Marcus

They decided to wait until nightfall.

The Pale-men had finished bringing their dead deeper into the mountains. The entrance guards had more than tripled by the time the late afternoon rolled in, and their chances of sneaking in shriveled dimly the longer they waited. Still, Marcus forced himself not to risk exposing themselves too early, and he was sure they'd only end up six feet under when they were only armed with two rifles, a shotgun, and a handful of swords and daggers that they didn't even know how to use. They knew how to swing, hack, and slash, of course, but could they hit their targets effectively?

It was clear that the Pale-men had more experience with handling a blade more than they could, and Marcus hadn't seen them fight yet to gauge what they were capable of fully. Their gait closely resembled that of a human. However, there was a small distinction: spine curved like an S, knees slightly bent to mimic hind legs, and Marcus calculated that they could be more agile. Though, their armor seemed to be weighing them down. They had slender frames, thin and bony, and they didn't seem to have an adequate weight capacity when Marcus watched them hauled their dead into the carts and when they walked.

Quickly winded down, Marcus observed, a potential advantage once he would come into conflict with them, possibly in any minute.

For now, however, he welcomed the silence and its protective barrier.

Marcus wondered how big the cave was for a large force to be guarding the entrance, and how many of them were in there. He guessed that the cavern could be a primary entrance to the heart of their home, with possibly hundreds or thousands of them living in it. The Pale-men seemed to be cave-dwellers, which gave them that luminous, pale skin. Aside from that observation, he wished Easton was here with them as he would most certainly be able to assess their enemies in more detail about the Pale-men's biology if they would have held back in the village and dissected one of those dead things. But time wasn't on their side.

Marcus crawled through the foliage up on the western ridge of the cavern, the closest he could make it to the guarding Pale-men—three of them—directly below the ridge's edge. Without anything to work with, he covered himself in mud and dirt to cover his scent just in case they were sensitive to smell before he approached them. He also took off as much of his clothes as he snuck up the ridge, wearing only his shirt, his pants, and Jacob's dagger held onto his hand, the mud trapping his body heat and kept him warm throughout the afternoon. With every inch he closed, the three soldiers didn't seem to hear or smell him as he drew near from behind, especially a pair of soldiers on patrol outside the cavern's sphere, narrowing the borders of the woods where the others had made camp.

Marcus steadied his breathing as he observed them closely. The three soldiers stood guard like gargoyles of a cathedral, keeping watch on the lake and the entrance below. One was taller than the other two, with a slight moss-green shine to his armor compared to the dull green of his companions. Marcus noted that there were three different colors he saw mingling around the cavern's entrance—the two he previously observed. Still, only one of the guards had a golden-laced hue imbued on its carapace, which told Marcus that these soldiers were ranked based on the colors of their armor. It was the same way the military branches across the Earth distinguished each individual based on their medals and their uniform.

The golden-laced soldier was a lot bigger than the rest, taller, leaner, and wore a much bigger armor. It also wore an elaborate helmet ornate with rubies and blue sapphires, its sword wrapped in a hilt of golden dust over its leather, ending with a gleaming white calcite pommel, and a steel shield strapped behind its back. Marcus pegged him to be the officer-in-charge of the little army, and he would occasionally walk out of the cavern to check on his soldiers, speaking in this deep, guttural, clicking language echoing across the grotto, which Marcus didn't understand. Though it mainly barked orders—or what sounded like it—and ninety percent of the time would stay back in the cavern, which Marcus didn't have a line-of-sight even from different angles.

Out of all the forty soldiers guarding the entrance, Marcus pinned him—or her—the hardest to defeat.

Aside from the swords strapped around their waist, two of them did carry a bow and a quiver.

Marcus bit his lip, his mood souring. The Pale-men had an advantage over melee combat. Now they might also have an advantage range-wise. He could only imagine how deadly they would be with a bow, but there was no doubt their guns would do as much--if not more--damage against the Pale-men.

Still, Marcus and his group have guns, but it was becoming more of a liability as it would bring the entire mountain on top of them once fired.

The western flank of the cavern had proven to be less crowded compared to the others, with the literal path snaking toward the entrance the most guarded. There was no point going through that direction, and they certainly couldn't approach through the eastern flank with the freezing lake on their way, risking hypothermia. North of the cavern, however, was the only thing they couldn't determine as it would require climbing the mountain just to see what they would find there—and it was quite a climb nor the essential equipment to overcome it. Aside from the posted guards on the western side, only one pair of soldiers were on patrol outside of the ridge.

