The darkness was absolute, thick, and suffocating, pressing in on the three figures trapped beneath the collapsed storefront. The only source of light was a faint, sickly yellow glow emanating from a single chemical light stick stuck into a crevice of the rubble—a weak, flickering heart in their dark, earthen tomb.
Hours bled into a timeless, painful blur. The air, initially thick with cement dust, was now thin and stale, clinging to their lungs like wet gauze.
Jenna, propped against a large chunk of rebar-laced concrete, coughed—a dry, rattling sound that scratched at her raw throat. She glanced at the faint glow of the light stick, then at the two figures beside her. Arthur was slumped against the wall, his head bowed, his breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps. Zane, still unconscious, lay limp and silent, his pale face barely visible in the weak light.
Jenna: Three hours, at least, (she whispered, her voice strained and thin.) We've been here… three hours. Maybe more.
She didn't know which was worse: the silence outside or the mounting pressure inside.
Arthur forced his head up, the movement agonizing.
Arthur: Just... try to breathe slow, Jenna. Slow. We still have time. (His own words were labored, hollow encouragement.)
He nudged Zane's shoulder, a gesture born of habit more than hope. Zane didn't stir. Arthur reached out, his trembling fingers pressing against the side of his friend's neck, searching for the familiar, steady rhythm. He held his breath, straining against the dull roar in his ears, his face inches from Zane's cold skin.
After a long, agonizing minute, Arthur pulled his hand back, slowly.
He said nothing. He simply turned away, pressing his head hard against the concrete, his shoulders shaking with silent, terrible realization. Zane was gone. The magical defense had been his final act; his body, utterly depleted, hadn't lasted the subsequent hours of confinement.
Jenna didn't notice. Her own consciousness was beginning to slip. Her eyes, wide and bloodshot, fixed on the distant, silent memory of her daughter. Her breathing grew shallow and panicked.
"I… I can't, Arthur," she choked out, tears finally breaking free, tracing paths through the dust and grime on her cheeks. "The air... it's too thin. I can't stay awake."
Arthur reached out, his hand barely brushing her arm. "Jenna, no! Stay with me! Jenna! You need to—"
She didn't respond. Her eyes fluttered, then shut, her body slumping sideways against the rubble.
Arthur stared into the darkness, the light stick casting an eerie, dying glow. He was alone. The silence was absolute. He felt the cold seeping into his bones, and then, the terrifying, final absence of air. He fought for one last breath, his body convulsing, before his muscles went slack.
Hm... What a sad way to go, trapped, buried in rubble, your only way out was a magician who was first to go in his sleep...
Well! Time to move on to our final boy...
The scene snapped outwards, away from the buried wreckage, into the desolate, fiery destruction of the city. Blocks away, the ruins of the leveled bank lay in a massive crater of scorched rubble.
Rex lay amidst the smoking wreckage, completely naked, his body sprawled in the massive crater created by the Kinetic Release. His skin was unnaturally clean—no blood, no burns, no external signs of the trauma that had just shattered three city blocks.
With a sudden, violent cough and a ragged groan, Rex's eyes snapped open. He rolled onto his side, his muscles stiff, the immense pain replaced by a deep, confusing ache. He stared at the utter, flat destruction surrounding him, realizing he had leveled the entire area.
Rex: Tch… what the—
Before he could finish, a soft, deliberate clap echoed from just in front of him. Rex looked up, startled, his eyes widening as he saw the figure crouched before him: the man in the white suit.
"Bravo, bravo!" Junn King repeated, his white eyes fixed on Rex with delighted intensity. "You did exactly what I told you. You didn't disappoint me. Wish I could say the same for your friends."
Rex's pupils brightened slightly, flickering with purple energy. He instantly recognized the voice that had taunted him and, more importantly, remembered the desperate situation in which he'd left Zane and Arthur.
Rex: Who are you? (He demanded, his voice a raw rasp.) Where are they?
"Oh, right, introductions," The man said, rising to his full height. "Well... I've been called many, many names by many many people. The devil in white, what else, what else... the trickster, time weaver, Loki, John, God, The magician... An outsider...
Rex: And what's your real name?
"Junn... Junn King. And as for your friends? Well... They're dead."
Rex: What? (He froze, a cold shock seizing his chest.)
Junn: Indirectly, ofcourse. (He continued with a casual smile.) They ran out of air, suffocated, buried under the rubble of a building you collapsed. And a few random survivors, too. Collateral damage, my friend. All thanks to your beautiful, terrifying potential.
Junn gestured dramatically at the destruction around them.
Junn: An entire city block leveled. The power output, the clean discharge… remarkable. Should have put you in a different world.
Rex, struggling to rise, his eyes blazing purple now, asked the core question. "Why? Why bring us here?"
Junn simply smiled, a chilling, all-knowing expression.
Junn: To entertain me.
He snapped his fingers.
The shattered ruins dissolved instantly. Rex gasped, blinking in sudden disorientation. They were standing in a wide, dead grass field, littered with dead corpses draped everywhere. In the distance, a tall, imposing grey watchtower flashed with rhythmic, warning lights.
Junn: There's twooooo options; One! 'Save' this world by head into that watchtower over there and turn on a machine. I won't tell you what it is, or what it does or what you will be finding here, so... Goodluck!
Junn snapped his fingers again.
The scenery was instantly replaced by an overwhelming, deafening expanse of grey clouds. They were standing on clouds, with thunderous, electric noise all around them.
Junn: Two! You turn this entire radioactive storm—the source of all these mutations—into a cloud that purifies the world and to do that, you have to go to the place it originated from: "the source."
Rex: And if I don't do any of those options? (He demanded, the purple light in his eyes flaring with contained fury.) What then? You just kill me here?
Junn simply shrugged, his smile wide and utterly devoid of concern.
Junn: That's your decision. I'll just go watch the others. Leave you here to die like every other person in this world.
The casual dismissal was like a punch to the gut. Watch the others. The simple phrase shattered the icy stillness of Rex's rage, reminding him of the lie.
Rex: The others. (He seized on the word, the purple fading to a desperate white.) Where are the rest of my people?
Junn sighed dramatically, waving a dismissive hand.
Junn: They're fine. Just doing their own thing, exploring a new 'scenario.' They're... somewhere else. You know, you'd be wise to focus on this world and your survival. Purify the world or head to that tower, or else there will be more problems on your hands, and everyone else still alive.
Junn's eyes, momentarily cold, drifted over the silent, electric clouds. His tone turned serious for the first time.
Junn: This little radioactive experiment of mine has consequences, Rex. You should clean up the mess. It would be a suitable form of penance, wouldn't you agree?
Rex took a single, deliberate step toward Junn, planting his feet firmly on the shimmering cloud surface. The bright purple returned to his eyes, not as a flash of power, but as a hard, determined gleam.
Rex: How do I know any of this is real? (He challenged, gesturing at the clouds, the dead field, the tower, and the entire zombie apocalypse.) How do I know this isn't all just a trick the grim human is playing on me?
Junn's smile softened, becoming something less mocking and more appreciative. It was the smile of an artist admiring a clever student.
Junn: That's what makes it all interesting.
Junn snapped his fingers one final time.