The vehicle continued to race through the early hours of the morning, the landscape blurring past. Rion watched the dark shapes of trees and buildings flash by, the adrenaline still coursing through his veins. The silence in the vehicle was punctuated only by the hum of the engine and the occasional sounds of the tyres crushing gravel.
Inside the vehicle, he took a moment to assess his injuries, feeling the sting of adrenaline fading as the sharp pain of reality set in. His fingers gingerly traced the edges of a gash on his side, the warm, sticky blood slowly trickling down his skin.
The leader of the Four Horsemen, Locke, passed a relatively clean strip of cloth to him, which he tore it into smaller pieces and began to clean his wounds. His hands moved with methodical precision, dabbing at the cuts and scrapes with a dampened corner of the cloth. He winced as he pressed harder on a particularly deep cut, the cloth quickly soaking through with blood.
As he finished wrapping the last of his wounds, he leaned back against the cold metal wall of the vehicle, taking a deep breath. The sterile smell of the cloth mixed with the metallic tang of blood in the air, grounding him in the present. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the rhythmic hum of the engine calm his racing thoughts.
"Do you think it could be following us?" he asked to nobody in particular.
The driver, a woman with sharp eyes and a calm demeanor, glanced at the rearview mirror. "No sign of it for now," she said. "But we can't take any chances. We need to get to safe space as soon as possible."
"Any idea what that thing was?" he asked, trying to shake the image of the titanic beast from his mind.
"We're not entirely sure," Locke confessed, his face etched with concern. "Once you activated the tracker, we started tracing the signal and ended up on the outskirts of the facility. We noticed that the security was unusually tight and were still trying to figure out the best way to break you out when, out of nowhere, a group of people stormed the place and started tearing it apart. And then, not long after, the beast showed up."
Rion listened intently, absorbing the information. "I didn't think the situation would escalate like this," he admitted.
Locke and the others nodded. "Neither did we. But it seems there's more going on here than we initially thought. That creature... it's unlike anything we've ever come across. If I were to guess, I'd say it was at least a... King-Class mutated beast."
"K-King Class...." he sucked in a deep breath as he heard Locke's analysis.
Most mutated beasts were beasts that through some unknown process, had transcended their original species and evolved into unique existences. Their strength determined their classification into seven distinct classes across three ranks: the first rank included Minion-Class, Anomaly-Class, and Aberration-Class; the second rank comprised King-Class, Behemoth-Class, and Titan-Class; and the third rank was exclusively occupied by Apex-Class mutated beasts.
The lowest level were Minion-Class mutated beasts, weak and common creatures, often found in groups. They posed little threat individually but can be challenging in great numbers.
Next were Anomaly-Class mutated beasts, unusual creatures with distinct abilities or appearances. Although the difference in strength between them and Minion-Class mutated beasts was not that great, they still required a bit more skill to handle due to their unique traits.
The next level up were Aberration-Class mutated beasts, which often displayed unusual body structures, erratic behaviors, or unexpected abilities. It was important to note that Minion-Class, Anomaly-Class, and Aberration-Class mutated beasts all fell under the first rank, as a well-equipped team of soldiers could defeat them with some training and effective strategies.
But the next classification of mutated beasts threw all preconceived notions out of the window. Starting from King-class, most mutated beasts began to exhibit far more strength and power. When facing a beast that had managed to evolve to such a height, only one thing mattered and that was pure, unadulterated power.
Given that conventional firearms and attacks proved ineffective against such formidable beasts, as demonstrated by the agents' bullets causing minimal damage, the prevailing belief was that any encounter with these powerful creatures necessitated advanced weaponry, like those used in continental wars, or a party comprising at least one powerful 2nd tier cultivator with a combat oriented ability.
As for mutated beasts with even greater individual power, their appearance often meant that the fate of a nation hung in the balance — sometimes necessitating the formation of a large-scale army.
For instance, the last appearance of a Titan in a neighboring nation resulted in over 700,000 casualties. Although an alliance army had been enough to eliminate it, the memory of it remained vivid in many people's minds.
Rion shivered, remembering the terrifying scene of the beast's rampage. "I guess I have you guys to thank for getting out of there alive," he said, his voice low.
"It was all luck," one of the other mercenaries replied, his tone coy. "About the balance...."
"I'll make sure you get the rest of your payment as soon as we're safe," Rion said, noticing the 'x' mark on his hand begin to fade. "It's the least I can do after all you've done."
"Where do you wish to go?" Locke asked, his voice carrying a hint of urgency.
Rion paused, thinking about his options. His current identity was already marked by law enforcement, and a sizeable bounty might be put on it soon making it unsafe to continue using it.
My current identity is compromised and can't be used anymore. Luckily, I pooled my resources together to make some items earlier.
He paused for a moment before responding. "Given the correct circumstances, it's too dangerous for me to go back right now."
I guess the plan of joining the Mercenary Legion has to be put in play now...