Minding his watch, Marcus noticed that every two hours, the guards would rotate. Another three soldiers replaced the previous three, and they would walk off somewhere, possibly replacing another unit.

If we could take the three out, we'll have a two-hour window before the rest realizes what happened, Marcus thought. Although, the plan would include having to climb down the ridge, a risk that involved making too much noise.

He noted that the three soldiers stood twenty feet apart on the rocky platform, two had a direct line-of-sight with one another, while the other had its eyes turned eastward, facing the cavern. He'd be the first one to go, and Marcus and the others would then work their way down.

It could work, Marcus tried to reassure himself. If we kill them in quick succession, especially the two has a direct line-of-sight, then it will.

Behind the soldiers were outcrops of boulders and bushes growing out of the nook and cranny of the platform, suitable hiding spots for them as they waited for the change of rotation.

Marcus nodded to himself. It will work.

* * *

"I don't know. It has too many risks," Roylan said, fingers pressed on his chin as he mulled all the information Marcus had told him over his head. "We're not exactly nimble and light-footed, well, besides Hyun over here."

"We can manage a twelve feet drop over the ridge. If we make sure to take off as much of our heavy clothing, we'll be quiet as a mouse," Marcus said.

"A complete vertical drop, mind you, with less foot-hold along the outcrop," Hyun interrupted. "It'll be a fucking dead drop, and the three soldiers would be on top of us the moment we landed our feet on the platform."

"Hey, I'm not finished," Marcus elaborated, "Remember that boulders are lying along the edge of the platform, close to the ridge. If we use those, It'll halve our distance."

"Six feet will still make a shit ton of noise."

"It is far better than twelve."

Hyun let out a deep breath and paced around the small meadow in the forest. Earlier, they made a little camp a mile away from the cavern, though they didn't start a fire not to attract the Pale-men's unwanted attention.

Marcus knew what he was asking was too much, but the western flank was all the play they had left. Out of all the options they put on the table, it was the one with the most chances of success…if they could pull it off smoothly. However, the western side was the farthest away from the waterfall, which meant that they couldn't hide all the sound they would make under the white rushing waters, more chances of the soldiers hearing them sneaking up from behind.

They would take out the only two soldiers out in patrol over the western side, then moved over to the platform, and took out the three soldiers guarding it. In the end, they would be able to loot five bodies for the four of them, wore their armor so that they could sneak past the rest of the soldiers into the mountain.

"Paul," Marcus called, "What did you observe from the guards patrolling the tree line?"

"Well, they don't venture inside, then they would double back onto the main path where another patrol replaced them. It takes them about an hour and eleven minutes for the entire rotation. Fortunately, they are the only unit that comes close to the forest edge," Paul replied.

"Throughout their patrol, how far was the closest point to the woods?" Marcus asked.

"About thirty-five minutes in," Paul said, already frowning.

Fuck, Marcus cursed. "If we timed it with the rotation on the western platform, and after we lure them in, we'll have less than thirty minutes to do all of this. The forest edge is about half a mile from the western ridge, which will take at least ten minutes to climb, and then ten more minutes to get ready—,"

"—Leaving us ten minutes of breathing room to get into the cave. Is that what you're saying?" Roylan asked.

Marcus nodded grudgingly. "Not exactly a cakewalk."

"Ten minutes is cutting it too close, don't you think? We still have to sneak past the rest of the guards before the others noticed something's wrong, which they will once they realized the ones in patrol didn't return in time."

"We could use that as a diversion," Hyun suggested. "It'll pull some of the guards away from the entrance. Fewer forces to wade through, and by the time they realized what's up, we're already inside."

"That is if it goes smoothly," Paul said.

"And if you all can get me a bow, I can use that better than a gun," Hyun said.

"You know how to use one?" Marcus asked.

"I have dabbled here and there. Competition, mostly."

Marcus let out a low whistle. "All right. We'll get you one if we run into one."

"But is it a good idea to draw their attention to the woods?" Paul asked.

