Chapter 18. The Angry Stranger.

Alastor, ever the peacemaker, managed to smooth things over between Marcus and Arthur. The tension in the hovercar dissipated, replaced by their usual banter and laughter.

But Alastor's curiosity still lingered.

"Seriously though, Marcus, what did you spend all that money on?" he asked, unable to contain himself.

Marcus rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

"I saw some cool gear and stuff, couldn't resist," he mumbled.

Alastor's eyebrows shot up, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Cool stuff? You're making it sound like you blew your savings just so you could ogle Arthur's hot stepsister during the raid!"

Even Arthur, who had switched the hovercar to autopilot, turned to stare at Marcus with a raised eyebrow.

"Come on, guys, don't be ridiculous!" Marcus defended, flustered under their scrutiny. "I'm not that much of a simp!"

"Aren't you?" Arthur challenged, shrugging nonchalantly. "You've always been the biggest one I know."

Marcus looked pleadingly at Alastor, seeking an ally. But Alastor just grinned wickedly, enjoying his friend's discomfort.

"You know what? Forget you both!" Marcus huffed, defeated. He slapped on his headphones, the loud music a clear sign of his annoyance.

Alastor and Arthur exchanged a look before bursting into laughter, thoroughly entertained by Marcus's reaction. Their laughter eventually died down as they turned back to face the road, the hovercar smoothly navigating towards their destination.

"Speaking of gear," Arthur said, turning to Alastor, "You're not planning on tackling an Abyssal seed in that, are you?" He gestured pointedly at Alastor's casual attire: a tight-fitting top and a pair of shorts.

Alastor frowned, genuinely confused.

"What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"

Arthur simply shook his head.

"We'll stop at a store in the wasteland. You need proper gear, and don't even try to argue because I'm not listening." He swiftly put on his own headphones, cranking up the music to drown out any potential protests.

Alastor sighed, accepting his fate. He knew there was no winning against Arthur's determination.

He turned to watch the scenery as the hovercar zipped through the city, the landscape gradually changing.

Thirty minutes later, they arrived at a massive gate marking the city's edge. After a quick scan of their hero IDs, the guards waved them through.

Beyond the gate lay a stark contrast to the bustling city: the wasteland. Crumbling buildings, overtaken by vegetation, stretched as far as the eye could see. This desolate landscape served as a buffer zone, holding back the tide of beasts that periodically threatened the city's peace.

It was a dangerous place, where Ability Users risked their lives battling monsters and protecting the city. While some were drawn by the thrill of the hunt or the promise of riches from selling beast parts, the threat of death was a constant companion.

Their hovercar navigated the ruined streets, passing other adventurers in various vehicles. They eventually stopped in a bustling marketplace, filled with stalls selling everything an adventurer might need: weapons, armor, supplies, and even informations for the right price.

As promised, Arthur and Marcus marched Alastor into one of the wasteland stalls to get him properly outfitted.

Alastor didn't resist, not that he really wanted to. He knew they were right; his usual clothes wouldn't cut it on this raid.

He chose a sleek, black, full-body leather suit, tight-fitting and practical with a hood to cover his head if needed. This wasn't just any leather, though. Crafted from the hide of an Abyssal creature, it offered incredible durability and flexibility. He would be protected, yet his movements wouldn't be restricted.

He added a pair of curved steel daggers to his arsenal, each with a finger guard to prevent disarming as his old weapon was broken from the fight last night.

Looking at his reflection, Alastor couldn't help but sigh. He looked every bit the part of a shadow, a true denizen of the dark. It was a look he hadn't consciously chosen, but somehow, it felt right.

Had he really embraced the assassin's path so completely? The thought was both unsettling and exhilarating.

"Damn, that's cool," Arthur muttered, impressed by Alastor's transformation.

"Not as cool as mine," Marcus countered, flexing his arm to show off his own gear.

He was clad in full body armor – not bulky, but undoubtedly tough. Alastor suspected even his full strength wouldn't be enough to pierce it. Crafted from thick steel, it gleamed under the harsh wasteland sun, accented by menacing red designs.

Alastor was surprised. With Marcus's [Stronghold] ability enhancing his defense, and now this armor, he'd be an unstoppable force on the battlefield.

Alastor then turned to Arthur, who had chosen a more streamlined approach.

Arthur wore a dark blue jerkin over a simple shirt, fingerless gloves on his hands. Dark cargo pants tucked into sturdy boots completed his outfit. It was a simple look that spoke volumes about his practicality and focus on combat efficiency.

"Now we look the part," Alastor said, a hint of excitement creeping into his voice. They looked like a team, ready to face whatever the wasteland threw at them.

With their gear sorted, they piled back into the hovercar and sped off deeper into the wasteland, following Arthur's directions.

They finally arrived at their destination: a nondescript stretch of land, seemingly no different from the rest of the desolate landscape.

Waiting for them was another group – four people, two men and two women.

Alastor immediately recognized the leader: Kayla, Arthur's infamous stepsister. She stood confidently, a challenging smirk on her face.

The trio exited their hovercar, approaching the waiting group. Arthur, as always, took the lead.

"Finally decided to show up," Kayla taunted. "Thought you'd chickened out."

Arthur bristled, his voice laced with venom.

"Thought you could handle yourself without me, huh? Should've known better, coming from the daughter of a slut" He said voice like ice.

Kayla's face flushed with anger and humiliation. For a moment, it seemed she might lash out, but she quickly composed herself, a forced smile replacing her fury.

"Still throwing tantrums like a child, I see," she shot back. "Becoming an Ability User didn't make you any less pathetic. What a disappointment."

Arthur opened his mouth to retort, but Alastor quickly placed a calming hand on his friend's back. He knew Kayla's tactics – trying to provoke Arthur, to make him look like the unreasonable one.

A flicker of annoyance crossed Kayla's face as her attempt to rile Arthur failed. She turned her attention to Alastor and Marcus, her eyes scanning them dismissively.

"And who are these clowns?" she asked, her tone dripping with disdain. "Your backup, I presume?"

"I'm Marcus," Marcus announced, puffing out his chest with a pride that only he could muster. "The Tank."

Kayla's gaze shifted to Alastor.

"And you must be the famous Alastor, the speedster," she said, a sly smirk playing on her lips.

It was a ridiculous charade. Kayla knew both of them perfectly well, having crossed paths with Arthur and his friends countless times. But she always feigned ignorance, as if their existence was beneath her notice. Perhaps it was her way of expressing her disdain, but Alastor had long since stopped trying to decipher her motivations.

Before he could respond, a frigid voice cut through the air;

"So you're the infamous Alastor."

Alastor turned to see the source of the voice. It was the other woman in Kayla's group, her gaze fixed on him with an intensity that bordered on hatred. He was taken aback by the sheer venom in her eyes.

"Yes, that's…" Alastor began, but the woman cut him off, her voice like ice.

"Good. I hope you brought your own healer," she spat, her words laced with a fury that shocked Alastor to his core. "Don't expect me to waste a single ounce of energy patching you up inside the Abyssal Seed."

Alastor's mind went blank.

'What the actual f....'