The Underground

We Meet Again Once More!

Side chapter.....

Pov Johnny...

I found myself lost in my own thoughts, mentally preparing for the battle ahead. My hands rested on my knees, fingers unconsciously tightening and loosening in a steady rhythm as if my body was trying to calm itself down. Around me, the others were already geared up, checking their weapons, adjusting straps, or exchanging silent nods. You could almost hear the sound of heavy breaths, the dull click of metal against leather, and the faint rustle of fabric—tiny, subtle signs that everyone else was in their own heads too.

We were all just waiting for Fullerton to give the order. He was always calm before the storm, like a boulder, unshaken. I wished I could mirror that composure. Despite how much stronger I'd become, there was still that knot in my stomach, a twisting reminder that no matter how far I'd come, the fear remained.

It wasn't that long ago I barely survived the fight with old man Gio. He was a living testament to raw power, and deep down, I knew from the moment we clashed that I was out of my depth. The fight felt one-sided from the get-go; I was reacting more than I was attacking, each of his strikes calculated and crushing. Even now, the memory lingered—the sharpness of his gaze, the overwhelming force behind his fists. My muscles tensed at the thought, a phantom soreness creeping back into my shoulders and arms.

Sure, I was declared the winner, but it felt hollow. My body might have still been standing when the dust settled, but mentally, I had been knocked out long before. Winning wasn't supposed to feel like this—like I was just scraping by.

I rested my hands on my hips, feeling the weight of my gear pulling slightly at my shoulders, and looked up at the ceiling of the base. The dim overhead lights flickered slightly, casting a cold, sterile glow on the concrete and steel around me. My mind drifted to Malron, and the knot in my gut tightened. This time, I wondered, do I actually have a shot?

The last time we faced off, it wasn't even a contest. Malron had this smug look on his face, confident in his time ability—one he never stopped boasting about. And why wouldn't he? He could just rewind any injury, any mistake, making it like it never happened. I remembered the way his eyes lit up every time he did it like he was toying with me, knowing I couldn't touch him. The frustration from that fight still lingered, a bitter taste in my mouth.

How do you kill someone who can turn back the clock and stay unscathed? It felt like trying to punch through water—every effort just rippled back on itself, ineffective and pointless. That guy was playing with a cheat code, something far beyond annoying to deal with. I shifted my stance, my fingers curling into fists at the thought. I knew I needed to find a way to break through, to outsmart him, but the doubt was creeping in again, like a shadow in the back of my mind.

I sank into the couch beside Blaze, who was glued to the TV, his fingers flying over the controller as he played his game. The familiar sound of rapid button presses and the soft hum of the console filled the room. I leaned back, the worn cushions conforming to my weight, and let my thoughts drift back to Malron. If that artifact is the source of his time powers, maybe destroying it could be the key. But getting close enough to take it from him? That's a whole different problem. He's not the type to just hand it over.

The thought was interrupted as Justin walked over, his footsteps soft against the concrete floor. "Daiyu wants us in the planning room," he said, his voice steady. "We need to go over the strategy for the battle against Malron."

Blaze sighed in frustration, his shoulders slumping as he switched off his console. "Right when I was about to beat the speed run record for Elden Gloves!" he muttered, standing up reluctantly.