Chapter - 2 - Welcome to Melromarc

Melromarc

Church

[Redacted] Call Sign "Ice"

The voices echoed through the vast hall, filled with a mixture of awe and excitement. A group of robed men stood in front of a glowing mana circle, their eyes wide with amazement. The purple dust swirling in the air began to settle, revealing four figures standing on top of the now dimming circle. The emerald-green light that had once engulfed the room slowly faded, leaving behind only the faintest hum of residual energy.

Ice, now fully conscious, blinked rapidly, trying to process everything. What the hell just happened? His mind scrambled to make sense of it all—the blaring alarms, the rift tearing apart, and now this. The sterile environment of Site-19 had vanished, replaced by the towering arches and stained glass windows of what appeared to be a medieval church. The air was thick with the scent of incense and something faintly metallic, like the aftertaste of magic.

"What the actual—," Ice muttered under his breath, his voice low and filled with confusion. He instinctively checked his surroundings, assessing every detail. No immediate threats. No sign of his team. He was alone.

Before he could voice his questions, someone else spoke.

"What is this?" a voice asked from Ice's left.

Ice turned, his eyes locking onto a boy who couldn't have been older than 20. Blond hair, slim build, dressed in clothes that looked more suited for a Highschool student than a fantasy Novel. The kid's wide-eyed confusion mirrored Ice's own.

"Heroes! We have summoned you!" one of the robed men declared, stepping forward with a mixture of reverence and exhaustion. His voice trembled slightly, but the awe in his tone was undeniable.

Ice barely had time to process the word heroes before another one of the summoned figures—a tall, black-haired man with sharp features—spoke up, his tone more annoyed than anything. "Summoned? What is this, some kind of joke?" He scanned the room with disdain, his eyes narrowing at the robed figures like they were beneath him.

Heroes, summoned? Ice's mind raced. The scenario felt familiar, almost painfully so. This is the start of the story, he realized, remembering the briefings on SCP-8248. They were right in the opening act of The Rising of the Shield Hero. But something was off—his team wasn't here, and that wasn't part of the plan.

Ice looked down at the shield still strapped to his arm. He hadn't had time to really inspect it earlier, but now, as the dim light of the church reflected off its surface, he could feel a strange, subtle hum emanating from it. It wasn't just a piece of equipment—it felt alive, connected to him in a way that was both unsettling and oddly reassuring.

He needed answers. Fast.

Elsewhere in Melromarc

Pops wiped the dirt from his face, looking around at the unfamiliar terrain. Rolling green hills stretched out in every direction, and in the distance, the walls of a large town loomed. It took him a moment to get his bearings, but one thing was clear—this was not the deployment chamber.

"Damn it," he muttered, pulling out his sidearm and checking his gear. "Ice's not here."

Whiskey groaned as he pushed himself up from the ground, brushing off his gear. "No kidding. What the bloody hell happened?"

Polak, always the calm one, was already on his feet, scanning the area with sharp, analytical eyes. "We got scattered," he said plainly. "The rift must've malfunctioned. Ice is either still in the castle, or somewhere else in this world."

Ares cracked his knuckles, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Well, guess that means we'll have to go on a little adventure."

Pops shot him a look. "This isn't a game, Ares. We need to find Ice and regroup. Fast."

Polak nodded. "Town's up ahead. We head there, get intel, and figure out where Ice landed."

Whiskey adjusted his gear, glancing at the distant Town. "I don't like this. We've got no bloody comms, no blood backup, and we're stuck in the middle of a medieval fantasy world."

Ares' eyes widened as he stared at Whiskey. "What do you mean no Comms?!".

"Ice has the Radio linked back home... and Ice ain't here", Chimed in Polak.

"Welcome to Melromarc," Pops muttered under his breath as he racked the charging handle of his MK-18. "Now let's move."

Back at Castletown

Ice stood stoically, dressed in a full tactical loadout that screamed efficiency and lethality. His black Crye G3 Combat Uniform hugged his frame, each inch of fabric optimized for movement. A black battle belt hung from his waist, filled with pouches for ammo and gear. Over that, the Crye AVS Plate Carrier system, similarly adorned with pouches, hugged his chest, giving him the appearance of a man prepared for war. His face was hidden behind a black balaclava, eyes obscured by sleek black shades. His head was protected by an Ops-Core FAST High Cut helmet, complete with arch rails outfitted with mounts for his Comtac 3 hearing protection and night vision goggles.

