Displacements were first theorized by the Kismet Empire to originate from ulterior worlds. Worlds of chaos, peace, fire, and ice. In actuality, these theories are merely conjecture–and the truth is based on twisted human experimentation conducted by the Amit Progenitor, Atlas. By sealing human souls from the mainland in an otherworldly dimension called 'Fate's Realm', their very existences contort and alter. It's a sort of forced spiritual evolution. After remaining in that prison for God knows how long, the merciless scourge of Displacements was born, all courtesy of Amit's whims.
One of those Displacements, Apollo Moloch, followed the Defense Agency's head scientist in Fate experiments. In other words—artificial Predestined Powers.
He scratched his chin. "Looks like everything's moving accordingly."
"Indeed. Because of the samples Atlas retrieved, we not only managed to increase our research but enhance the state of our society's modern technology."
Apollo squinted. Uncontrollably blazing around the Scientist's idle figure was an aura of Fate, sharpened to the limit and imbued with a technique. Smirking, Moloch took a step, peering over the doctor's shoulder to examine the words he was writing.
"I see. And I suppose your own Predestined Power doesn't help with that…?"
The Doctor snickered. "I can't deny that. After awakening to Fate, everything feels complete. I owe everything to Atlas and his dream—you included, Apollo. Give the Progenitor my thanks for me. The puppets should be ready by this weekend. How's that sound?"
Averting his gaze, Apollo turned away, calmly grinning. "Perfect. Thank you for the progress… Doctor Freeman."
His surroundings vanished. Silently invoking his Fate, the Displacement warped across the city, reappearing on the ledge outside Atlas's quarters.
'The blinds are open.'
He slid open the door and walked in, looking for his Master. To his surprise, there was nobody inside. Apollo shrugged. Stripping the coat off his arms, his palm pressed into the scanner, opening the wall to the hidden room. Sunk into the couch wasn't his Master the Amit Progenitor nor the Disastrous Malum Monstrum.
A blue-eyed man with tan skin, curly blonde hair that covered his left eye, and a black crown tattoo across his temples, clad in a patterned black turtleneck sat on the sofa. An unfamiliar individual.
Apollo aimed his palm at the perpetrator, invoking one of many Predestined Powers and blasting at the man. The bolt speeding forward, intending to burn anything it touched, abruptly faltered in the space before the Blond.
He smiled. "My name is Muhammed. Fighting is boring—let's talk instead."
Moloch glared. 'Muhammed? What kinda name is that?' Snarling, the Displacement's hand lowered; steam leaked off his idle palm.
Muhammed appeared behind him. "Sit down." He threw the Displacement into one of the chairs beside the couch.
Apollo fell into the cushions, gazing up at the man with wide sparkling eyes. 'What the hell? Where'd that unimaginable strength come from? Not only that but...' He sat up.
"Now then." Muhammed sat on the couch and interlocked his fingers. "It was thirty years ago. From somewhere unknown, Atlas Amit appeared, possessing knowledge and power capable of rivaling the Gods themselves. He worked with the multiple governments of the world to advance the state of human affairs, allowing them to develop advanced nuclear weapons, holographic technology, and realistic artificial reality. Among these many advancements was Heaven's Gate. A tower that pierces space visible to anyone no matter the home. How he was able to make such a thing always bewildered me."
"Why?"
With two fingers on his temples, Muhammed leaned forward. "The Gate was designed to be a tourist trap. People think the Governments and Atlas spoke behind the scenes, concluding to use the structure he made to awaken new Fate users. To this day, following the Gate's arrival ten years ago, nobody's questioned it. Because of Atlas, over half the world can manipulate Fate boundlessly and even less than that have awakened Predestined Powers. So, as you said, there can only be one question to ask. Why?"
