Asura and Tucker clashed again, fists meeting in a brutal rhythm. Each strike landed with bone-jarring force, Tucker's knuckles cracked against Asura's jaw, while Asura's fist slammed into Tucker's ribs. Neither held back.
Then, in a single instant, both swung wide. Their fists connected with each other's faces at the same time. The impact split the air, a concussive blast tearing through the wasteland as sand spiraled into a screaming whirlwind. Both fighters were sent tumbling back.
Tucker staggered to his feet, spitting a dark streak of blood into the dirt. His grin was gone now, replaced by focus, and a burning fire to fight. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes never leaving Asura.
Asura rose slowly, his head tilted down, shadows cloaking his face. Presence radiated off him in waves, his aura swelling darker. Without a word, he lunged. His fist hammered into the ground, detonating the sand beneath him in a fiery shockwave. Tucker was launched into the air like a ragdoll, slamming hard into the dirt with a sickening thud.
Before he could breathe, Asura was on him, appearing in a blur, slamming a right hook into his head, a left across his jaw, and then a crushing kick to the chest that sent him skidding across the battlefield.
Tucker groaned, blood dripping from his nose, trickling from a cut above his brow. His legs shook, but he forced himself upright, chest heaving.
The prisoners in the distance stared, wide-eyed, torn between horror and awe.
Tucker wiped the blood from his face, sucked the blood from his teeth, glaring at Asura through the crimson haze.
"I like that, come on, let's dance," he muttered hoarsely, fists rising again.
AT THE DESTROYED UNDERPASS – SHIRLEY VS. CAEL
Back at the crater, when Shirley first pulled himself from the smoke, the radiation had burned away his clothes, it burned half of his skin away too but—. He hadn't wasted a second, grabbing a torn, dust-stained cloak that stretched to his feet, from the wreckage and wrapping it around him before stepping forward to fight. The makeshift garment billowed now as he faced Cael head-on.
They moved like blurs, steel flashing. Every strike sang sharp through the air, the clash of blade on blade echoing in rapid succession. Their speed was evenly matched, each swing deflected, each counter met with another.
Shirley was fighting with only one cleaver now, but instead of slowing him, it sharpened his movements. He was faster, more precise, almost like the weapon had become an extension of his body.
Cael noticed this, his eyes narrowed. He spread his wings, his muscles tensed, ready to take flight and rain destruction from above. But before he could rise, Shirley lunged and clamped a hand onto his wing. A sly grin tugged at his lips.
"Don't even think about it."
With a sharp yank, Shirley dragged Cael back down, slamming him into the dirt. Dust exploded around them.
Cael responded instantly, whipping his blade in a brutal arc. A crescent of slicing wind roared toward Shirley, tearing the air apart.
Shirley raised his cleaver and slashed upward, deflecting the blast in a shower of sparks. His feet slid back, but he held his ground, eyes locked on Cael.
From a distance, Madison and Doug watched in disbelief.
"It's… amazing," Madison whispered, her hands trembling. "Isn't it, Doug?"
Doug shook his head, his voice low. "I don't even know what to say. I thought he was dead for sure. But look at him… he's fighting like nothing ever happened."
"Don't forget to radio Sage. We gotta tell him this happened," Madison reminded Doug. Doug nodded as he pulled out the radio.
Back at the destroyed underpass, Shirley pressed forward. Cael's blade grazed his forehead, a thin line of blood forming as Shirley retaliated with a vicious slash of his own—aimed for the same scarred X he had left on Cael's chest before.
The two blurred together again, a storm of steel, blood, and fury.
RUINS – LOWER RIGHT OF THE LAND OF PARADISE
Micheal stirred awake, his body screaming in pain. He'd blacked out just moment's before, bleeding too much to stay conscious, but now his eyes cracked open again.
Through blurred vision he caught sight of Shirley in the distance, moving like a streak of light against Cael. Their blades clashed in sparks too quick for his eyes to follow. Further off, the horizon rumbled, plumes of sand exploding skyward as Tucker and Asura traded earth-shaking blows across the Land of Flames.
Micheal let his head sink back against the crumbling wall, broken glass pressing into his skin, his blood pooling beneath him.
It's so great to see their progress, he thought weakly. They're fighting opponents on this level already… I'm so sorry you have to go through it. I want to help, but I'm probably going to die here.
His breath rattled, and his eyes began to drift shut.
Do good for me, Shirley… Tucker… you're the light of the world.
The words triggered something. A voice, not his own, that echoed in his mind.
Suddenly, he wasn't in the ruins anymore. He was back in the past.
3,209 YEARS AGO A WHILE AFTER MR JONES INCIDENT – CHOREEES
It had started small. Micheal hadn't noticed her at first, just another face among the Land of Paradise, but she noticed him. His old friend Doug had introduced her to Micheal and they started going camping together.