Marcus nodded. "I see your concern, Paul. If we do that, they would be more alert, more chances of finding us out. We don't know how they communicate, and they could alert the rest of the soldiers inside the mountain by other means. We don't exactly speak their language."

"Well, you are right about that," Roylan muttered. "We can already see that there's no easy win on this, but I like Hyun's diversion if we add that to your plan Marcus. With the patrol, its two against the four of us, and I already fucking love those odds."

"We can make thirty minutes work," Marcus said, running his hands over his hair.

"And once we're inside?" Hyun asked, eyebrows raised.

"When we get that far, we have no choice but to wing it."

Paul scoffed doubtfully. "Famous last words. Are you certain this will work?"

Marcus shrugged, though he did agree with him that the plan was precarious from the start. "We better make it fucking work. Your brother once told me that once push comes to shove, everything is possible, and you might surprise yourself what we can do."

"If Brett said that, then it doesn't really instill a lot of confidence—"

"But it'll keep us alive, Paul, and keeps you on your fucking toes. I more than welcome a full-proof plan besides what we're discussing right now, but we don't fucking have one, do we? Are you thinking of something, Paul? Do you have a full-proof plan, Paul?"

Paul stiffened, shuffling on his spot. He mumbled something, but Marcus couldn't hear him well.

"That wasn't a rhetorical question," he seethed.

Paul glared at him, clenched his jaw, "No," he growled, "I don't."

"Great! So, you don't fucking have one. We're on the same page then. Look. I told you from the start that this won't be easy, but you chose to stay and follow my lead. Well, this is it. The best we can do now is that we stick together and watch each other's backs moving forward. If we do that, we can hold them back from there."

He crouched down and rummaged through his backpack, Marcus took out some thick layer of rolled duct tape, and then unsheathed Jacob's dagger from his belt. "Sun's still up for a short while. Let's use what we can and get ready."

* * *

Night came, and so was the cold. In the shadow of the mountain, here ruled the absolute black of darkness, without the campfire to light their way, relying on the countless stars and the two moons above. What accompanied them was the rising rustle of the night wind, flexing and furling along the branches and leaves, gently caressing them as they hid up on a tree at the edge of the forest, waiting for the patrol to arrive.

Marcus had been on top of a branch of a cedar tree for hours, his eyes scanning the hills out in the plains where the patrol would emerge, watching motionless and silent. Across from him on a nearby tree, Paul crouched on the lower branch a little closer to the forest edge. Both their dark-brown cloaks were able to blend in with the dark.

Marcus peered onto the soldiers' likely path where Paul's backpack was lying in the middle, waiting. Closer to the tree-line, Roylan's jacket also stationed as bait.

Come on. Where are you? Marcus muttered. The two soldiers were late already by fifteen minutes.

A low whistle from the lower branch knew it was coming from Paul, and Marcus immediately glanced up the hill. There, two Pale-men soldiers clamored down the path, talking to one another, holding each a spear and a glowing rock attached to a wooden torch. The rock—which looked like some kind of mineral—radiated a bright fluorescent yellow and orange, and Marcus couldn't help but gawk at its beautiful sight. He had never seen anything like it before, glowing brighter than a fire would. It reminded him of an incandescent light bulb.

With the bright yellow-orange light illuminating the plains and the path ahead, the darkness proved to be an advantage for Marcus and the others. As the two soldiers drew closer, he could make them out much clearer. They seemed to be wearing the same dull green armor that the majority of the Pale-men soldiers had—possibly the common soldiers—which Marcus aptly named as the drones. As for the others, the moss-green armor was worn by the corporals, who he noted commanded a small unit of the drones, and the golden-laced armor was worn by the captain, who commanded the entire garrison around the cavern entrance.

The two drones carried similar swords, and Marcus guessed they were the same ones he saw back in the village with the dead Pale-men. Only one of the drones carried a bow slung around their shoulders next to the quiver filled with arrows. However, they both wore shoulder capes and a thick layer of robes of similar colors to their armor, covering and protecting them against the night's cold.

It was the bowman who first saw the backpack.

Raising his svelte-like fingers, the bowman signaled his companion to stop directly a hundred feet away from where Marcus hid and immediately pointed at the strange object. The bowman raised his torch a little higher, drawing more light onto the object. He shared a look—of confusion, of uncertainty, or whatnot—with his companion, and they started talking in their clicking, gravelly language; their hushed voices faint but urgent.