To anyone who saw him, he looked like a machine built for combat—silent, efficient, deadly. His only markings of identity were the insignia of the SCP Foundation and the US flag, velcroed on his right shoulder. That flag was one of the very few unredacted pieces of information the Foundation allowed to be seen—his origin, a small truth in a sea of mystery.

Ice could feel the curious and nervous stares of the robed figures on him as he shifted his weight slightly, waiting for something to happen. Around him, the other three "heroes" bickered, clearly unsure of what they'd gotten themselves into. Their ignorance grated on his nerves. These kids were treating the situation like an inconvenience, while he knew better.

Suddenly, the deep, authoritative voice of the lead mage cut through the chatter, pulling Ice out of his thoughts.

"Before we continue with any discussions, the King has requested an audience with the four Cardinal Heroes. He will provide the answers you seek," the mage announced, his tone leaving no room for argument.

That shut the three heroes up quickly. They nodded in agreement, clearly not wanting to challenge authority just yet. Ice, however, remained as impassive as ever, glaring at the mages, his thoughts racing in every direction. He tried to stay aware of both their words and the familiar chatter coming through his earpiece from his communication system.

"This is Overlord to Strike Force. How copy?" The voice in his ear was calm, yet firm, as Overlord, the Operation Command, attempted to reach them.

"Strike Force, Strike Force, this is Overlord, do you guys hear me?" The words cut through the background noise. Ice couldn't just take his radio and answer back. His squadies should remain a secret for the time being.

"This is Overlord in the blind. Regroup at Mapgrid two-six-six-niner-one-five and clear the area for the support element. Overlord out."

Damn it, Ice thought, frustration building. His team was out there somewhere, and he was stuck playing along in this medieval world. The fact that no one had even questioned his tactical gear yet, especially the other three "heroes" who seemed to be from the 21st century, only added to the absurdity of the situation.

A nudge from the boy to his left snapped him back to reality. The robed figures were already leading them out of the church, guiding them up a stairwell toward the castle. Ice caught glimpses of the bustling city below through the narrow windows—stone buildings, market stalls, and townsfolk going about their daily lives, blissfully unaware of the dangers that loomed.

"Damn... we really are in another world..." one of the heroes muttered, his voice a mixture of disbelief and awe. He sighed and continued walking down the stairs.

Moments later, the four summoned heroes found themselves standing at the foot of King Aultcray's grand throne. The throne room was vast and opulent, with tall, ornate columns lining the chamber and casting long shadows. The chandeliers above flickered, adding to the sense of grandeur and weight in the air. Courtiers and advisors filled the room, watching the heroes with a mix of awe, hope, and suspicion.

Ice's instincts screamed at him to remain on high alert. This wasn't just a ritualistic introduction. It was a test—a political game, and King Aultcray was undoubtedly trying to size them up.

The king leaned forward in his throne, his sharp eyes scanning each of them like pieces on a chessboard. "Welcome, brave heroes, to Melromarc. My name is King Aultcray the XXXII. You have been summoned to combat the Waves of Calamity, the great disasters that plague our world. You are the chosen defenders of our kingdom, and we are grateful for your presence."

The three other heroes shifted uneasily but remained silent. Ice, however, kept his expression neutral. He'd studied King Aultcray in the briefings—an opportunist, a manipulator, someone who saw the heroes as tools. Ice didn't trust the man any further than he could throw him. But for now, he needed more information.

The king continued, "Each of you wields one of the sacred weapons of the four Cardinal Heroes. Together, you must face the Waves and protect the people of this land. The future of Melromarc rests on your shoulders. The first wave has already come upon us and has caused great havoc and death amongst our knights and townsfolk. As a reaction to this, we have summoned you"

As expected, the cocky Spear Hero stepped forward first, his spear gleaming in the dim light. "How about you .first tell us what the actual hell this is," he demanded with a cocky smirk.

The Sword Hero, his arms crossed and brow furrowed, scoffed. "Tch. This whole thing still sounds ridiculous."

