A short-haired, gray-haired young man stopped in front of the corpse of a massive ant.
Marcus examined the wound on its head without crouching. The skull was caved inward, cleanly broken, with no tearing and no cut marks. It was not piercing damage, nor an explosion but pure impact—direct force concentrated on a single point.
That narrowed the options considerably.
None of those pursuing Liora used blunt weapons.
Victoria wielded a spear; if it had been her, the damage would have been penetrating, with a clear trajectory.
Liora did not fit either. Her red bubbles exploded, but they did not leave marks like this.
No.
This was physical damage. Brutal. Blunt.
Marcus understood who had passed through here.
Emma.
During the days of the survival exam, while his group was preparing to face Victoria, there had been something that caught Marcus's attention from the very beginning: Emma's trait. Primordial Strength.
A power that looked simple on the surface, almost crude—boosting strength and the power of her movements.
But Emma did not use it like a beast.
She concentrated it, projecting all that force into a single motion and single strike, eliminating any waste.
Marcus looked at the corpse again.
Yes. Emma could have killed that ant with a single blow and kept moving.
Marcus stepped over the ant and continued on his way.
He ended up in a small chamber that branched into several paths.
Up to that point, he had been advancing by following the simplest trail: the sound of footsteps.
In that maze of rock, the echo of human movement was a reliable guide, almost constant.
Since becoming a Transformer, his senses had sharpened noticeably. Marcus stopped, closed his eyes for a moment, and let the silence settle. He searched for irregularities. Rhythms. Scrapes against the ground. Labored breathing.
Nothing.
He had been convinced that the closest person was Emma. Her way of moving was direct, heavy, impossible to hide for long. And yet, for the first time since he had been following her, he heard no footsteps.
It confused him.
Seconds passed in complete silence—seconds that stretched into hours for Marcus. Then he heard something.
A powerful roar thundered through the entire cave, crashing against the stone walls like a gigantic drum. Each echo seemed to vibrate through the ground and the air, reaching every corner of the place. Marcus heard it and felt its intensity churn in his chest.
It was familiar. Unmistakable. That roar was not from just any animal. It was the roar of a bear.
Emma's roar.
Despite its power, Marcus managed to discern its origin: the middle passage, slightly inclined upward.
Without hesitation, he ran toward it.
As he advanced, doubts began to creep into his thoughts.
The roar did not fit the behavior Marcus had observed so far. It offered no direct tactical advantage.
In a closed environment like this, it also revealed position.
So why?
After a few seconds of reflection, Marcus reached a conclusion.
Emma had always been straightforward. If there was a chance to eliminate a strong rival—or at least delay them long enough for Liora to gain distance—she would do it without hesitation.
By declaring her position so openly, she was forcing a confrontation.
Yes, that sounded exactly like her, Marcus thought, shaking his head.
Then he clenched his jaw.
He did not like the situation, but he could not ignore it either. Marcus adjusted his breathing and let his body prepare for the inevitable. He was not approaching just any enemy.
He was preparing to fight someone who, not long ago, had been his ally.
At the end of the passage, Marcus entered a wide, circular chamber. What he saw surprised him.
Marcus had expected to find Emma at the center, transformed and ready to fight—but that was not the case. She was at the far end of the room, directly beneath the exit.
He tilted his head, confused.
"What are you doing, Emma?" he projected his voice, trying to make sure she heard him. "Aren't we going to fight?"
Emma looked him in the eyes with a somber expression, rare for her.
"No," she replied timidly, almost whispering.
"What?" Marcus raised an eyebrow, stepping a little closer.
"I said I'm not going to fight you," Emma repeated, this time more firmly.
Marcus frowned, bewildered.
A few seconds of absolute silence fell over the cave.
"You don't want to fight? You? Just last week you were constantly asking me for fights… what happened?" Marcus's confusion kept growing.
"Liora asked me for help," Emma explained. "And she's part of my pack. I can't say no to her."
"Then why call me here?" Marcus asked. "Why roar, letting everyone in the cave hear you, if you're not going to fi—"
He stopped. Suddenly, he understood.
Emma had not roared to attract him. Or at least not only him.
It was a trap.
A trap Marcus would never have expected from Emma—someone who had always despised that kind of trickery.
That explained Emma's somber attitude and the roar.
Marcus did not wait and sprinted toward her.
