The camp was alive with muted activity in the early haze of dawn, the air thick with anticipation. John moved through the camp, his thoughts still tangled in the unsettling events of the previous night. Meeting Nigel had gnawed at him—his faceless form lingering in John’s mind like a bad dream. But it wasn’t a dream. John had seen it, and now, as the camp prepared for the day’s tasks, that unsettling image still refused to fade. Crystal joined him, her sharp eyes scanning their surroundings. John knew she felt the tension too. He didn’t trust anyone here—not fully.
Then, for the first time since the expedition began, John caught sight of the man at the center of it all—Micah, the Zodiac Corporation’s CEO. A powerful figure, whose reputation preceded him, Micah was supposed to be the visionary behind this operation. Yet as John’s gaze fell on him, his breath caught. Micah, standing tall and commanding at the heart of the camp, was faceless. Just like Nigel.
Where his eyes, nose, and mouth should have been, there was only smooth skin, a blank mask that sent a cold jolt through John. He had never seen Micah before today—he hadn’t needed to—but now, standing here, it was as if the man’s identity had been wiped clean. John’s pulse quickened. Another person, trapped by the same magic spell that obscured Nigel. What the hell was going on with this place. Why had Javier painted them here and what was he expected to do?
John glanced at Crystal. She didn’t seem to notice. No one did. But John couldn’t tear his eyes away. The man before him wasn’t just another faceless figure. This was the leader of the expedition, the one everyone was following—and yet John couldn’t remember ever hearing anything about him beyond his corporate legacy.
Nigel stood silently at Micah’s side, as polished and precise as ever. The two of them, side by side, felt wrong. There was something off about both of them, missing faces aside. Richard, meanwhile, moved purposefully through the camp, staying close to Micah. As part of the security detail, Richard was supposed to be keeping an eye on the operation, but lately, John had noticed that Richard seemed to hover near Micah with a different kind of purpose. There was eagerness in his movements, as though he were trying to present John to the faceless CEO.
John kept his head down, blending into the background while remaining vigilant. His unique ability to detect heat signatures had always given him an edge. As the team assembled for the day, John scanned the camp, his mind sifting through the familiar patterns of heat and cold that marked the magic users and those without power.
But something unusual caught his attention—Richard. John blinked, focusing on the man who had been a sporadic part of his life for the last few years. There it was: a faint, steady warmth radiating from Richard, the unmistakable signature of a magic user. John’s brow furrowed. In the time he’d known Richard, this had never registered. He had never once sensed Richard’s magic before.
What is Richard’s magic? John’s mind raced. And why haven't I noticed it until now?
A wave of cold unease settled over him. He ran through his memories, trying to recall any moment when Richard might have used magic, but came up with nothing. It was as though Richard had hidden this part of himself all these years—hidden it even from someone like John, who should have picked up on it long ago. The realization felt like a puzzle piece sliding into place, but instead of relief, it brought only more questions. What else has Richard been hiding from me?
John’s stomach tightened as he continued to scan the camp, a growing sense of dread building inside him. Why now? Why only here? The thought gnawed at him, a whisper at the edge of his consciousness. There was something larger at play, and it was clear Richard had been careful to conceal it. A much larger game was unfolding around them, and John was only just beginning to see the cracks.
Micah stepped forward then, faceless and commanding, his presence unmistakable despite the unsettling void where his features should have been. He raised his hand, signaling for attention. His voice, calm but resonant, cut through the low murmur of the camp.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Micah began, his tone smooth, his voice coming from a mouth John couldn’t see, “we stand on the brink of a new era. What we are about to uncover—what we will unlock from these ruins—will change the course of humanity's future.”
John’s unease deepened as he listened. The faceless man spoke with confidence, but the blank skin stretched over Micah’s missing features made the words feel even more chilling.
“Magic,” Micah continued, his voice swelling with passion, “has been kept in the shadows for too long. It has been feared, misunderstood, and even repressed. But magic is not something to be hidden or controlled by the few. It is the key to unlocking humanity’s true potential. And we, here today, are the ones destined to release that power.”
John shifted uneasily, his thoughts momentarily pulled as Micah’s speech echoed through the camp.
“For centuries,” Micah went on, “we have made technological advances—yes—but we’ve been limited. Limited by our fear of what magic could do. Imagine a world where magic and technology work together, where the barriers between them no longer exist. That world is within our grasp. Here, in these ancient ruins, lies the secret to making that vision a reality. And when we bring it forth, we will reshape the future of mankind.”
The group remained silent, but the energy in the air shifted—electrified, charged with possibility. John felt a strange pull in his chest. Micah, faceless as he was, knew how to inspire, how to make people believe in something greater. And as much as John wanted to dismiss his words as the ambition of a power-hungry man, he couldn’t deny that they resonated. Magic, for all its mystery and danger, did hold untapped potential. But at what cost?
Micah took a step forward, his voice dropping to a lower, more intense register. “What we find here will not just be an artifact of the past. It will be a tool—a weapon, perhaps—to break through the barriers that have held us back. With it, Zodiac will usher in a new age. And those of us who stand here today will be remembered as the ones who unlocked the future.”