Take the bait, Marcus urged, drawing out his dagger—not Jacob' s—from the sheath, wrapping his fingers tightly around the hilt. Come on, you ugly sons of dicks. Take the fucking bait.

The bow-less drone cocked his head as he stared at the bag, and then began to pry the rock out of the torch, ripping it entirely off the top and discarded the wooden stick on the side. With the glowing rock on his hand, it began to radiate intensely, and before Marcus could blink, the rock suddenly floated into the air and hovered mere inches above the drone's head. He did the same for the bowman's torch, and each of the two rocks floated above them.

The spearman gripped his spear with both hands, pointing the blade forward, and cautiously shuffled toward the backpack while the bowman stayed behind. The floating rock followed the spearman's trail from above, like a beaconed firefly in the gloom.

Marcus couldn't believe what he was seeing, almost lost his footing on the branch as he watched in awe the rock flying without a string after the drone, seemingly by magic. He held the gasp bubbling up his throat, pressed down his hiked breath as the coursing familiarity of fear shot through his veins. What he saw wasn't possible, and neither did it obey the laws of physics. Then again, he never thought a fucking city could be transported to another world a few weeks ago. He held tighter onto the dagger. If they could do that, what else could they do when they would kill a man?

The bowman hung back where they stopped, taking off his bow, and grabbed an arrow from his quiver, placed it near the string, ready to pull. Marcus crouched close against the trunk, putting his back on it, felt the cross guard of his broadsword rubbing along his shoulder blade, hoping to stay hidden and quiet as the bowman scanned the forest's edge. With the helmet and the shadows covering their eyes, he couldn't tell if they were on him—if they saw him.

The spearman lowered his spear, edging toward the bag, and with the pointy end, hooked it around the bag's shoulder straps. He slowly lifted the object off the ground, studying it from different angles without getting his hands on it, and then spared a glance to his other companion with a shake of his head. The bowman shouted something, louder this time, and the spearman shook his head again.

The bowman's reaction seemed less than pleased. Marcus noted a flicker of annoyance, or anger, in his voice, and it was quickly building, saw his shoulders hunched as if in a huff, head shaking. The bowman lowered his bow just a little, though still keeping the arrow close to the nock, and trudged toward the other drone—the glowing rock followed closely. As he drew near, the bowman suddenly smacked the back of the spearman's helmet, fervently pointed at the bag, which the spearman quickly dropped to the ground. The bowman then laid a slew of sputters and clicks, seemingly chiding the other, and the two promptly fanned out of the path, searching. The spearman headed further up the road while the bowman edged closer to the tree-line.

Good. Come closer.

Marcus stepped a little further out, crouched back with the dagger gripped at the ready, adjusting the weight of his broadsword behind his back. In the darkness, as his vision continued to improve, he could make out a glint of the blade from the next tree with Paul unsheathing his own knife. Without making him out, Marcus could feel Paul keeping a close eye on the bowman.

It took the bowman less than five minutes—which felt like a long time—to find Roylan's jacket slumped underneath the grass. There was a momentary pause, and although Marcus couldn't understand their tongue, their body language spoke volumes. The bowman warily picked up the jacket with his bare hands and studied it, dropping it like it was a hot bag of coals before calling out for his companion to come back, who had already wandered farther up the path. The bowman peered into the forest's darkness, bow at the ready.

Just a little closer. There you go. Keep looking. Keep searching.

Pulse quickening, the adrenaline started coursing through him at full speed, making it harder to tame his muscles' trembling as the cold brisk wind coming from the waterfall's direction, and the fear began to coalesce as one. Though, beneath it all, something primal seeped to the surface, waiting to be unleashed.

Keep looking. Keep searching.

The bowman continued to peer into the forest. He took a quick glance back to his companion, jogging down the path, which was still a long-distance away. He mumbled something under his breath and shook his head, taking out a pendant dangling from his neck and rubbed his finger over it.

"Liksha. Tsish," the bowman said. He started for the woods, stepping pas the tree line.

One step.

Two steps.

Three steps.

Waited. Listened. Bow at the ready.

* * *

Marcus held his breath.

The glowing rock cast light along the tree branch, and Marcus leaned back a little out of sight, quietly hopped off to an adjacent branch, hugged the trunk. He watched as the bowman scanned up the trees, up through the canopy, up into the darkness, saw the bowman didn't change his stance.