The Black Lotus Syndicate stood as the leading organization for all underworld operations across the entire nation of Avalor. Its influence spanned far and wide, encompassing a vast network of powerful factions that offered an array of indispensable services to underworld clientele. From discreet intelligence brokering to the covert transport of illicit goods, from the seamless flow of firearms to the provision of secure safe houses, the Syndicate provided a comprehensive suite of offerings to satisfy the diverse needs of its clientele.
One of these many factions was the Mercenary Legion, an organization dedicated to overseeing and supporting the hired guns operating under the banner of the Black Lotus Syndicate. Serving as the backbone of the Syndicate's military arm, the Mercenary Legion regulated its members and provided essential resources and assistance to ensure their success in the field.
Joining the Mercenary Legion however was no easy feat, requiring a rigorous and often lengthy process. However, there existed a shortcut for those with the right connections: a membership pass from an established team within the Legion.
This pass not only expedited the application process but also served as a testament to the applicant's credibility and potential value to the organization. He had bought the pass from his black market source for about 15 thousand kila, making it the most expensive single item he had bought till date.
"I'll find a way, I guess." Rion said, opting not to discuss his plans with the group.
Locke looked at him for a short moment before nodding and moving his sights to the road in front, the vehicle interior returning to its silence.
The vehicle continued to race through the early hours of the morning, the landscape blurring past like a surreal painting. Rion felt the a mixture of exhaustion and relief, remnants of adrenaline leaving his body as he concluded that he was now very far away from the facility.
"Could you drop me off somewhere near the train station?" he asked, breaking the silence. "I need to pick up a few things before I move on."
The driver nodded without hesitation, her eyes focused on the road ahead. "No problem. We'll find a suitable spot for you."
Rion glanced around at the mercenaries, then turned to Locke. "Also, would it be possible to borrow a cloak or something to cover myself?" he added. "I'd rather not draw any unnecessary attention."
Locke nodded in agreement. "We've got a spare cloak in the back. You can have it."
A short while later, the vehicle slowed to a stop in a dimly lit alleyway on the outskirts of the Western district. Locke turned to Rion, indicating the direction he needed to go.
"From here, it's a straight shot to the train station," Locke explained as he pushed a dark cloak into Rion's hands. "Just head down this alley, take a left at the end, and you'll find yourself on the main road."
Rion thanked them for their assistance, pulling the cloak to hide his face. "I'll wire the funds latest by morning," he said sincerely.
Locke gave him a nod of acknowledgment. "Take care of yourself out there," he said. "And who knows, maybe our paths will cross again someday."
Rion chuckled, a hint of optimism in his voice. "Perhaps," he replied. "But please, don't bring a King-Class beast with you next time. My frail heart cannot handle it."
With that, he stepped out of the vehicle and watched as it disappeared into the streets. Adjusting the cloak around his shoulders, he set off towards the Western district, his mind already turning towards the tasks that lay ahead.
* * *
Two days later, in Pinecrest's Northern District, the reception hall of a small hotel bustled with quiet activity. The decor was modest but comfortable, with worn yet clean furniture arranged around a small, warmly lit lobby.
The patterned carpet, a muted blend of greens and browns, muffled the footsteps of guests coming and going. Soft, ambient music played from speakers hidden somewhere within the room, adding a calming undertone to the otherwise quiet atmosphere.
Behind the reception desk, a young woman with a pleasant demeanor greeted guests with a smile. The faint hum of the air conditioning was a constant backdrop, blending with the occasional sound of the revolving door as it admitted new arrivals. The reception desk itself was a sturdy piece of furniture, its polished wood surface gleaming under the warm overhead lights.
A slightly middle-aged man with dark hair and a below average, approached the desk. He moved with a certain heaviness, as though burdened by unseen weights. The receptionist looked up, her smile unwavering.
"Good evening, sir. Welcome to the Bunelos Inn. How can I assist you?"
The man nodded curtly, his baritone voice low and measured as he spoke. "I have a reservation. Under the name Everett Kane."
The receptionist's fingers flew over the keyboard, her eyes scanning the screen in front of her. "Ah, yes, Mr. Everett. We have you booked for a week-long stay. Everything is in order. Here are your keys." She handed him an old-fashioned brass key attached to a small wooden tag bearing the number 207.
"Your room is on the second floor, third door on the right,"she explained. "The elevator is just around the corner to your left, or you can take the stairs next to it if you prefer. If you need anything, please don't hesitate to ask."
The dark skinned man accepted the key with a terse nod, his eyes briefly flicking to the television mounted on the wall behind the desk. A news excerpt was playing, showing footage of the aftermath of a robbery gone wrong in the Western District a few days prior.
The receptionist caught his glance and offered a sympathetic comment. "Terrible, isn't it? How some people can kill without any remorse. Can you imagine?"
'Everett's' gaze lingered on the screen for a moment longer, his expression unreadable. "Yes, quite terrible," he muttered, his tone devoid of emotion.