The doors to CORE's hall opened without a sound. Without any visible force to open them.
There was no creak, no groan. Just a clean, effortless separation, as if the structure itself had been waiting for them to arrive.
The room beyond was not a throne room in the traditional sense. It was a giant hall, stretching far wider than it had any right to, its ceiling vanishing into shadow. Pillars lined the walls like silent witnesses, each one carved with faint symbols that pulsed softly, as if alive. The floor was polished black stone, so reflective it mirrored the figures standing at the entrance, small and fragile against the scale of what awaited them.
Portraits lined the walls.
Hundreds of them.
Men. Women. Children. Soldiers. Thinkers. Smiling faces. Broken ones. Every portrait bore a brass plate beneath it, engraved with names that time had already forgotten. Some were cracked, others were pristine. None were empty.
The Resistance members stepped inside first.
They didn't make it five steps.
The air collapsed.
There was no explosion, no visible force, just pressure. Like the room itself had decided they did not belong. One man dropped to his knees, blood leaking from his ears before he could scream. Another reached for his weapon, fingers trembling, eyes wide with terror that hadn't existed a moment prior.
Then they started dying.
Bodies folded in on themselves, lungs failing, hearts stuttering into silence under the sheer presence pressing down on them.
Then, a violent gust tore through the corridor.
Not wind, but a force.
Shirley, Doug, Tucker, and Micheal were ripped off their feet and hurled backward like discarded debris. The world spun, air screaming past their ears, then, just as suddenly, the pressure reversed. An unseen hand yanked them forward again, slamming them into the stone floor with bone-jarring force.
It felt deliberate.
Like something testing how far it could throw them without killing them.
They hit hard.
Tucker groaned, clutching his side as he struggled to breathe. "What the hell… was that…?" he wheezed.
Micheal pushed himself up slowly, teeth clenched. As he stood, something slipped from his pocket and slid across the floor with a dry scrape.
The scroll, He froze for half a second. Then he picked it up.
His eyes flicked over its markings, just long enough to confirm what he already feared, then he looked past the others, toward the open hall ahead.
The throne room waited.
At its center, elevated by a wide flight of stairs draped in a deep red carpet, sat CORE.
His head rested against his fist, elbow propped on the arm of the throne as if this were nothing more than idle entertainment. He hadn't moved when they entered. Hadn't needed to. His presence alone filled the room, thick and suffocating.
They all saw him at once.
CORE was… beautiful.
Unnaturally so.
He wore a pristine white suit, immaculate despite the blood staining the floor below, a red tie cutting sharply down his chest. Draped over it all was a black cloak, heavy, spilling from his shoulders and pooling at the base of the throne.
His eyes were wrong. Inverted pupils, sharp and vertical like a cat's, glowing faintly with a soft peach hue. They watched without blinking. Without effort.
His hair was pitch black, slicked back neatly, untouched by disorder. And at the edge of his lips sat the faintest tug of a smile, small, knowing, almost fond.
Micheal's expression collapsed.
Years of rage, of regret, of unanswered questions.
All of it condensed into a single, hollow stillness.
This was him.
Micheal closed his hand around the scroll and stepped forward.
He didn't hesitate.
He walked through the blood first, shoes splashing softly as he passed fallen Resistance members, their bodies strewn across the floor like discarded pieces. He didn't look down. He didn't slow. There was only one thing left in front of him.
CORE.
Behind him, Shirley sucked in a sharp breath.
"That's…" Her voice trembled. "That's CORE?"
Tucker could only stare, words failing him. "Holy…"
Doug said nothing.
He just stood there, frozen, face pale, eyes locked on the figure atop the throne, on the man who had shaped all of this without lifting a finger.
Micheal kept walking.
And CORE watched him come.
CORE rose from the throne.
Not hurried. Not threatened.
"How long," he asked calmly, voice echoing through the vast chamber, "have we both been waiting for this day?"
Micheal didn't slow as he walked forward through blood and broken stone. His boots left red streaks behind him.
"Years," he answered.
CORE stepped down from the throne, cloak dragging behind him like a living shadow. A grin tugged at his lips.
"MR1," CORE said, tasting the name. "Your determination alone could feed generations." He tilted his head slightly. "Too bad determination doesn't come packaged with strength. The most determined always die first. They burn themselves out trying to matter."
Micheal stopped.
He stood only a few feet from the staircase leading up to CORE, close enough now that the pressure felt physical—like standing beneath an ocean held back by will alone.
Slowly, Micheal unrolled the scroll.
His eyes scanned the ink.
Woe to the idol shepherd that leaveth the flock!
The sword shall be upon his arm,
and upon his right eye:
his arm shall be clean dried up,
and his right eye shall be utterly darkened.
Silence followed.
Micheal looked up.
"You put that there," he said flatly. "For me. A fucking Bible verse."
CORE's smile widened.
"Good," he replied. "You noticed." He descended another step. "You abandoned your flock. You ran from responsibility and called it sacrifice. You fit the prophecy perfectly."
CORE spread his arms slightly.
"I had it crafted for you. One scroll. One purpose." His eyes glinted. "You're special, MR1."
Micheal raised the scroll.
The air screamed.
Presence detonated outward. Green veins flared beneath Micheal's skin, glowing like fractured circuitry. Blood vessels bulged, burning. His right arm convulsed violently as if something inside it was being hollowed out and rewritten at the same time. His right eye throbbed, nerves screaming, vision flickering at the edges.
The scroll disintegrated into ash midair.
Not burned but consumed.
