Marcus seemed to have passed out, only to be woken up by the loud sound of guns going off and grenades wreaking havoc in the area.
The first thing he looked at was the dial on his watch.
I wasn't out for long. A minute at most. He reasoned as he cleaned the blood that was rolling down the side of his head.
Getting to his feet, Marcus was careful not to step on glass. With most of the train tilted and lying on its side, the moonlight illuminated the coach more easily, showcasing the sight of crushed men on the other side of the coach.
Unlike him, the others hadn't been so lucky. The weaker parts of the coach had buckled under the pressure of the shockwave and collapsed, crushing them beneath its weight.
Marcus grabbed the nearest rifle and stepped carefully through the wreckage, avoiding the shattered glass. Once outside, he crouched low in the grass and glanced back at the derailed train.
His jaw tightened. That kind of explosion… It's unconventional.
There's no way these bandits carried something this powerful with them. Not when they're still within the First Ring, even if we're still deep in the outskirts.
It's more likely that something volatile had been on board… perhaps something stashed in the cargo coach. Maybe it was hit by stray bullets.
But even at that…
What kind of explosives shake the ground like an earthquake before they blow?
Even while lost in thought, Marcus kept moving. He had already slipped into the cover of the tall grass, tracing the length of the derailed train as the distant crack of gunfire guided him.
He pushed deeper into the bush, angling to flank the bandits hiding within the thick stalks.
A few minutes in, Marcus spotted movement ahead—someone crouched low, scanning the train wreck with their rifle.
Quickly setting his weapon aside, Marcus crept forward, step by step as he closed the distance. As his target was within reach, he clamped a hand over the man's mouth. With a swift thrust of his knife, he sliced the throat of the man, restraining him until he stopped struggling.
Then he picked up the man's rifle to inspect it. Infrared Scope. His eyes narrowed as he surveyed the surroundings with the gun. Perfect.
Through the infrared scope, Marcus tracked down glowing silhouettes hidden within the bush. One by one, he lined his shots. His hands were steady, and his breath calm. Each pull of the trigger dropped a body.
There were no wasted bullets, no second chances, just scary precision.
In less than thirty seconds, over a dozen red-hot shapes dimmed into stillness.
"There's someone in the bush taking out our men! Go check it out!"
"Don't let any of these bastards leave the vicinity!"
The voices were loud, panicked shouts coming from the side of the train.
Marcus shifted slightly, using the scope to scan the area. Thirteen more heat signatures lit up the edges of his view, clustered near the wreck. Five against eight?
He considered helping, but his finger paused after brushing the trigger. With only glowing outlines to go by, he couldn't risk it. There was no way to tell who was an ally and who was a foe.
However, Marcus was certain that the person who gave the command to prevent anyone from coming into the bush was an ally, so he wasn't too worried. His objective now is to sweep the area silently and take out the enemies in hiding.
From his position, the battlefield was split. The figures moving were those locked in combat atop the train, no other signs of heat nearby.
If I get closer, I might get a clearer read, he thought, adjusting the grip on his rifle. But if I'm spotted, they'll chase me down. The Iron Marshals already took their Titan Drafts, and even they're struggling to hold the line against eight of those bastards… either these criminals have their own MGPs—or something worse.
His foot shifted and pain flared up in his leg.
Ugh!
Marcus looked down. Broken glass. Shards stuck out from the sole of his foot and blood was already soaking into the earth. He clenched his jaw and inhaled deeply.
Just ahead of him lay the remains of a cargo crate—splintered wood and broken metal spilling its contents. He recognized the crate as he had seen the soldiers haul the same box aboard before the journey began.
He hadn't cared for its content then. But now, they were laid bare before him.
Scrolls, rolled parchments that looked centuries old and hardbound tomes, the same kind wrapped in aged leather and sealed with Imperial sigils. Some scrolls had been scattered in the crash. As he moved forward, he realized that he had stepped directly onto one of the scrolls.
"My luck couldn't be better," he muttered under his breath.
Marcus crouched and reached for the scroll. Blood from his foot had already stained the edge of the scroll. The moment his fingers brushed the paper, a jolt surged through him.
Marcus froze.
His grip slackened and his rifle slipped from his hand. His eyes lost their focus, glazing over like frost on glass. At the same time, his face went blank.
It was as if something had reached into him and unplugged his soul. Snatching his mind, and his will.
I am…
The world changed and I still am.
I died…
And then I was.
Unfettered remained, and I decayed. Who shall walk this path again?
Words flowed through Marcus's mind. Though they were only a few sentences, it made his head swell and blood to pour out of his orifices.
Suddenly, his vision warped.
Blinding flashes, so bright and surreal, rushed through his mind. Then everything became clearer, he saw thousands of warriors clashing with towering Monsters, their battle cries shook the very air. Men that pulled raw power from the earth beneath their feet—one swing of a fist summoned lightning that split the sky.
Men with so much rage that the emotion sparked flames, not ordinary flames, but flames so vast they swallowed volcanoes.
Above, figures soared through the storm clouds, locked in battle with massive winged beasts. Fist and steel met fangs and claws in midair. It was chaos and glory stitched into one breathtaking scene. It was too wild to be a dream, and too real to be just imagination.
Marcus's heart thudded hard against his chest, as though it wanted to jump out.
"Where am I?" He managed to say.
The moment he spoke, the battle below, and the one above paused as both beast and men turned to look at him as though he were the intruder in this.
A figure suddenly materialized before him, one that looked exactly like him, except for the fact that it had no eyes.
"This is the world beyond… the world within!"
The voices came as one, both beast and man speaking in unison. Their chorus shook the sky and tore through Marcus's mind like thunder. In the real world, his skin began to crack. Thin fissures spread across his arms and chest like porcelain breaking.
"You are—"
But the words never finished.
Interrupted by the monstrous meteor hurtling down from the heavens, splitting the storm clouds apart. Its descent felt like the breath annihilation itself.
Boom!
The impact from the collision didn't just echo, it devoured.
Marcus screamed as his flesh seared and his bones shattered like dry twigs. Something darker tore at the edge of his soul, yanking it into chains he couldn't see.
He didn't feel like he was dying.
He was…