Chapter - 9 - Shattered Orders

Melromarc, Castletown, Grand Arena

Strike Force

[Redacted] "Ice" [Redacted]

Whiskey walked up to Ice, hauling the man to his feet with ease, his M-40A5 slung over his shoulder. Pops, Polak, and Ares kept their rifles leveled at the surviving knights, who were now cowering in the far corners of the bloodstained arena. The aftermath of the battle was brutal—dead knights lay in broken heaps, while others writhed on the ground, their groans mixing with the scent of blood and burnt sand.

Above, King Aultcray remained hidden behind his throne, his angry gaze fixed on Strike Force-2. Ice met that glare, his expression cold, while the rest of the operatives kept a tight grip on the situation. The Queen's Shadows, back on their knees between Pops and Polak, sat silently, their wrists bound by the zip ties that now cut harshly into their skin. They watched everything with guarded eyes, their thoughts racing. Whoever these men were, they were neither mercenaries nor rebels. Their coordination, the precision with which they executed their moves—this was something far beyond anything the Shadows had encountered before.

"What the hell are these people?" the female Shadow wondered silently, her gaze flicking between the operatives.

Whiskey, unbothered by the tension, glanced over at Ice and gave him a quick once-over. "Great job, mate. You beat that arrogant prick to a bloody pulp," he said, nodding toward where Motoyasu lay still, groaning in the dirt.

Ice, still catching his breath, managed a slight smirk. "Yeah… but he wasn't really the enemy."

Whiskey arched an eyebrow. "No? Could've fooled me."

Ice chuckled grimly. "He's not the one pulling the strings." His eyes shifted toward the royal box, where Myne sat nursing her wounded arm, her face pale with anger and confusion.

"So," Whiskey said, changing the subject and gesturing to Ice's bruised and battered state. "What the hell happened to you? You look like you've been through the grinder."

Ice rubbed his shoulder, feeling the soreness in his muscles. "I don't know. Something's off about this world—different from the briefings. It feels like things have gone completely wrong somewhere, but I can't pinpoint when or how. I'm going to figure it out, though."

Whiskey nodded. "Yeah, for sure. But first thing's first, mate—let's get your gear back."

Ice glanced at the Rifle, Platecarrier, Battle belt and helmet stacked neatly on a table that, for some reason, managed to stay strong even after that massive fight Ice and Motoyasu just had.

"Yeah, let's get it," Ice muttered, shaking off the tension as he and Whiskey made their way to the wooden table at the far end of the arena. The table was littered with his confiscated gear. Piece by piece, Ice began strapping it all back on—his plate carrier, belt, and helmet went on without any trouble. The familiar weight of his gear was a comfort, a reminder of the world he came from, where everything made sense.

But the moment Ice reached for his AR-15, gripping the pistol grip, a sudden and violent jolt shot through his body. The shock hit him like lightning, surging through his veins, locking his muscles. His rifle dropped to the ground with a dull thud as he collapsed to his knees, groaning in pain, his hand still trembling from the aftershock.

"What the bloody hell happened?!" Whiskey's voice cracked through the confusion, a mix of panic and bewilderment. He dropped down to Ice's level, eyes scanning him for signs of injury. "You okay?!"

"Yeah… yeah," Ice muttered through gritted teeth, his breaths coming in shallow gasps as he tried to get a grip on his nerves. His hand still tingled, the burn from the electric jolt lingering.

Whiskey's eyes narrowed, glancing at the rifle lying innocently on the ground. "That… shouldn't have happened, mate."

Ice nodded slowly, still trying to make sense of what had just occurred. He placed a hand on one of the many pouches on his belt, and instead of feeling something hard inside, the pouch collapsed into itself when Ice applied presure. "The override… it's gone," he said, realization dawning on him.

Whiskey's face darkened. "What do you mean, gone?"

"Something's interfering with the weapons protocol," Ice groaned, struggling to rise to his feet. "The override device is missing."

Suddenly, from across the arena, Motoyasu's voice rang out. "Looking for this?" The Spear Hero stood, leaning heavily on his weapon, the override device clutched in his hand, his grin full of smug satisfaction.

"You're not getting this back, Shield Hero," Motoyasu sneered, holding the small black box high for all to see. "Without it, you're just a man with a shield—and a useless one at that."

Ice's eyes narrowed, his fury barely contained. He flexed his still-burning hand, the adrenaline pumping through his veins helping to numb the pain. Motoyasu had no idea what he was playing with, and the situation had just escalated to something far more dangerous.

"Give it back," Ice growled, his voice deadly calm, a storm brewing beneath the surface.