"Someone irrelevant like you couldn't possibly understand the extent of Master's goals. Do you know of the Displacement scourge Atlas orchestrated in the 90s that plagues the Kismet Empire? A perfect evolution through Fate's existence capable of gifting entrapped human souls with entire physical bodies. If you saw the power those creatures displayed, you wouldn't be—"
"Oh please." After rolling his eyes, Muhammad extended an arm, resting his chin on the back of his hand. "I know all about Amit's scheme regarding the Empire. Besides the Unconquerable, that island of Fate users isn't anything special," he said.
"Really? What makes you think so?" asked Apollo.
He grinned. "My Predestined Power actualizes fiction. Through the aura surrounding my body and soul, I can mimic omnipotence akin to God."
"You're overestimating yourself. I doubt it's anything so powerful and straightforward. Besides, you're not the Unconquerable. Without conditions to drawback your strength, the technique's power will dwindle. Shouldn't someone as experienced as you know that?"
"Dunno!" Muhammad shot up, clenching his fist. "Why don't you fight me and find out—?"
Just when Muhammad's aura burst around his figure, unimaginable darkness emerged from behind him. The despairing signature belonged to none other than him—the Amit Progenitor with flowing black hair and voided dark eyes
"I think it's time for you to sit down again," Atlas said.
Muhammad turned slowly. "I'm shocked. I didn't think you'd come back for this doll," He pointed at Apollo.
"Watch your mouth." Atlas covered his lips with one finger. "I'm intrigued by what you have to say, but if you continue insulting the epitome of my perfect research, I'll have to resort to killing you immediately. And we don't want that… do we?"
Muhammad decided to listen for now and sit down, watching Amit step along the floorboards before plopping down beside Apollo.
"So," Atlas crossed his legs. Picking a cigarette from the pack, he pushed the stick between his lips. "You don't look like a Kismet spy. Then I don't understand. What could a suspicious mainland-dwelling individual like you want to do with me?"
Fingers interlocked, Muhammad glared at Atlas across from him. "To shatter the world you made." He stood with both hands now pocketed. Grinning at them, he started walking to the exit. "Alright then! Now that I've explained my goal, don't be surprised if any random ambushes occur!"
Apollo started to raise. "Seriously? Do you honestly think you're gonna manage to make it out of here alive? Especially after threatening both myself and Atlas—"
The Progenitor pulled him back down. "No need to get angry, Apollo. Let him leave. After all, as long as I'm here, he won't dare try to start a fight he knows he won't win. That's… how all humans are," he said.
"So true! Haha! Well then—" Muhammad waved to them. "Bye-bye!" Just like that, he vanished, leaving Atlas and Apollo all alone in the vacant darkened chamber.
"Why'd you stop me?" Moloch asked.
"Simple," Atlas puffed smoke from his throat. "His technique could be useful in the future. However, the conditions embedded into his aura are powerful; I could tell from just a glance. We'll have to play along with whatever scheme that guy's cooking up for now if I want you to steal his ability."
"Meaning—"
"Meaning that's another errand for you to run. Survey him. Try to spot any instances in which he uses his technique and if there are any conditions attached to it," he said.
"Have your servants roll me another L." Apollo stood up. "If you're giving me more work, I need to be higher to do it."
Atlas chuckled. "That's a good answer. Alright then, it'll be done quickly. When that's finished, leave and come back when your task is done, alright?"
"Yeah, yeah…"
Mainland, City of the Gate. Nighttime.
Atop a rooftop beneath the starry night sky, Apollo leaned back in his chair and raised his fingers, removing the joint fixed between both lips. Inhaling the smoke only briefly before it flew out from his lips, Moloch closed his eyes, resting his arm over his fair-skinned temples.
Then, he sat up. Standing from the seat, he slid across the platform and perched at the edge, overlooking the streets below.
'I don't understand what's so special about this guy. I couldn't sense any conditions in his aura—how was Master able to? Ugh. Whatever.'
A car pulled up to the abandoned building Apollo was staking out. Not only did Muhammad step out of the backseat, but two guards wearing black and white suits exited following. Moloch vanished completely, along with the Fate encasing his soul.
