You are…
The world is still changing, and still, you are.
You live.
And so, you are.
Unfettered stands before you. Walk this path, and reign supreme!
The words weren't spoken aloud, yet they filled Marcus's mind, vibrating through his bones. As they echoed within him, the cracks on his skin began to vanish, stitching shut like wounds rewinding time. Even his injured foot began to heal.
His heart slowed down, beating thunderously, one beat per second.
Then suddenly, Marcus gasped. His body convulsed as if he had just woken up from drowning. Cold sweat soaked his skin, and his hands trembled uncontrollably. His pupils were wide and frantic as his gaze darted around the grass and the shattered remains of the cargo crate.
He dropped to the ground as his legs gave out. For a moment, he forgot about the gunfire and the battlefield… everything that had happened to him up until the visions. His breath came in ragged bursts, with the sensation of death and its weight lingering in his bones.
It took nearly a minute before he blinked it all back to focus.
"What… what the hell was that?" He wondered.
He scanned his body. No pain, no scars.
Confused, he rubbed his eyes, wondering if he had somehow inhaled something like nerve gas, some hallucinogens, or fumes that would cause him to see things.
However, the view of the scattered scrolls reassured him that he wasn't seeing things, at least to an extent. Looking down again, Marcus noticed that the scroll he wanted to pick up had vanished.
What in the world is going on!?
A sudden glow caught his attention. The scroll reappeared, hovering before him in the air, pulsing with heat. Strange glyphs began to etch themselves across the parchment, forming into words. Burning themselves into existence.
Name: Marcus Black
Age: 24
Race: Human (F)
Level: 0
Nature: Predator (A)
Attribute: [Blood Bane] [Berserker].
Skill: True Double
Realm: Mortal
Comprehension: ???
Strength: 10
Stamina: 12
Speed: 10
Mental: 8
Will: 12
Wilder Force: —
Speechless, Marcus stared at the parchment levitating before him. He was too stunned and confused to speak.
Marcus reached out toward the glowing parchment, unsure if he was hallucinating or witnessing something real. When, suddenly, a prickle crawled up the back of his neck.
His ears twitched.
Danger!
He ducked on instinct.
A blade sliced through the air where his head had been a second ago. The blade severed the tall weeds and sent them fluttering down like confetti. Marcus rolled once, landing in a crouch. He reached out to shoot, but noticed that he had lost his rifle.
The man standing there was someone he had already put down earlier; the Linesman soldier who had reported the EMP.
"You slippery, paranoid bastard!" The soldier snarled, dragging his blade through the grass. "Why wont you just die already and let me finish this damn mission!?"
Steam hissed from his skin. The veins across his head bulged like wriggling worms fighting to escape his skin. His eyes were bloodshot, twitching, and full of something unhinged.
Marcus narrowed his eyes.
He took an MGP.
That was the only explanation. But no standard Linesman could handle Military-Grade Pills. Their bodies weren't conditioned for it. Even high-ranking officers approached them with caution. So what was this?
Is he perhaps a spy? That made more sense to him.
Now that he thought about it, the soldier showing up earlier, claiming to report a situation Marcus had no authority over, had felt off. Marcus wasn't in command of anything on the train. He wasn't even supposed to be on it, not in any official capacity.
He was a marked man. It wouldn't be a stretch to call him a ranked criminal so long as he's still within the territory of the First Ring.
And yet, that soldier came to him.
Initially, after interrogating the man, Marcus couldn't discern any ulterior motives from him. But he still didn't trust him, hence the reason why he wasted no time in knocking the Linesman out.
"Who sent you?" Marcus asked, still crouched low and one hand inching toward the combat knife strapped to his thigh.
The soldier's face twisted into a crooked grin. "You… don't need to know."
His body started to shift as his muscles bulged under his uniform. His breath came in short, heated bursts as steam continued to rise off his body.
His body is beginning to break down, the MGP is too strong for his system. Marcus calculated.
"You are not built to handle this kind of drug," He said quietly. "It will consume you from the inside out."
The man's grin widened. "And yet, I only need it long enough to kill you. Once you are gone, I'll take the antidote, as simple as that."
An antidote for the MGP? He must have been tricked.
Without warning, the Linesman lunged forward.
Marcus frowned once again, his eyes narrowing. The world seemed to have slowed down, not literally, but his senses sharpened. He could see the twitch in the man's fingers. The flick of his muscles before the strike.
Even the low light of the night seemed to have turned brighter, and clearer.
He stepped aside and dodged the Linesman's attack.
The cutlass carved through the space where he had been, trailing behind Marcus by a hair's breadth. His body moved with an unfamiliar ease, lighter and quicker.
The linesman stumbled past him, blinking in disbelief.
"What the hell…?" He muttered, turning sharply. "They weren't kidding when they said that Iron Marshals are a different breed. You are actually keeping up… with me?" Edged with frustration and fear.
Marcus didn't respond. He simply stared at the Linesman, keeping his expression calm, though on the inside, he was anything but calm.
A different breed of men? Maybe, but even the best among us aren't capable of standing toe-to-toe with someone high on MGP.
And yet… he felt it.
The growing certainty that he could actually win. That he didn't need to take anything to survive this fight. The feeling that he could kill this man—just as he was.
"But that doesn't mean I can't kill you!" The Linesman snarled, charging at him again.
His blade carved through the air in sweeping arcs, fast and vicious. But Marcus was faster, dodging each slash that missed him by inches, and every dodge built his confidence. His body simply moved on instinct.
With every failed attack, the Linesman grew more desperate.
His breathing quickened, not from exhaustion, but from something worse. The MGP inside him was tearing through his organs. Marcus could see it in the twitch of his limbs, and the wild gleam in his eyes.
Then the man did the unthinkable.
He reached into his pocket, pulled out a blue pill, and popped it into his mouth.
Two at once? He's lost it! Marcus's brows rose at the sight of this.
As the second dose hit, the Linesman's body shuddered and his veins became more grotesque, with saliva spilling from his mouth in thick ropes. He was also trembling.
The potency of the drug was overwhelming his body, and it was looking as though he was about to explode.
A low growl came from the linesman. Sanity started to slip from his eyes.
"Arhh!!"
Despite everything, Marcus felt calm, way too calm. As if the chaos around him couldn't reach him anymore. The knife in hand felt weightless, unfamiliar.
He shifted to the side just in time as the Linesman lunged past him. Marcus lowered his stance and sliced clean through the tendon behind the man's leg.
The Linesman stumbled forward, not even registering the injury at first. But when he tried to charge again, one leg buckled beneath him. Confusion flickered across his bloodshot eyes as he glanced down. That split second of distraction was all Marcus needed.
He closed the gap in silence and drove the blade into the top of the Linesman's head, tearing the blade through his bone, carving downward, splitting his flesh and skull. Halting just above the jaw.
The Linesman's body convulsed once before it went still…