The Bow Hero, more reserved but no less skeptical, spoke up next. "You're asking us to risk our lives for your kingdom. We'll need more than just promises. We want something in return."

Ice stayed back, quietly observing how the king would respond. He wasn't here for wealth or recognition. He needed to find his team and figure out how to stop the Waves from spilling into his world. Everything else was just noise.

King Aultcray raised a hand, silencing the murmurs of the court. "Rest assured, Heroes, you will be rewarded handsomely for your service. Wealth, land, and titles will be granted to you according to your deeds. But first, you must prove yourselves. The Waves will arrive soon, and when they do, the kingdom will rely on your strength. Now, please, introduce yourselves."

The Spear Hero wasted no time. "Well then, I'll begin," he said confidently. "My name is Motoyasu Kitamura. I'm 21 years old, and I'm a street racer and high school student." He ended his introduction with a wink at one of the maids, who giggled behind her hand, blushing.

"Guess I'm next!" the boy with the sword chimed in, clearly irritated by the whole ordeal. "My name is Ren Amaki. I'm 16 years old, and I'm a high school student," he finished, glaring at the king. Aultcray either wasn't fazed or was just very good at hiding it.

Ren stepped back as the next hero, the one with the bow, introduced himself. "I'm Itsuki Kawasumi, 17 years old, and also a high school student. I'm excited to fight off some monsters."

Ice mentally face-palmed at their childish and overly casual introductions. They acted as if they were in some sort of anime or game, completely unaware of the reality of their situation. He was about to speak up when he realized the king had deliberately skipped him, already moving on to his own speech about honor and duty.

So that's how it's going to be, Ice thought, his mind already working on contingencies. He remembered from the briefings that this was typical—the Shield Hero was always the scape goat. He knew that the King and the church will eventually betray him but he just didn't know how. Some MTF operatives who had entered this world before played along with the storyline and each time there was a new way the King tried to frame the Shield hero. The earlier mentioned MTF operatives had played along with the storyline, letting themselves be betrayed and framed for whatever crimes the King had in store and then went the lone wolf way, even though they never where alone. Other MTF Strike Forces that entered made a more direct approach. They weren't having any of the Bullshit the King wanted to frame the shield hero for and thus fought not only against the waves but also against the knights and the Kingdom itself. Ice, without his team and with no backup, preferred the latter. He wasn't here to follow someone else's script. He was here to complete the mission—and he wasn't about to let anyone stand in his way.

King Aultcray paused for a moment, his gaze narrowing as he shot a sharp, calculating glance in Ice's direction. He seemed to be testing him, daring Ice to challenge his authority, to protest his treatment, or even to react in some way. But Ice remained stoic, unreadable, his silence deliberate. This caught Aultcray off guard—he had expected defiance or at least some sign of resistance from the Shield Hero, the one often seen as the weakest. Instead, he was met with an unsettling calm that threw the king off for a brief second.

The stillness was unnerving. Aultcray had mistaken it for ignorance, but now, uncertainty lingered in his mind. Perhaps this Shield Hero isn't as easily manipulated as I thought…We might have to approach this in a more... creative way

King Aultcray's voice cut through the silence, pulling Ice out of his thoughts. "Enough with the introductions, honored Heroes," the king declared, his tone firm but with a trace of impatience. "We have prepared rooms for each of you. The maids will escort you. Tomorrow, we will assign your parties. Rest well, for your true challenge begins soon."

His words hung in the air for a moment, but before dismissing the group entirely, Aultcray's gaze lingered on Ice, his eyes hardening with another sharp, pointed glare. It was a silent challenge, as though the king was waiting for some form of defiance or weakness to emerge. But Ice remained unfazed, his expression unchanging, meeting the king's stare without flinching.

Elswhere in Melromarc

The sun hung low over the horizon as the four MTF operatives moved cautiously through the dense forest, their footsteps light, their eyes scanning the terrain ahead. They had been walking for hours, following the rudimentary directions they'd gathered from the locals, and now the faint outlines of a village came into view.

Pops, as usual, led the team, his eyes focused ahead, while Ares and Polak flanked the sides, keeping a sharp lookout. Whiskey followed behind with his Sniper Rifle hanging from his back. His usual sarcastic commentary absent as the gravity of their situation set in. The smell of burning wood and fresh earth filled the air as they got closer to the village.