Motoyasu's smirk widened, savoring the moment. "If you want it, Shield Hero, come and take it."

Whiskey placed a hand on Ice's shoulder, grounding him. "Steady, mate. We'll figure this out," he said, though his eyes stayed locked on the arrogant Spear Hero, already calculating the next move.

"Just shoot this son of a bitch," Ice ordered coldly, pointing directly at Motoyasu. The Spear Hero's face went pale, his bravado draining as the gravity of the situation hit him.

Whiskey's finger hovered near the trigger, and for a split second, it seemed like Motoyasu's life was hanging by the thinnest of threads.

"NO!" Pops' voice cut through the tension, his shout echoing in the now-silent arena as he sprinted toward Ice and Whiskey. Ares and Polak were right on his heels, dragging the still-bound Shadows with them.

The entire arena watched, breath held, as the operatives converged. The crowd, the king, even Myne were frozen, waiting to see what would happen next. The smug grin on Motoyasu's face had completely vanished, replaced by wide-eyed terror.

"If we kill him now," Pops said firmly, his eyes locked on Ice, "we can kiss our world goodbye. We need all four heroes to defeat these damned waves, and you know that."

Ice's hand twitched, still pointing toward Motoyasu, but the er bubbling under his skin began to cool. rups was right, and Ice knew it. Killing Motoyasu, no matter how tempting, would be a mistake they couldn't afford. Without all four of the Cardinal Heroes, the balance in this world-and possibly theirs-would collapse.

Ice exhaled sharply, lowering his hand slowly, though the rage in his eyes hadn't subsided.

Motoyasu, still clutching the override device, looked like he was ready to collapse from relief, but the tension in the arena remained suffocating.

Whiskey, kept his secondary rifle trained on Motoyasu, but didn't fire. "What now?" he asked quietly, his voice barely audible in the thick silence.

"We get another device. We can contact Overlord to send us another one. They have enough," Pops suggested, his voice calm but calculated as he glanced at Ice, hoping to ease the tension.

"Nuh uh, compadre," Ares interjected, his expression grim as he shook his head. "I talked with one of the maintenance guys back at the FOB. The portal's cooked. What we've got now? That's everything we get for the foreseeable future."

Ice's eyes darkened, frustration boiling just beneath the surface. "So that's it, huh? No backup. No reinforcements. And this jackass is holding the only thing that lets me use my damn weapons."

Motoyasu, still pale from the threat, clutched the override device a little tighter. He wasn't sure what kind of power these operatives had, but he knew enough to understand that whatever advantage they'd lost, he now held in his hand.

Whiskey looked between Ice and Ares, his lips pursed in thought. "So what's the play? We can't just let him walk away with that thing. But we can't kill him either."

"Easy," Polak muttered, racking the charging handle of his AN-94, his eyes locking onto Motoyasu. The Spear Hero's eyes widened in fear as he realized what was happening, but before he could utter a word, Polak squeezed the trigger. The AN-94 released two rapid shots in a precise hyper-burst, both 5.45 rounds tearing through the air and striking the override device in Motoyasu's hand.

The device shattered, pieces flying in all directions as Motoyasu stumbled back, shock washing over his face. The arena fell deathly silent, every eye fixed on the smoldering remains of the device.

"If we can't have it," Polak said coldly, lowering his rifle. "No one can."

Motoyasu stood frozen, staring at his now-empty hand, the last remnants of his advantage scattered across the ground. The realization hit him hard—his trump card had just been taken from him in the blink of an eye.

The crowd, still struggling to grasp what had just happened, murmured in confusion. King Aultcray leaned forward in his throne, his face a mix of rage and disbelief, while Myne clutched her arm, her eyes narrowing at the operatives.

Ice, despite the shock still running through him from the earlier jolt, felt a smirk tug at the corner of his mouth. "Well, that's one problem solved."

Pops stepped forward, his gaze sweeping over the stunned arena. "Let's get out of here before anyone else decides to try something stupid."

"That's a very good call, Pops," Ice said, still rubbing his hand, though the sting had mostly faded by now. His gaze shifted to the figures clad in black and purple robes, still kneeling with their hands bound by zip-ties. Their masked faces remained unreadable, but their body language betrayed tension. "But there's still something I wanted to ask y'all. Who are these guys?" He gestured toward the Shadows with a flick of his wrist.

Pops, Polak, and Ares exchanged glances. Whiskey, still standing by Ice's side, shrugged, clearly just as clueless. The Shadows didn't flinch at the sudden attention, but Ice could feel their wariness. These weren't ordinary prisoners—they were dangerous in their own right.

