NARRATOR
CORE's castle was less of a home and more of a monument to domination. The structure pierced through the clouds like a blade through smoke. Its walls were stone, they were also forged from obsidian-like metal that pulsed faintly, as if the castle itself was alive.
The first floor served as a lobby, though "lobby" was too kind a word. Rows of guards stood in perfect formation, unmoving, their armor carved with CORE's insignia, a crimson cloth. The air smelled of burnt oil and ozone, and the sound of boots echoed endlessly.
The second and third floors twisted like a maze, narrow halls, and locked rooms. Surveillance rooms, private armories, and "bathrooms" that felt more like interrogation chambers. Some doors led nowhere, just crimson walls behind them, traps for anyone foolish enough to wander uninvited. It was said that even CORE's own soldiers sometimes disappeared there, never to return.
And then there was the fourth floor. The throne room. The heart of the machine. A vast, cathedral-like chamber with cables running through the ceiling and floor. At its center stood CORE's chair, not made of gold or silver, but of obsidian.
Few had ever reached that floor. None had ever left it.
SHIRLEY'S POV
Shirley's eyes flickered open to a blur of white and red. His vision swam, he was unfocused. The world tilted, and for a moment, he couldn't tell up from down. His body refused to move. Every limb felt disconnected, trembling on its own. Blood ran warm down the side of his face, tracing his jaw before dripping onto the snow below.
He tried to stand, but his legs buckled, giving out like noodles. He groaned, gripping the icy ground for balance until, through the haze, the scene in front of him finally sharpened.
And when it did… he wished it hadn't.
Cael was slumped upright against a jagged rock, blood pulsing out from a wound on his head. His once-clean armor was shredded, torn apart by the impact. His own blade, the same one that had nearly killed Shirley, was buried deep in his right shoulder, still vibrating faintly from the fall. His chest rose and fell unevenly, each breath sounding like a struggle between life and death.
Shirley just stood there, frozen. His hand, bruised and shaking, went to his face as if wiping his eyes could erase what he saw. But it was real. All of it.
"This— this can't…" he whispered. His voice cracked as he dropped to his knees, crawling forward through the snow. Every inch he moved felt heavier, his body dragging behind.
When he finally reached Cael, the man's fingers twitched. Then, suddenly, Cael's eyes shot open.
He grabbed Shirley by the collar and yanked him forward, his grip like iron despite his state. Shirley gasped, heart racing, and instinctively shoved him back. Cael staggered, trying to rise, his eyes wild and unfocused as he reached toward Shirley again.
"Wha— what are you—?" Shirley stammered, scrambling backward in fear. His hand fumbled toward his cleaver, but before he could draw them, a heavy crack echoed through the frozen air.
Cael's body jerked, then went limp, collapsing face-first into the snow.
Standing behind him was Micheal, breathing hard. He looked down at Cael's unconscious body, then at Shirley, beaten, and shaking, but he was alive. More alive than ever.
"Miss me?" Micheal said, a faint smirk cutting through the tension.
"Micheal? Miche—?! Micheal!"
Shirley stumbled forward, still unsteady, and threw his arms around him. He gripped tight like he was afraid Micheal would vanish if he let go.
Micheal chuckled quietly, one hand patting Shirley's back. "You look horrible," he said with a half-smile. "I'm sorry, Shirley. You must've been through hell. I shouldn't have—"
"Don't," Shirley interrupted, shaking his head. "Don't apologize. Yeah, it was rough, painful, even, but I get why I did it. I did it for a friend. For people I care about. I had fun too, believe it or not. It hurt like hell, but pain's temporary… well, kinda." He gave a weak laugh. "But I'd do it again. For my friends."
Micheal smiled softly, eyes glinting with something between pride and guilt. He let go, and the sound of whispers filled the air around them.
Rebels had gathered, murmuring amongst themselves.
"That's the kid who destroyed the mall."
"He's not even from here, I heard."
"Didn't he steal a bike and crash it?"
"They say he filled every hospital in the city!"
"Wait, did he defeat Cael?"
Micheal turned, raising his voice. "Everyone! This—" he gestured toward Shirley "—is my friend. A true one. And from this moment on, he's with us. He's the reason any of you even made it this far. So if you're grateful to be alive right now…" he smiled, "…thank him."
The rebels looked between each other, hesitant at first, then the tension broke, cheers erupted. They clapped, hollered, and patted Shirley on the back, their laughter bringing a sense of calmness.
From behind the crowd, Madison and Doug appeared, panting and covered in frost. "What's going on—?" Doug started, then froze when he saw who stood at the center.
"Wait. That's—"
Before they could move, a small figure pushed through the crowd, a kid in a puffer jacket far too big for his body, sweatpants dragging through the snow, bandages wrapped tight around his chest and forehead.
He ran full speed toward Shirley.
"Shirley!"
The hood fell off as he jumped into Shirley's arms.
"Z!" Shirley's face lit up instantly. He hugged ZE210 tight, laughing with disbelief. "You little tank, you're alive!"
Doug pressed his radio. "We got him," he said. "Over."
Madison shoved through the rebels and ran up, her eyes wide. "Shirley!!" she shouted, practically tackling him with a hug. Doug followed, joining in.
Shirley chuckled, out of breath, surrounded by everyone he thought he'd lost.
"I'm so happy you're okay," Madison said, voice breaking slightly. "I thought you died."
Shirley smiled, bruised but unbroken. "Nah," he said, "I'm good."
