5 - Familiar Face

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Five shadows moved across the cracked asphalt, making their way to the place Jeremy's friend had insisted on—somewhere suited for "typa talks like these."

The ocean raged, hurling the ship side to side in the storm's grip. Water sloshed across the deck as the cabin door groaned open against the wind. A foot stepped out, revealing Marek in his usual attire, unfazed as he strode toward the control room. The gale might as well have been nothing. He pulled out a chair, sat, and waited for the captain to notice him—but the man was too consumed by the storm.

Drops of water littered the entrance. Had they come from him? He could've sworn it wasn't raining. Glancing at the nearest window, he raised an eyebrow, then chuckled—a sound sharp enough to snap the captain's attention.

"Didn't see you there, sir," the captain shouted over the storm.

Marek sighed, crossing his legs as he leaned back. The chair's legs dug into the worn floor, creaking with each violent rock of the ship. He barely moved. His mind, however, twisted at the thought of the man he still had to convince.

×××

The group reached what looked like a derelict car factory—shattered windows, vandalized walls, cracks spiderwebbing across the façade. Rusted carcasses of cars littered the approach, and with each step, the stench of rot thickened.

Before them stood two battered metal doors, a strange logo spray-painted across the surface: a spider, its six legs bent unnaturally backward. The body was intact, but the head was skeletal, fangs sinking into the metal. The colors were wrong—legs blending into the door, the body tinged green, the head pure black.

Cass frowned. She'd seen this before. Where?

Lee and Jeremy's friend stopped, still locked in a debate about which car handled corners better—neither knew much about cars, making the argument pointless. Jah sighed, shoved past them, and forced the doors open with a screech. A gust of wind hit them, carrying the stench in full force.

Inside, dim lights flickered over a long metal table, scattered chairs, and decaying machinery. Stained walls, alcohol bottles, and takeout boxes littered the space.

"Did we miss something?"

×××

The storm was relentless. Captain Smit navigated it like a veteran. Marek smirked—the man reminded him of someone else, the one who always seemed to glow under stage lights. Two different beings, yet for now, they were equals.

As the ship neared the island, Marek felt a tug at his presence. He stood, walking to the glass window as waves crashed against it. Then—sunlight. A single beam broke through the clouds, striking his suit.

Captain Smit grinned. "Well? What'd you think, sir?"

Marek reached for the door. "Next time I need a captain, I'll know who to call."

The ship reached the shore—no sand, just a wall of tall grass shielding the island. The anchor dropped with a metallic groan.

"I'll take it from here," Marek said, resting a hand on the railing.

Then he was gone.

×××

A gust of wind, and Marek stood in the grass, unmoved by the whispering stalks around him. Ahead, a dark oak tree loomed. Slowly, red energy rippled across his skin, hovering like flame.

The sound of tearing flesh echoed.

"Throw 'em."

A young man scrambled through the grass, zapped by unseen forces as he dragged bodies toward the ocean. After dumping them, he wiped his hands and approached his hulking superior.

"All done, Mr. Smith"

Mr. Smith barely acknowledged him. His energy pulsed, reacting to the island's presence.

They pressed on, reaching a dense thicket of towering oaks, their canopy blotting out the sun.

"Wait—you remembered the umbrella, right, Davis?" Mr. Smith asked.

Davis smiled. "Yeah."

Red energy surged around him, the forest barely reacting to it. Mr. Smith pressed a palm to the tree, and the forest recoiled. The trunk groaned as he forced an opening.

"Get in," he grunted, holding the gap wide.

Davis sprinted through clutching some sort of wrapped weapon, as the forest raged against the intrusion, two forces clashing like opposing flames.

×××

Rooftop

Why am I still alive?

The man lay on the rooftop, staring at the stars.

Because I'm strong?

Or

are they just weak?

Or

is this part of the curse?

A figure emerged from the shadows.

"Oi."

The man—Mr. (...) —jerked up, stepping back until he hit the railing. Below him, a bottomless pit yawned. His lips curled.

Is this it? Finally?

A feeling of euphoria washed over him as he thought of his death to come.

"Die—DIE!"

The figure flashed forward, hands slamming into his chest. The railing shattered as he fell, the wind rushing past.

Above, the figure waved.

(...) scoffed as he plummeted.

Disappointing. Again.

×××

Library

Knock. Knock.

"I'm coming in."

The doors swung open, revealing an endless library. Towering shelves, countless books, the scent of ink and parchment thick in the air.

On the floor sat a young man—dreadlocks tied into a bun, dark circles under his eyes, yet wide awake. His pupils darted side to side as he read.

"Sir?"

No response.

"Sir… are you okay?"

A laugh. The man finally looked up, shielding his eyes from the light.

"Just tired. Why are you here?"

"You've been locked in here for over a hundred years. Thought it was time to leave."

A smirk. "Not yet. I haven't finished."

His friend sighed, scanning the emptied shelves. "It'd take thousands of years to read everything here."

The man closed his book, tossing it onto a pile. "The more you read, the hungrier you get. It's a trap."

"Then why stay?"

The man wobbled as he stood. "Because the truth's in here."

In a flash, he reappeared with three books—each different, yet humming with the same energy.

"Let's go."

Outside, the forest awaited. Behind them, the doors clicked shut, symbols glowing once more.

"Next time, I'll give you a tour." He paused. "Seems we've got company."

His friend frowned. "I came alone."

"I know." The man smiled. "You take the left. I'll take the right."

As his friend vanished, he gripped the books tighter.

(...) I'd love to see you fight after all these years.

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