, remnants of sniper fire from the day mutants first appeared, the day Celeste had arrived to save them.

He pushed open the door.

Creeeak.

The sound was louder than he remembered. Back then, Leo had regularly come by with paint, tools, even oil for the hinges. After everyone left, no one maintained the place. Two years of wind and rain had reduced it to a fragile shell.

Ethan stepped inside anyway.

Everything felt unfamiliar, yet he could almost see the ghost of his former self moving through the cramped space. He lay down on the dusty bed and stared at the ceiling, watching thin rays of light slip through tiny holes overhead.

For the first time since rebirth, he felt completely still.

The broken bed, the smell of dust and rust, the quiet isolation, all of it made him strangely tired despite no longer needing sleep. His eyes closed without resistance.

When he opened them again, the world had changed color.

It had been dark when he lay down. Now the sun hovered low on the horizon, painting the room in orange light.

He sat up slowly, feeling refreshed in a way he had never been in a while.

"I slept a whole day?"

The realization almost made him laugh.

More than his body, his mind felt clean. The frustration, confusion, and pressure from the previous days had vanished. It might have been the best sleep he had experienced across two lifetimes.

He stretched and stepped back onto the rooftop, deliberately ignoring his spiritual senses and relying only on his eyes. The familiar skyline greeted him, and the corner of his mouth lifted into a quiet smile.

If Lyla had seen it, she would have recognized it instantly. It was the smile he wore when they first met, genuine and unguarded. He had smiled often recently, but never like this.

Never naturally.

He exhaled slowly.

Below, the city buzzed with life. Vendors shouted, traffic hummed, conversations blended into a living rhythm. Even six floors above, every sound reached him clearly.

"I’m hungry."

So he went downstairs.

Half an hour later, Ethan returned carrying plastic bags in both hands. He had not flown. He walked like an ordinary person, climbing all six flights of stairs step by step.

Inside the bags were paint, oil, fruit, and a takeout meal. He possessed endless food stored within his mindscape, but that was not the point.

He squatted on the edge of the rooftop wall, opened the takeout box, and ate slowly, chewing each bite with exaggerated seriousness.

"Who cooked this? Did they murder the salt guy?"

He complained nonstop while eating, yet finished every grain of rice.

Afterward, he pulled out an apple, wiped it casually against his shirt, and bit into it while watching the sky darken overhead. Night settled quietly across Harbor City.

He glanced at the paint cans, nudged them aside with his foot, and shook his head. "Too late now. I’ll paint tomorrow."

Instead, he opened the oil container, knelt beside the door, and carefully lubricated the hinges. He opened and closed the door repeatedly until the creaking disappeared completely. Only then did he allow himself a small, satisfied smile.

Setting the oil aside, he stepped back inside.

The shack was tiny, barely large enough to stand comfortably. Only the bed occupied the room.

Ethan stared at it, then at the narrow doorway. "How did Leo and the others even get this thing in here?"

The bed was clearly too large to fit through the frame.

With a casual wave of his hand, the bed vanished into spatial storage.

A moment later, space rippled softly.

A dark purple-black VR capsule materialized on the floor, its surface gleaming with faint, mysterious light.