Chapter 9, Part 1 – A Home Worth Killing For
You ever wake up and realize that despite everything—murders, conspiracies, existential horror—you still need a place to crash?
Yeah. That was me.
Sure, a hotel worked for now, but I needed an actual home. One that didn't come with suspicious front desk clerks and a checkout deadline.
And more importantly? One that didn't have eyes on it.
"We need a place," I said. "A real one. Off the radar."
No one argued. They were all still me, after all.
So, like any reasonable person with an ungodly amount of stolen money, I went to find an estate agent. Or realtor. Or whatever they called themselves in this city.
The place I found was too professional—shiny desks, well-dressed brokers, that fake smile rich people wear when they pretend they care.
I walked up to the receptionist.
"I need to buy a house. Who do I talk to?"
She gestured vaguely. "All our agents can assist you."
I looked around. Every broker had a line of eager clients, except for one guy.
He sat at his desk, completely alone.
More interestingly? The moment I glanced at him, every other client in the room exchanged glances… and left.
Fang laughed. "He's the one."
I didn't even ask why.
Because in every Webtoon, anime, and novel, this was the kind of guy who was either a scam artist, a supernatural guide, or an assassin in disguise.
Either way, worth checking out.
I strolled up to him.
"You a broker?"
"Yes."
"Why doesn't anyone come to you?"
He smirked. "Because I'm expensive. Too expensive."
I sighed. "Great. The one I thought was special is just another scammer."
Still, curiosity won. "Why are you so expensive?"
He leaned back, eyes flicking over me like he was calculating my worth.
"Because I deal with places meant for people like you."
My fingers twitched.
People like me?
By all appearances, I was just an attractive late teen with a decent fashion sense and maybe a little too much confidence. So either he was guessing, or…
"Do you know about Compatibility?" I asked.
If he didn't, he'd just look confused.
Instead, he chuckled. "So that's what you call it."
Bingo.
"Yeah, I know about it. And I know the kind of place you're looking for."
I crossed my arms. "And what exactly makes a house 'special' for a Compatibility user?"
"There are environments where supernatural energy lingers," he said. "Stay in one long enough, and it can… change you."
The voices fell silent.
Then Solace muttered, "He's not entirely wrong."
That was enough.
"Show me."
We left the city.
The estate was isolated, far from prying eyes, with no neighbors for miles. The moment I stepped out of the car, something felt… different.
The air was thicker, charged with something I couldn't quite explain.
The house itself was a massive villa—five bedrooms, sleek architecture, the kind of place that looked like a billionaire's vacation home.
"I'm analyzing it," Solace said. A few seconds later, his voice turned sharp. "The limit here has already been broken."
I turned to the broker. "Has the limit here been broken?"
He frowned. "What limit?"
Right. So he didn't fully understand.
"How much do you know?" I pressed.
He shrugged. "Just that people who stay in places like this long enough tend to… awaken."
That's why there are so many users this early.
I glanced at the voices. They already knew what I was thinking.
"Is this the best possible place?" I asked.
The broker hesitated. "There's… one other. But it's extremely expensive."
"Take me there."
The second place?
It wasn't just supernatural.
It was alive.
The moment I stepped onto the property, I felt it—Compatibility energy thick in the air, like the land itself had absorbed generations of evolution and mutation.
"This place is built for monsters," Riven murmured.
Not just now. When the limit fully broke, this place would become something else entirely. A sanctuary. A cradle for things beyond human.
"This is it," I said. "How much?"
The broker sighed. "Are you sure you can afford it? You're still just a—"
I cut him off. "Price."
He exhaled.
"One hundred million dollars."
I felt my eye twitch. That was half my damn bank account.
Fang snorted. "You could just kill him and take it."
Tempting.
But Solace, ever the voice of reason, simply said: "Right choice. Money can be replaced. Opportunities like this can't."
And just like that, I knew.
I was buying this damn house.
You ever spend a hundred million dollars on something and immediately wonder if you've made the biggest mistake of your life?
That was me.
