If not for the huge hole in his pajamas and the mess of a house, this might actually have been a warm and beautiful scene.
He patted his forehead, as though trying to recall something, or perhaps receive something. In the shattered mirror, the painful struggle on his face was clearly visible.
After a long while, he finally let out a long breath. A trace of life returned to his eyes, and he no longer had that puppet-like air of someone being controlled in a circus.
His name was Tang Woods. Perhaps he would be using that name for a long time to come.
He was not an ordinary man forced by life and driven by dreams to become a detective, taking on commissions in exchange for payment.
He had another name: Yachidavir, a god—or rather, a fragment of a god's soul.
As for the real Tang Woods, he was already dead, killed in last night's organized and premeditated slaughter.
None of that mattered to him. As a god, or a fragment of a god's soul, he had long grown accustomed to such things.
The only thing he needed to consider now was how to accomplish what he had to do: help his true body—or himself—break free from the seal that had existed for who knew how many years.
He returned to the recliner and began sorting through his thoughts, recalling his memories amid countless swirling ideas.
His true name was Yachidavir. He had once been an ordinary person born in the earliest era, but after the revival of mysterious power, he rose above the rest and became one of the few gods between heaven and earth.
He governed the laws of mystery and the unknown. Since mystery and the unknown represented the future, he was also known as the