*Well, I'm not dead... somehow. I'm just as surprised. Lots of things went on in the background, I guess. Hell, the lore I'm gathering feels funky looking back on it. It's my 3rd year in university, final one for my bachelor's. I'll graduate and oh boy, I feel like yesterday I just started with this fanfic. No clue if I'll ever finish it giving how life goes, but boy am I grateful for the amazing people I've met cuz of it. Love you all, gang. Peace out and Deus vult.*
Stelle couldn't help but be worried, something that had rarely happened in the last while. Mark had, without realising it—or perhaps he did, since she didn't see him as the type to miss such things—become someone they relied on too much without meaning to.
What is the rest of the machine meant to do when one singular piece starts overtaking them all in productivity? She didn't see it at first, but the change went from gradual to outright skyhigh. From one man who knew too much for his own good to a solid pillar within the Astral Express.
Her and Dan Heng's time hadn't been without issue in the new world. A powerful enemy—the Flame Reaver—had shown itself, wrecking havoc the likes of which they couldn't just fix. They've lost people, faced death in its raw form, and all of that brought forth countless questions she hadn't even asked herself.
Sure, she knew how she came across most of the time—aloof, maybe a little stupid, perhaps too much like a raccoon or some trash-loving hobo—but it didn't mean anything when compared to the real self.
Stelle began thinking, and thinking, until the events from the past began taking different nuances. From the things they had seen on Mark's phone despite not being allowed, the strange knowledge of his, to the weird way he seemed to know just how to save most people.
'Without him we've already lost some people, had to make sacrifices to deal with the Flame Reaver... what would he have done? Where even is he? Did he get him? No, surely... Mark would've put up a flashy fight. There's no way we wouldn't have seen it, far away as it would've happened.'
"Stelle... Stelle... Are you alright?"
Dan Heng's voice brought her back to reality, silencing the doubts she's been putting up with half-willingly.
"Oh, yes, I'm fine."
She tried to brush it off, but in classic Dan Heng fashion, he didn't buy it. Instead, his gaze drifted off to the open balcony, staring off from their room. Time had indeed passed, and their Trailblazing journey did go on – even with one member missing.
The expression on his face wasn't much different from usual, but a tiny flicker of something she couldn't quite catch flashed in his gaze.
"I'm sure he's fine, wherever he may be. We didn't have a chance to explore much beyond the limits of Okhema. Given the nature of the Black Tide, Mark is probably fighting somewhere, saving who knows who."
Stelle couldn't help but crack a smile at that, shaking her head as images of Mark playing hero started forming in her head. The crazy guy must be having the time of his life, fighting like there's no tomorrow with no one to stop him.
It didn't quite put her mind at ease, but it would have to suffice. Too much negativity would hurt morale, and in a situation where they were also heroes in their own right, such a thing would do damage that'd spread to others.
"You're right," she beamed, smiling brighter than expected. "So we should put in some work as well, kick ass and solve the problem with the Black Tide before he even gets here."
Dan Heng nodded, sharing in her spirit. His eyes fell upon March's camera, placed neatly on the small table between them.
"Let's not forget to take some pictures for March. Hopefully she'll be better by the time we return."
"Yes, we should do that. She was right, saying that Mark will get lost," chuckled Stelle, picking up the camera to snap a shot of Dan Heng for no reason other than the love of the game.
He squinted, the flash blinding even in daylight, but didn't pull away much.
"There. I feel like this will get a good laugh out of her, right?"
He let out a sigh, crossing his arms a little tighter over his chest.
"I think that will be the case," he admitted.
.................................................................
The stench of smoke was acrid, strong enough to puncture through all meagre attempts at blocking it out. Soft cackling noises echoed far and wide, fires dying out all around under the blood-shot sky. Corpses littered the ground like snowflakes at the start of winter, some of them coated in black patches with undertones of red light that seemed... alive.
All around him, monsters roamed the land without a care, no one to stand up to them, no one for them to hunt. It was the end, a sad, pitiful end none wished to encounter—and yet there it was.
