The calm after the storm

---

Moments earlier, still within the dungeon, Thomas observed the red portal ahead of him and turned to Marcus, who stood a step behind with a guard cautiously raised. There was a certain reluctance that danced in the hunter's eyes, as he watched the robust silhouette of Thomas, whose features, bathed in the sinister blush of the portal, seemed to alternate between human and the unknown.

"You came from here, right?" Thomas's voice was softer than Marcus had anticipated, devoid of the harshness that stories about dungeon creatures often suggested.

Marcus nodded and replied with a voice that struggled to maintain its firmness, aware of his team's attentive gaze upon the two of them. "Yes, we came from another plane called Earth. On Earth, these portals appear and open doors into places like this, places we call dungeons."

Thomas's eyes narrowed into focus, absorbing the information. "And these dungeons... they exist between the worlds? A middle ground?"

"In a way, yes," Marcus explained, approaching cautiously. "They're like paths, passages that have allowed humans to explore realms beyond our comprehension, to face challenges... and monsters."

The last word hung in the air between them, an unspoken accusation yet felt. Thomas caught it, the insinuation that coated the trace of fear beneath Marcus's skin. He let out a brief laugh - it was a sound that held secrets and centuries.

"Monsters… a peculiar classification for beings you scarcely understand," mused Thomas, with a trace of melancholic humor coloring his words. "I suppose that's humanity's crisis, isn't it? To categorize what is strange to them so they can sleep at night."

Marcus felt the weight of that gaze, and he was reminded of the huntress who was now preparing to lead a battle that could redefine the existence of all of them. Elizabeth Rose - her name was a remembrance he held like a standard amidst the uncertainty.

"Are you saying that... you're not a monster?" Marcus asked, suspicion coiling in each syllable.

Thomas moved, and the motion was human – a hand running through hair, a gesture accompanying words. "Me? I am as much a monster as you, Marcus. The difference is that I belong to no world at all. I don't belong to this place."

Thomas's fingers grazed the edge of the portal, and he sighed, the sound lost in the echo of ancient stones.

"My battle is with myself, with the essence of what I am," he admitted, and it was the closest Marcus had gotten to witnessing vulnerability in that being. "As for you and the others, you fight for your world, your Earth. In that, perhaps we are not so different."

Marcus pondered the words, perplexed. Could there be truth in what Thomas was saying? The doubt troubled him, leaving him as unsettled as the rest of his team, who watched the scene, apprehensive and ready to intervene.

"But now, it seems I have a grand reception awaiting me," Thomas murmured, a smile reappearing as his eyes clung to the swirling red, anticipation etched on his face like an invitation or a challenge.

Marcus looked at the portal, and then at Thomas, the man-monster, the being lost between planes. A choice hung in the hands of the hunter, and the man knew that, one way or another, fate had crossed their paths, and the interlacing of their actions would soon weave the tapestry of what was to come next.

And so, with a deep and heavy breath, Thomas took the first step towards the chaos that awaited him. Through the portal, he would face not only the army of hunters but the very essence of his being – the uncertainty of his existence, and the reflection of what others saw when they looked at him.

The silence of the dungeon was a quiet vigil, and in it, Marcus and the others waited, knowing that the line between heroes and monsters had never been so fine.

---

The scene cut abruptly, like the tear of a curtain revealing a new act in a theatrical play. The landscape of antediluvian stones and darkness was replaced by the bright light of Wembley Stadium, brimming with the intimidating presence of an army of hunters.

Marcus emerged from the portal with the weight of relief and remorse mixed in his expression. He knew he had escaped the dungeon with his skin intact, but not without leaving behind comrades who had succumbed to the obscurity within those sinister chambers. His chest rose and fell with the accelerated breathing, a reflection of the adrenaline that had not yet left his system.

