Another week passed, and David was ready.
He had moved everything he could to the other side. Not just the obvious things—tools, spare parts, weapons—but even the food he’d originally planned to leave behind. The stuff that would spoil soon. It felt wasteful, almost stupid, stuffing crates with perishables.
But waste only mattered in a world where time moved forward.
If the loop reset again, the food would be fresh at the start of the next iteration.
He’d stripped the dome nearly clean. Almost all the technology went through the portal: workstations, 3d printers, medical equipment. Even the office servers—entire racks of them, torn from their climate-controlled room and hauled piece by piece across the threshold.
He wouldn’t be able to power them. Not now.
But if he got stuck on the boss like this—trapped, looping, grinding against an impossible wall—then maybe, just maybe, they’d matter someday. That thing had almost all the internet backup in it.
On this side of the portal, he left very little.
A couple of combat robots stood guard, motionless but alert. Their weapons were loaded. A few spare magazines lay neatly stacked nearby. The reactor hummed at minimal output, barely more than a whisper—just enough to keep the lights on, just enough to keep the machines alive.
Why did he do it?
David didn’t have a clear answer.
Sentimentality, maybe.
The dome had become his home. Every corridor, every echoing warehouse, every scuffed floor panel was familiar. Safe, in its own twisted way. And there was a chance—no, a very real possibility—that this was the last time he would ever see his home planet.
Or at least his tiny piece of it.
He didn’t want to leave by simply killing the power.
Let the infinite energy source keep feeding the immortal sentinels of his home.
Let the machines stand watch forever, even if there was no one left to protect.
David snorted softly.
“Wow,” he muttered. “I’m really losing it.”
He shook his head, forcing the spiral of thoughts to stop.
Enough.
Time to move.
He checked the Desert Eagle in its holster out of habit more than necessity.
Then, David stepped into the portal expecting the ladder that he placed on the other side.
He moved carefully, one foot forward, eyes already angled downward, ready to feel metal rungs beneath his boot. His body was tense, balanced for a climb that never came.
There was no impact.
No ladder.
His foot touched something solid—but wrong. Smooth. Cold. Not metal. Not earth.
David froze.
Slowly, he shifted his weight fully onto the surface and looked down.
The floor beneath him looked like a sheet of cloudy glass, as if someone had taken a mirror and drowned it in fog. It reflected light poorly, swallowing details instead of returning them. He could see the vague suggestion of his boots, his legs—but distorted, stretched, as if viewed through deep water.
There was no orange forest.
No trees. No grass. No sky.
He raised his head.
The surface extended outward in every direction, perfectly flat, vanishing into a distant haze where even the idea of a horizon seemed to dissolve. There were no walls. No ceiling. Just darkness above, fog ahead, and the artificial plane beneath his feet.
The light level was low—never quite pitch-black, but dim enough that everything felt half-finished, like a world still loading.
David’s breathing slowed.
This wasn’t a dome.
This was something else.
Then he noticed he wasn’t alone.
A shape stood several meters ahead of him.
Tall. Broad. Upright.
At first glance, his brain reached for the closest comparison it could find—a bear. Hairless. Massive. The proportions were wrong for anything human, but unmistakably bipedal. Thick legs planted firmly on the glass-like floor. A heavy torso encased in layered metallic armor.
And it was looking directly at him.
David’s hand twitched toward his holster on reflex.
Before he could decide whether drawing was a good idea, the creature spoke.
“Welcome,” it said calmly.
The voice was deep, resonant—but perfectly articulated.
In English.
No accent. No distortion. As if this were the most natural thing in the world.
“What took you so long?!”
The voice boomed across the empty plane, sharp and impatient.
David flinched.
“L-long?” he echoed before he could stop himself.
The creature leaned forward slightly, armored plates shifting with a dull metallic scrape.
“I have never,” it said slowly, emphasizing every word, “seen a single rookie spend this much time in the nursery AFTER killing the examiner.”
David stared.
“K-killing… what?”
If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
A pause.
Then the bear-like being tilted its massive head.
“L-long? W-what?” it mocked suddenly, exaggerating the stutter. “What did I get, a defective specimen? Or did you simply forget how to talk after rotting alone for too long?”
David swallowed. His throat felt dry.
He cleared it, realizing with a jolt that the creature wasn’t entirely wrong. It had been weeks—months?—since he’d spoken to anyone who could answer back.
“Sorry,” he said hoarsely. “I… wasn’t expecting a conversation.”
“Hm.”
David forced himself to straighten.
“I stayed in the dome because I was preparing,” he said, words coming more steadily now. “I was getting ready to move to the NEXT dome. The one with the forest. And if there’s a forest, then there are monsters. Monsters that will try to kill me.”
The creature blinked.
“What?”
Then its eyes narrowed.
“…How would you even know what’s on the other side—ah.” It let out a short, rumbling sound that might have been a laugh. “Right. Those strange golems of yours. Fine. I’ll let it slide. After all, how you perform on the next tier affects me as well.”
David frowned.
“Golems? Tiers? What are you even talking about?”
The being raised a massive paw.
“Wait. Stop. Let’s rewind. I started this all wrong.”
It straightened, posture suddenly formal.
“My name is Kra’velon,” it said. “And I will be your manager.”
It extended its hand.
David hesitated.
Then, cautiously, he reached out.
The grip wasn’t what he expected. Kra’velon didn’t clasp his palm—instead, it grabbed David’s forearm near the elbow and gave it a firm shake.
