Chapter 4
1044 Words
Darkness gave way to pain. Marcus's face collided with solid ground, sending ripples of agony through his skull. He lay motionless, afraid to move, afraid to breathe.
Am I dead?
The thought circled his mind like a vulture. With a groan, he rolled onto his back, his body protesting every inch of movement.
Is this the so-called heaven?
But this looks dark.
He stared upward, waiting for his vision to clear. Something wasn't right. Where was the sky? Where were the clouds that had gathered so unnaturally just before the lightning struck? He sat up straight, wincing as his muscles complained, and examined his surroundings.
Terror crawled up his spine as realization dawned. He wasn't outdoors anymore. The familiar academy grounds were gone. Instead, rough stone walls surrounded him, stretching into pitch-black darkness. The only reprieve was a faint glow emanating from somewhere in the distance.
He was in a dungeon.
Professor Jules's lectures on dungeon classification flooded back to him. The Krozon continent hosted only low-level dungeons—nothing that should worry a properly trained Revoker. But Marcus wasn't a Revoker. He was a FieldDust, completely powerless. And he was alone.
"Stay calm," he whispered to himself, the sound of his voice oddly comforting in the oppressive silence.
He pressed his back against the cool stone wall and began inching toward the distant light, using the wall as guidance through the darkness. His glasses, miraculously still intact after the fall, kept slipping down his nose as sweat beaded on his skin.
"It must be a D-ranked dungeon, I guess." He spoke aloud to keep his fear at bay.
D-ranked dungeons contained white crystals embedded in their walls—the lowest grade of magical ore. These crystals would later be mined and refined into Rune Stones, used to enhance or craft weapons. The color of these crystals determined the dungeon's rank.
As Marcus fumbled along the wall, his fingers brushed against something smooth and cold. A crystal. His heart raced with anticipation as he adjusted his glasses, leaning closer to examine it in the meager light.
The color drained from his face.
"Bla...Black!?"
Black crystals were the highest level of ore, only found in SC-ranked dungeons—the most dangerous classification possible. His legs gave way beneath him, and he slumped to the floor.
Silence enveloped him as the full weight of his situation crashed down. SC-ranked dungeons contained Demon Gods—beings that could level cities with a thought. Even legendary Revokers approached such places with caution and extensive preparation.
"That's how it is, huh?"
Marcus sat with his knees pulled to his chest, elbows resting atop them, head hanging low. Tears threatened to spill, but he blinked them back.
A bitter laugh escaped his lips. "It's no wonder anymore. That's how vastly luckless I am. First at the academy, and here, at this dungeon."
Something shifted inside him—resignation transforming into reckless abandon.
"If I'm gonna die, then I'd better go down in style."
He stood, brushing dust from his clothes. His jeans were torn around the right ankle where Dave had desperately tried to save him. The memory of his friend's horrified face flashed before him.
With forced bravado, Marcus strode toward the light, hands shoved into his pockets. Outwardly, he projected courage, but his racing heart betrayed his fear. Each step toward the light made his pulse quicken until it thundered in his ears.
As he crossed the threshold between darkness and light, he blinked rapidly, eyes adjusting to the sudden brightness. What he saw made him question everything.
The harsh stone floor had given way to lush, green grass. Colorful flowers bloomed everywhere, releasing a sweet aroma that filled the air. The ceiling opened to reveal what looked like a perfect blue sky.
"Heaven?" The word escaped as a whisper.
"No." A voice echoed from the center of the chamber.
Marcus hadn't noticed before, but what had appeared to be a rock formation had transformed into an ornate throne. Upon it sat an old man with flowing white robes and a matching beard that reached his waist. He radiated an aura of ancient power and wisdom.
Marcus's jaw dropped as the old man rose gracefully from his throne and approached him.
"Hello Marcus. Nice to meet you." The old man smiled warmly, patting Marcus's shoulder.
"You God?" Marcus blurted, his accumulated rage finding a target.
"Eh?"
"What the hell were you doing with your job?"
"Ehhhhh?" The old man's eyes widened in confusion.
"Why did I not get a Seed?"
"Ah, I guess you have misunderstood—"
THWACK!
A rock struck the old man squarely in the face, momentarily stunning him. Before he could recover, another rock hit him in the same spot.
"Wait a... minute, son." The old man backed away, holding his hands up defensively.
"Son?! Who? You old hag?!" Marcus shouted, gathering more rocks from the ground.
The old man hitched up his robe and fled as Marcus gave chase, pelting him with stones.
"Let me explain, Marcus!"
"Say no more! Dieeeee!!!"
The bizarre pursuit continued for what felt like hours until both collapsed, gasping for breath.
"Listen to me, Marcus," the old man wheezed, "I am not God."
"Then...*wheeze*...why'd you...run from me?"
"Do I need to say?" The old man rolled his eyes. "And it was fun too. Haven't worked out like this in a millennium." His voice dropped to a mutter at the end.
"What?"
"Nothing," was the hasty reply.
Marcus studied the old man suspiciously. "Then what am I doing here? Didn't I die?"
"No, no, Marcus. This is neither heaven nor hell, and you didn't die."
"Eh?"
The old man chuckled at Marcus's bewildered expression. "You...you are unique. You are fated to save this Earth and guard it against them."
"Me?... Unique?... and guard the Earth against whom?"
The old man's face grew solemn, his eyes reflecting age and wisdom beyond comprehension.
"You, Marcus, are the next Guardian."
"Ehhhhh?"
The old man's chuckle reverberated through the chamber, warm and somehow ancient. Whatever this place was, whoever this man was, Marcus sensed that everything—his failed awakening, his attempted suicide, the lightning strike—had led him to this moment.
He just didn't know if that was a good thing.
- Writer
