Ability Stealer

Mella paced around the reception desk, tapping her rift detector with a growing frown. "This thing's not picking up anything," she muttered, shaking it as though that might make it work better. "No rift signatures anywhere nearby. Maybe they're just far away."

Andrew leaned against the counter, arms crossed. "Yeah, or this place is a dead zone for rifts. Either way, we're not exactly swimming in options."

Mella raised an eyebrow. "So, we stick around and hope, or we leave and hope somewhere else is better?"

Andrew rubbed his chin, thinking. "Let's see if we can operate here for now. Earn some cash to save up for transport if nothing turns up."

The receptionist, a sharp-eyed woman in a green uniform, smiled at them from behind the counter. "You two looking for rifts? It's slim pickings in this area, especially for your ranks, but sure, you can stay and work here. That's not even a question."

Andrew perked up. "Wait, really? No restrictions or extra hoops?"

"None," she replied, leaning forward slightly. "But just so you know, the jobs that do come up might not be... lucrative. Not many rifts around here, and the ones that pop up are low-level. If anything changes, we'll send word your way."

Mella sighed, lowering the rift detector. "Better than nothing."

Andrew gave a curt nod. "Alright. Thanks."

As they turned to leave, the bell above the door jingled, announcing another visitor. A hunched figure shuffled in, draped entirely in black. His Rift Fighter ID was pinned prominently to his chest, but his demeanor was anything but confident. He coughed violently into a handkerchief as he approached the counter.

The receptionist straightened. "How can I help you?" she asked with a polite but wary tone.

The man's voice was low and rasping. "It's my wife. Her condition... it's worsened."

The receptionist's brows furrowed. "But didn't the system doctors check her yesterday? They said her condition wasn't worsening."

He shook his head. "No. They were wrong." His words came slower, laced with frustration. "Send one of your doctors... to free her from her suffering. She can't keep living like this just for the sake of 'research.'"

Andrew paused mid-step. He glanced back at the man, a strange pull of curiosity anchoring him. Mella hesitated too, noticing his expression. "Andrew?"

"Hold on," he whispered. He wasn't sure why, but something about the man's plea gripped him.

The receptionist's voice softened, but her words held no comfort. "The higher-ups compensated her for this, and she signed the contract. Even if she..." She hesitated. "Even if she dies, the terms are clear."

The man slammed his fist on the counter. "This is more than just damn papers! She's a human being! That thing is killing her!"

The receptionist flinched but maintained her composure. "And you were told that it can't be removed from her. You know this. Her service will aid in the advancement of this nation."

The man's face twisted with despair and fury. "That thing... it said if someone with the Ability Stealer skill came, it would leave her. Have you even tried looking for such a person? It's been—"

Andrew's heart skipped a beat. Ability Stealer? His mind raced. How does this 'thing' know about that ability?

The receptionist's tone turned stern. "You were explicitly instructed not to interact with it. No deals have been made, and none will be. It will be studied. Nothing more."

The man's voice cracked. "It keeps repeating the same thing over and over. Morning to night. Ability Stealer... Ability Stealer..."

The receptionist sighed, her patience wearing thin. "What it wants isn't possible. Such a person doesn't exist, and even if they did, whatever it wants from them could never be good."

"I've done research," the man insisted, his desperation mounting. "There are tales of such abilities in the Solarion Theocracy's historical temples."

"Sir," the receptionist said firmly, "you need to rest."

"Rest?" His voice rose, trembling with emotion. "While she suffers? I'll find that person if I have to..."

The receptionist's eyes narrowed. "And how exactly do you plan to do that?"

The man's response came in the form of radiating heat. A palpable wave of energy washed over the room, forcing Andrew to take an instinctive step back. The receptionist's eyes widened as she shouted, "Stop him!"

The room erupted into chaos as Rift Fighters stationed nearby leapt into action. The man, now visibly trembling with rage, pulled a black crystal from his pocket.

"What is that?!"

"Don't know!"

The rift fighters shouted.

the man said, "I already made a deal with it..."

"You fool!" the receptionist screamed.

But it was too late. The man plunged the crystal into his own chest with a guttural scream.

A shockwave rippled through the air. Andrew stumbled, clutching his head as an oppressive force slammed into his mind like a freight train. A strange, maddening sensation clawed at his thoughts, dragging his focus toward the old man.

Suddenly, a red notification blinked in his vision.

[ Kill the man, and his wife now]

Andrew's stomach churned. "What the—?"

Another notification popped up immediately.

[Error: You are not strong enough to complete this quest. Risk of death is too high This Mission has been reassigned]

Reassigned? But to who?

A third message followed.

[New Directive: Run away!]

The oppressive pressure on Andrew's mind grew, suffocating and relentless. He turned to Mella, who looked at him with wide, confused eyes. "Andrew, what's going on?"

"We need to go," he said, his voice tight. "Now."

Mella hesitated, glancing between him and the chaos unfolding in the room. Rift Fighters were closing in on the man, who stood amidst a growing aura of dark, pulsating energy. His scream echoed, a blend of agony and something far more sinister.

"Andrew—"

"Now!" he barked, grabbing her arm and pulling her toward the door.

As they burst outside, the pressure on Andrew's mind began to ebb, though faint whispers lingered, gnawing at the edge of his consciousness. He glanced back through the glass doors, his heart pounding. The old man's transformation was accelerating, his body convulsing as dark tendrils of energy lashed out at the Rift Fighters.

"What the hell was that?" Mella demanded, yanking her arm free.

"I don't know," Andrew admitted. "But whatever's happening in there... we don't want to be part of it."

The man then turned towards Andrew. 

And then he spoke.

"Oh," he said, his voice reverberating with a strange, hollow resonance. A small, chilling smile tugged at his lips. "It's you."

He pointed at Andrew, and just as he was about to super jump, an iron spear formed out of thin air pierced through his neck. 

Mella...?