Jack did not look back as he left the frozen lake behind him. The ice cracked softly under his boots as it thinned, each step carrying him closer to the shore where dark grass bent under a wind that did not quite exist.
The cold he had summoned still clung to him, faint tendrils of frost crawling along his sleeves, fading slowly as if reluctant to let go. But the moment his foot touched solid ground, the adrenaline that had carried him through the fight began to bleed out. And the pain came with it.
It hit all at once.
His side, where the creature's teeth had grazed him, was a ruin. The fabric of his uniform hung in shredded strips, soaked through with dark, thick blood. The wound itself was not clean. It was torn, jagged, uneven, like something had tried to rip him open and simply missed finishing the job.
Flesh peeled slightly at the edges, swelling already, the skin around it discolored in deep purples and sickly reds. Every movement pulled at it, sending sharp, burning pulses through his body. Worse still, the cold had numbed it during the fight. Now, it screamed.
Jack staggered a step, catching himself before he could fall. His breathing slowed deliberately, forced into control, but his body trembled under the strain. Blood still seeped steadily from the wound, trailing down his side, dripping onto the ground in slow, rhythmic taps. Unacceptable.
His eyes narrowed slightly as he focused, not outward, but inward. The memory of that blue screen lingered. Not visually, not fully either, but imprinted. Instructions without words. Understanding without teaching.
Condition, state.
He exhaled slowly, raising a trembling hand toward the wound.
"Stop."
The air around his palm chilled instantly. Not violently like before, this time, controlled. Focused. The temperature dropped with intent, the moisture in the air condensing into a thin layer of frost that crept across his skin. Then he pressed his hand against the wound. The reaction was immediate.
A sharp, vicious sting tore through him as the exposed flesh froze on contact. The bleeding slowed, then halted entirely as ice sealed over torn muscle and ruptured vessels, forming a crude, crystalline barrier. It was not healing, not even close. It was mere preservation.
Containment.
Jack's jaw clenched, a low breath escaping through his teeth as the pain spiked, cold replacing heat, but no less brutal. His body rejected it, trembled under it, but he held it in place anyway.
"Good enough…"
His hand dropped slowly, the frost lingering over the wound like a pale scar of ice. It would not last forever. He knew that instinctively. But for now, at least he would not bleed out. A faint sound reached him.
Footsteps. Not distant, not frantic, just measured.
Jack's head turned sharply.
A figure stood several meters away, just beyond the edge of the grass where the land rose slightly toward one of the colossal walls. He had not heard him approach though, and that alone was enough to put Jack on edge.
The man stood tall, posture relaxed but, deliberate, clad in armor that immediately set him apart from everything else Jack had seen so far. It was not crude, not broken, it was earned.
Dark plating layered over his body in overlapping segments, shaped almost organically, as if grown rather than forged. Faint lines pulsed along its surface, subtle but unmistakable, like veins carrying something beneath the metal. It bore marks of battle, scratches and dents, but none of them looked recent. This man had survived,
more than once.
"…You are still standing," the stranger said, voice calm, almost conversational. "That thing should have killed you."
Jack said nothing.
His eyes scanned him once–armor, stance, distance, surroundings–calculating, always calculating.
"I saw the fight," the man continued, stepping closer but not too close. "The way you adapted mid-combat… most people panic when they awaken their abilities. You however, did not."
A pause.
"…Impressive."
Jack's expression did not change.
"What do you want?" he asked flatly.
The man smiled faintly, not friendly, not hostile. Just… knowing.
"An introduction, for starters." He tapped lightly against his chest plate. "Andrew."
His hand dropped back to his side.
"I'm part of something we call the Resistance."
Jack's gaze did not waver, but something behind it sharpened.
"…Resistance?"
Andrew nodded.
"People like you. Like me. Those who survived long enough to awaken whatever this system is." He gestured vaguely to the air, as if referencing something unseen. "We figured out early that going alone out here does not last. The maze… it's designed to break individuals."
His eyes flicked briefly toward the distance, toward where faint echoes of screams still carried across the land.
"So we stopped being individuals."
Jack followed his gaze for a moment, silent.
"Group survival," Andrew continued. "Shared resources, information, combat coordination, and the like. We hunt the things that hunt us. And when someone kills something big enough…"
he tapped his armor again lightly,
"…the system rewards it."
Jack's eyes lingered on the armor now with more focus. Not curiosity, just evaluation.
Andrew caught it.
"Yeah," he said simply. "Took down something nasty for this. Almost died doing it."
A small pause.
"Worth it."
Silence settled between them. The wind brushed faintly through the grass. Distant screams rose and fell like a tide that never truly receded. Andrew's gaze returned to Jack.
"You won't last long out here like this," he said, not unkindly. "Injured, alone. Still figuring things out."
He tilted his head slightly.
"But you've got potential. More than most."
A beat.
"Join us."
The words hung in the air, simple and direct.
"If you want to live."
Jack did not answer immediately. Instead, he looked past Andrew, toward the maze. Endless and unforgiving. Alive. His mind moved quickly, dissecting the situation with the same cold precision he brought to every battlefield.
Alone, his chances were limited. Even after awakening his ability, he did not fully understand what he could do yet. The creature in the lake had almost killed him—and that had been one enemy. Out here, there would be dozens. Hundreds even. Stronger ones. Smarter ones. Groups offered advantages, information, protection, and opportunities to learn the system faster.
But groups also came with risk as well. Dependency, slowed movement, compromise, and people… people were unpredictable. Jack's eyes narrowed slightly.
Then there was the other factor, Benji and James. If they were alive–and they were–then they were somewhere in this maze alone, fighting and surviving. Or not.
A group like this "Resistance" would have reach. Eyes across the maze. Movement. Communication. Resources. Finding them alone would take time he did not have.
Finding them with help… Jack exhaled slowly. The decision settled. Not loyalty, not trust.
Utility.
He looked back at Andrew.
"…Fine," he said simply.
Andrew's expression did not change much, but there was a slight shift. Approval, maybe.
"Good choice."
Jack's gaze remained steady.
"Jack."
Andrew nodded once.
"No ranks?" he asked lightly.
Jack's eyes flickered for a fraction of a second.
"…Not here."
That was enough. Andrew turned slightly, gesturing toward a narrow passage between two towering walls in the distance.
"Then keep up."
He started walking without waiting. Jack followed. Not beside him, not behind him. Just close enough. As the two figures moved deeper into the maze, the light above dimmed slightly, the towering walls stretching higher, tighter, like something was closing in around them.
Somewhere far off, the screams rose again.
And this time, he were getting closer.