Surprised, David mirrored the gesture, gripping the creature’s armored limb in the same way.
The result was… awkward.
“David,” he said. “My name is David.”
“Yes,” Kra’velon replied easily. “I know. I’ve been observing you almost from the beginning.”
David’s jaw tightened.
“Observing?” His voice rose. “Then why didn’t you help? Why didn’t you explain the monsters? Or how magic works?!”
Kra’velon snorted.
“Listen. You’re not the only one I’m assigned to. And what I’m allowed to say is… limited.” It waved a claw dismissively. “Well, I can also choose the examiner.—”
The last words were quieter.
David didn’t catch them clearly, but something in Kra’velon’s expression made him narrow his eyes.
“But none of that matters now!” the administrator said brightly. “You’ve graduated from the nursery. The real shop is unlocked for you. I’m confident you’ll figure things out quickly.”
It leaned closer.
“Based on your performance, you’ll be placed in a league well below your actual potential. Which means you’ll earn a lot of points. For me.”
David recoiled.
“And why exactly should I earn YOU points?”
Kra’velon’s smile was slow.
Predatory.
“Because,” it said softly, “if you upgrade the core of your settlement enough… you might get to see your friends again.”
The words hit like a hammer.
The creature began to fade, its armored form dissolving into mist.
“Friends?!” David shouted. “They can be brought back?! I wasn’t the only one who survived?!”
He lunged forward, trying to grab Kra’velon’s shoulder.
His hand passed through empty air.
And suddenly—
There was no floor beneath his feet.
The world snapped back into place. (ope, there goes gravity)
An orange forest exploded into existence around David, so abruptly that his brain lagged behind his eyes. Trunks of unfamiliar trees, copper and rust-colored leaves, tall grass glowing faintly in the dim light. Beneath his boots—metal rungs.
The ladder.
In front of his face, dozens of translucent system windows burst open at once, stacking, overlapping, flickering with warnings, rewards, notifications.
David had just enough time to think, Oh—
—and then he lost his balance.
The ladder tilted. His foot slipped. Gravity reclaimed him without ceremony.
He fell.
The drop was short—maybe a meter, a meter and a half—but unexpected enough that he hit the grass shoulder-first, rolled, and came to a stop face-down. Something orange and bitter shoved its way into his mouth.
David spat.
“Pfft—dammit,” he muttered, spitting out the grass and pushing himself upright.
“Great,” he said dryly, brushing blades of orange-tinged grass off his jacket. “Kra’velon. I’ll remember that name.”
He stood, eyes drifting back to the frozen cluster of system messages hanging in the air—
—and froze again.
Something was wrong.
A faint vibration rippled through his body. Not external. Inside him.
David looked down at his left arm.
The hairs on his skin were standing straight up.
Worse—they shimmered, trembling as if charged with static, faint wisps of heat distorting the air above them.
“What the hell…?”
The sensation was horribly familiar.
It was as if he had absorbed the mana directly from the monster's crystal.
Reflex kicked in.
[Mana Perception]
The world detonated.
David gasped as his vision drowned in light. Endless currents of mana flooded his perception, thick as rivers, dense as fog, streaking through the air in visible torrents. They flowed through the trees, the ground, the space itself—and every single stream bent toward him.
Toward his chest.
Toward his core.
“—SHIT!”
He slammed the ability off.
Darkness rushed back in, merciful and disorienting. David staggered, catching himself on the ladder’s side rail, breathing hard.
“How is anyone supposed to see anything like that?” he muttered. “There’s more mana here than air.”
He stood directly beneath the still-open portal, letting instinct guide him as he waited.
His mana kept rising.
And rising.
And rising.
It didn’t slow.
Minutes passed. The pressure became uncomfortable. Then painful.
Another system window blinked into existence.
Mana 110%
Overload. Warning: Overload may cause mana poisoning.
David stared at it.
“Oh. Oh no,” he said quietly.
His lips curled into a thin, feral grin.
“Just like the first time with the crystals. But this time…”
He raised both hands.
[Overcharge]
The forest screamed.
A beam of raw laser-plasma erupted skyward from his palms.The air ionized. Thunder cracked outward in a concussive wave.
After the overcharge ate all of his mana David exhaled in relief.
Better.
For about three seconds.
Then the pull returned.
Mana surged back into his core as if nothing had happened.
“…You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Another Overcharge. Another brief moment of relief.
When the beam faded, the pressure crept back in.
David wiped sweat from his brow, breathing faster now.
“Alright,” he said to the empty forest. “Guess we’re doing this the hard way.”
He activated [Mana Perception] again—
—but carefully.
He throttled it down to the absolute minimum his skill would allow.
This time, the world didn’t explode.
Instead, faint outlines emerged. Thin threads. Currents, visible but bearable. He watched them curve toward his chest, watched how they spiraled as they were drawn into his core.
Slowly, his perception adjusted.
Minutes passed.
He experimented. Focused. And tried to control the intake.
The flow wavered a bit, but not stopped.
David clenched his jaw and pushed again.
Twenty minutes crawled by.
Two more Overcharges burned holes in the sky.
When the last one faded, David felt something else.
Heat.
He pressed a hand to his chest, just beside his heart.
The surface was warm.
No—hot.
Uncomfortably so.
“…Fantastic,” David muttered. “Now I’m overheating.”
“I really need to figure this out,” he said grimly, “before I turn into a goddamn kettle.”