His eyes opened to the image of a statue looming high above—Kephale, his divine image, now nothing but a giant idol of stone, pathetic under the bloodied sky. Mark's body felt unlike his own, nothing but a bag of limbs and organs that refused his brain's pleas.
Trying to move was hell, the kind of hell one would find in a twisted version of existence, trapped inside your own body with the controls in front of your eyes but no way to make them work. It wasn't paralysis; it was worse. The dried land underneath poked into his ribs with quiet aggression, like his very existence wasn't welcome.
'Where...wha...'
The storm of memories rained down upon him, all of them belonging to a future that was yet to take place. Fixed moments in time, the entire tragedy of Amphoreus, Iron Tomb. It all clashed inside the parts of his brain that still worked, wrecking havoc.
He puked, nearly choking on the mixture of bile and blood. Seeing it was impossible, but the dried blood underneath his eyes and nose tugged lightly on the skin trapped beneath, clinging on to his being.
'Move...'
His finger twitched, quietly trying to wake up the rest of his hand, one single digit pulling the entire body in motion. It tried, desperate in its trembles, pleading with the rest of his anatomy as it turned a deaf ear to his suffering.
Lygus—no, Zandar—was the one he had met before passing out, the amount of information swarming him. He had no idea how long it had been, no nuance for time or self. It was just him, all alone under a bleak red ceiling that coated a world in its whole.
Solitude, perhaps, would've been better than having creatures of the Black Tide roaming around. He couldn't quite tell, but they were roaming around, lingering just outside his vision. As one tried to get closer, a streak of red flashed before the giant beast's face, and it turned around as if Mark wasn't there.
'March, no, Everni-'
He gritted his teeth, the wave of pain throbbing in his head, pushing against his skull.
'Fuck, at least I can move my mouth...'
Mark took a deep breath, trying to flex his muscles, to just try and see what he could control. Bit by bit his body gave way, so he kept amplifying it.
'Stellaron, Will, firing both just might so... shit...'
He couldn't use either, not in normal capacity at least. It was as if one tried to fill a bucket from a faucet built on the moon. There was a weird sort of distance between both Stellarons and his Will. He couldn't quite grasp what was happening, but whatever was going on had cut off his main source of strength.
"Shit," he mumbled, finally able to use his tongue and speak.
He tried to use a higher power output to force his Will to flow, let the energy from the Stellarons rush through his veins in the same familiar manner. Pushing to what was the maximum, already an instinct built in him, didn't help. Both felt foreign, secluded far from him.
His Will felt strangest of all, like it did obey, but it couldn't move his way.
'Boy, when I do put my hands on that clanker, I'm going to tear him a new one. Zipbomb of furry content straight to his cortex.'
Thus, he kept struggling, wiggling in place like a worm the more his muscles began obeying. Hours must've passed by the time he stood up, finally able to move freely. He took a look around, watching the chaos spread out all around.
"This place... Okhema, Amphoreus, but... it's after they fucked up. It's like that loop towards the end. Shit... just what kinda mess did I end up in?"
His words were hushed, and yet the sound wasn't difficult to pick up. Legions of monsters around began gathering, turning towards him in unison. Mark reached for his swords, but they were missing.
"Great, I have to do it the funky way, don't I? It's good that I did get physically stronger on a base level, cuz else..."
He squared up, arms ready at his sides, cocked like guns purely for the love of the game. The second an arrow flew his way, he dodged, moving into a leap heading straight for the bulk of the creatures. The small ones tried to surround him, their bladed limbs moving ferociously.
Mark grabbed one of them, planting his feet firmly in the ground before yanking it into its brethren, sweeping the area around him clean. He skidded over the ground as a large blade fell right where he had been a moment ago. Without much thought, his arms latched on to the blade.
"Sorry, bud, I need a weapon."
With a shout akin to a war cry, he pried the blade free from its hands, spun it in the air, and with both palms wrapped around the handle, he slammed it down. His foe fell on both sides at once, cleaved cleanly in the middle.
Panting, Mark kept moving, with no moment to hesitate. The swarm was upon him, and there was only one way out. Other problems would have to wait for the time being.