But it was already too late.
She invoked her trait. Her fist began to glow with an intense orange light. She struck the side of the exit corridor. Cracks raced through the rock and stones broke loose. Without stopping, she hit the other side, causing the same effect. Then she jumped high and slammed into the ceiling, making the entire chamber shake.
Finally, a deafening crash shook the chamber as the rock gave way with an ominous crunch. Massive blocks and debris collapsed, smashing into the ground with violence until the exit was completely blocked.
The passage was sealed entirely, leaving Marcus trapped inside, surrounded by dust and the mountain's silence.
Marcus stopped in front of the wall of stone, looked up, and cursed.
"Fuck," he spat, punching one of the rocks with force.
The echo of his fist was still vibrating through the chamber when a different sound emerged from the passage he had entered through: footsteps.
At first faint, almost imperceptible, but soon multiplying, filling the air with a metallic, ominous murmur that reverberated off the walls and made the ground tremble.
Ants.
From the walls, small cracks opened first, then larger rocks gave way, and from those holes even more ants began to pour out, emerging as if the mountain itself were spitting them forth. They flooded the chamber in an implacable swarm, advancing with a constant buzz and crunch.
Suddenly, the chamber was no longer Marcus's alone.
The number of creatures emerging made him estimate that there were around a hundred ants in the confined space. Not all of them were giants: many were only the size of dogs, others like wolves, and a few the size of horses.
But he even thought he spotted an elite ant.
Too many.
And Marcus was not at his best.
His Transformer Gene granted him immense endurance, far above most Transformers, so he was not exhausted—but he was injured.
His forearms had small fractures caused by the stomping of that bastard Duke, and his back bore two stab wounds from elite ants. The plates had prevented deep cuts and his regeneration slowed the bleeding, but the wounds still hurt and hindered his ability to fight.
The ants advanced in formation, their constant murmur making the ground and walls vibrate.
Marcus paused for a moment, breathing calmly as he assessed his situation quickly.
He even considered surrendering.
The thought crossed his mind, and for a brief second it seemed tempting. Facing that horde was practically a death sentence. The odds of not being eliminated against so many creatures were slim at best, and even if he managed to take down a few, his body would be wrecked, weakened by prior injuries and accumulated blows.
Even if, by some miracle, he emerged unscathed, the time required to defeat all the ants would give his rivals too much of an advantage.
Liora or Victoria could already be out of the mountain, the egg in their arms, escaping while he was still trapped in the chaos.
Liora and Emma had truly played their cards well. With cunning and minimal effort, they had removed him from the equation.
Marcus clenched his teeth.
He was intelligent and logical. He knew he was screwed.
The situation was so desperate that the smartest, most reasonable choice would be to surrender.
But Marcus did not surrender.
Instead, he took a deep breath, raised his hands, and assumed a fighting stance.
His gaze turned icy, hard as steel.
In his past life, Marcus had shared a roof for eighteen years with an alcoholic, gambling, violent father. A lifetime of pure pain and misery.
Every morning he woke with the tremor of what was to come, and every night he went to bed trying to find the least painful position so he would not feel the bruises covering his body.
He was forbidden from leaving his room for most of the day, simply because his father did not like him being around when his friends were over, doing whatever nonsense they pleased. Marcus was forced to eat in his room and not leave it.
When his father lost a poker game, or could not find alcohol at home, or anything else that sparked his anger, he vented his rage on his son.
That was Marcus's life for 6,570 long days.
But the worst part was not the physical pain, nor the constant fear, nor the tears shed in silence.
The worst part was the helplessness. That feeling of looking at the door when coming home from school, knowing what awaited him, and still crossing it once more, unable to escape. Even when there was a chance to run, Marcus stayed. He had surrendered, accepted himself as weak, and stopped fighting. His only goal during those years was to get used to it and survive.
So when Marcus arrived in this world, he wasn't sad or mad; he saw it as a second chance. He had decided he would live a normal life, a happy life.
But upon becoming a Transformer and facing the harsh reality of a world full of danger, he had to rethink everything. His goal changed. He could no longer afford the weakness that had ruled him as Robert.
And for that, Marcus decided he had to live by certain conditions.
He would never be weak again.
He would never surrender again.
He would never allow fear or despair to dominate him.
Never again.
So Marcus upheld his promises and charged straight at the ant in front of him.