"They haven't said much," Pops replied, his tone neutral. "We picked them up just outside the city. Skilled, stealthy—too stealthy. They didn't put up much of a fight once we got the drop on them, but… we have no idea whose side they're on."

One of the Shadows shifted ever so slightly, their posture stiffening. Ice caught the subtle movement. It was the smallest of tells, but it spoke volumes. These operatives had training—good training.

"Alright, here's what we're going to do," Ice said, his voice calm but carrying an unmistakable edge. "We take her with us," he gestured to the female Shadow, her eyes widening beneath her mask, "and the others… well, they can go do whatever they please. How does that sound?"

The other Shadows shifted uneasily, their masked faces turning toward the one Ice had singled out. She opened her mouth to protest, but the words caught in her throat. Ice's gaze bore into her, unwavering and cold, leaving her with little room to argue. Her silence spoke volumes—she was clearly important, perhaps more so than she had let on.

To her shock and partial relief, Whiskey decided to speak up, breaking the uncomfortable silence. "Why? We can't just take her with us. She could be the enemy for all we know."

Ice scoffed, his tone cold and dismissive. He rested his hands on his plate carrier, fingers tapping lightly as he weighed his next words.

"Well, you see, if she is the enemy, we'll just put a bullet through her brain."

The female Shadow visibly paled, her eyes wide beneath her mask. She gulped but remained silent, knowing that pushing back now would only worsen her situation.

Ice continued, his voice calm but laced with an underlying threat. "From what l've seen here, and from what you guys have told me, this ain't the world we were briefed on.

Everything's out of place. The terrain, the politics... everything. Our maps are useless now."

He paused, glancing at the female Shadow.

"She's got local intel. Hell, she probably has maps. Good maps. We need that."

"Fair enough, but why don't we continue this conversation outside, where not the whole of the northern hemisphere of this world is listening?" Polak suggested, glancing around the arena.

The tension still lingered in the air, the eyes of the spectators, knights, and even the royal box all fixed on the group. The uneasy silence was a stark contrast to the chaos from earlier. Every movement they made was being scrutinized, every word hanging heavy in the air.

Ice nodded, agreeing with Polak's suggestion. "Good call. Let's move."

Without another word, the MTFs motioned for the Shadows and Ice to follow. Pops and Ares took point, keeping a watchful eye on the surroundings, while Polak and Whiskey hung back, covering their exit.

The crowd, still in shock from the sudden turn of events, murmured and whispered as they watched the group make their way toward the exit. Eyes shifted from the four mysterious soldiers to the bloodied knights still scattered on the ground.

As they approached the edge of the arena, Ice glanced up one last time at the royal box. King Aultcray's face was a twisted mask of fury, his knuckles white as he gripped the armrest of his throne. Myne, still nursing her wound, glared daggers at them, her eyes filled with hatred.

But neither dared to make a move. The arena had turned into a battlefield they had lost control of, and even Aultcray knew better than to provoke the operatives any further.

Stepping out into the open air, Ice felt a small sense of relief. The eyes of the kingdom might still be on them, but at least now they had a plan.

Stepping out into the open air, Ice felt a small sense of relief. The roar of the crowd from inside the arena had faded into a distant murmur, and the oppressive heat of the blood-soaked battleground was replaced by the cool breeze of the castle grounds. The weight of countless eyes still pressed against his back, but for the first time since this whole ordeal began, Ice felt a sliver of control slipping back into his grasp. It wasn't much, but it was enough to clear his head.

The operatives fanned out as they exited the arena, their boots crunching softly against the cobblestones as they formed a protective perimeter around Ice. Polak, ever vigilant, took the rear, his rifle held low but ready. Ares and Whiskey moved up front, scanning the surroundings for any signs of movement while Pops walked beside Ice, keeping an eye on the Shadows.

Behind them, the mysterious figures of the Queen's Shadows remained silent, their expressions still hidden beneath their hoods and masks. Though bound by zip-ties, their posture betrayed no fear—just a cool, calculating watchfulness. They knew their fate was now entirely dependent on the actions of these otherworldly soldiers, and their leader—Ice.

As they rounded a corner and left the immediate proximity of the arena behind, the atmosphere seemed to shift. The bustling market streets and watching citizens grew sparse, the noise dimming to an eerie calm. This was their moment, their chance to figure out the next steps.

Ice came to a halt near the side of a quiet alley, the towering walls of Castle Town casting long shadows over the group. He turned to face the Shadows, his expression unreadable behind his balaclava and tinted goggles. His mind was a maelstrom of questions—who were these Shadows, what role did they play, and, most importantly, why did none of this align with what he had been briefed on?