Finding nothing amiss, the bowman took another step.

Then, an audible gasp—not coming from Marcus, nor the tree opposite from him, nor from the bushes where Hyun hid, but from the bowman himself.

There, a couple of feet ahead, Hyun's cloak was draped over a pair of fallen logs stacked on top of each other. A low, menacing growl escaped the drone's lips. The bowman stomped closer, reached out for the cloak, and yanked it off the log, spotting too late Jacob's dagger waiting between a narrow gap—aimed for his throat.

From behind the logs, Roylan thrust Marcus's makeshift spear—a dagger duct-taped on a stick—forward, heard a startled yelp as the blade gored through bare flesh, sunk sickeningly right through. The bowman barely retaliated as he dropped the bow and arrow, clutching at the spear's handle, trying to pry it loose, but Roylan pushed the blade in further, penetrating through pale muscles and bone. Under the moonlight, milky white blood sputtered out of the wound.

The Pale-men's chitin armor had very few open spots to pierce a blade in, but Marcus noticed that their neck was heavily exposed compared to the rest of the body. And if he learned one thing from the village, The Pale-men easily bleed like humans, and they could be killed. They weren't something to be feared.

Marcus quietly leaped off the branches like a raven's shadow; cloak flung back like wings taking flight. He hit the ground on haunches and one braced palm—only a step behind the bowman He exploded out of the crouch, and swiftly kicked the drone's knees, driving the creature down onto the ground, and yanked his helmet to the left, widening his access to the neck. The bowman reached over, found Marcus's wrist, trying to wrestle his hands off of his helmet, but Marcus tightened the grip.

He stabbed through the flesh in quick succession—one, two, three, four times—the last digging deeper into the neck, felt the tip making contact with bone, and with a quick twist of the blade, the bowman stopped thrashing, his gurgling moans ceased. Marcus yanked the dagger free, and so did Roylan with the spear, and the creature he keeled over to the forest floor with a soft thud, his face, and helm covered in white blood.

The glowing rock wavered in the air and fell down, rolling down against the stacked fallen logs. With their new source of light, Marcus found Roylan's eyes peering through the gap, jaw dropped, and trembling in shock. Marcus made a quick nod, bringing Roylan back to the moment, closed his mouth, and nodded back.

He crouched down the crumpled bowman, turned him over, saw his eyes had turned milky-white like what Marcus had seen from the dead Pale-men in the village. The bowman was dead.

One down, one more to go.

"Tortuvia!" A shout from behind, shrill, and filled with anger.

Leaves crunched under someone's weight, thumps of armor creaking from the slight movement, and Marcus ducked to the left as a spear went past a hair off from his ear. It pierced through the bowman's torso.

Too fucking close! Marcus grabbed the pommel of his broadsword and pulled the blade out of its scabbard.

He barely had a second to spare to assess his surroundings. The spearman pulled his robe back and quickly unsheathed his sword, closing the distance between them, arms raised, blade ready to hack right through Marcus's exposed shoulder. Marcus, down on his knees, looked up to his attacker, meeting his ferocious gaze with his own.

Bathed in the warm light of the floating rock, the drone momentarily froze, but only for a split second, startled as his eyes landed on Marcus.

And it was all the moment Marcus needed to turn the tide in his favor.

Quickly grabbing a ball filled with dirt, he hurled onto the Pale-man's helmet, right onto his eyes. The drone shrieked and brought his hand up to his face. Marcus lunged forward, barreling his entire weight through the creature, lifted him backward on the force of the blow, and brought him down on his back.

The force cost him his sword, knocked loose from his grip, and fell somewhere to the side. The creature underneath him pawed, gaped, shouting at him in his alien language. Then, he felt the creature's slender hands reached out, swept across his chest, palm slapped against his stomach.

Alien eyes found his.

"Ar-ir." The creature whispered.

A hissing, low crack of thunder emanated between them, and then Marcus found himself flung into the air, carried by an invisible force shooting out of his upper ribs, pushing him off the creature and back against the stacked logs. He slumped down onto the ground with a painful howl—shocked, terrified, struggling to understand what the fuck just happened.

