The scent was the first thing that registered. Not the metallic tang of Mars, nor the recycled air of his rebreather, but something green and alive. Damp earth, blooming flora, and a faint, sweet aroma he couldn't quite place. Axel's eyes fluttered open, his head throbbing with a dull ache. He blinked, struggling against the haze of disorientation.
He wasn't on Mars.
He lay on a cold, smooth stone slab. Above him, a vaulted ceiling stretched, intricately carved with symbols he didn't recognize – swirling lines, geometric patterns, and what looked like stylized constellations. Soft, pulsating light emanated from large, faceted crystals embedded in the walls, casting long, dancing shadows across the chamber. The air was cool, fresh, and strangely quiet after the cacophony of battle.
Axel pushed himself up, his muscles protesting but surprisingly intact. His combat suit, scuffed and marred from the Martian war, was still on. He patted his sidearm, the Desert Eagle, nestled in its holster. His combat knife, sheathed on his vest. Comms unit, battered but seemingly functional. His M79 was gone, however. A minor detail amidst the major existential crisis he was currently experiencing.
"What the hell…?" he muttered, his voice echoing in the chamber. He touched a wall; the stone was smooth, cool, almost unnaturally perfect despite its apparent age. He ran a hand over a glowing crystal, feeling a faint warmth emanate from it. It wasn't electricity. It felt… organic, somehow.
This wasn't any place he'd ever seen or read about. No classified black sites, no forgotten bunkers. This was something else entirely. Isekai, he recalled vaguely from a distant memory of a recruit's anime obsession. Was this it? Had a stray blast from a Void Purifier sent him to another dimension? The thought was absurd, yet here he was.
With a grunt, he hauled himself to his feet. Every Marine was a natural-born skeptic, but years of facing the impossible had instilled in Axel a brutal pragmatism. Whatever this was, he was alive. And if he was alive, he had a mission: survive, assess, adapt.
He found a grand, arching doorway, half-obscured by moss and clinging vines. Beyond it, a narrow, winding passage led upward, sunlight filtering through cracks in the ceiling. He moved with the silent efficiency of a hunter, his senses on high alert. Every rustle of leaves, every distant chirp of an unseen creature, was cataloged.
The passage opened into a vast, sprawling ruin. Towering stone structures, resembling ancient temples or colossal fortresses, were swallowed by lush, verdant foliage. Trees with leaves the color of emeralds reached for a sky that was a shade of violet he'd never witnessed. Strange, luminous flowers bloomed in the shadows, their petals glowing softly.
And then he saw it.
Partially buried beneath centuries of growth, yet still undeniably immense, stood a colossal machine. It dwarfed even the largest military transports he'd ever seen. It wasn't a tank, nor a ship. It was bipedal, vaguely humanoid in form, but constructed from sleek, dark metal that seemed to absorb the light. Intricate, glowing lines, matching the crystals in the chamber he'd awakened in, pulsed faintly across its armored chassis. Its head, long and elegant, resembled a stylized bird of prey, its eyes dark and empty.
A mecha. A giant freaking robot. And it wasn't just metal; it felt… ancient. Powerful. Almost alive. It emanated a low, resonant hum, a vibration that seemed to bypass his ears and settle directly in his bones. The Starforged Sentinel. The name, whispered from the outline, echoed in his mind.
Before Axel could fully process the sight, the serene jungle quiet was shattered by a distant shriek. It wasn't human. It was mechanical, guttural, and chillingly familiar.
Shadow Syndicate.
He dropped into a crouch, his hand instinctively going for his sidearm. Through a gap in the overgrown ruins, he saw them. Three figures, cloaked in dark, form-fitting armor, moving with a jerky, unnatural gait. Their weapons hummed with dark energy. Not automatons this time, but the bio-engineered soldiers he'd faced on Mars, the foot soldiers of the Void Regent. They were chasing something.
No, someone.
A group of people dressed in fantastical, but distinctly non-military, clothing were scrambling through the ruins. They wore flowing robes, light armor, and carried ornate staffs or elegant, ceremonial swords. They were clearly outmatched. One figure, slender and graceful, with long, flowing hair, stumbled.
His Marine instincts kicked in. Identification, Threat Assessment, Engagement. Regardless of where he was, these were the bad guys. And those were innocents.
"Get down!" he roared, though he doubted they'd understand him. He drew his Desert Eagle, the heavy pistol feeling reassuringly familiar in his hand. Two precise shots. The first alien soldier, its head snapping back with a sickening crunch, dropped instantly. The second, caught off guard, spun around, its weapon spitting dark energy wildly. Axel was already moving, rolling behind a fallen stone pillar as the plasma bolts tore through the air where he'd been a moment before.
The remaining Syndicate soldiers, now aware of his presence, shifted their focus. They were fast, but he was faster, fueled by years of brutal CQC training and an innate talent for close-quarters mayhem. He lunged, driving his combat knife into the joint of the second soldier's leg. It shrieked, a sound more mechanical than organic, and stumbled. Axel followed up with a brutal elbow strike to the head, knocking it prone.
He didn't wait for it to recover. He was already on the third, who had hesitated, trying to calculate the threat he presented. Bad move. Hesitation was death. Axel disarmed it with a swift, brutal maneuver, then used its own energy rifle to blast its comrade who was attempting to stand. The blast tore through the alien's torso, sending it sprawling.
The third Syndicate soldier, now unarmed, tried to grapple him. It was strong, its grip like steel. But Axel was MARSOC. He twisted, using its own momentum against it, breaking its arm with a sharp snap before slamming its head against a jagged piece of rubble. The alien went limp.
He stood over the fallen foes, breathing hard, the familiar scent of ozone from the alien weapons filling his nostrils. His eyes scanned the surrounding ruins, searching for more threats. All clear.
He then turned to the group he had saved. They stared at him, wide-eyed, a mixture of fear, shock, and awe on their faces. The slender figure who had stumbled was now being helped up by a burly man in elaborate armor. Her eyes, a striking shade of emerald, met his. She was young, perhaps early twenties, with an air of nobility even in her disheveled state.
Princess Lyra Aethel. He recognized the description from the outline.
Her lips moved, forming words he couldn't understand, but her expression was one of profound gratitude, mixed with an almost childlike wonder. She pointed a trembling finger at him, then at the fallen alien soldiers.
Axel simply nodded, holstering his pistol. "Just doing my job, ma'am," he said, knowing she wouldn't understand, but feeling the familiar weight of duty settle back onto his shoulders. He was still a Marine. Even on another world. Even surrounded by a giant dormant robot. Especially then.