The Awakening of the Supernatural

"The Round Table is also angry."

When Horus translated the sentence, Kang De straightened up.

The cold, dim chandelier swayed back and forth in the chilling interrogation room. A sharp-witted, elegant, and composed old man gently patted Ian's shoulder, like a loving elder disciplining a child who had made a mistake. Ian Crook, meanwhile, had his head bowed, his body trembling, and sweat pouring down his face.

Round Table.

His body visibly trembled upon hearing the name.

Ian pleaded, "Sir, sir, please, you..."

"Child, calm down, calm down."

The old man took a beautiful silver flask from his pocket, unscrewed the cap, and handed it to the other man. "Have a drink. You need to calm your bad mood; it will help with the conversation later."

Ian carefully took the bottle, took a few small sips, wiped the saliva off the rim, and handed it back to the old man with both hands. The old man took it and patted Ian on the shoulder. "Good, very good."

His wrinkled, withered left hand suddenly gripped Ian's right shoulder, while his right hand, holding the bottle, slammed out, striking Ian squarely in the lower abdomen. Ian let out a scream and was abruptly knocked to the ground, the liquor he had swallowed gushing out and splashing onto the floor. He coughed violently and gasped for breath.

The old man took the bottle back and said calmly, "Wipe it clean."

Ian frantically pulled out a handkerchief and began wiping the not-so-clean floor. The plain white handkerchief quickly became covered in black dust, but he didn't dare stop for a moment and wiped even more diligently.

It's as if this diligent and attentive behavior will earn them a pardon.

The old man walked around the table, sat down in a chair with an indifferent expression, and tapped his fingers on the table. Each tap made Ian's body tremble.

He sat upright, his eyes focused like an eagle's. His expensive, hand-stitched suit fit him perfectly, supporting his still strong physique despite his age. His snow-white beard was neat and clean. Walking down the street, he was the kind of "elegant, reserved, low-key, and cultured Britain aristocrat" that foreigners would imagine. But now, he sat in the interrogation room of Military Intelligence Section 5, looking down at a fool who had made a grave mistake.

Ian Crook, head bowed as he wiped the floor, had no idea that his highly respected superior was looking at him with such cold and sharp eyes—as if scrutinizing a dead man.

Of course, this pretentious old gentleman had no idea that in the corner to his left and behind, a young man with distorted light and vanished into the void was standing there, looking at him with disdain.

--Wow, are the United Kingdom really that good at showing off?

"Ian, I was the one who introduced you to MI5, and I had high hopes for you," the old man said slowly, "But you have disappointed me greatly, and saddened me deeply."

These calm words made Ian tremble, and he even began to cry, "I'm sorry, sir, I..."

"Ah, no, that's not it. As I just said, it wasn't your fault; it was just a terrible accident," the old man said calmly. "What truly disappoints me isn't this."

He took his phone out of another pocket, placed it on the table, and pressed play.

A clear and familiar voice rang out from inside.

"... a despicable illegal immigrant!"

"... Why don't they just stay obediently in their dirty, backward, and inferior country?"

A series of vicious insults is enough to stir up a storm in the public opinion field.

Ian looked up in disbelief. He quickly realized it was his voice, the words he had spoken before, but why...? Could it be...?

"Our country has freedom of speech, Ian. I don't care what you say, but I care where you say it and who hears you."

The old man said calmly, "BCC found this video in the email address that leaked the information."

Ian's face suddenly turned deathly pale.

In his extreme fear, his mind raced, tracing back through his memories. He quickly recalled the circumstances under which he had said those words. He remembered that it was after his subordinates had searched the rooms and reported to him that all the women had died. The smuggled prostitutes had fueled his hatred for those lowly and filthy immigrants, and it also meant that they would have to do even more work. So he vented his anger.

And now...

He looked up at the image on his phone; from that angle, only...

Ian hissed, "Richard!"

He's dead.

The old man's voice remained calm, and one sentence extinguished all of Ian's anger. "During the car accident, his neck was broken by the violent impact. When the police found him, he had already breathed his last in agony. Just five minutes ago, the technical department thoroughly searched his belongings, cell phone, and personal email. His cell phone's memory card is missing... unfinished."

"The anonymous video received by BCC was edited; it was only a short clip."

Ian seemed to realize something, and fear appeared on his face.

The old man gazed silently at his wavering eyes and said, "Now, you must answer two questions. First, why would your most loyal deputy and subordinate do such a thing?"

"Second..."

