Ten years had passed since Thomas appeared in the world of the living. He waged countless battles against the church’s forces and the believers of other gods who intervened in his crusade for justice. He learned to use his vessel in battle without destroying it, especially as every piece of strength spent made it harder to resist the pull of the afterlife.

His image struck terror in the church and many other forces, spending a long time as a wanted man inside all these forces. In order to protect the public though, his face and details were never revealed to them.

Throughout the entire journey, the half fallen fae, named Senna by Thomas, remained by his side. Her attachment to him based solely off her desire for her own survival in a world that hunted her kind.

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Thomas was confined within his vessel, and as such was oblivious to the people who appeared where he re-entered the world from.

At the same time, the cultivators, heroes and all the onlookers failed to detect him walking across the ocean. It was almost uncanny, their senses and spiritual arts either just missing him, or bumping into one other and forming a gap between them that just happened to be were he was at the time.

It was almost as if there was a mysterious and extremely powerful force guiding fate itself to prevent him from being found, as well as him detecting them in return.

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June 4^th, 2147.

A low orbital gravity lens satellite was the first to detect it, shortly followed by the gods and supernatural beings who had long transcended the mortal form.

Pitch black storm clouds rumbled with constant thunder overhead the North Pacific Ocean, whilst cataclysmic waves roiled back and forth on the ocean surface below.

It couldn’t be seen with the human eye nor properly analyzed by current human technology, but all the energies of the world were in complete chaos here. For those able to see souls, they would have seen the fingers of a giant hand pierce out of the sky before gradually tearing the void open.

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June 4^th, 1312.

The cries of Thomas Smith rang from the North Papal States as he was born into this world.

His father was a local blacksmith, his mother a cast out bastard between the old duke and one of the servants. Despite the inheritance of the old duke’s blood, he would never be able to lay claim to it else he risk the gallows.

His father’s hands were still covered in soot and grime as he held his newborn son up. Unfortunately, his mother continued to bleed and there was nothing the midwife could do to save her, leaving Aaron Smith to raise the child all on his own.

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