He crossed his arms, his tone cold but focused. "Alright," he muttered, his voice low but carrying the weight of command. "Now, let's get down to business. I want to know everything."

The Shadows hesitated for a moment, their eyes shifting from Ice to the other operatives, as if trying to gauge whether they could trust these strangers. The lead Shadow, the one Ice had singled out earlier, shifted slightly under the weight of their collective gaze. Her lips pressed into a thin line beneath her mask, clearly torn between loyalty to the Queen and the delicate position she now found herself in.

Ice's eyes narrowed. "I don't have time for games," he added, his voice hardening. "I need answers—now."

Pops, standing at Ice's side, glanced at the Shadows, his own patience wearing thin. "We're not exactly known for our gentle touch, so I suggest you start talking," he said, his voice flat but filled with underlying menace. "Who are you, and why the hell were you in the woods watching us?"

The lead Shadow finally spoke, her voice cool and measured, though a flicker of uncertainty danced behind her words. "We serve Queen Mirellia. We are her agents—her eyes and ears. Our mission is to protect the kingdom's interests… and to ensure that the Shield Hero is not unjustly treated."

Ice raised an eyebrow, his skepticism clear. "And yet you're here, tied up by us. You didn't exactly make a good impression."

The Shadow hesitated again, but after a moment, she continued, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "We were… observing the situation. We didn't know who you were. You're not from this world, are you?"

Ice's jaw tightened. He had expected the question to come up sooner or later, but now wasn't the time to dive into the complexities of SCP protocols and multi-dimensional missions.

"We're not here to explain ourselves," Ice said, his tone clipped. "What matters is that we're here, and we're taking control of the situation."

Whiskey, who had been quietly listening to the exchange, suddenly spoke up. "Enough with the pleasantries. We need information—about the kingdom, the Waves, and why the hell nothing in this world matches the intel we were given."

The lead Shadow exchanged a glance with her companions before turning back to Ice. "You… you said nothing matches? What do you mean?"

Ice's eyes narrowed behind his goggles, his patience thinning. "Everything is off. The maps, the timing, the events—all of it. We were supposed to be prepared for what was coming, but now? We're flying blind. So, if you know something—anything—that can help, now's the time to speak up."

The Shadows were silent for a long moment. The lead agent lowered her gaze, as if weighing her options. Finally, she spoke, her voice quieter than before. "There have been… shifts in the timeline. The Waves are coming faster than they were ever supposed to. It's as if something is accelerating them."

Ice's heart skipped a beat, his mind immediately jumping to the possibility of an anomaly. Could there be an SCP affecting this world in ways even the Foundation hadn't predicted?

Pops, sensing Ice's concern, leaned in. "What kind of shifts?"

"We don't know," the lead Shadow admitted. "But the Queen has been monitoring the situation. She believes there's an external force—something beyond our understanding—causing this. That's why she's so invested in protecting the Shield Hero. He's the key to stopping it."

Ice remained silent, processing the information. If the Queen suspected something external was altering the timeline, then that meant there was something deeper at play. Something that could very well threaten more than just this world.

"Alright," Ice finally said, his voice calm but firm. He pointed directly at the lead Shadow, his tone leaving no room for negotiation. "You are going to help us navigate this mess, starting with getting us proper intel and maps. In exchange, we'll make sure you stay alive. Your comrades? They can vanish wherever is not with us. Understood?"

The lead Shadow hesitated for a moment before nodding slowly, still clearly uncertain about this strange and uneasy alliance. "Understood," she replied, her voice steady, though her wariness was evident.

"Good," Ice said, turning to his team. "Let's move."

As they made their way deeper into the winding alleys and shadowy streets of the city, Ice couldn't shake the nagging sense of unease. The situation felt like it was slipping through his fingers, spiraling out of control in ways he hadn't anticipated. But despite the uncertainty, one thing was becoming increasingly clear—whatever was coming next was bound to be far more dangerous than anything they had encountered so far. And time was running out.

As they stepped deeper into the quieter streets of Castletown, the tension in the air shifted. The grand arena's noise faded into the distance, leaving only the echo of hurried footsteps and whispered conversations between the MTF operatives and their newfound "guide."

The lead shadow, still reeling from the sudden turn of events, finally spoke up. "My name is Lira," she said, her voice steady despite the confusion that swirled in her mind. "You… you're not from this world, are you?" She glanced at Ice and his team, her eyes flicking between their weapons and gear with growing curiosity.

Ice exchanged a quick glance with Pops, who gave a slight nod, signaling that they might as well give her some answers—though how much to reveal was still up for debate.

"We're not," Ice replied curtly, his voice betraying no emotion. "What's it to you?"

