*once again we ball. Peace out and Deus vult*
Time was a useless construct when life tethered on the edge of never caring for it again. Limited in abilities, forced to battle with pure grit to fuel his aching flesh, Mark swung that blade to the point it was nothing more than a blur in front of his eyes.
Corrupted gore flew out on every side as directed by his sword. Some creatures of the Black Tide got closer, nicking at his skin, biting into muscle. None got a move clean enough to do him in, but one did manage to scratch a tad too deep into his side.
The second blood seeped out, Mark's arm shot out ready to pierce the fiend with more ice than needed. His powers, however, didn't answer. Spinning in place, he brought the blade down from the very heavens. A splash of gore was all that remained of the monster, with none to bear witness.
His breath had barely caught itself by the time he reached Okhema's main gate. The buildings inside were, surprisingly, somehow standing—more so than he expected.
Perhaps destruction would've been easier to swallow.
Smoke did rise, and some signs of fire did linger, but none of them large. After all, there was nothing to burn among the buildings, for stone withstood fire. The quiet eeriness of the place strangled him, blocking any question that lingered on the tip of his tongue. There was no idea of when, no idea of how, just the idea of where, not even that of his own.
"Where is everyone?" he managed, the words comming out as if trapped by a snare.
His mind rolled the film, going through every possible scenario. The red sky meant some had to be behind. He had to run into Dan Heng, or Herta, Screwllum, someone, at least ONE single person had to be there—not even waiting, just fighting.
"The Vortex..."
As if of a single mind, Mark rushed ahead, running into more lingering monsters. Blood marks were left on walls around, but no corpses were found. The Black Tide consumed all, turning friend and enemy alike into mindless foes.
"SHIT!" he cried out, bringing the blade around in a whirl, scratching deep marks into the walls.
He tried to shoot forward, to take flight as he'd always do, but to no avail. His powers missing impeded his travel time enormously. For the future—if one even exists after his blunder—he'd have to think on how to tackle these situations.
'Think, Mark, THINK! The room, where Stelle and Dan Heng lived. That's where the pathway lies, right?'
His steps nearly came to a skid as he took a look around. The entire while, there was no trace of any space anchors. Did he miss them by pure chance?
"Surely, that's not... why?" he whispered, tears threatening to form at the corner of his eyes.
"Shit, shit, shit," he mumbled, running ahead despite the pain cursing through his legs. The cuts ached, while the pain in his side only seemed to burn more with each breath, but Mark pushed himself forward.
'I feel bits of Will trickling into my being, but it's so little... like raindrops carried by the wind. Just what the hell is going on?'
Reaching the chasm that split the city in half, Mark meddled with the device, struggling to get across. Prayers slipped past his lips as he tried to figure it out, bloodied fingers smearing the worn-out machine.
'Please... just... please work...'
He squeezed it tight, as if trying to push his wish physically into its core.
Light flickered inside, soft, barely present, but it did. Cracks began forming in its exterior as Mark was sent across, reaching the end before the machine turned to pieces.
"Thank You," he whispered, moving ahead. He was close, close enough to see the halls.
More monsters roamed around, but they were the least of his worries. The black blade in his hands did the talking. No familiar faces were to be seen, or any human beings... it made his stomach ache with an empty weight.
Finally he reached the room, the very last damned place in the entire building. There was no waiting to be done; he dove right in—quite literally leapt in the water. To his surprise, the gateway opened, leading him to the Vortex of Genesis.
No one waited. There was no trace of Phainon, of Flame Reaver, of anyone. He was met by a silence so heavy the sound of his heart beating had an echo. Mark almost didn't dare look up, already feeling dizzy from sheer emotion.
'No one...'
The countless theories to collapse upon his mind were heavy, weighin on his soul. They were dead, that was the worst case. It wouldn't surprise him. His inolvement had, to a good degree, thrown things off. He tried to keep things to a minimum, but there was no denying it.
The worst of all, however, was the idea that his very being had caused it. Lygus—no, Zandar—was the last one he saw before passing out. He blocked his powers somehow, doing something that he couldn't undo.
'Did he... no, no, no, can't be...'
He clutched his head, stumbling slowly towards the Vortex.
'Did he perhaps extract it? No, I don't think he did. I still feel them, far away, but I do... but what if they are far away? Surely he couldn't take away my Will... or could he? No, just, no... no, it shouldn't... fuck...'
Mark took one step, slowly, the tip of his foot sliding over the ground. The wound at his side kept bleeding out, but the pain didn't matter. The other foot followed, moving in a trembling line as if drawn with his left hand.
His gaze scanned over the glowing runes at the top, not really bothering himself with them. The shining minature constellations lighting up the cavern bore no value besides pointing to an open Vortex.
'It doesn't make sense... but there's only one way to figure it out...'
Staring down into the water, Mark made the decision—or rather, it had been made by that point, he just needed to finalise it. With a sigh, he leaned forward and for the second time dove headfirst, against all his fears.
.................................................................
"What the hell is this?"
His question wasn't without reason, for the place he ended up in was identical. Same red sky hiding hordes of mindless beasts under its span, watching over them like a father over its children.
Mark tapped his side, checking for the wound. It was gone, yet somehow the dark blade had remained with him.
'What... where... how?'
His confusion found no refuge in answers, instead crumbling under the weight of enigmas. The entire world as he knew thanks to his future knowledge, had been thrown into dissaray.
"Ok, calm down, Mark. Not the first time this happens. Calm and think, calm and think, think, THINK!"
With a growl he tossed the sword at an incoming brute, watching it fall as the blade pierced its middle like a hot knife in butter. He walked over, yanking it out before sighing a long, tired breath filled with a quiet sense of temporary defeat.
"It'll be fine. It has to. I'm not outside, so this has to amount to something. It didn't reset the cycle, so I guess I'm in a weird end-game sort of cycle. The question remains if this is all a closed loop or just a high number of simulations."
His eyes widened as the words left his lips. There was a theory he could test, one singular thing to do, and yet his already declining mental health couldn't take it.
'What other option do I have? It's now or never, I guess.'
He looked up to the sky, wishing he could just leap at it and pry it open with his bare hands.
'Probably wouldn't work. Outside, they may or may not know of this situation. I know too little in this case, and oh boy do I dislike working fully blind.'
Around him, swarms began gathering, eager to devour the last living thing in their midsts. Mark braced himself, stepping into a stance suitable for his lesser strength compared to the norm, the giant sword perfect to keep foes at bay.
'Giant swords... I could try, but who knows? Castrum Kremnos did have a large blade, if I recall well. Maybe, just maybe... but I'm not sure I pack enough power for that.'
He sighed once more, mind alight with a couple of ideas worth trying.
"Black Tide? Sorry, I'm not in the mood for surfing."