The wasteland stretched endlessly under the dim light of the moon, the cracked, barren terrain painted with shadows that seemed to stretch infinitely.
Cutting through this desolate expanse was a black hoverbike, its thrusters emitting a low, blue flame as it zipped across the rugged landscape. The bike’s polished body glinted faintly under the moonlight.
Seated at the helm was Quinton, his blue eyes glinting mischievously behind his black-tinted face mask.
His hands gripping the handlebars with ease. Behind him sat Vira, her posture alert despite the smoothness of their ride.
She clung lightly to his waist, her fingers curling in an almost reluctantly. Dressed in minimalist black and white tactical armor, both of them seemed like shadows against the
night.
The sword at Vira’s side occasionally gleamed as moonlight reflected off its edge. Then she spoke.
“Are you sure we’re going the right way?”
Vira asked, her voice muffled slightly by the mask covering her face.
Quinton smirked, the corner of his mouth curling beneath his mask. His fingers flexed slightly on the bike’s handles as he tilted his head back just enough to glance at her from the corner of
his eye.
“Vira, if I didn’t know the way, do you really think I’d drag you all the way out here?”
Vira let out an audible huff, her grip on his wrist tightening briefly before she spoke again.
“You do all sorts of crazy things, Quinton.”
“Can you really blame me for asking?”
Quinton chuckled softly, then teased, “Fair point.”
“But trust me on this. I’ve got everything under control.”
Vira narrowed her eyes beneath her mask, though she knew he couldn’t see her expression.
Still, she couldn’t help the faint roll of her eyes at his nonchalance. “That’s what you always say.”
“And I’m always right,” Quinton said smoothly.
Before Vira could speak further, a sudden flash of movement caught her attention. A faint glow flickered in the distance, a pulse of light that was strange against the barren backdrop of the wastelands.
Her grip on Quinton’s wrist shifted, her body tensing instinctively.
“Quinton… what’s that?” she asked, her voice low and serious now.
Quinton’s gaze sharpened, his playful demeanor dropping in an instant, his eyes narrowed, the gears within them began to turn faster.
“Monsters…”
“Hang on tight.”
He said. His hands tightened on the controls, and with a sharp twist of his wrist, the hover bike surged forward, the thrusters roaring as they propelled them even faster.
As the hover bike sped trough the wasteland, movements around them began to become more obvious.
Soon, they could make out the swarm of creatures heading towards them, their bodies illuminated by the moonlight.
It was a pack of Feral Clawstalkers… four-legged beasts with elongated, serrated claws and glowing red eyes. Their wiry, muscular bodies were covered in patchy black fur that bristled as they let out ear-piercing shrieks.
Trailing behind them were several mutated Ironhide Porcupines. Their bodies were encased in jagged metallic plates, and their quills gleamed like polished steel, each one as sharp as a dagger.
Vira’s grip on Quinton’s wrist tightened as she leaned closer, her voice rising.
“I thought you said the path you picked wouldn’t lead us to any monsters!”
Quinton glanced back at her briefly, a crooked smirk on his face. “Details Vira.”
“Relax. I’ve got this.”
Vira opened her mouth, about to argue but was cut off as one of the Ironhide Porcupines reared up, its metallic quills trembling.
With a violent jerk of its body, it launched a barrage of gleaming spikes directly at them. The air whistled as the projectiles sped toward their target.
Quinton’s eyes narrowed, his blue eyes shone brightly.
He then called out, “Gear Halt.”
The spikes froze mid-air, suspended as if time itself had paused.
Quinton spoke again,
“Gear reversal.”
“Gear enhancement.”
The spikes instantly flipped over and shot backwards towards the Ironhide Porcupines that shot them.
Under normal circumstances such an attack shouldn’t be able to hurt them, due to their metallic outer skin, but the skies instantly pierced through, as if completely disregarding their metallic hide.
Vira’s eyes widened in shock, but before she could comment, a Feral Clawstalkers darted ahead of the pack, leaping toward them with claws outstretched and jaws snapping. Quinton slowly extended an outstretched hand, then twisted it in the air as he commanded.
“Gear Shift.”
A ripple of invisible energy surged outward, striking the Feral Clawstalker mid-air. The force was so instatinous and fast, the beast’s body was suddenly crushed as it was blown away, exploding into a cloud of blood, with entails scattering like confetti across the wasteland. As the bike sped forward, more monsters lunged toward them, claws and fangs gleaming. Quinton’s eyes swiftly darted from side to side… naturally fast… Almost as though he knew where to find each monster.