The gentleman's gaze shifted from the gentle breeze of the River Thames to the towering waves of the English Channel.

"Besides the trivial racist remarks in this video," he said in a low voice, "What else did you say to Richard... anything more serious?"

Ian's hands clenched involuntarily.

Fear gripped his throat.

Yes, he said that.

It mentions the actions of the beasts under the Round Table, complains about their methods, and mentions their reasons and excuses for advocating—blood sacrifice, pleasure, dedication.

Richard would certainly not have filmed just one segment. If he intended to do so, the video should include the background and consequences, and at least encompass the more horrific facts, not just his racist remarks.

And there must be even more deadly content.

For example, the bloody scene at the gang's hideout.

Such a scene would be enough to challenge the common sense, ethics, cognition, and public morality of so-called modern society, and once exposed, the consequences would be almost unimaginable.

And all of this... all of this...

The thought of this overwhelmed Ian, almost consuming his soul; he was terrified.

Although the incident at Palace of Westminster was extremely serious, it was not without ways to remedy it. Feminist organizations could try to silence the public, and the media could be forced to shut up through authoritarian means. As long as public opinion was controlled and the incident was downplayed, the public would gradually forget about it.

Even if public opinion escalates, it can be guided. Simply hire a few groups of people to spread conflicting stories and misinformation online, causing the public to lose their ability to judge and gradually become confused about the truth.

Besides, so many new things happen every day, and ordinary people's brains are too small to retain information. If this drags on for a year or two, no one will remember what happened today.

But... things are different now.

Because Richard filmed the video.

And it was sent to BCC.

Moreover, only a less important part was cut out.

Therefore, this whole incident may not be an accident.

When an agent working for Military Intelligence Section 5 secretly films a video and attempts to leak it, MI5 will inevitably suspect that there is a conspiracy by a hostile foreign organization behind it, or even that the car accident was a deliberate plot—a conspiracy against the British Empire.

Therefore, the seriousness of this matter has escalated dramatically, and the question of who has obtained the complete video has become an extremely alarming one.

And the most important question is...

What exactly is in the video?

This is something that Military Intelligence Section 5, the Round Table Organization, and even the entire United Kingdom government want to know.

Richard is dead, the video footage is untraceable, Ian Crook is the only person who knows the truth.

As a high-ranking officer in Military Intelligence Section 5, Ian instantly grasped the stakes. Looking into his former superior's sinister and cold eyes, he felt an indescribable terror. He had indeed said some terrible things to Richard; if the government and the Round Table found out, he would...

He subconsciously shook his head. "Sir, I didn't say anything I shouldn't have. I was just complaining about the increased workload, complaining that these immigrants are making our sacred country a mess..."

The old man took a deep breath.

He placed his hands on the table and slowly stood up.

Like a mountain rising from the sea, the silent pressure was like a mountain range shifting. This highly experienced and legendary agent was Military Intelligence Section 5's strategist, mentor, and elder. No one would question his prestige and authority. His silent and firm gaze alone almost broke down Ian's defenses.

He stared intently at Ian.

Ian shook his head frantically, "Sir, teacher, please believe me, I..."

The old man moved his feet, walked around the table, and went toward Ian.

Step.

Ian sat on the ground, desperately backing away, pleading, "Sir..."

Two steps.

His tall figure blocked the cold-colored chandelier, casting Shadow that filled Ian with immense fear, like an old but still sharp-clawed lion king about to punish his subjects.

Three...

--Kang De, hidden in the light, reached out and pointed gently.

Step.

The old man lifted his foot and firmly lowered it, like a judge's gavel striking out the notes of a verdict, giving liars and fools a punishment as severe as Winter Day.

Then...

"Slurp."

A rather comical soft sound rang out from the grim and somber interrogation room.

The old man, who had cultivated a powerful aura and psychological skills to project an imposing and sophisticated image, was like someone who had stepped on a melon rind, slipped on his shoe, and fell backward, sprawled out on his back.

His broad back slammed heavily onto the concrete floor with a dull thud. His neatly styled white hair, coated with hair wax, was now covered in dust and even the vomit Ian had just spat out.

His arms, swinging wildly due to his loss of balance, knocked over a chair, which then slammed into his chest. The chair back landed squarely on his face, and his expensive leather shoes even came off, causing the chandelier to spin back and forth, flickering the light in the room.

The air suddenly became quiet.

The somber atmosphere, the serious environment, the terrifying aura, the immense pressure, and even the old man's composure and air of superiority—all vanished in the face of this sudden, turtle-faced pose.

