No alarms sounded, that was the first thing that felt wrong.
The great hall lay in ruins behind them, smoking metal, shattered marble, bodies knocked out cold, but ahead, the passage upward stood untouched.
A white marble staircase rose before them, pristine and untouched, spiraling upward like an invitation carved in stone.
The doors at its base stood open.
They hadn't been forced.
They hadn't been blasted.
They had simply… opened.
Micheal stared at them, his chest tightening.
Is he welcoming us?
Did CORE know this would happen?
His gaze traced the staircase upward, counting levels in his head.
Fourth floor.
That's where he is.
A cold realization settled in his gut.
I can't let them reach him.
If they stand face to face with CORE… they won't survive it.
His jaw clenched.
I'm sorry, boys.
I really am.
I have to do this.
Footsteps echoed behind him.
Micheal spun around, instinct snapping sharp
"Woah, hey, easy."
Doug stood there, hands raised slightly, breathing hard but smiling faintly. "Relax. It's just me."
Micheal exhaled, tension draining from his shoulders. "Doug… I thought you were with Madison."
Doug shook his head. "Nah. I've been wandering for a bit. Got turned around." He glanced back down the hall. "Pretty sure I heard Madison and a bunch of rebels heading out though."
Micheal nodded. "Yeah. They're trying to find boats. Something big enough to carry everyone." He hesitated, then admitted quietly, "At least… that's the plan."
Doug studied him for a moment, reading the weight in his voice. "Something bothering you?"
Micheal's eyes drifted back to the staircase. "Doug… something tells me this doesn't end well."
Doug sighed, stepping closer. "It's been like that since the beginning, hasn't it?" He gave a small, tired smile. "You've always carried the worst-case scenario on your back."
He placed a hand on Micheal's shoulder.
"And somehow… we're still here."
Micheal stiffened at the touch, then let himself relax. A weak smirk tugged at his lips. "Yeah… I guess you're right."
Doug glanced around, taking in the shattered floor, the cracked pillars, the scorched walls. "Still, looks like you three had one hell of a fight."
Micheal shook his head. "Not me. Just them." His expression darkened. "They're… not exactly thrilled with me right now. I think this is their way of cooling off."
Doug blinked. "What happened?"
"Long story," Micheal muttered. "I'll explain later. If we make it through this."
He straightened. "Right now, we need to get to the top."
Doug nodded. So did the nearby rebels, quiet but resolute.
Micheal turned and walked toward the second glass case.
He didn't hesitate.
His fist smashed through the glass.
Pain flared as shards cut into his knuckles, blood dripping onto the polished floor, but he barely noticed. He reached inside, grabbed the scroll, and slid it into his coat.
"Let's move," Micheal said.
Shirley stepped forward first.
Tucker followed half a step behind him.
Then the others fell in line.
Together, they began their ascent.
The staircase itself was simple.
And yet, with every step upward, it felt wrong.
The higher they climbed, the darker it became, not from shadows, but from the air itself. The light thinned, sound dulled. Even their footsteps seemed to sink into the stone rather than echo.
Tucker tried to stay serious, jaw set, eyes forward, but he couldn't help it. His gaze flicked across the marble, the impossible craftsmanship, the way the staircase curved like it had been grown rather than built. For just a second, awe slipped through his guard.
Shirley never looked around.
His face was carved from purpose. One direction. One end. But behind his eyes, thoughts moved like storm clouds, unsettled, heavy, they felt unresolved.
Micheal climbed silently ahead of the group.
His expression mirrored Shirley's resolve, but his chest burned with something sharper, skepticism, dread, certainty all tangled together. Every step felt like a confirmation of something he already knew but didn't want to accept.
Doug and the rebels followed behind him without question.
They weren't just following orders anymore. They were following him.
As they climbed, the pressure changed.
At first it was subtle, a weight in the lungs, a resistance in the joints. Then it grew worse. Breathing became work. Ears rang faintly. Muscles tightened as if bracing for impact.
The marble beneath their feet began to fade, stone dissolved into smoke.
Then—a sudden jolt.
Every body froze at once.
Adrenaline surged so violently it felt audible. Hearts thundered. Blood roared in their ears. The air itself vibrated, hostile, overwhelming.
It was hard to breathe, harder to stand.
Micheal grit his teeth. "This is him," he shouted over the pressure. "CORE. This is his Presence!"
A massive gust of wind slammed into them, nearly ripping them from the steps. Arms flew up to shield faces. Cloaks snapped violently.
"We can't stop!" Micheal yelled. "This is the only way forward!"
For a heartbeat, no one answered.
Then, voices, rough and strained, but united.
"Yeah!"
They pushed, step by step, through what felt like an endless descent into Presence itself, until, finally, the staircase ended.
The moment they reached the top, the doors behind them slammed shut.
A final violent gust hurled them forward into a corridor.
Black stone walls stretched endlessly in both directions, polished so dark they swallowed light. Red carpets ran the length of the hall like veins. Banners hung high above, unmoving, emblazoned with symbols of CORE's dominion.
The place felt alive.
If you walked further and turned right, towering windows revealed a long table lined with framed images:
Royal families.
Generations of rulers.
Mr. Jones, captured in still dignity.
A solitary confinement cell.
And one frame turned face-down.
Micheal's jaw tightened every time his eyes passed Jones.
Anger burned hotter with each step.
At the far end of the corridor stood two massive doors.
Doug and the rebels moved forward instinctively, stopping just before them.
Shirley and Tucker stepped up—and were gently stopped.
They turned.
Micheal stood behind them, smiling.
He crouched to their level and reached into his coat.
The book.
Tucker's breath caught. Shirley's eyes widened. "The slab— I mean, the book. I forgot it."
"I didn't," Micheal said quietly. "Grabbed it when I came looking for you. Back at the underpass."
He held it out to them.
Then his voice lowered.
"No matter what happens behind those doors… I know I've lied. I know I've failed you. As a leader. As a friend. As a person." He swallowed. "But promise me this, when the world starts tearing itself apart… when chaos plays its last card…"
He tapped the book gently.
"Follow this. Follow your heart. The truth buried in this world is bigger than any of us. Bigger than CORE. Bigger than me. It needs to be revealed."
Shirley and Tucker exchanged a look.
Not angry, not broken they felt detached.
They took the book, and turned away without a word.
Micheal watched them go.
A single tear escaped, unnoticed by anyone but him.
He wiped it away and smiled anyway.
Then he stepped forward, placing himself before the doors.
"You ready?" he asked.
Shirley unsheathed his cleaver.
Tucker tightened his fists.
The rebels drew steel.
Doug chambered a round.
NARRATOR
This was not the moment they broke apart.
It was the moment they learned how to stand without leaning on him.
And beyond those doors… something ancient had been waiting for them longer than they had thought.