In his gaze, each of them were suddenly marked with a gear. his expression suddenly became cold and distant, as if he were gazing at mear insects.
“Alright.”
“Let’s finish this.”
With a flick of his wrist he declared, “Gear Halt.”
“Gear Shift!”
The words seemed to vibrate in the air as the charging monsters suddenly froze in place, their bodies locked mid-motion.
An instant later, an invisible force tore through all of them, one at a time, sending their exploded remains flying in all directions. The Feral Clawstalkers were ripped apart, their
entails scattering like leaves on the wasteland floor.
Vira exhaled sharply, her grip finally loosening as she steadied herself.
“You’re lucky you’re useful,” she said, though there was a touch of admiration in her tone.
Quinton chuckled softly, his smirk widening.
“Told you not to worry.”
“Yeah, yeah. I hear you, quit trying to rub your ‘all figured it out’ act in my face. It pisses me
off.”
Vira then leaned forward and asked. “So, how exactly are we supposed to find this Overlord? I just realized I never asked you how or where we’re meeting him.”
Quinton chuckled, “That’s because you never think ahead, Vira.”
“Hey!” she snapped. “You drag me out here in the middle of nowhere, and now you’re saying
I’m the problem?”
Ignoring her, Quinton adjusted their trajectory slightly, his sharp eyes scanning the horizon.
“We’re not meeting him in some dramatic castle, if that’s what you’re imagining.”
Vira tilted her head. “Wait, no castle? Isn’t that, like, standard for overlords? You’re telling me we’re not going to some shadowy fortress or anything like that?”
“It’s far too early for that kind of thing,” Quinton replied. “We’re heading to a spot where he was first sighted. A guild encountered him during an exploration mission. It’s the closest lead
we’ve got.”
Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “A guild? You didn’t mention anything about a guild. Won’t that cause trouble for us? Especially if they are on an exploration mission?”
Vira frowned, her unease growing with each passing moment.
And for good reason, for mercenaries or in other words, awakened like them that we’re not associated with any guild, encountering a guild on a wasteland exploration mission was far
from ideal.
Guilds were notorious for their territorial behavior during such expeditions. They often staked claims to valuable ruins, resources, and artifacts, fiercely defending them from
outsiders.
In the unforgiving wastelands, where survival was a daily challenge, guilds tended to view strangers with suspicion, if not outright hostility.
Moreover, guild members were usually well-equipped and operated in organized groups, always far better equipped than mercenaries, so if they felt they were here to steal their treasure they would not hesitate to either end or restrain them.
The wastelands amplified this disparity. Harsh conditions and rampant dangers ensured that even minor conflicts could escalate into deadly confrontations.
Think of it this way: you’re out on a treasure hunt in a deadly, unpredictable landscape, where danger lurks at every turn. After finally discovering a promising site, a random stranger suddenly appears.
The first instinct of any rational person would be to protect what they’ve worked so hard to
find.
This instinct often drives guilds to clash with outsiders or, at the very least, demand an explanation for their presence.
This tension is only worsened by a history of mercenary teams stealing treasure right out
from under guilds’ noses during exploration missions.
Over time, the mere sight of mercenaries during such missions has become synonymous with
conflict.
And that was the root of Vira’s concerns.
Quinton waved her concerns off with a gloved hand.
“Relax. It’s a small guild from Mega City Seven. They’ve just been promoted to a major guild
recently and are trying to prove themselves.
Taking on an exploration mission is their way of boosting their reputation.”
“Fact, worrying about them is pointless. They are going to be nearly wiped out by the
Overlord’s dragons.”
“Fact, us being there to calm him down and negotiate with him could spare their lives.”
Quinton then smiled… almost sisterly, “Maybe… we should save them.”
“That way they owe us a favour.”
“Still doesn’t sound great for us if we run into them,” Vira pointed out, crossing her arms.
He glanced back at her briefly, his smirk widening. “Listen carefully, Vira. They’re a baby guild playing dress-up in the big leagues. They’ve bitten off more than they can chew. Besides, we’re not even going to get near them. Our goal is the Overlord, not some amateur adventurers bumbling around in the wilderness.”
Vira huffed, leaning back slightly. “If you say so. But if this ‘baby guild’ ends up being more trouble than you’re letting on, I’m not letting you hear the end of it.” Quinton laughed confidently, then grinned, “Noted. Now sit tight. We’re getting close.”