At the moment of the fall, the old man was completely dazed; his mind went blank until the intense pain pulled him back to reality. He opened his mouth and let out a cry of pain!

Ian was taken aback and instinctively reached out to help.

At the same time, the door was flung open by agents who had heard the loud bang. They found the interrogation room in disarray, Deputy Chief David lying on the floor, and Ian Crook reaching out to him...

"Hands up!"

"Leave him! Leave him!"

Kneel on the ground!

"Immediately!"

Ian shouted, "I didn't!"

Before he could finish speaking, an agent grabbed him, pinned him to the ground, and dragged him away from the deputy director. Another agent helped the deputy director up, while the others pointed their guns at Ian. Ian was still shouting, "I didn't do anything! Mr. David fell down on his own..."

No sooner had he finished speaking than the old gentleman, whose hair was still covered in a mysterious sticky substance, charged forward like a lion. His face was covered in bruises and wounds, and he looked extremely disheveled, as if he had been beaten up.

He roared and shoved aside the agent beside him, grabbed Ian by the collar, and punched the man twice viciously in the face, then delivered a sharp knee strike to Ian's stomach.

Ian screamed and fell to the ground. David, enraged, kicked Ian several more times in the stomach with his shoe on, then grabbed him and slammed him onto the table.

"Mardy!"

--Oh shit.

His aged yet still elegant face was no longer associated with "restrained elegance" or "low-key composure"; it was filled with furious rage and shame.

"You fucking—you bastard! You lowlife! You scum! Listen to me, you son of a bitch! You idiot! Tell me what the hell you said to that son of a bitch Richard!"

He roared, "Otherwise, I'll make sure you and your damned wife and kids die just as miserably as those low-class prostitutes! Just as miserably! You bastard! You piece of shit! Fuck!"

Enveloped in excruciating pain and despair, Ian curled up, enduring his old boss's furious outburst. Witnessing his boss in his most embarrassing moment was already one of the worst things in the workplace, let alone in this situation... He was completely stunned.

"Fine, fine, you asked for it, damn it, you asked for it!"

David kicked again, his body throbbing with pain. The shame and embarrassment of his recent blunder, mixed with the rage of messing things up, completely extinguished his patience with Ian, filling him instead with extreme hatred.

He yelled at the agents, "Keep it strictly business! Take him to the washroom!"

Upon hearing that word, Ian jerked his body like a fish out of water, looking up and pleading, "No! Sir! Don't do this to me! I'll talk! I'll talk!"

"But I don't want to hear it now, you stupid big mouth, ridiculous loser, damn idiot [beep--], I should be reading your confession in my office! Coming here was a mistake! A mistake!"

He grabbed the other man's hair and said coldly, "I'm telling you, you're out. You're expelled. You're no longer a key member of Military Intelligence Section 5. All your records, salary, honors, and benefits are immediately stripped away, including your family. They will no longer enjoy the rights that the families of Military Intelligence Section 5 members have—no one will protect them anymore, and those people will know where they are... This is what you deserve!"

Ian looked up in disbelief, his face filled with extreme fear, and cried out, "Sir, it has nothing to do with them, it has nothing to do with them, at least please leave them alone!"

He reached out and grabbed the other man's trouser leg. "Have some compassion, sir, they..."

Before he could finish speaking, David stomped on his hand and ground it twice.

Amidst loud screams, the elegant and reserved Britain nobleman stormed out of the interrogation room. Two agents grabbed the exhausted Ian, pulled him out of the room, and headed towards Military Intelligence Section 5's most secret and terrifying secret chamber.

Kang De witnessed the entire event.

"Interesting."

He made his assessment, then asked, "Has the surveillance drone been moved?"

Yes, it's in him.

"Good."

Kang De instructed, "Keep a close eye on this old man, see who he reports to, carefully check his phone and email, and record any suspicious activity."

"Understood," Horus said. "It sounds like your focus isn't on David."

"Yes, the other party is a key member of Military Intelligence Section 5, so it's impossible to interrogate him silently and without repercussions. He didn't reveal any further information related to the Round Table. Even if we obtained the information we wanted from interrogating him, we couldn't pinpoint the exact situation of the Round Table quickly and accurately... So he's just a side lead."

Kang De strode outside, following Ian's pleading voice.

"The real main storyline still revolves around Ian Crook."

He smiled and said, "This noble white Britain's wondrous journey—a journey filled with fear, magic, bizarre and thrilling moments, explosive excitement and despair—has only just begun, don't you agree?"

