Alastor’s had been trained to drained the fear of darkness. He was never afraid of darkness. He considered it as an ally. For that reason he’s not easily paralyzed by neurotic lassitude, instead, he sees the night as an extension of him. Yet tonight, as he moved on the road, he could only smell the decaying flesh of monsters and the scent of death lingering in this poor town.
He slowed, scanning around what could he amiss. Alastor has never the time he settled after a successful reclusion. He is always prepared and wary to his surroundings. Laxing in a dangerous territory could result into a fatalistic result.
The city is in chaos from east to west, police are holding the monsters barely enough to contain them while the media, as always, got themselves caught in the middle of the trouble
