Snippet #2585958

The elder Alastor somehow managed a chuckle without cracking a smile. The sound came out as sarcastic instead of jovial, cold and bitter instead of warm or happy.

Truth be told, it'd been a long time since he'd had an enemy run at the very sight of him. So when the Vongola XI snagged her little brother and made a beeline for an exit, he couldn't say he wasn't caught off guard. Perhaps she was a coward, abandoning her friends and allies to their grisly fate. Or perhaps she was playing a more strategic game, trying to lure him into an area more favorable to her style of combat.

That was the type of tactic the aliens loved to pull back where he was from.

Not that it mattered either way. That moment he met the Vongola boss's eyes, he realized: she would be no match for him. This was not the legendary Reida Sawada, the historical paragon of the Vongola family. This was just a scared little girl who'd found herself in way over her head.

Unlike her, he, Alastor Lorenzo Koenig Rizzo, was not real. Not here. Not in this time. Not even in this universe. He was more like a ghost, an illusion from another universe—one given flesh and blood by the technological marvel that is the Rizzo Clocktower. All of his memories were intact, as were his unique set of skills, skills honed through perpetual and torturous combat experienced over the course of decades against a merciless and unfeeling enemy far more advanced than he. The only thing he lacked as an illusion in this foreign universe was access to his power. Part of existing as one of three meant his current reserves of deathperation energy were not his own. He was forced to rely on an inferior and unrefined version of his own power, his own flame, from a more boyish version of himself. Worse, that power was further split three ways. The current Alastor's flame output was split evenly amongst himself and his temporal images.

Compared to his real body's nigh-limitless reserves of deathperation energy, with the capacity to output Space flames nearly as pure as that of Maschenny Rizzo, his current flames were as nothing.

Again, not that it really mattered. None of this did. Even in this severely handicapped state, with the mere capacity to manifest a stunted more impure version of his own flame for a much more limited amount of time, he could still handle a child—a little girl and her little friends, all blissfully unaware of the war they had become pawns in.

The true Reida Sawada—the legendary boss—perhaps she'd have given him a run for his money. But this version? This kid? It'd be like taking candy from a baby.

Alastor sighed softly as he walked. He didn't have to move to dodge any of the panicking audience members. They all seemed to flow around him instead, as if he were a mighty stone amidst of a roaring river. Even these primitive humans had a sense who was and was not a threat. As his target and her brother disappeared down a hall, moving at a brisk sprint, Alastor maintained his leisurely pace.

One such as he did not run. Not for anyone.

Moments earlier, Alastor had caught sight of Elysia, the current Alastor's Comet Guardian, giving chase to the Sawada siblings when someone had the audacity to step in his path, barring his way. Alastor didn't recognize him specifically, but could feel the energy radiating from him. He'd long become accustomed to the gentle pressure that those with the capacity to produce deathperation flames gave off. In this regard, the old Sky suite was no different.

"So I'm guessing you have something to do with this," the person said. Alastor chuckled again, this time in disbelief. This person was nothing more than an adolescent. A mere boy dared to address him? A token Guardian was impudent enough to step up to the likes of he?

Preposterous.

Alastor didn't even deign to look at this Vongola, let alone respond, choosing instead to maneuver around the kid like a leaf in the wind, continuing on his way. The very notion of a Guardian attacking him didn't even register in his mind, for no primitive would dare raise their hand against one such as he.

Besides, none of the Vongola Guardians were his target, and so none of them were worth his time. And above all, that was the commodity most in demand, wasn't it? Time.