That bastard elder, draped in his suffocating black robes, wasn't even trying to hide his hostility.
I didn't need to ask for his lineage; the sheer, ancestral venom in his eyes marked him as one of those parasitic races that had been targeting the human race since the apocalypse began.
Whether he belonged to the Hectors, the Angels, or even the Drags—I didn't give a damn. I had journeyed to this place seeking answers, and I had already wasted an entire hour navigating the bureaucratic labyrinth of this Impact.
I hadn't come this far to be kicked out like a mangy street dog by some robed gatekeeper with a grudge.
Elder or not, he was overstepping. This Impact had rules, a rigid framework of laws just like the Bringold Impact.
What this motherf*cker didn't realise was that I wasn't some naive novice wandering in from the wastes.