The drone sprung up in mid-crouch, picked up Marcus's broadsword next to him, and slowly rose up to his feet. He spared a glance on the sword, and noted a slight twitch of his head, as if curious. Marcus tried to get up, gritted down the pain, but his back pulled him down.

A cry to Marcus's right. Roylan ran over, jumped down from the stacked logs as he pulled out his sword, stepped in close, and swung the blade with his right hand. The drone quickly countered the swing with an underhand block, steel on steel clang, and echoed throughout the woods, made Roylan screeched, clutching his right wrist from the blow. The drone whirled around and kicked Roylan on the chest, who lost his grip on the sword, and staggered him back against a tree.

"Dad!" Paul screamed from above, catching the drone's attention.

Paul quickly unslung his rifle, scrambling to aim at the Pale-man.

Marcus's eyes jerked wide open, panic surfacing, saw only the gun and what it would bring past the ridge and the hill, the entire Pale-men garrison on their heads, but he choked on the cry in his throat.

The creature swiftly raised two fingers directed at Paul, muttered "Ar-il."

Paul was too late. Flung back from the same force, he disappeared into the gloom with a frightened, piercing squeal, heard him crashed onto the ground with a loud thud.

The drone turned his attention back to Roylan, crumpled against a tree, and raised his sword, ready to strike.

An arrow flew through from his periphery, sinking deep into the nape of the creature's neck. White blood splattered out, showering Roylan from head to toe. The Pale-man dropped the broadsword and clutched his throat, but another arrow struck him at the exact same spot, then another. His mouth fluttered, legs wobbling as he struggled on his feet, but he slid down under his weight, down to his knees.

Roylan, jaw clenched and seething, kicked the Pale-man square on the chest, some form of payback for what he did a few moments earlier. The creature fell on his back, twitching, and still clutching at his throat.

"Fucking asshole," Roylan muttered under his breath.

Paul emerged from the gloom and leaned against the tree, stretching his spine. "That hurt."

"You all right, son?" Roylan asked.

"Never been better," Paul replied, stretching his arms out. He walked toward the spearman's writhing body and kicked him on the head. "Dick," he spat.

The Pale-man stopped twitching, and the glowing rock wavered and fell from the air, landing between the creature's legs.

A twig snapped to his right. Marcus whipped around to the noise and saw Hyun standing next to the bowman's body, bow in hand. Marcus grabbed hold of a protruding branch off the log and hauled himself up.

He stared at the bow, then to Hyun.

"Competition, my ass," Marcus let out a soft chuckle. "Hyun. Kim Hyun-Jae, if I remember correctly."

Hyun stiffened on the spot, made a slight wince as if the name burned. He turned to look at him and slowly nodded, but he didn't say a word.

Paul squinted at Hyun incredulously. "Wait…the gold medalist? You? London. Rio. Tokyo. That Kim Hyun-Jae?"

"One and the same."

"Fuck me. We got a celebrity over here," Paul said, letting out a low whistle. "Not exactly what you'd imagine retirement to be, huh?"

"No. It's not," Hyun said, clenching his jaw. "But enough about me and let's get this fucker off of his armor, shall we? Time is ticking," Hyun said, plastering a smile, but Marcus could feel the venom in his words.

The spearman had less blood on his armor compared to the bowman, so they decided to strip off the former with all the gears and armor. They chose Hyun to wear them, seeing that he was similar in height and stature to the spearman than the rest of them.

Roylan tried to scrape off the blood off of his cloak, but it only smeared it around more. "God, I need a shower after this," he said, mumbling a slew of curses under his breath.

Marcus placed the helmet over Hyun's head, which fitted snuggly. Except for the eyes and his warm skin exposed from the gaps, he could pass as a Pale-man from afar.

Hyun almost gagged. "Smells like rotten eggs and a wet dog in here."

"Ah, you'll be fine," Marcus reassured him. "We'll be right behind you." He slung the bow around Hyun's shoulders, took a step back to take a good look at him. "I think that's good enough."

"Whoa." Paul nodded approvingly, "Looking good, Mr. Kim."

"Foster. I'm married, Paul."

"Oh. Right."

Roylan and Paul knelt on the ground to place the knee pads and leg braces on Hyun's. Each armor placed on him, Hyun's face grew paler and paler, looking as if he was going to be sick.