"Village up ahead," Pops muttered, nodding toward the distant rooftops of Riyute Village. "Looks peaceful enough."

Whiskey raised an eyebrow, squinting at the village. "Peaceful, sure. But remember, it's always the quiet ones that bite back."

Pops shook his head and held a finger out towagds the Village. "Whiskey, scan the Village on any unusualities".

"Rog", muttered Whiskey before dropping onto a knee and pulling his M-40A5 rifle forth, peering through the scope and scanning the Village.

"I see a bunch of possible contacts, wooden houses... a bloody guard tower, and a comunal well". Whiskey's voice came out in a low murmur as he continued to scan Riyute Village through his scope, taking in the layout and possible points of interest. His finger hovered near the trigger in a subconscious habit, though he knew firing was the last thing they'd want to do right now. The village seemed quiet, but that only made him more cautious.

"Guard tower looks empty," Whiskey added, still peering through the scope. "No visible sentries, but they've got the infrastructure for a watch post. Place isn't as harmless as it looks."

Pops nodded, taking in the information. "Keep an eye on that tower. If someone shows up, we don't want any surprises."

Polak knelt beside a tree, his sharp eyes scanning the surrounding forest. "No signs of immediate danger, but that doesn't mean much out here. We need to get closer."

Ares adjusted his gear, his face tense but focused. "What's the plan, Pops? We go in and ask around?"

Pops lowered his rifle slightly, considering their options. "We're playing the long game here. If the Waves are coming, Ice might already be at Castletown prepping for it. We can't risk being too aggressive, but we need information."

"Blending in it is, then," Ares muttered, though his hand still rested on the grip of his rifle. "You think they're friendly?"

"Friendly or not," Pops replied, "we'll handle it. For now, we play it cool."

Satisfied with Whiskey's report, Pops gave the signal for the team to advance. They moved with practiced precision, each of them taking their positions as they approached the edge of the village. Ares and Polak took the left flank, sticking close to the treeline, while Pops and Whiskey moved to the right, keeping low as they approached a small cluster of wooden buildings.

Riyute Village wasn't much—a scattering of homes, a communal well, and a few small shops that had seen better days. Smoke rose from several chimneys, and a few villagers milled about, tending to animals or gathering supplies.

As they drew nearer, Pops could hear the quiet murmur of conversation, the creak of wagon wheels, and the distant clang of a blacksmith's hammer. Everything seemed normal. Too normal.

"Nothing out of the ordinary," Whiskey whispered, his sniper rifle now slung over his back as he followed Pops closely. "But these folks don't look like they're preparing for any kind of fight. They haven't seen the Waves yet."

Pops gave a quick nod, but he wasn't about to let his guard down. "Polak, Ares, see if you can blend in. Talk to the locals, get a feel for what they know. We need to figure out if they've heard anything about monsters or, say a stray MTF agent the in the area."

"Copy that," Polak replied, and he and Ares broke off toward a small group of villagers gathered near a well.

Pops and Whiskey remained on the outskirts, watching the village carefully. It wasn't uncommon for small settlements like this to be hit by the Waves, but Riyute seemed untouched. That didn't mean they were safe, though.

"Greetings, lads!" Ares called out, attempting his best impression of Whiskey's casual, thick British accent. His tone was light, almost too cheerful given the situation, but Ares was trying to disarm the villagers with charm rather than suspicion. He even managed to pull off a grin, though it felt awkward on his otherwise stoic face.

The villagers, a group of rough-looking men with calloused hands and simple clothes, paused what they were doing and turned to face the two approaching operatives. Polak could feel their eyes on him, studying the pair with a mixture of curiosity and unease. It wasn't every day that strangers dressed in modern tactical gear wandered into a quiet village like Riyute.

Polak shifted his weight slightly, letting Ares do most of the talking. His job was to observe—watch their body language, assess whether they were threats, and most importantly, see if they knew anything useful.

One of the older men, a burly figure with graying hair and a thick beard, stepped forward. His eyes squinted, not quite trusting the newcomers yet. "You're not from around here, are you?"

Ares chuckled, keeping up the relaxed façade. "Ah, you could say that. We're travelers, passing through. Just wanted to ask a few questions, if you don't mind."