The image of this man's harsh, humiliating, and callous comments about the dead women flashed through my mind. He was unable to empathize with the suffering of others. Well then, let him experience it for himself.

"Offer your final, terrifying performance," he murmured, "And then, I will bring the curtain down."

In the torture chamber known as the water room, Ian's muffled screams and the sound of rushing water echoed.

Modern torture is precise, efficient, and scientific. It doesn't have to be bloody because humans, limited by their physiology, are not that strong. There's no need for the legendary tortures. Simple punishments can have a huge effect—sleep deprivation and waterboarding are enough to destroy the psychological defenses of even the toughest man.

It's just a matter of how long it will take.

Ian writhed in agony, having endured it for a full twenty minutes. Even after he laid everything bare, the executioner continued without hesitation. He knew this was a retaliatory torture, not only from his old boss David, but also from the rage of the government and the Round Table.

This was his end.

Without judicial trial or any human rights, they endure the most horrific torture and then die in agony.

In that instant, he thought of those women who died with their eyes wide open, their bodies shattered into pieces.

He thought of his family again. They knew nothing, yet they had lost his protection and were about to face the cruelest malice from this government, the country, and a segment of the population. He knew a little about the dark secrets and schemes those people held, but even just the tip of the iceberg filled him with fear and despair.

And now, everything is over.

No...

This is not the outcome I wanted.

Help.

Someone, please save me!

Have mercy...

His hands were cuffed to the platform, and the executioner roughly grabbed his head, shoving him into the water again and again. His head was submerged in the icy water, surrounded by darkness, cold, pain, and despair. He struggled desperately and pleaded loudly, but this only brought more pain. He was so helpless.

Until a voice resounded in my mind.

Do you want to live?

His mind jolted.

Are you hallucinating?

"Then listen to me."

"Obey me."

"Be loyal to me."

"I will grant you strength."

But everything comes at a price...

This was definitely not a hallucination, but the last straw. The other person's English was strange and distorted, with extremely simple grammar, but that wasn't the point. The point was that everything was lost, his family had been implicated, and Ian's life was like a candle flickering in the wind. He might soon be tortured to death on this water platform, or even if he wasn't, he would face even more cruel torture. Thinking of this, Ian shook his body and head desperately.

The voice seemed to know his answer.

"Very good."

Immediately afterwards, Ian felt something more in the water, flowing into his nasal cavity and mouth with the spreading water, and then penetrating his body, into every muscle, and even every cell.

Then, he felt an explosive force surge from his body. With a snap, the iron shackles binding his hands were suddenly broken. Ian twisted with all his might, knocking both strong men away. The executioner was taken aback. He wanted to step forward and capture him, but found that the weak and pitiful wretch in front of him had already turned to look at him.

With a snap, the two-meter-tall man's neck was easily broken, and his body collapsed limply.

Ian looked flustered.

--Because he discovered that he couldn't control his body at all! He only felt many things flowing through his body, and cold things were sticking to his joints and skin. There was a power and will that did not belong to him controlling his body. He couldn't even speak or make a sound!

It's like being a prisoner bound within your own body, helplessly watching as your body is manipulated by others.

No!

No!

Who are you! Let me go! What do you want?

"I had no choice in the matter—I've said it before, everything comes at a price."

With that deep voice, Ian watched as he wrapped an iron chain around his hand, opened the door, broke the guard's neck with a single punch, took the pistol from the body, skillfully checked the magazine, and released the safety.

It's like a first-person VR game, where he's just a visitor and an observer.

"You are desperate, you are furious, your family is threatened, your dignity has been insulted, you know a huge secret that this country has been hiding from its people, and you are about to be silenced."

The voice said calmly, "A desperate situation needs a turning point where one can escape from a desperate situation. How can an ordinary person break free from the executioner's torture and escape to safety? This requires a reasonable reason, and this reason must serve the subsequent plot, leading to various dramatic changes and effects."

Ian looked at "his" right hand raising the pistol, then his left hand formed a claw, palm facing up.

A burst of black Flame erupted from his palm.

The extraordinary one has awakened.

￥￥￥￥￥￥￥￥￥￥

PS1: When designing the superhuman villains for this storyline, I planned to start with the United Kingdom horror legends. Frankenstein and Jack the Ripper were very classic choices, but you know, sigh, with the impression of FGO before me, it felt a bit strange when I wrote it, and you probably felt a bit strange when you read it too. So I could only use some less popular alternatives...