Chapter 2: Arrival
They weren’t dead – not in the conventional sense, anyway. How long had it been? An instant? A day? The last thing he remembered was gunfire, Miles wanting to fuck his sister, and a mob of zealots chasing martyrdom. Now, it was silent stone underfoot, the sudden absence of the Jadiran chaos both disorienting and, oddly enough, a relief. That, and a strange pressure point along his spine that hadn’t been there before.
Just as he’d figured, they’d been isekai’d. Of course, it could be one of those FUBAR versions where being summoned was a fate worse than death, but even that beat their last stand at the garage. Better odds for him and, thank God, for Mack. He’d still need real treatment, but here, at least, they had a shot.
Cole took in the room. Stone walls, bare, save for the glowing inscriptions carved into the surface. Runes, if he had to guess. They didn’t mean much to him, but they were obviously more than decoration. Likely some kind of defense?
The guards were another story. They wore scaled brigandine armor, reinforced with composite layering that looked built to absorb impacts as much as deflect them. Half knight, half riflemen, they were equipped for both close combat and ranged attack – odd, but perhaps even necessary given the evidential existence of magic. Above all, their gear had the unmistakable look of standardization: identical armor, rifles of the same model. Somebody had clearly put some serious thought into this setup.
“Yo, what the actual fuck?” Miles muttered beside them. His voice sounded tense as shit, but the lack of reaction from the guards suggested he’d at least kept most of his cool.
Apparently, the guards had prepared for the summoning quite well. They stood in a loose formation, hands on weapons but pointed down; ready, but not aggressive. The guards struck a balance: vigilant enough to manage any unexpected hostility, yet restrained to avoid provoking it. Their numbers and firepower rendered any thought of forcing an exit futile. But then, given their stance and respectful demeanor, it didn’t seem Cole would need that option anyway.
Cole kept his stance mirrored to theirs: rifle at the low ready, not aiming. A quick glance confirmed Ethan and Miles had caught on as well, following his lead. Discipline kept them sharp and ready – as much as possible for guys who’d just been isekai’d. No doubt fighting through shock worse than Cole’s, they spread out to form a loose cordon around Mack.
Directly before them stood a man who didn’t match the guards. Middle-aged, dressed like some court official from a bygone era, he projected a calm authority. His stance was open, hand visible and empty, almost like a police negotiator sizing up a standoff. A diplomat, maybe, or something similar.
From the lack of hostility, it seemed like they were about to be crowned heroes. But Cole knew better than to buy into the pageantry; he’d seen enough isekai to know settings like these had a habit of chewing up saviors and spitting out scapegoats. Sure, letting anime guide his thinking felt a bit absurd, but the caution was sound – and his instincts backed it up. “Identify yourselves.”