Madison smiled through tears and began healing him, Micheal, and the nearby rebels, her Hope Presence glowing faintly through the cold. The crowd stared, awestruck, at the warmth spreading through the freezing air. For the first time in what felt like forever, there was relief.
Shirley exhaled slowly, his pulse finally steadying. He looked over at Cael, unconscious, blood staining the snow beneath him.
"Madison," Shirley said, voice calm but firm. "Heal him too. But not fully, just enough so he doesn't die. He needs to stay out cold."
Madison hesitated, her Hope Presence flickering faintly around her palms. "You sure? After everything he's done—"
"Yeah," Shirley interrupted. "He's not done paying yet. But he's saved my life."
Madison sighed and nodded. "Fine." She crouched beside Cael, placing her glowing hand over his chest. A faint light pulsed through his body, closing the worst of his wounds while keeping him unconscious.
Doug and a few rebels stepped forward, wrapping thick cords of rope and scrap metal around Cael's arms and torso until he looked more like a trapped beast than a person.
"Alright," Doug said, tightening the last knot. "He's ain't goin' anywhere."
With that done, the group gathered near the base of the frozen staircase that led up CORE's castle. The wind howled against the jagged walls of ice and stone, the massive fortress towering above like a black monolith against the pale sky.
Micheal stood at the front, arms crossed. "Alright, listen up," he said, his voice steady. "This is it. CORE's castle has four floors. The first floor is the lobby, heavily guarded, but it's where we make the first push. The second and third floors are weird… twisted rooms. Bathrooms, labs, cells, whatever they used them for. That's where we'll run into traps, experiments, maybe worse."
He looked up toward the distant spire at the top. "The fourth floor… that's CORE's room. That's where it ends."
The rebels murmured among themselves, gripping their weapons tighter. The snow whipped around them, stinging their faces, but no one turned back.
Doug stepped up beside Micheal. "We'll lead the main push through the first and second floors," he said, nodding to the others. "Madison, you'll stay close behind and heal anyone who goes down. Keep the team alive."
Madison nodded, glancing between the two of them. "What about you guys?"
Micheal's gaze hardened. "Shirley and I are going to level four."
That quieted everyone.
"Wait, what?" Madison said, stepping forward. "You can't go in there alone. You saw what happened the last time we split—"
Shirley put a hand on her shoulder. "We'll be fine," he said with a faint grin. "We've got something CORE doesn't."
ZE210 tilted his head. "A death wish?"
Shirley smirked. "Close enough."
A few rebels chuckled under their breath, easing some of the tension.
Micheal continued, his tone serious again. "We don't need a full team up there. CORE wants me. And Shirley, he's the only one who can keep up with what's coming. Everyone else needs to hold the castle long enough for us to reach the top."
Doug clenched his fist. "You better make it worth it, man."
Micheal met his eyes. "I intend to."
They stood in silence for a moment, the blizzard howling around them, before Madison stepped forward, her voice soft but firm. "Then let's finish this."
Micheal nodded. "We move in 30 minutes. Get what rest you can."
The rebels dispersed, tending to their weapons and supplies, their breath fogging in the frozen air. Shirley stood beside Micheal, staring up at the looming fortress.
"Four floors," Shirley muttered. "Guess we got a climb ahead of us."
Micheal cracked a faint grin. "You scared of heights?"
Shirley shook his head. "Nah. Just excited what's waiting at the top."
Shirley turned toward Micheal, his expression unsteady. "Micheal…"
Micheal looked up from his thoughts. "What's up?"
Shirley hesitated. The words fought to leave his mouth. "Tucker… Micheal, they did something to him. They flung him away. I—I don't even know what happened. I was so caught up in the fight, I just… lost track. I don't know where he is."
Micheal's eyes widened slightly. He stepped closer and placed a hand on Shirley's shoulder. "Do you remember which direction they sent him?"
Shirley pointed toward the distant horizon, where the faint orange haze of the Land of Flames still lingered. "That way. Asura followed him there too." He swallowed hard. "Micheal, what if… what if they got him?"
"Don't," Micheal said firmly, cutting him off. His tone was calm but steady, leaderlike. "Don't even think like that. Tucker's a fighter. You've seen it yourself. If anyone could take down Asura, it's him. We'll find him once this is over, I promise. For now, focus on what's in front of us. You got this."
Shirley nodded slowly, though uncertainty lingered in his eyes. He looked west, his breath fogging in the frozen air. Tucker… I hope you're okay.
Then, the sound of crunching snow echoed in the distance. Faint at first, but growing louder, faster. The entire group turned toward the west. Shadows shifted through the blizzard until a single figure came into view, sprinting through the snow with something slung over his back.
One of the rebels raised his rifle. "Stay back!" he barked.
But then the figure yelled, a voice that cut straight through the cold.
"SHIRLEY!"
Shirley froze. His eyes went wide. That voice, he'd know it anywhere.
He didn't hesitate. "TUCKER!"
He shoved past the rebel, knocking the rifle aside as he tore across the snow. His shoes kicked up snow with every stride until he leapt forward, slamming into the figure's arms.
It was him. Tucker, alive, he was breathing, and grinning through exhaustion.
They held onto each other tightly, both shaking, both laughing through tears they didn't even realize they had.
"Tucker!" Shirley said, his voice breaking. "You're okay… I thought— I thought you were gone."
Tucker hugged him tighter, his grin never fading. "Not a chance, man. You think I'd let some red freak get the last laugh?"
Shirley laughed weakly, relief washing over him. The others watched quietly, the tension in the air fading at last. The storm around them seemed to calm, just a little, as the two friends stood there, alive, reunited, and ready for whatever came next.