They would talk late at night when the campfires burned low, the others asleep. He'd joke dryly about how tomorrow was never promised, and she would laugh, soft and kind, telling him that he carried too much weight for someone so young.
Over time, she pulled him out of his silence. She asked about his dreams. About what he wanted after CORE. At first he brushed it off, saying there was no after, not for people like them. But she wouldn't let it go. She told him about the stars, how she wanted to see them sailing the sea together.
One night, after a small adventure that nearly cost them both their lives, they found themselves alone, catching their breath in the rubble of a collapsed street. She looked at him then, really looked, her eyes shining in the faint glow of the fires.
"You know… you're the light of the world, Micheal."
He froze, it wasn't a compliment he thought he deserved. He was just fighting, and surviving. But she said it with true certainty, like she believed it more than anything else.
After that night, things changed. She always found him first in the mornings. They ate together, hung out, her presence made the endless days bearable. She gave him hope he had lost after Mr Jones death.
He'd started to believe her words, little by little. Maybe he was carrying something worth saving. Maybe, with her, there was more than just blood and fake friendships.
Until one day, a package arrived at Micheal's door.
It was small, almost ordinary, but draped in a crimson cloth that bled across the black box beneath it. Micheal froze the moment he saw it, unease curling in his gut. Packages were common enough in the Land of Paradise, and nothing about this one felt right.
He crouched down slowly, his fingers brushing the cloth. It was warm, as if it had been sitting in the sun… or something worse. With a sharp tug, he pulled it free.
The box creaked open. Inside was Ayla's head.
Her eyes, once filled with stubborn warmth, now glassy and lifeless. Her lips, which had once spoken words of hope, were sealed forever.
Micheal stumbled back, the breath ripped from his lungs. A sound escaped him, half a gasp, half a broken cry. The world tilted, spinning around him, as his knees hit the ground.
He didn't know who sent it. He didn't know why. All he knew was that Ayla was gone.
The truth, that CORE himself had arranged it, wouldn't reach him until much later. For now, all Micheal could see was the cruel finality of her death.
And when CORE came to him in the aftermath, offering comfort, offering vengeance, offering a reason to keep moving forward, Micheal clung to it.
He had no idea he was clinging to the very hand that killed her.
Her name was Ayla. And losing her hollowed him out.
BACK TO RUINS – LOWER RIGHT OF THE LAND OF PARADISE
Tears welled in Micheal's eyes as the memory tore through him, though unrelenting. It was one he had tried to bury, one that clawed back into his mind no matter how far he ran. Ayla's voice, Ayla's smile, Ayla's death, it all carved into him at once.
His eyes gleamed with something raw. Was he really going to let CORE win? Would he really give that monster the last laugh?
His hands clenched, his chest burned. And then, trembling, he forced himself to his feet.
Tears streaked down his face as a burst of adrenaline ripped through his body. He didn't walk. He didn't hesitate. He sprinted, every muscle in his body screaming as he bolted toward the horizon, the direction of the destroyed underpass, the direction away from the ruins.
And the only thought pounding in his mind: The Land of Snow.
Doug's voice crackled on the handheld radio, sharp with static.
"Sage, you there? Do you copy?"
The line hissed before a calm, a voice answered.
"Copy. Situation?"
Doug crouched behind a broken wall, glancing at Micheal's retreating figure in disbelief. "Well I was gonna tell you about Shirley kinda got—. Nevermind, It's Micheal. He's up and moving. No, he's running, Fast, Straight toward the edge of the Land of Paradise."
There was a pause. Then Sage's voice, firm:
"Don't lose him."
Doug tightened his grip on the radio and took off after Micheal, Madison following him. His shoes pounded against broken concrete, his lungs burning as he tried to close the gap. Around him, members of the Resistance stirred, confused, but they didn't need much convincing. Within moments, they were moving too, following Doug, who was following Micheal.
And through the static, Sage's voice cut back in, carrying that strange gravity only he had:
"Wherever he's going… we go too."
The ruins shook with distant battle, steel clashing against steel, crimson energy splitting the land, but Micheal's eyes saw only forward. His legs carried him past shattered glass and rubble, past broken streets and sun-scorched walls. Past this land, Paradise.
His destination lay ahead, past the borders of the Land of Paradise, past CORE's grip, past everything he had known.
He was running toward the Land of Snow.
NARRATOR
And so, one by one, they followed him. Broken men, scattered fighters, citizens, drawn by something they couldn't name. They didn't yet understand what waited beyond those frozen peaks where CORE awaited.
But the story of Paradise was ending.
And the story of the Snow… was about to begin.