Lira hesitated but pressed on, her curiosity overcoming her wariness. "Your weapons, your tactics… none of it makes sense here. How do you fight like that? And those—" she pointed at Whiskey's rifle "—what are those? They aren't crossbows or any magic I've seen before."

Pops chuckled softly, the sound barely audible as they moved through the dimly lit streets. "You ask a lot of questions for someone in your position."

Lira didn't miss a beat. "It's my job to know everything—at all times," she shot back, her tone sharp and unyielding.

Whiskey let out a low whistle, clearly impressed. "Feisty, aren't you?" he muttered with a smirk, glancing over at Pops.

Ice narrowed his eyes slightly, weighing Lira's words. "We're not asking for much trust right now. But you'll get the answers you need when you earn them," he said, his voice cold and resolute. "For now, focus on the maps and intel."

Lira crossed her arms, clearly not satisfied but unwilling to push further—for now. "Fine. But I still don't like walking into situations blind. If something happens, it'll be on your heads."

Whiskey chuckled under his breath again, "Don't worry, love, we've been in worse situations."

Pops shot Whiskey a look to keep him focused. "We're heading for a safe spot outside the town walls," Pops said, turning his attention back to Lira. "You're going to tell us everything you know about what's going on in this world, starting with the waves."

Lira blinked, caught off guard by the sudden demand for information. "The waves?" she asked, her tone now more serious. "You mean the Waves of Calamity?"

Ice nodded. "Exactly. We need to know what's coming, when it's coming, and how it's going to hit."

Lira hesitated, glancing around as though someone might overhear them. "The Dragons' Hourglasses," she finally said, lowering her voice. "They're the key. Each kingdom has one, and they count down to the next wave. When time runs out, the Wave begins."

Ice's brow furrowed. This was new information. "And where's the one for this kingdom?"

Lira looked hesitant for a moment, then relented. "Right here is one, inside the cathedral. But it's heavily guarded. The Priest controls access, and the priest is good friends with the King and he wouldn't let someone like you near it."

Whiskey sighed. "Of course. Always the bloody king."

Ice turned away for a moment, his mind racing through their next steps. "Alright, first priority is finding the Cathedral. Then we figure out how to proceed from there."

"Sounds like a plan," Polak said with a shrug, his tone casual, though the tension in his stance gave him away.

But Lira quickly interjected, stepping forward with urgency. "Wait. You can't just walk into the Cathedral and demand to see the Dragons' Hourglass. The mages there are on a much higher level than any of you, and most of them have already undergone a class-up. You wouldn't stand a chance."

Ice raised an eyebrow, though his expression remained hidden behind his balaclava. "I appreciate the warning, but levels don't mean much to them."

Whiskey chuckled from the side, adjusting his rifle strap with a smirk behind his own face covering. "Yeah, they may have higher levels than Ice, but we're not bound by all that 'level' nonsense. A 5.56 can still send these fucks back to their maker."

Lira's confusion deepened. "What do you mean? How can you not be affected by the leveling system? Everyone in this world is bound by it!"

Ice exchanged a quick glance with Whiskey, who nodded, understanding that this was where things might get tricky to explain. "We aren't from this world. Your rules don't apply to us—or our gear. That's all you need to know for now."

Lira shook her head, still trying to wrap her mind around what they were saying. "That… doesn't make any sense. You can't just ignore the system. It governs everything here."

"Well, we do," Polak cut in, his voice flat. "And so do our bullets. So, let's focus on what's important: getting us inside that Cathedral without starting a war."

Lira opened her mouth to protest again but quickly shut it. She was beginning to realize that these men didn't play by the rules of her world, and their capabilities were beyond anything she'd seen. But still, the idea of walking into the Cathedral and confronting mages of such power unsettled her. "If you really think you can handle it, fine. But you need to understand: the King has eyes everywhere. If you show up there, word will reach him. And if the mages realize who you are, it won't end well."

"Then we'll have to make sure they don't see it coming," Ice muttered, his voice firm. "We're not playing by their rules anymore."

Lira sighed, her shoulders sagging slightly as she realized arguing wasn't going to get her anywhere. "I still think this is a terrible idea…"

"Probably is," Whiskey said with a grin. "But that's never stopped us before."

"Alright, here's the plan..."

Authorsnote

reviews:

Doom King of Latveria- Mate I really appreciate your constant reviews. I really do, but it'd help me more if you'd tell me what's cringe or bad, so I could Improve yk?

blueassassin996- Well now you know hehe

triscythe59- Well technically Ice is now a part of the anomaly, you're right. So technically the Foundation would now call him SCP-8248 - whatever the next number is