Chapter 62
As the group stood in stunned silence, Gandalf's eyes lingered on Sauron Bane, his expression unreadable. John could feel the weight of the moment, the gravity of what had just happened—but something wasn't right. The power that surged through him, the ease with which he summoned the sword—it had felt... unnatural.
"John," Gandalf finally spoke, his voice low. "That blade is not merely a tool. It was forged in darkness, though it now shines with light. Be careful—such power always comes at a price."
John frowned, gripping Sauron Bane tighter. "What do you mean? I fought for this. I summoned it, not the system. This is my strength, isn't it?"
Gandalf's gaze hardened. "Is it? Or have you simply exchanged one form of control for another?"
Before John could respond, a sudden, overwhelming sensation crashed into him, like an unseen wave of cold water. His vision blurred again, but this time, instead of clearing, it darkened. He could hear distant whispers, faint at first, but growing louder and more insistent.
*"You're not who you think you are..."*
His chest tightened as the ground beneath his feet seemed to shift. The trees, once solid and ancient, flickered like images on a screen, phasing in and out of existence. The companions, too, began to waver, their forms becoming translucent, their voices muted.
Panic surged through John. "What's happening?!"
A deep, cold voice echoed in his mind. *"Did you really think you were the one in control?"*
The world around him shattered like glass, and John was suddenly standing in a vast, black void. The only light came from Sauron Bane, still glowing in his hand, but even its silver light seemed dim and fragile in the oppressive darkness.
A figure emerged from the shadows—a tall, hooded being, draped in black armor etched with ancient runes. Its presence was suffocating, and as it drew closer, John felt the air grow colder, the weight of the void pressing down on him.
The figure spoke, its voice a low, guttural rasp. "You've done well, John. Very well indeed."
John staggered back, raising Sauron Bane defensively. "Who are you?! What is this place?"
The figure chuckled, a sound that echoed through the emptiness. "This, John, is the true nature of your world. A façade. A game. One that I created."
John's eyes widened in disbelief. "No... that's not possible. I fought, I chose—"
The figure cut him off with a wave of its hand. "You chose nothing. You've been a pawn from the beginning, just as the system was meant to be. A tool to guide you, to shape you, to bring you to *me.*"
John's heart pounded in his chest as the truth began to settle in. The system, the battles, the allies—it had all been part of something larger, something far beyond his control.
"No...," John whispered, shaking his head. "I fought for this. For my world, for my family—"
The figure stepped closer, its eyes glowing with malevolent power beneath its hood. "Your world is a lie, John. Your memories? Fabrications. Created to keep you compliant, to keep you fighting, always striving toward a goal that was never real."
John's mind raced, desperately searching for something—anything—that could ground him. The memories of his family, his mother, his home... they couldn't be false. They *felt* real. But the more he tried to hold onto them, the more they slipped away, like sand through his fingers.
"No... NO!" John roared, swinging Sauron Bane at the figure. But the blade passed harmlessly through the shadowy form, and the figure only laughed.
"Do you understand now?" the figure hissed. "You are nothing more than a vessel. The system was merely the first step in your transformation. Now, you carry *my* power, *my* weapon. Sauron Bane is not your ally, John. It is the key to *my* return."
John's knees buckled, the weight of the revelation crushing him. His entire existence, his purpose—it had all been a lie. Everything he had fought for, everything he believed in, had been orchestrated by this being, this... creator.
The figure extended a hand, and the void around them began to shift, taking on the form of Middle-earth, but twisted and dark. "Join me, John. Embrace the truth. Together, we will reshape this world and beyond. You have already tasted the power—you know what you are capable of. But there is so much more waiting for you."
John looked down at Sauron Bane, the once-glorious sword now heavy in his hand, its light flickering uncertainly. The whispers in his mind had returned, louder and more insistent, urging him to give in, to accept the power offered to him.
But deep inside, beneath the layers of doubt and manipulation, a spark of defiance still burned. He thought of Gandalf's words, the strength that came from within—not from tools, not from powers granted by others, but from his own resolve.
With a growl, John tightened his grip on the sword and raised it once more. "No. You don't control me. Not anymore."
The figure's glowing eyes narrowed, and the air around them seemed to tremble with rage. "You are *mine,* John. You cannot escape what you are."
John's breath came in ragged bursts, but he stood firm. "Maybe I don't know who I am. Maybe I've been manipulated, used. But I know one thing—I won't become *you.*"
With a roar, John plunged Sauron Bane into the ground, the silver light exploding outward in a blinding flash. The figure let out a howl of fury as the light consumed the void, the darkness receding as the world shattered once more.
When the light faded, John found himself back in the forest, his companions around him. The monstrous orc had vanished, and the air was still.
But Sauron Bane was gone.
Gandalf approached him, his eyes filled with quiet understanding. "You fought a battle few could win," he said softly.
John looked down at his empty hands, a strange sense of peace settling over him. "It's not over, is it?"
Gandalf shook his head. "No. But now, you fight with your own strength. Not the system's. Not anyone else's."
John nodded, his resolve hardening. He didn't know what lay ahead, but for the first time, he felt truly free.
And with that freedom came a new purpose.
The real journey had only just begun.