"You lost the hair," Marcus commented, trying to keep Hyun's mind off from puking.

"Never been wild about it. Blame it on my management team," Hyun replied.

Marcus wanted to say more, but he held his tongue. It was one of those idiosyncrasies he had when nearby famous people where he couldn't help but feel a little awkward around them. San Francisco was often a hotbed for movies being shot around the city, and he met dozens of them around his neighborhood due to its proximity to the Universal sound stages.

He watched the last Summer Olympics two years ago, but he barely paid attention to Archery, more focused on the swimming and the tennis segments. Though, he recognized the name that won the United States five gold medals out of a trove of forty-eight in the last Olympics.

"I cut it short after my retirement," Hyun added, running his fingers over his sheared cut, though he couldn't stop the rush of red filling his cheeks.

And went with your natural colors, Marcus thought, glancing at his black hair peeking out of the helm. The last time he saw the gold medalist on TV, he had dyed his hair platinum blond with bubblegum streaks and had two gold teeth and a lot of tattoos on his arms and neck. The man in front of him didn't have any of that.

"What happened to your gold teeth? The tattoos?"

"All fake. My publicist thought I should be this…person, so they manufactured it and capitalized on it for my social media following. Anyway, it didn't quite work out for me after I married. Blake hates it with a passion."

"How come you didn't tell us?" Marcus asked.

Hyun shrugged nonchalantly. "I've been quite useful, aren't I?" He said, smiling cheekily. "My old life isn't something I like to revisit often. The guy you see on TV isn't always what he was made out to be."

"You're a Wilder. Ranger Class, right?" Marcus asked, trying to remember what Brett told him that first day when they found out about the prompts, and he said to him that everything in this world acted like a game.

"Yeah. That's right," Hyun answered. "You know, you look like Brett when you're looking at me like that."

"Uh, what? Oh. Sorry. Sometimes, the things he says have a funny way of getting into my head."

"I get that. Though, sometimes, I think Brett's explanation of everything makes more sense. I don't know if I should be comforted with that."

"Don't mind my son, Mr. Foster," Roylan said, shaking his head. "He has a very active imagination since he was a kid."

At least it cleared up some of the curiosity he had that day, how Hyun was categorized as a Wilder, and he guessed he probably had more survival skills than he had; his salmon traps being one of the examples. And how he was able to survive six days alone in a rotting, dilapidated village, and still made it look homely.

Life is a game; Arjun's words echoed inside his head. And you play to win.

"Play to win," Marcus muttered. "Crazy old man."

"What did you say?" Roylan asked him. Marcus realized he had said it out loud.

"Oh, don't mind me. I was just thinking," Marcus said quickly.

Roylan looked at him for a second, shrugged, and returned to his clamping Hyun's right leg brace.

"All done! Now, for the last finish," Paul said, getting up, and placed the dull green cape draped over one shoulder and the robes. "There is some blood on the robes I couldn't get off, but as long as you don't get too close to the soldiers, they won't notice. I think."

"You now look like one of those assholes," Roylan pointed out.

"Seems too tight around my groin," Hyun said, grimacing. "This is gonna be very uncomfortable."

"They do smell awful."

"Well then, Mr. Boone, let's hunt one for your own, eh? Join me in my torture."

Roylan hissed, "Ah, don't fucking remind me."

"I think it's their bowels discharging after they died," Paul suggested.

Roylan glared at Paul and rolled his eyes. "Son, you just made it so much worse."

"What are we going to do about those?" Hyun asked, pointing at the two glowing rocks still on the ground. "Can we use them up the ridge? We're going to be climbing in the dark after all. It seems useful."

Marcus shook his head. "They'll see us from below if we do that. Better leave it off here."

Without knowing how to turn off the rocks, they hid them underneath the bushes and dirt until they could no longer see its glow, bringing back the darkness around them. As for their bags, they tied them up on the branches of the cedar tree, planning to come back to it once they get Jacob. They would only bring Paul and Hyun's bags, not only because they were smaller, but they were easily concealed under the robes. They stuffed it with as much essential stuff as they could.

They edged out of the forest, squinted around the path, but saw no Pale-men soldiers approaching. Marcus had feared they were too loud during the commotion, but since they were further off, and with the waterfall covering their racket, it seemed they didn't draw any attention.

They jogged toward the western ridge.