First time buying something this expensive, and let me tell you, rich people love paperwork. I had to sign what felt like a thousand documents, verify my identity a dozen times, and resist the urge to ask if I could just kill my way through the process.
But in the end? I had a home.
And not just any home—a damn mansion.
The first thing I noticed was the sheer size.
This place was massive. A whole damn sect could live here. No, scratch that—a small agency could set up shop and still have space to spare.
Which, now that I thought about it, wasn't the worst idea.
As I stepped inside, something immediately felt off.
A house this big, completely empty? Yet spotless, like it had a cleaning crew working around the clock?
No dust. No signs of previous tenants.
Just eerie, perfect silence.
Yeah, no way in hell I was trusting that.
"Fang, Solace, get to work," I muttered.
Fang, ever the predator, checked for threats. Solace, my personal living supercomputer, analyzed everything.
"No immediate danger," Solace reported. "But the energy here is… unusual."
Unusual how? He didn't elaborate, which meant either he wasn't sure yet, or he wanted me to figure it out myself.
Fine. Whatever.
For now, all I knew was that I had a massive, empty, pristine house, sitting in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by an endless plain biome.
And despite all the warning signs…
I loved it.
After a full inspection, I went outside to take in the scenery.
That's when I saw it.
A bird.
Or… well, something that wanted to be a bird.
It looked more like a skinned chicken. Featherless, black-skinned, slightly terrifying. My first time seeing a baby animal without fur or feathers, and honestly? I wasn't sure if I should be fascinated or deeply unsettled.
But for a newborn, it was big. A foot, maybe two.
"What the hell are you?" I muttered.
Curious, I pulled out my new phone—because apparently being rich also meant needing a better one—and snapped a picture.
Uploaded it to a search engine.
Results came back: Peregrine Falcon.
I blinked.
"A falcon?"
I glanced at the little creature again. He didn't look anything like the sleek, majestic birds I'd seen in documentaries. But then again, I'd never seen one at this stage before.
More interestingly? According to every source I checked, a baby peregrine falcon shouldn't be this big just after hatching.
So either my new friend was on steroids… or something very weird was going on.
Not that I was complaining.
"If you're already this size at birth, you're special," I said, crouching down. "Guess that makes you family."
The little falcon didn't respond. Just stared at me with those beady black eyes.
Silent.
Observant.
And completely unfazed.
I liked him already.
I picked him up, raising him toward the sky.
"You're pitch black like a raven," I mused. "So from now on, you're Raven."
Fang chuckled. "He likes it."
Well, that made two of us.
But there was one problem.
Raven hadn't eaten.
Judging by his sunken stomach and sluggish movements, he probably hadn't eaten at all since he was born.
I checked online. Peregrine falcons? Strict carnivores.
And that was a huge issue.
See, I was vegetarian.
Not out of moral superiority or any deep philosophical belief. Just… habit. My family had been vegetarian, so I grew up that way.
Did I mind the idea of meat? Not really. I'd eat anything that tried to eat me first. Fair game.
But raising a carnivore? That was new territory.
I hesitated. Then, after a moment, I crouched down and looked Raven in the eyes.
"You wanna hunt?"
Solace groaned. "Are you an idiot? A newborn can't hunt."
I shrugged. "He'll figure it out."
Raven tilted his head.
Fang grinned. "Now this I wanna see.
I took Raven to a nearby forest.
Left him near a tree.
We waited.
Then, out of nowhere—
A sharp cry echoed through the sky.
I tensed. Looked up.
An eagle.
It swooped down, massive wings casting a shadow over the ground. Raven flinched, clearly realizing just how outmatched he was.
He's going to run, I thought.
But he didn't.
Instead, he kept his distance. Analyzing. Calculating.
The eagle struck.
I pointed at a glass barrier—a thin, see-through film I had subtly formed between them.
CRACK!
The eagle slammed into it, shattering the glass and injuring itself in the process.
Raven's eyes lit up.
A predator's gleam.
He pounced.
And just like that—he tore into the eagle, shredding it apart with tiny but effective claws.
