Noah moved with the silence of a shadow, slipping through the trees that lined the estate, his form blending into the darkness.
The moonlight barely grazed his skin as he dashed between the trunks, each step deliberate and calculated. His eyes flicked to the guards stationed at the entrance, their postures relaxed, unaware of him in their midst.
“No need for the main door,” Noah thought, smirking to himself as he melted further into the shadows.
He had already scanned the entire layout of the neighbourhood when he first arrived. Every guard, every camera, every potential exit.
The positions hadn’t changed—predictable.
The residents of this upscale villa complex relied too much on the appearance of security, believing that a handful of guards at the gate was enough to keep them safe.
“Fools,” Noah thought with a wry smile.
He crept along the side of the complex, his movements fluid and precise. The guards remained oblivious, their gaze fixed on the perimeter in front of them, never considering that someone might already be inside, someone who could slip past them like a whisper.
The shadows became his allies as he circled the walls, his mind racing ahead, plotting his path.
Noah wasn’t just moving stealthily—he was in his element. His Intermediate Soldier-King skill made every step easy, his body more agile, his senses sharper than any normal human’s.
Even if the guards had been military-trained, they wouldn’t have been able to catch a glimpse of him. His level of stealth and precision simply wasn’t something they could handle.
As he passed by the final stretch, he noticed a guard checking his phone, bored. It was almost laughable how secure they felt in this complex. Noah’s movements were a blur as he scaled a side wall, slipping down the other side with ease.
Not a single guard had noticed.
With a final glance over his shoulder, Noah grinned. The thrill of the escape was exhilarating but too easy. He made his way out of the neighbourhood with the same silence, vanishing into the night like a ghost.
Noah slipped his phone from his pocket and dialled for a taxi. The car arrived within minutes, the hum of its engine soft in the night air.
The driver, an old man, looked up as Noah entered the car, pulling his hood low over his face. Not in a suspicious way, just enough to appear as though he was shielding himself from the night’s chill.
“Where to?” the driver asked, glancing back with a polite smile.
“Avenue Street, near the city centre,” Noah replied calmly as he settled into the seat.
The car rolled forward, the city lights passing by in a blur of orange and yellow as they drove. Noah’s face remained hidden in the shadows of his hood, but nothing about him seemed out of the ordinary.
To the driver, he was just another young man avoiding the cold.
The drive was quiet, save for the occasional hum of the engine as they navigated through the city streets.
After about thirty minutes, they reached their destination.
Noah handed the driver fifteen dollars, his face still hidden.
The old man didn’t seem to think much of it as Noah stepped out, giving a brief nod of thanks.
He lingered for a few moments, watching the taxi pull away from the curb, the sound of its tyres fading into the distance.
Once the taxi was gone, Noah’s demeanour shifted. The calmness melted away, replaced by the cold focus of someone on a mission.
He glanced around the quiet streets, taking in his surroundings, and then started walking.
Two blocks later, he arrived at Champinton Street. The quiet residential area was lined with old, brick apartment buildings, their exteriors worn but sturdy.
Apartment 15, his target, stood at the end of the row, a normal building contrasted with its resident’s arrogance.
Noah approached the building with purpose, his steps silent as he reached the front door. Without hesitation, he pressed the buzzer for apartment 15. The first ring went unanswered. The second ring was met with silence as well.
He hit the buzzer a third time, this time harder.
A gruff, angry voice crackled through the intercom. “Who the hell is ringing at this time?” the man barked, clearly annoyed.
Noah didn’t respond. He simply waited, letting the silence do the talking.
In his apartment, Horace Wilkins cursed under his breath.
“Damn drunkards, ringing the bell in the middle of the night,” he muttered, groggy and irritated.
He was about to dismiss it, thinking it was just some idiot messing around outside when the buzzer rang again.
Horace sat up, his anger building. “I swear, if this idiot doesn’t leave, I’m going down there and teaching him a lesson.”
The buzzer rang once more, sending Horace over the edge. He grabbed the bat he kept by his bed, his grip tightening around the handle as he stomped toward the door.
“I’m gonna break this guy’s hand for ringing so much,” he muttered darkly, his frustration boiling over.
He reached the building’s front entrance, he swung the door open with force. Horace looked around, eyes scanning the dimly lit street, but saw nothing. The street was empty, eerily quiet.
“Where the hell—?”
Horace stepped outside, searching the area with growing irritation.
“That bastard’s lucky I didn’t catch him.” He took a final glance around before turning back toward the door.
And that’s when it hit him.
Before Horace could react, a powerful pressure gripped him from behind, a hand clamping down over his mouth, muffling any sound he might have made.
His eyes widened in shock, his heart racing as he struggled to make sense of what was happening. But it was too late.
Noah moved quickly, dragging the struggling man back into the building, the door clicking shut behind them.
The neighbourhood’s outdated security systems made Noah’s job easier—there were no cameras, no alarms, nothing that could record what was happening.
Noah moved with calculated precision, his grip firm as he subdued Horace. The man’s frantic attempts to break free were useless against Noah’s strength.
Noah quickly knocked him out, silencing the struggle within moments.
With a calmness that seemed almost detached, Noah dragged Horace back up to his apartment, his footsteps barely audible on the staircase.
The building remained silent, its other occupants oblivious to what was unfolding just beyond their walls.
Inside Horace’s apartment, Noah closed the door behind them, locking it with a quiet click. He glanced around, taking in the cheap furnishings, and the cluttered space.
It reeked of a disgusting smell, showing the neglect and, a fitting reflection of the man who lived there.
“Just how many did he kill.” Noah thought as he smelled the man’s disgusting smell.
But that didn’t matter, Noah wasn’t here for a conversation.
He dropped Horace’s limp body onto the worn couch, his smirk returning as he looked down at the unconscious man.
Your gift is the motivation for my creation. Give me more motivation!
Creation is hard, cheer me up!
CHECK OUT ‘GLOBAL AWAKENING: STARTING WITH SSS SUMMON.’
