The elderly man with silver-streaked hair slowly spread his arms, his gaze fixed on empty space ahead as if witnessing a divine miracle.
“Are nobles and generals born to rule?”
An Ning heard him murmur.
“This world has always belonged to us abnormals, little An Ning. We were this planet’s first masters; humans were merely latecomers… They stole the world from us. And now, we shall reclaim our throne.”
His speech quickened, voice swelling with fervor—like a CEO rallying employees with cries of “Our goal is to ring the bell at Nasdaq!”
Selling dreams. Bewitching hearts.
Anyone foolish enough might’ve fallen for it… but not An Ning. She simply thought someone might be losing their mind. (She wouldn’t say who.)
“On what grounds?” she asked, frowning.
What made this old man think he could lead a ragtag crew to overthrow humanity and restore abnormal glory? Did senility make him believe he was the realm’s chosen one—just needing to stand tall before humans for them to kneel and obey?
Humanity’s millennia of struggle, evolution, climbing the tech tree… allying with witches, forging WMDs, probing the arcane—none of it was meant to surrender at light-speed like some nations.
If others believe you hold WMDs, you’d better actually have them.
Power deters. Power makes enemies sit and talk. Ever since tanks rolled out, nomadic tribes became… remarkably musical, dance-loving, and hospitable.
Mr. Zhang wasn’t senile after all. A subtle smile touched his lips. He lifted a hand and pointed downward.
“What, exactly, is our corporation researching?”
An Ning froze. Realization dawned.
“Isn’t it abnormals?”
“Why would it be abnormals?”
His smile deepened, turning eerie.
“Haven’t humans studied us since the Bronze Age? Observing, dissecting… even taboo live experiments. How many of our kin died in WWII labs? Countless.”
“Decades of research let them understand us down to our genes—foolish child, they know what ‘abnormal’ means better than we do.”
“Human foundational science has stalled. Abnormals hold no research value… so why do An Corporation’s labs run day and night? Why do researchers toil endlessly?”
“What *are* they still studying?”
He grinned, shifting his finger upward.
“Witches,” he whispered like a demon’s breath. “The only beings left worth studying.”
A chill seized An Ning. Goosebumps prickled her skin.
“Witches?” she blurted. “Impossible. They’re too powerful. How could humans capture one?”
Then she paused, voice slowing.
“Unless…”
“Unless the witch is willing.”
Mr. Zhang nodded approvingly. “Correct. Humans and witches were never the same species. Witches are the world’s favored—born powerful, capricious, acting on whim.”
“Some gentle, craving peace. Some volatile, never still. Some endlessly curious…”
He stopped. Turned. His gaze locked onto the abnormals trailing behind An Ning.
Smiled.
An Ning’s grip tightened on her longsword. “Run!” she shouted.
Too late.
Pitch-black humanoids slithered from shadows, daggers silent against backs. Blades plunged into hearts, twisted—spines shattered.
No sound. The hardened fighters who’d survived Lower District underground rings and slaughterhouse arenas became warm corpses.
Ice flooded An Ning’s chest. She spun, cleaving the shadows in half, sword raised defensively. Her eyes locked coldly on Mr. Zhang.
“They knew too much,” he said gently. “Too much knowledge shortens a life.”
He stepped toward the room’s center, courteously leaving her space.
“Now… where were we?” He tapped his temple like a confused elder, then clapped once, benevolent. “Ah—witches. Let’s continue.”
“Witches follow whims. Most disdain humans and abnormals… but exceptions exist.”
“An Corporation knows one who *cooperates*. Whether she truly likes us matters not. Only her willingness does.”
“Ordinary humans couldn’t lead witch research. So they found an abnormal sympathetic to them—your father—to found An Corporation.”
“For thirty years, our witch research never ceased. Most known truths about witches? Published by us.”
“Then, a year ago… we uncovered Witch’s Night’s secret.”
Mr. Zhang raised his arm, fervor blazing anew.
“To restrict mystical entities, humans deployed Contained Artifact No. 5—Witch’s Night—to seal the technological world. Abnormals violating the Abnormal Management Regulations vanish silently. Shackled like livestock everywhere… except during Witch’s Night. Only when the Silent Witch drags the world into her dream do abnormals taste freedom.”
A bitter, sorrow-tinged smile crossed his face.
“But is dream-freedom *real* freedom? No. Just humanity’s charity.”
“They cage us, then grant one wild night monthly—calling it ‘freedom.’ At dawn? Everything resets. Like a dream.”
“Witch’s Night is the Silent Witch’s dream. Can freedom inside a dream be freedom?”
“We are prisoners in a dream.”
“But now… prisoners found the key.”
His voice swelled, grand as a revolutionary’s cry. An Ning almost expected him to shout for five hundred more years.
“The Silent Witch—and the Contained Artifact Witch’s Night itself!”
“Witch’s Night is High-Risk Contained Artifact No. 5: a planet-spanning dream. A dream that should have no consciousness. No master.”
“The Silent Witch isn’t natural. She’s artificial. Human-made. She has no true body—Witch’s Night *is* her body.”
“Our goal? Control Witch’s Night through her. Then trap every human inside it.”
“No right or wrong. No conspiracy. Your father died for his stance… He was abnormal, yet stood with humans. He blocked our path. So he fell.”
Mr. Zhang smiled like a confessional priest, radiating gentle light.
“But *you* are abnormal, child. Not human. Stand with us. Restore our glory. I mourn your father… but don’t follow his path. Come. Let us make abnormals masters of this world again.”
His warmth stirred distant memories.
When she was small, her father and the board uncles were close—especially Mr. Zhang. He’d shield her from scoldings, take her to amusement parks when sad, gift her the full Barbie set she’d craved on her eighth birthday.
He’d treated her like his own daughter.
And his words… made sense? For clan. For cause. Sacrifices happen. From a racial view… wasn’t her human-aligned father a traitor?
An Ning seemed to have no reason to refuse.
Yet she shook her head.
“I don’t believe a world ruled by abnormals would be better than one ruled by humans.”
She refused.
Mr. Zhang stilled. Disappointment bled across his face.
“I thought you were wise, child,” he sighed softly. “Then… I must silence you. Like your foolish father.”
He raised a hand.
Thick shadows slithered from corners and under tables, swallowing the room.
Countless pitch-black figures wailed like vengeful spirits, rising from the dark.
*Guess I won’t be drinking with the maid tonight,* An Ning thought, tightening her grip on her shortsword.
[To be continued]