Not clean. Not efficient. But brutal.
He took his time. Savored every bite.
A real hunter.
I watched, arms crossed, feeling oddly… proud?
Fang cackled. "Now that's my kind of bird."
When Raven finished, he flapped his featherless wings and let out a satisfied cry.
Hunger? Gone.
I crouched down, ruffling his head.
"Good job."
He let out a soft noise. Content.
I picked him up, cradling him in my arms as we left the forest.
The world had just changed for him.
For the first time, he had hunted. Killed. Eaten.
And he liked it.
Which meant from now on?
Raven wasn't just my pet.
He was my partner.
I smirked. "Let's go shopping."
Because if I going to live here with my new family I needed supplies.
Getting a cab in this city was like playing Russian roulette—except instead of a bullet, you just lost your wallet and got a terrible ride.
But today, I wasn't in the mood for public transport.
I needed something better. Something permanent.
And that meant buying a car.
Which raised an important question…
Where the hell do you buy a car?
Not a rental. Not some cheap civilian vehicle. I needed something durable. Something that wouldn't crumple like tin foil the second I rammed it into a wall.
Which, let's be honest, was inevitable.
So, after some quick searching, I found a car dealership. Or at least, something close enough.
The moment I stepped in, I was met with the same look I got at the estate agency.
You know the one.
The "Why is a teenager here trying to buy something he absolutely shouldn't be able to afford?" look.
I could practically hear their thoughts.
"A kid? Buying a car? Must be a rich brat spending daddy's money."
I didn't bother explaining. Not my problem if their tiny brains couldn't process reality.
Instead, I walked up to the nearest salesman and got straight to the point.
"I need a car," I said. "Sturdy, fast, something that can ram into anything and still be safe."
The guy blinked. Opened his mouth. Closed it. Then blinked again.
I sighed.
"Look," I continued, "I know what I want. Either tell me where to find it, or I'll find someone who will."
That seemed to wake him up.
"There are… a few options," he said slowly. "But if you want the best for what you're describing, there's only one."
He pulled out a tablet and swiped through a few images before turning it to me.
"The Paramount Marauder."
I raised an eyebrow.
"It's a military-grade armored jeep," he explained. "Practically a tank disguised as a vehicle. Can withstand bullets, explosives, and, as you wanted, it can ram through almost anything without taking much damage."
I liked the sound of that.
But there was a catch.
"But," he continued, rubbing the back of his neck, "there's a problem."
I gestured for him to continue.
"It's a military-only vehicle," he admitted. "Not for civilian use."
Ah.
Now that was a problem.
But problems had solutions.
And mine came in the form of a stack of fresh bills.
I casually pulled out a bundle of cash and started flipping through it.
The salesman's eyes immediately locked onto it.
Oho.
Looks like I had a misconception about what counted as "military-only."
"Please, come with me," he said, his voice suddenly much more accommodating.
He led me through a side entrance, down a dimly lit hallway, and into a hidden garage.
The moment the doors opened, I knew I was in the right place.
Inside, at least a hundred illegal vehicles were parked in neat rows. Modified sports cars, armored SUVs, off-the-market military-grade vehicles.
A goldmine of options.
But I had my eyes on only one.
The Paramount Marauder.
It was an absolute beast.
Matte black. Thick, reinforced armor. Windows that could probably stop a sniper round. It looked less like a car and more like something straight out of an apocalyptic war zone.
I stepped closer, running a hand along the reinforced plating.
"Yeah… this will do."
"I like this one," I said. "Customize it with everything necessary for survival—bulletproof glass, reinforced plating, a silencer for the engine, the best internal modifications you can add."
The salesman nodded, scribbling down notes.
"And make it black," I added. "Pitch black."
His pen stopped.
Then, slowly, he looked up at me.
"You got it, sir."
I smirked, pulling out another stack of cash.
"Here's your tip," I said. "Deliver it to this address when it's done."
He took the money without hesitation.
And just like that, I had secured the perfect ride.
To be continued.