The old man crossed his arms, still wary but not openly hostile. "What kind of questions? Ain't much going on here but farming and the occasional merchant."

Polak took a small step forward, his voice calm and measured. "We've heard rumors about the Waves. Strange events. We're looking for anyone who might've seen or heard something out of the ordinary. You know, before it hits."

The group of villagers exchanged glances, unease growing among them. The old man hesitated before replying. "Out of the ordinary... only you and your strange attire", he said, before another one raised a finger, "Aye, we've heard of the Waves. Monsters, they say. Haven't hit us yet, but some folk are scared it's only a matter of time."

Polak nodded, staying patient. "Anyone unusual come through here recently? Travelers, knights, or someone who doesn't quite fit in?"

The old man rubbed his chin, glancing at the other villagers as if to confirm his thoughts. "Aye, there was a group of knights passin' through a few days ago. Headed toward Castletown, they were. Big group, more than we usually see. Looked like they were preparin' for something."

Ares exchanged a quick look with Polak, his mind already racing with possibilities. Knights heading toward Castletown. Ice could be there.

"Appreciate the information," Ares said, keeping his tone light. "We'll make sure to steer clear of any trouble."

The old man's eyes lingered on them for a moment longer, then he gave a slow nod. "Be careful if you're headed that way. These are dangerous times."

Ares and Polak gave brief thanks before turning away, moving back toward the edge of the village where Whiskey and Pops were waiting. As they walked, Polak glanced back at the villagers, still feeling their eyes on them.

"They know something," Polak muttered, his voice low.

"Yeah," Ares agreed. "But it's not worth pressing. Not yet."

As the two operatives reached the outskirts of the village, Pops and Whiskey emerged from the shadows, their expressions serious. Whiskey, ever the sniper, had been keeping a careful watch from a higher vantage point while Pops remained close, scanning the horizon for any threats.

"Any luck?" Pops asked, folding his arms as Ares and Polak approached.

Ares nodded. "Knights passed through a few days ago, heading toward the capital. Could be related to Ice's whereabouts. If the capital is prepping for the Wave, that's where we need to be."

"Sounds like we've got a direction, then," Pops said. "But we can't just stroll into the capital without drawing attention. We need to stay low."

Whiskey, always one for dry humor, smirked as he slung his sniper rifle back over his shoulder. "Good thing we're blending in so well, huh? Knights, Waves, mysterious heroes… feel like we've wandered into a bad fantasy novel."

Pops opened his mouth to retort but was cut off as their radios suddenly crackled to life. The familiar sound immediately pulled their attention.

"Strike Force, this is Strike Force Actual. How copy?" Ice's voice came through, low and cautious, a whisper barely cutting through the static.

Pops quickly brought a hand to his earpiece, relief flooding over him but tempered by the tension in Ice's tone. "This is Strike Force-2, got you loud and clear. Where the hell are you?" he asked, glancing around to ensure they remained hidden and unnoticed.

"I'm in the capital, Castletown," Ice replied, his voice still a whisper. "But there's something else. Overlord contacted me earlier. It seems like they've fixed the portal and are now ready to send the support element. You need to clear out Mapgrid two-six-six-niner-one-five. Over."

Pops processed that quickly, exchanging a glance with Ares, who nodded in silent understanding. The relief was short-lived, as a new objective meant they were on the move again. "Roger that, Actual. We'll clear the grid. What about you? You good?" Pops asked, concern lacing his words.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Ice responded, though there was a hint of tension beneath his cool tone. "The king's pulling his usual tricks, just like we read in the briefings. I'm pretty prepared for it. Just need to figure out when and how he plans to betray and frame me… He's playing the long game, though, and he's not stupid."

Ares shifted beside Pops, listening intently as Ice continued.

"Clear that map grid, and call me later," Ice added. "I'll relay the situation to Overlord, and once you're good, they'll send the support team. Actual out."

The radio clicked off, leaving the team in silence for a brief moment. Pops exhaled slowly, processing the new orders while Ares, Polak, and Whiskey gathered closer.

"We're back in business," Pops muttered, a hint of relief in his voice. "But we've got to clear that map grid fast. We can't afford to mess around with whatever local forces might be in the area."