"Why is it that when it's my turn to do something, something always goes wrong?" Michael lamented as he stared at the sky, where two figures stood on empty air.
One was the old man from the Federation. The other was from the Drakeblood race.
The shocking part was that both of them were Rank Four.
That alone left Michael confused. Ever since entering Hell, or rather, ever since entering the academy as a whole, Rank Fours no longer seemed as rare as he had once believed.
Hell only intensified that feeling. Even within the academy, he had encountered only a handful of Rank Fours, and even then, those encounters were either extremely brief or from a great distance.
He had never been involved in matters at their level before.
Yet now, not only had he killed one, he had remained close to another for nearly an hour.
At the moment, the entire group waited outside Drakeblood territory, patiently allowing the discussion above to conclude.
