Zone C -- Megacity One

[Gildarts]

“Do you see anything suspicious?” Gildarts asked to Illidan who was less than concerned about his partner’s ‘mission’ on the island. The truth was plainly this: Who cared what happened to the plebeians who had not even evolved into using magic to their own whim? They were human, doomed to living out their dismal mortal lives and plaguing the capable like he, Illidan, with their problems.
 
It was pathetic. And for some reason, Gildarts had picked up one of their useless tools and in that action, revealed his soft spot for them. Maybe that was because he knew deep down he was doomed too. Maybe it was because his own strength made his resolve weak. There were plenty of thoughts to toy with, but not enough time to figure out the key source without getting “curious” about the mage’s past, and right now, Illidan couldn’t care less.
 
“No,” he said curtly, but it wasn’t enough to dampen the Ambrosian Prime’s vivacious spirit.
 
There were several tracks going along the path, leading to nowhere in particular, circles and sparse lines of trail. Likely from the participants of this year’s event and nothing more. Gildarts passed an inscription on a tree, the messily etched letters haunted him because even he had heard the story of Roanoke from a lofty fellow spinning tales of embellished truths in hopes for more free ale.
 
On the road, when you lived the life, you only had stories for entertainment, or girls. Gildarts liked both, women however, like his chainsaw, really knew how to rev him up. Nowadays, in the Omniverse, there were phones and funny viral videos of dogs on the Omninternet, and the tales of magic and wonder often fell on deaf ears, misinformation was a fear as horrifying as clickbait and the people wanted irrefutable proof.
 
But that begged the question: Even when they saw it with their own eyes, could they ever believe the depth of darkness within one man without knowing his story?
 

Gillidan moving from B15 to C6. Hunting for the item and hoping to avoid trouble.