The ability to hide one's unique signature isn't a known Fate ability achieved through basic aura manipulation—it's a specific technique Apollo stole from his slaughtered Displacement brethren.
'Predestined Power: Existence Nullification.'
It doesn't turn one's physical body invisible nor does it hide their aura. Instead, it erases their existence from the real world, and transports them to 'another world'. In that other world, Apollo can only see awakened auras that exist around every Fate user and follow them. Wherever Apollo ends up in the other world, he will end up in the same position in the real world.
Apollo's nonexistent form squinted. The scent of Fate surrounding Muhammad's soul was, upon further inspection, truly remarkable. Bathed in golden light skin to the Messiah himself; even he was unable to avert his eyes.
Withdrawing a phone from his pocket and facing the building entrance, Muhammad inaudibly spoke while starting to walk. The Displacement jumped from the roof and glided toward his target, glancing at his face before retreating into an alleyway.
'Deactivate.'
Apollo warped from the street and reappeared on the rooftop, sinking his sole onto the platform; quietly summoning another Predestined Power.
'Sensory Amplification.'
By focusing the aura around his eyes, Moloch could peek through the concrete walls, peering at Mohammed and his duo of guards. The Displacement scratched his chin.
'I see. I thought that thing behind him was a result of his technique, but I was wrong. They all have the same thing.'
What Apollo was referring to wasn't the basic conditions innately applied to Muhammed's technique. Hovering behind the blonde Fate user and his two guards were distinct monsters, unknowingly formed through the users' instinct. A beast made monstrous through flight or fight reflexes, capable of producing untold abilities through unmet conditions.
But Apollo could only see its shape, not the epitome. Whatever was powering the man's Fate to produce an otherworldly beast innately imbued with unknown techniques—surely it had to be powerful.
'Existence Nullification.'
He needed a closer look. Upon invoking the technique, Apollo phased through the rooftop and started falling toward the floor of his target. But the moment his feet touched the ground, Muhammad turned around, beginning to walk toward another indistinguishable wall. Facing forward upon entering the splitting-mechanical doors, Apollo watched from the side as the blonde-haired Fate user held the phone to his ear and sunk into the ground with aid from the elevator he was standing inside.
Eventually, Muhammad would vanish completely underground, leaving Apollo to deactivate the technique and dig into his pocket. After lighting the joint he put into his mouth, he hid both hands in his pockets—scanning the interior's surroundings.
"What a dump," he said.
'Why'd they pick a raggedy old run-down building like this to hideout under? That's some shit the mafia would do.' Apollo scratched his neck, smoking the spliff. 'I'm leaving…'
The Displacement Moloch fled the scene. No trace of his residual Fate could be found.
Meanwhile, in the descending elevator, Muhammad opened his closed eyes and removed the phone from his ear. The two guards standing at each side of his rear vanished into vacant attire on the elevator floor.
The doors opened. As Muhammad's figure exited, the barracks downstairs housed numerous other individuals—each suited with their unique design.
"The time has come, my family!"
Almost everyone scattered about the underground and ran to the front at the sound of his voice. They knelt before the blonde man, who closed his eyes, stifling a scoff. Crossing both arms behind his back, Muhammad looked up—tracing Apollo's retreating footsteps from below the ground. Then, he chuckled, looking down at his comrades.
Grinning widely with his teeth and eyes, Muhammad raised one finger. "We will tear down the foundation Atlas Amit has built with all our strength, ending the Unconquerable bloodline once and for all! Now then…" His sky-blue pupils shined under the lights after the eyelids slid back.
"Let's get to work."
Trivia: Muhammad was born on January 18th, 1990. He's currently 32 years old. He has long and curly blonde hair, sky-blue eyes with bags under them, a white bandage over his nose, and a black crown tattoo across his temples. The crown is drawn like the Crown of Thorns worn by Jesus Christ during his crucifixion. He's usually clad in a partnered black turtleneck. His Predestined Power is unknown.