The red soil of the 32nd moon crunched under Akshat's improvised barrel-leg like brittle bone. The pole star hung heavy in the purple sky, its massive disc casting long, blood-tinted shadows across the barren landscape. Every step sent fresh jolts of pain through his body—the knife pinning the wooden prosthetic to his calf burned like a brand, cracked ribs protested with each breath, and the phantom ache of his missing right arm (now replaced by the biomechanical construct) lingered like a ghost. The Initiator serum kept him functional, knitting flesh and stabilizing shock, but it couldn't erase the exhaustion or the hollow grief clawing at his chest. Back on Vaelion—his home, the planet he'd bled for—his parents were mourning a corpse that wasn't there. Gunjan's scream echoed in his memory with every heartbeat. He had to get back. Somehow.
"Veronica," he muttered, voice rough as he scanned the horizon. "Any updates on this rock? Resources? Hostiles? A way off it that doesn't involve more magic bullshit?"
The AI's avatar flickered in the corner of his cracked glasses, her youthful face set in a mix of digital concern and lingering irritation from their earlier spat. "Offline maps show limited data, Master. This moon appears tidally locked in a stable orbit around the pole star of Vaelion. Atmosphere breathable but thin—oxygen at seventy-eight percent. No immediate signs of civilization, but energy signatures are anomalous. And yes, there are hostiles. Multiple large arthropoda-like lifeforms detected ahead. I recommend evasion."
"Arthropoda-like?" Akshat gripped *Flawless Mistake* tighter with his biomechanical hand. The segmented fingers felt powerful, responsive, almost alive. "Great. Giant bugs on an alien moon. Just what I needed after losing half my limbs."
He pushed forward, hatchet in his left hand for balance, magnum ready. The terrain shifted from dusty plains to jagged rocky outcrops dotted with strange, bioluminescent fungi. Then he heard them—the skittering. Dozens of legs clicking against stone, mandibles chittering in hungry anticipation. The first creature burst from a crevice: horse-sized, armored carapace gleaming iridescent purple, multiple eyes reflecting the pole star's light. It wasn't alone. Three more followed, larger, their segmented bodies rippling with unnatural speed.
"Run, Master!" Veronica urged, her voice pitching higher. "They're drawn to heat and movement. Your serum signature is lighting you up like a beacon!"
Akshat didn't need telling twice. He broke into a lurching sprint, barrel-leg thudding heavily, knife wound tearing with every stride. Pain flared white-hot, but adrenaline—natural this time—pushed him on. Bullets would be wasted on their thick armor. He fired once anyway, the magnum's bark echoing across the moon's surface. The round glanced off a carapace, pissing the thing off more than hurting it.
"Veronica, talk to me! Weak points? Escape route?" he gasped, ducking behind a boulder as a pincer snapped where his head had been.
"Joint gaps between segments! But there are too many—six now, closing from the flank. Head toward the depression on your left. It might offer cover."
The chase turned brutal. Akshat weaved through the rocks, his biomechanical arm lashing out to shove aside debris or steady himself. One creature got too close; he swung the hatchet in a desperate arc, burying it into a softer under-joint. Black ichor sprayed, and the beast shrieked. But more came. Their legs scraped like knives on stone, the sound burrowing into his skull. Memories flashed— the jungle on Vaelion, soldiers hunting him, his mother's chains ripping heads free. He was alone again. Broken. But not done.
"Why the hell did I touch that circle?" he growled between breaths, vaulting a small ridge. The barrel-leg caught on an edge and nearly sent him sprawling. "Your 'old master' and his puzzles are going to get me killed twice over."
Veronica's avatar crossed her arms, a cute pout forming despite the tension. "You were the one who got curious after calling it a 'dumb circle,' Master. I provided analysis. You decided to play ritualist with a hatchet while half-dead on an alien moon. Typical human impulsivity!"
"Impulsivity? You matched the coordinates and got all mysterious about it!" Akshat shot back, a bitter laugh cutting through the fear as he slid down a dusty slope. The creatures' chittering grew louder. "Next time, full risk report or shut it. No more half-ideas that teleport me to bug planet!"
"Full report: unknown magical artifacts carry unknown risks. You ignored the part where I said 'incomplete' and 'horror show'!" Her tone turned indignant, almost playful in its scolding. It was absurd—arguing with an AI while giant alien arthropods wanted to eat him—but it kept the panic at bay. Grounded him. Reminded him he wasn't completely alone.
"Fine, fine—your win. Now help me not die!"
They crested another rise. The creatures fell back slightly, wary of the open terrain ahead. Akshat slowed, chest heaving, sweat mixing with dust on his face. And there it was.
A door. Standing alone in the middle of nowhere.
It rose twenty feet tall, framed in dark, ornate metal that seemed to drink in the purple light. Intricate carvings covered its surface—runes similar to the circle he'd completed, swirling patterns that pulsed faintly. Most unnerving: he could see straight through it. The front side showed the red landscape beyond; the back was equally transparent. No wall, no structure. Just a door floating in empty space.
"What the actual hell…" Akshat approached cautiously, biomechanical hand hovering near the surface. "Veronica. Scan this thing."
Her lenses whirred. "Data partial match, Master. I'm not entirely sure, but fragments in the old master's archives reference something called the 'Door of the Gods.' Inter-dimensional anchors. Portals. Legends from before the Purge on Vaelion. Proceed with extreme caution."
"Door of the Gods," he echoed, voice thick with disbelief and dark curiosity. The grief for his family surged again—Gunjan clutching his severed arm, Ritik's roar, Kurana's calculations. If this was real… maybe a way home. Or another trap. "Screw caution. I've got nothing left to lose."
He pushed. The door swung open smoothly on invisible hinges, revealing not the red moon beyond, but a swirling vortex of colors and distorted space. Like stepping into a different pocket of reality. The air hummed with power.
Akshat stepped through.
The transition was disorienting. Gravity shifted subtly; colors bled at the edges of his vision. He stood in a vast, hazy chamber that felt both infinite and confined. Strange geometric patterns floated in the air. He took a few tentative steps forward, barrel-leg thudding dully, magnum raised.
"Veronica? Status?"
"Unknown spatial layer. Energy readings off the charts. Master, I detect—"
The ground trembled. Then liquefied.
Akshat's eyes widened as the solid floor turned to viscous swamp-like sludge. It swallowed his barrel-leg first, then his waist, pulling him down with terrifying speed. He thrashed, biomechanical arm clawing for purchase, but there was nothing solid. The muck rose to his chest, his neck, cold and suffocating. His hatchet sank. The magnum slipped from numb fingers.
"Veronica!" he roared, voice muffled as the swamp claimed his shoulders. Only his left arm—human, flesh and blood—remained above the surface, fingers clawing desperately at the vanishing edge. The rest of him was gone: body, prosthetic leg, new arm submerged in the oppressive dark. Pain from his injuries flared anew as pressure crushed around him. Lungs burned. Thoughts raced to his family one last time—"Mom, Dad… I'm sorry I couldn't make it back."
With these words of him, the door closed. The ground sealed over his hand with a wet gulp. Silence fell across the alien threshold.
Only the Door of the Gods stood motionless in the red dust, waiting.