The silence that followed felt like the pause before a storm. John clenched his fists, the weight of Richard’s hidden magic still pressing on his mind, but now Micah’s speech had added another layer of unease. He’s faceless—the thought screamed inside John’s head. And yet no one else seemed to notice. John glanced at Crystal, but her expression remained focused and unbothered.
Micah turned and began walking toward the ruins, his faceless silhouette leading the group forward. The rest of the team followed in his wake, their steps heavy with anticipation. John fell into line behind Crystal and Richard, his senses on high alert. Whatever secrets were buried in these ruins might change the course of humanity, as Micah claimed, but John had a sinking feeling that they were walking into something far darker—and that Richard and Micah were at the heart of it.
The expedition ventured into the ruins, their path lit by dimly glowing lanterns strung along the rock walls. The air grew heavier with each step, dense with the scent of damp earth and mystery, as though the very atmosphere was thick with the weight of the past. Roots from giant trees overhead, snaked along the walls.
John walked silently, his steps measured, every footfall feeling as though it might disturb the ghosts that lingered in the crumbling corridors. The further they went, the more the entrance light receded. His breath felt heavy, not just from the dusty air but from the weight of something more—something ancient, powerful, and sleeping just beneath the surface.
Ahead, Richard moved closer to Micah. His movements were deliberate, almost reverent, as he carried a blood-red tablet in his hands. The tablet was unsettling to look at, dark and ominous with strange, pulsing symbols that seemed to come alive under the dim light of the lanterns. John’s gaze narrowed as he watched Richard hand the tablet to Micah. There was a certain eagerness in Richard’s step, like he was presenting a treasure to the faceless CEO. Micah’s hands, elegant yet unsettling in their faceless control, clasped the tablet as if it were the key to everything.
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“We’re close,” Micah said, his voice cutting through the murmur of the group. His tone was smooth, but the weight of his words carried an eerie finality. The faceless man didn’t need a mouth to speak, his voice resonated from a place of deep authority that chilled John to his core. “This is what I’ve been waiting for.”
John swallowed, his unease deepening. He glanced at the tablet in Micah’s hands and then at Richard, who stood just behind the CEO like a loyal servant. For the time they had known each other Richard had kept his magic hidden—at least from John. And now, seeing him offer this blood-red artifact to Micah, John wondered if he had ever really known the man at all.
The expedition continued deeper, their path narrowing as the walls closed in around them, the stones almost seeming to breathe with their passage. They entered a long, winding staircase carved into the stone floor—its edges rough, worn down by time. As the last traces of natural light faded behind them, the air became cooler, and the faint sound of dripping water echoed off the stone walls.
The lanterns barely lit the way as the group descended, their light casting eerie, flickering shadows on the walls. The temperature dropped sharply, the humid jungle air above giving way to the damp chill of the underground. John ran his hand along the stone walls as they walked, the rough surface slick with condensation. Each step took them further away from the world above, deeper into the earth’s secrets.
Eventually, the stone passage widened into a cavernous space—an enormous underground chamber. The roof of the cave was so high it disappeared into the dark, and thick, ancient pillars supported the weight of the earth above. The lanterns cast faint, flickering light against the towering columns, illuminating faded runes etched into the stone. They looked like ancient inscriptions, but their meaning was lost, worn away by the passage of time. John squinted, trying to make out the symbols, but something about the chamber made his skin prickle, like the walls themselves were watching.
The deeper they went, the more the space shifted. The ruins gave way to what could only be described as a mine—a massive excavation site stretching into the distance. Iron tracks for mine carts crisscrossed the floor, leading to dark tunnels that seemed to stretch endlessly into the earth. Old, rusted tools and broken crates littered the ground, evidence of previous attempts to uncover the secrets buried here.
“Looks like someone’s been here before us,” John muttered under his breath. His voice echoed strangely in the chamber, coming back to him distorted, almost as if the ruins themselves were alive, waiting.
Crystal glanced at him and nodded silently, her eyes scanning the old tools, the rusting equipment. There was something abandoned about this place, but also something unfinished.
Micah, holding the blood-red tablet in his hands, strode forward, his faceless gaze fixed on the path ahead. The deeper they descended, the more John felt like they were walking into a trap—something ancient and dangerous, lying in wait beneath the surface. There was magic here, John could feel it in the air, a pulsing energy that grew stronger the further they ventured underground.
The group came to a halt near the mouth of a large tunnel that led even deeper into the earth. The air here was colder, almost freezing, and the walls shimmered faintly with crystals embedded in the stone. Micah paused, raising the blood-red tablet to the light of the lanterns. The symbols on the tablet pulsed, casting a faint glow that seemed to resonate with the tunnel before them.
“This is it,” Micah said softly, his faceless head turning slightly as if to look at each member of the team. “This is what we’ve been searching for.”
They arrived at a chamber supported by towering pillars etched with faded runes. It was a marvel of ancient engineering, but the air inside was still—too still, as if time itself had frozen. At the far end of the chamber, a shimmering barrier, invisible but palpable, stood in their way. It wasn’t something you could see with the naked eye, but the energy radiating from it was unmistakable. Magic—powerful and ancient.