Micheal gasped, not in pain, but shock, as power flooded his body like liquid fire. Strength. Speed. Awareness. His Presence surged beyond anything he'd ever felt, roaring in his chest like something barely contained.
CORE didn't move.
He only watched.
"All you do," CORE said calmly, "is irritate me. Reckless moves. Emotional decisions. For someone labeled a genius…" He shook his head. "Disappointing."
Micheal vanished.
The floor cratered beneath where he stood as he crossed the distance in a blink, fist cocked back, Presence screaming through his arm. He struck with everything he had.
CORE lifted one hand.
Ice bloomed.
A wall of crystalline frost erupted instantly, Micheal's punch slamming into it with a thunderous crack. The impact shattered the ice outward—but the shockwave rebounded, hurling Micheal backward through the air.
He flipped, landed, skidded across stone, boots carving grooves into the floor.
CORE stepped forward.
The temperature plummeted.
Absolute Presence poured from him, not aggressive, not loud, but absolute. The air froze mid-breath. Moisture crystallized instantly. Frost crept across banners, pillars, corpses. Even sound felt muted, swallowed by cold.
"Absolute Presence," CORE said casually. "You're borrowing power. I am power."
Ice spears erupted from the floor without warning.
Micheal twisted, dodging one, another slicing across his side. Blood sprayed, but froze before it hit the ground. He gritted his teeth and surged forward again, faster this time, movements erratic but overwhelming.
CORE gestured.
A blade formed in CORE's hand, long, elegant, razor-thin. He parried Micheal's strike effortlessly, spinning and driving the blade into Micheal's shoulder.
Micheal screamed as ice exploded through his flesh, freezing muscle and bone from the inside out. His right arm convulsed violently, skin graying, veins darkening, strength draining in pulses.
The scroll was eating him alive.
He ripped himself free and stumbled back, panting, steam pouring from his mouth.
CORE approached slowly, boots crunching on frost.
"You feel it, don't you?" CORE mocked softly. "The scroll taking payment. Arm first. Eye next. Exactly as written."
Micheal roared and forced his Presence higher.
Green light surged again, but this time it flickered.
He lunged, landing a blow to CORE's jaw.
For the first time, CORE's head snapped slightly to the side.
It did not hurt, just… acknowledged.
CORE smiled wider.
Ice erupted outward in a dome, blasting Micheal back again. He hit a pillar hard, stone shattering behind him. His vision blurred. His right arm hung limply now, fingers twitching uselessly, skin beginning to wither like dead bark.
CORE stood over him.
"You were never meant to win," CORE said quietly. "You were meant to prove a point."
Micheal forced himself upright, blood dripping from his mouth, right eye darkening, vision narrowing.
He laughed.
He lifted his head and met CORE's eyes.
"Do the dead frighten you?"
The temperature dropped another degree.
Ice crept higher along the walls, spider-webbing across stone and bone alike. The air grew so still it felt preserved, like the world itself was holding its breath.
CORE's peach-colored eyes narrowed.
"…Say that again," he said quietly.
Micheal stood swaying, barely upright now. His right arm hung useless at his side, shriveled, gray, fingers curled inward like they had forgotten how to obey him. His right eye was nearly black, vision collapsing into shadow. Every breath rattled. The scroll was done giving. Now it was collecting.
"You surround yourself with portraits," Micheal continued, voice hoarse but steady. "Mentors. Kings. The people." He glanced past CORE, toward the walls lined with faces frozen in time. "Dead men staring back at you forever."
CORE stepped closer.
"I asked you a question, MR1."
Micheal smiled.
"Do they scare you," he repeated, "or do you just hate being reminded that even gods leave corpses behind?"
Then, Presence exploded.
Absolute Presence crushed the chamber like a closing fist. Stone cracked, pillars shattered.
Doug screamed Micheal's name.
Shirley and Tucker couldn't move.
Their Presence flared wildly, erratic, violent, but it had nowhere to go. Fear poisoned their concentration. Panic shattered control. They were statues carved from dread.
Ice bloomed around Micheal's legs, locking him in place. Frost crawled up his torso, crystallizing blood, sealing wounds that would never heal.
CORE stood inches away now.
"You were a failed experiment," CORE said flatly. "A crude attempt at rewriting time. Weak structure. Flawed outcome."
He tilted his head.
"And yet… Cael spoke highly of you."
Micheal laughed again, blood freezing on his lips.
"Rightfully so."
CORE's gaze flicked, past Micheal.
To Shirley.
Something subtle shifted behind his eyes.
"…I see," CORE murmured.
Then his focus snapped back.
"But this ends here."
Ice formed instantly around CORE's hand, shaping itself into a blade, perfect, translucent, impossibly sharp. The cold was so intense the air screamed as it parted around it.
Doug took a step forward.
"Micheal—!"
CORE moved.
There was no struggle.
No final blow.
Just a single, clean motion.
The blade passed through Micheal's neck without resistance.
For half a second, Micheal remained standing.
His body didn't understand what had happened yet.
Then his head separated from his shoulders and fell, hitting the frozen floor with a dull, hollow sound.
His body collapsed a moment later, lifeless, blood spreading slowly beneath him, dark red against white ice.
Silence.
Tucker's knees buckled.
Shirley couldn't breathe.
Doug fell to the floor screaming, clawing at the stone, his voice breaking apart as if his throat couldn't contain the sound of loss.
CORE stood there, not moving an inch.
Micheal's blood soaked into the hem of his white suit.
He looked down at it.
Then, slowly, he turned his head toward Shirley.
The faintest smile returned to his lips.
"What'd you say," CORE asked calmly, "you were going to show me again?"