Marc's eyelids fluttered open, the light seeping through painfully bright against his weary eyes. He blinked, his vision blurry at first, slowly adjusting to the soft glow surrounding him. As his gaze drifted around the unfamiliar room, he realized he was in what seemed to be a hospital, the sterile smell and quiet beeping of machines confirming his suspicion.
Still groggy and disoriented, he struggled to piece things together. His mind raced, memories of the battle flooding back in jagged fragments. The clash with Enigma. The pain. The devastating blow. Slowly, it all fell into place, and with it came the heavy realization of what had happened to him.
"Finally awake?" came a voice—familiar and calm.
Marc turned his head to the side, catching sight of a familiar figure—the Head of War Machine. A weary chuckle escaped his lips. "Looks like you were right about me losing," Marc said with a half-smile.
The Head shrugged, his expression unreadable. "It could have been worse," he replied calmly.
"Yeah, you're right," Marc says with a nod, his eyes scanning the area once more. His gaze swept across the crowd, searching for a familiar figure. "Have you seen John?" he asked the Head, a hint of concern creeping into his voice.
The Head shook his head. "No, I haven't," came the reply.
Marc's expression darkened with disappointment at the Head's initial response. He turned slowly, his voice strained with a lingering frustration. "More importantly, how long was I out?"
The Head paused, he calculated in his head for how long marc was out for. "How long? If I'm not mistaken, it's been three hours."
"Three hours?!" Marc exclaimed, shock and disbelief written across his face. He couldn't fathom being unconscious for so long, especially since his body still hadn't fully healed. "What did I miss?" he asked, his voice edged with concern.
The Head gave a casual shrug. "Not much. But the tournament has reached its final match," he said, clearly thinking Marc wouldn't care about the other bouts.
Marc's eyes widened, a surge of anger and frustration boiling over. "WHAT?!" His voice echoed in the room, his disappointment palpable. He had promised someone that he'd watch and learn from every fight, and now he had missed them all. For a moment, his rage simmered, but he forced himself to calm down, exhaling deeply. "You're telling me I missed all the fights?" he muttered, the weight of his failure settling on his shoulders.
"Yeah," the Head replied, a bit surprised that Marc even cared about the answer.
"Right," Marc muttered, still sounding frustrated. His brow furrowed as he asked, "Who's fighting in the final match?" Though, in truth, he felt he already knew the answer.
"The next fighters are Enigma and Nova," the Head confirmed with a nod.
Marc barely reacted, his eyes distant. "Just as I thought," he muttered, the spark of interest long gone. The match, the tournament—none of it mattered anymore. His mind had drifted far from the arena.
Far beyond the tournament grounds and past the poisonous field, a towering mountain loomed, its peak lost among the clouds. Hidden within its jagged cliffs was a cave—an entrance John had somehow missed during his first ascent of the mighty peak. Now, standing before the mouth of the cavern, curiosity tugged at him, drawing him deeper into the unknown.
The cave swallowed all light. Even the sharpest eyes of an ordinary man would have been useless in such thick darkness. But ahead, a faint glow flickered. It was John, carrying a torch of his own making, its flames casting long, dancing shadows on the stone walls. The fire hissed and crackled as he pressed forward, its warmth barely cutting through the damp chill of the cave.
"I've been wandering for hours," John muttered, his voice echoing off the unseen walls. "How deep does this cave go?" His words hung in the air, swallowed by the oppressive silence that seemed to stretch endlessly before him.
John found it unsettling that the cave was utterly devoid of life. No creatures scurried through the shadows, not even the ones that could have easily thrived in such a vast, hidden place. The silence was unnatural, oppressive. Every time he thought he heard something stirring in the darkness around him, it was nothing more than the echo of his own footsteps, bouncing off the walls and playing tricks on his mind.
As he ventured deeper into the cave, the steady howl of the wind persistent, flickering his torchlight with every step. He shielded the flame as best he could, but despite his efforts, a sudden gust extinguished it completely. "Come on," he muttered in frustration, tossing the now useless stick to the ground. The wind shouldn't have been this strong. "How is it still blowing this hard down here?" he asked aloud, confusion settling in. But the mystery of the wind didn't deter him. He pressed on, undeterred by the darkness that now enveloped him.
Step by step, he descended into the depths, feeling the wind grow even fiercer. It wasn't just strong; it seemed alive, as though it were trying to force him back, pushing against his every move. "What is with this wind?" he growled, gritting his teeth as he fought to stay upright. "Why does it get stronger the deeper I go?" Despite the unnatural force, John resisted, driven by the need to uncover whatever lay at the heart of this cave.
Hours passed as he navigated the twisting passages, his body weary but his will unbroken. Finally, at the lowest chamber of the cave, he saw it—a massive gate, ancient and worn, with cracks spilling a strange light. The colours danced through the fissures, a brilliant mix of green, blue, and gold, casting eerie shadows across the stone walls. "Finally," John whispered, his breath catching as he gazed at the gateway. Whatever lay beyond it was powerful. He could feel it.
John took a step back, his eyes widening in awe as he admired the towering gate before him. It was a masterpiece, as though it had been crafted by the gods themselves, each detail etched with divine precision. The smooth stone shimmered faintly, and ancient runes danced across its surface, telling stories long forgotten. As he marvelled at the craftsmanship, his foot accidentally pressed down on something hidden beneath the dust—a mechanism. Suddenly, a door beside him slid open with a heavy grind, revealing a guardian lion, its stone body crackling to life, glowing faintly with ancient magic.
John sighed, his admiration quickly turning to annoyance. "Oh, come on—" he began, but his words were cut short as the lion charged at him with terrifying speed.
The impact was brutal. The force of the guardian's charge sent John flying backward, crashing into the hard stone floor. Gritting his teeth, he pushed himself up, brushing off the dust and shaking his head. "Alright then," he muttered, his eyes narrowing, "bring it on, you stupid beast."
With a roar, both John and the guardian lion charged at each other, their movements a blur. They clashed in the centre, muscles straining as they locked in a fierce struggle. The lion's stone paws dug into the ground, its strength immense, but John wasn't one to be easily overpowered. With a sudden surge of force, he twisted, shoving the lion hard into the side of the cave. The creature stumbled, momentarily off-balance.
Seizing the opportunity, John darted around the guardian, leaping onto its back with agility born of countless battles. He wrapped his arm tightly around the lion's throat, muscles straining as he applied pressure. The creature thrashed, trying to shake him off, but John held firm, his grip unyielding.
"Go to sleep... go to sleep," John whispered, tightening his chokehold with grim determination. Slowly, the guardian lion's resistance faltered, its movements growing sluggish until, at last, it collapsed to the ground, defeated.
"Now, Let's see what you're hiding," he said as he's turning to face the gate, placing one hand on the cold stone of the gate, then the other. He pushed, muscles straining, but the gate didn't budge. Frustration flared in him. "Damn you," he growled, inspecting the ancient structure. "I didn't come all this way for nothing." With renewed determination, he braced himself and pushed again, harder this time, pouring all his strength into the effort.
For what felt like an eternity, John pushed. His muscles burned, his breath came in ragged gasps, but at last, the gate creaked, then groaned as it slowly began to open. The wind, which had been howling at him the entire journey, now seemed to rush toward the gate, as if drawn to whatever was hidden beyond. And in that moment, it all made sense. The force of the wind had been protecting something, something ancient and powerful that lay just beyond this threshold.
With the gate finally open, John stood in awe, the revelation before him explaining why the wind had grown fiercer with every step. Whatever he had uncovered, it was more than just a gate—It was a doorway to something he had only ever dreamed might exist.