Micah’s jaw clenched as he slammed the tablet against the invisible barrier. He spat out incantations, each more forceful than the last, but nothing worked. His fingers curled tighter around the tablet, knuckles white as he fought against the invisible wall separating him from his goal. “Open, damn you!” he snarled, his voice barely human, thick with rage.
Pacing in front of the barrier like a beast in a cage, he finally snapped. “It’s supposed to open!” he roared, spinning on Sarah. Before she could react, he yanked her forward, practically throwing her at the barrier. “Use your powers. Now.”
Sarah, wide-eyed, reached toward the barrier, her hands trembling. But as her fingers brushed against it, the air shimmered, revealing the room beyond. Micah’s breath caught, not in awe, but in fury. Treasures glittered in the dim light, mountains of gold and ancient relics stacked high. And there, at the center, sat the skeleton. Its hollow sockets stared back at him, mocking him. In its bony grasp was a clear, glass orb.
“Of course,” Micah growled, his eyes locked on the skeleton. “This is his doing. Always leaving signs. Always taunting me.”
He stepped closer to the barrier, fists clenched at his sides, muscles coiled like a predator ready to strike. His teeth ground together, the heat of his fury rising. Then, as if on cue, the skeleton moved. The skull tipped sideways and dropped into its other hand, landing with a hollow crack. Bones shifted, fingers curling, until only the middle finger stood tall, pointed directly at him.
Micah's nostrils flared. His eyes blazed, not with fear or shock, but pure, unfiltered rage. “You think this is funny?” he hissed, slamming his hand against the barrier. “You think you can keep me away forever?!” His voice thundered through the chamber.
The skull, lifeless and empty, seemed to grin.
Sarah recoiled, stumbling backward. John’s body reacted before his mind could catch up. He lunged forward, grabbing Sarah and pulling her out of Micah’s reach.
But then, something else moved. From beneath John’s shirt, his necklace jerked free, yanking toward the barrier as if drawn by an unseen force. The golden dragon’s wings snapped open, the red gem in its center flaring to life. The deep, rhythmic pulsing of magic filled the air, dark and foreboding. The barrier shimmered, trembled, and then collapsed with a brilliant flash.
Micah froze, his eyes wide with a mix of confusion and rage as he stared at the glowing necklace. His face twisted, his teeth bared. John could see it—the storm in the man’s expression. The spell had been lifted. Off to the side, John saw Nigel’s face as well now, staring at him with an unreadable expression. This wasn’t good. This wasn’t good at all.
“You!!!!” Micah roared, the sound tearing through the room, reverberating like a crack of thunder. His fists clenched, veins bulging in his neck as his fury poured out, hot and violent.
Micah’s roar echoed through the room, his eyes locked on John with a fury that burned hotter than fire, but what followed was a sudden, piercing cold. The air itself seemed to freeze as his rage condensed into raw, chilling power. Frost spiraled outward from his feet, creeping across the ground like jagged, icy veins. The floor beneath them groaned, cracking as a layer of frost spread with unnatural speed, encasing everything in a thin sheet of ice.
John stumbled, barely keeping his footing as the cold bit into the soles of his boots. Sarah gasped as the temperature plummeted, her breath visible in the freezing air, forming clouds of vapor that disappeared into the growing chill.
Without a word, Micah raised his hand, the motion slow and deliberate. As his fingers curled into a fist, the ice responded. Shards of frost splintered upward from the frozen ground, twisting and shaping themselves in midair. A handle formed first, jagged and crystalline, and from it, a blade of pure ice emerged—its surface shimmering with an ethereal, blue glow. Frost crackled along the edges, the sword humming with a deadly, frozen energy.
The room seemed to darken, as if the temperature alone had sucked the life from the space. Micah’s grip tightened around the hilt, his knuckles white, his eyes blazing with the same cold intensity as the weapon in his hand.
Without hesitation, he lunged.
John barely had time to react. His feet slipped on the ice, his body still fighting the biting cold, when Micah was on him—faster than he’d expected, faster than he could counter.
With a single, savage thrust, Micah drove the ice sword deep into John's stomach.
The world seemed to stop.
John’s breath left him in a harsh, wet gasp. His eyes went wide as the cold spread from the wound, icy tendrils crawling through his veins, numbing his insides. The blade shimmered, frost dancing along its length, and blood—dark and rich—spilled over the ice, steaming in the cold air.
For a moment, the room was silent. Only the faint crackle of frost on the blade broke the stillness.
Micah twisted the sword.
John’s body jerked in response, a choked groan escaping his throat as the searing pain mixed with the numbing cold. His knees buckled, but Micah didn’t release him—he kept the blade buried, his face twisted in a mask of fury and triumph, his breath a plume of frost as he leaned closer.
“Your father will be on his way to meet you soon,” Micah hissed, his voice low, filled with venom. The cold of the blade seemed to pulse with his words, driving deeper into John’s flesh.