Beside him, Caroline faltered slightly, her eyes adjusting to the drastic change in environment. The aura of Thomas, that intricate blend of power and melancholy, had left a mark on her that would persist well beyond their direct contact. Looking around, she realized they were surrounded, not by enemies, but by a contingent of hunters, their faces equally split between relief and incredulity at seeing their companions return.

And then, their eyes fixed on the central figure of the unfolding drama before them: Thomas, who paradoxically seemed both the point of origin and the convergence of the chaos imbued with tension.

Elizabeth Rose - the only rank S hunter in England - stood as a monument of determination and doubt. She had prepared her companions for battle, yes, but not for the unexpected. The looks of the hunters around her ranged from confused to determined, all wondering how to deal with the enigmatic being before them.

"Are they alive?" Elizabeth's question whispered like a blade sliding across metal before she lifted her voice, clear and sonorous, across the silent theater of war. "And wait, did I just hear this being before me speak in human words?"

There was a mystery caught in the words she had heard - and she was not accustomed to leaving mysteries unsolved. What seemed to be a pure preparation for a violent showdown was now tinged with the shadow of doubt.

Thomas remained still, his unfathomable gaze sweeping across the ranks of hunters before him, each one ready to respond to any threat with lethal force. Yet it was words, not the sword, that lingered in his mind now, a potential bridge between him and this legion of defenders.

Marcus, gaining ground in his recovery, started to realize what was taking shape. There was more here than a culminating point of violence; there was the onset of understanding, perhaps even a dialogue.

What would follow, a battle or a conversation, would be as delicately determined as the ballet of a razor's edge. And somewhere in all this, Thomas - a being from a world that was no world at all - might have found the stage to explain his existence and, perhaps, change the course of an imminent conflict.

---

Marcus's thoughts were spinning in spirals of considerations and hypotheses, all condensing into a daring possibility that could turn the tides of fate. "Let's proceed with the hypothesis that this monster before me is a human..." He acknowledged the outlines of humanity mirrored in Thomas, a resemblance that troubled the foundations of his convictions.

He continued, weighing his next words with the gravity of a vow. "We might be warring against one of our own kind, someone who could be a boon to the people of England."

Marcus's reasoning was interwoven with the fabric of international law: if Thomas were indeed human, and had first emerged in England, this land would claim him as its own. And any deeds, powers, or knowledge he possessed would belong to its realm, a living treasure whose appearance could be as random as it was deterministic.

With teeth clenched and an iron resolution, Marcus turned to Caroline, noting the pallor of her face, the almost imperceptible tremor that ran through her. "This is the life of a hunter. You are still young and do not understand. This job is unpredictable, we do not have the certainty that when we enter a dungeon, we will come out whole in body, mind, and soul."

Caroline, facing the reality of Marcus's words, nodded with a melancholic understanding, the weight of the day imprinted in her young eyes. She realized the burden she carried, not only of her own life but also of the dungeon's shadows that would echo within her with memories of each battle.

And then Marcus made the choice that would echo through time, the most dangerous and potentially transformative decision he had ever made. Gathering every spark of courage and conviction that lay within his being, he channeled his voice into a powerful cry, a shout that carried the possibility of change.

"He is human!"

These words, packed with urgency and surprise, resonated through the stadium, reaching every ear, every heart – human and hunter alike. For a moment, that immense and historic space held its collective breath, as Marcus's declaration sowed a wave of hesitation among the ranks of hunters ready for battle.

The declaration seemed to suspend the imminent conflict, like a calm bubble in the midst of a storm. What was before a certainty of combat now turned into doubt; weapons were lowered by an inch, exchanged glances among warriors who before saw only a target in Thomas.

This pause, this cry from Marcus, could be what would change the course of the day – of England's history and the existence of every soul in the stadium. It was the sound of humanity questioning itself, challenging simplifications and labels, asking – perhaps for the first time – for understanding before the sword. It was an ember of hope amidst the ashes of despair, lighting a new path, a new struggle that could unite rather than divide.