Izar, Phi and Senka looked at him expectantly.

“Go ahead,” Phi urged. She tapped her paw twice, then jumped weightlessly onto Atlas’ shoulders. Her tail twitched as she nudged the side of his head with hers. “Open it. Only you can. All you need to do is say so.”

His vision was fading fast. He knew he didn’t have long to figure out what she meant before he was out cold again. Atlas tried to focus his rapidly blurring eyes. “How would the gate possibly know that I want to leave?”

As soon as the words left his lips, a bright, bold block of text flashed in front of him in the same neon orange as the rest of this “system.”

[DO YOU WISH TO EXIT?]

[YES] or [NO]

Stupid, he thought softly, and smothered an incredulous laugh. He didn't have the breath to spare, anyhow.

Atlas hovered his hand over the options, and jabbed his finger straight through the flickering [YES]. When nothing happened, he cleared his throat, and shoved his hands back into his pockets with his knife.

He hoped the rest of the strike team wasn’t close enough to hear this.

“Yes,” he said, averting his eyes from the others. Phi chirped happily on his shoulder. “I’d like to exit. Please.”

[MP: 5/1,000]

[PORTAL OPENED, AUTHORIZATION CODE ‘PHOENIX.’]

[ACCESS GRANTED.]

The change was instantaneous.

With a great, echoing clap! his sightline split in two. 

The portal roared to life, as huge as he remembered, an enormous swell of wind knocking him against Izar as he struggled to regain his footing. The blue center was even more ethereal up close. A color so bright and vibrant it was unnatural. Poisonous. It felt dangerous to even look at.

Izar steadied him and focused his attention on Phi.

“How long will it stay closed once we leave?” He asked, maneuvering Atlas against his shoulder. “Usually they remain open until the objective is complete. We’ve never had someone who could close a portal at will before.”

Phi watched the crowd as they trickled in behind them. The group had been thinned substantially, but not as badly as Atlas had feared. He could see who he suspected were the only two other remaining members of Last Bastion in the back, funneling the lower ranked hunters toward the exit.

“It will depend on how many objectives remain.” Phi began to go transparent around the edges again as the wind picked up. “Game Master closed this portal manually the last time.”

“How did the other survivors not know?” Senka spoke with such clear, dispassionate certainty that Atlas was almost impressed. She had a dull look on her face that didn’t betray whatever she was truly thinking.

“He sacrificed himself,” Atlas murmured with sudden realization. Phi made a noise of agreement on his shoulder. “That’s why he didn’t come back. He told them he could handle the rest, and he sent them back to wait for the portal.”

“Yes,” Phi agreed readily. “But these are all things we can discuss when we have evacuated the S-Gate. Quickly. Approach it from the side, so you can avoid the worst of the pressure.”

It was harder to get near to the portal than Atlas expected it would be. Without any of the useful scaffolding and support structures that Portal Group trotted out at breach sites, the wind was a serious problem. He suspected most of the equipment that would’ve been useful was abandoned back nearer to camp, too risky to retrieve and too heavy to have brought to combat in the first place.

Atlas narrowed his eyes and focused on keeping up, even as the pressure in his head started building again.

The fissure was growing faster now. He could sense it, even if he couldn’t see it. The heat from the ground beneath whatever planet or continent or simulation these portals were in was growing fiercer and fiercer.

Izar wouldn’t be able to get him out of there if he passed out now, and Zig would never forgive him if they both died.

His bones felt like they were creaking, but he took it one step at a time. The sediment and leaves beat the skin on his face ruthlessly, and he reminded himself that if he wanted to live, this was always what it took.

Step. Step. Step.

You could give up if you wanted to, his worst instincts reminded him.

Step. Step. Step.

Atlas used the full strength of his straining calves to take the final three steps toward the gate, reaching out his hands and coming up just short.

His pocket buzzed and glowed.

[ARTIFACT ACTIVATED: S-CLASS ACCESSORY — ‘TIP THE SCALES’]

[+100 MP RECOVERED]

[MP: 105/1,000]

Quick, Atlas. Phi said inside his head. You have enough mana to conjure something. This is your chance.

There wasn’t enough time to ask Phi for any follow-up. For better instructions, or why she believed in his ability to do this at all. 

He thought he got the gist, anyway. 

Atlas clenched his teeth, stared down at the ground, and focused on the neat, even little boxes.

A bar. He thought fiercely. Give me an anchored steel bar to hang on to. All the way back to the strike team. Something sturdy.

It wasn’t the most elegant solution. But it would get the job done.

A thick, solid bar of solid steel shot up from the mud, sticky and slick, but something. He grabbed it with both hands, summoned the last of his strength, and launched himself straight through the blue mist.

___

When Atlas came to, his headache was gone.

For a moment, that was enough for him to forget the rest of it. He was too relieved, too busy basking in the feeling of simply being himself again.

Then he heard purring.

Any other time, he might have mistaken for a vibrating phone, or the persistent hum of an old refrigerator. But the sound was distinct enough to trigger a memory, and all at once he remembered it in full — Phi, and the S-Grade, and the tumbling, glowing outlines of bodies as they plunged into darkness.

He opened his eyes to the pale light of early morning.

“You’re awake.” Senka Cosic said, with a wan little frown. 

Senka looked normal like this. She could’ve been any of the regular people he encountered on his walk to Portal Group. Petite. Unassuming. Average.

She had traded in black spandex for a dense, yellow cable knit turtleneck and a pair of lightwash jeans. No daggers. No dragon’s blood in the hollows of her eyes. No coiled violence lingering in her every muscle.

Just a young woman with freshly cut, dark hair and eyes so black that he couldn’t make out her pupils.

“I’m awake.” He croaked. Beside him, Phi stirred but remained asleep. Tiny numbers trailed from her to him. Was she helping him recover? “I’m going to guess that Izar didn’t let me go to a regular hospital.”

“No.”

He waited for her to elaborate, but she just watched him, blinking occasionally. She was remarkably still. None of the nervous energy that he always had seemed present in her. It was like she shut down between objectives. 

“Where am I, then?” He glanced around the hospital room, scanning the walls, and the machines, and the flat black television for any information that may help. But none of the orange scrolling gave up anything meaningful. 

“You are in the Portal Group’s private internal medical ward.” Senka paused, like she was considering what to say next. What she could say next. “You have been temporarily assigned to Last Bastion by emergency order of the Guild President.”

“Is that why you’re here?”

“Last Bastion does not allow members to be alone when they are vulnerable.” Her face was as blank as ever. It was like she was reciting a hymnal. “You would be too valuable as a target to leave unguarded. I am on watch.”

“And the others?”

“Mostly dead.” Something honest spiked through her eyes just then, but it was too fleeting for him to pinpoint. “Charon is alive, but barely. Our newest recruit Ace is recovering with minor injuries next door.”

Atlas wanted to feel upset about it. It was a needless loss of life. There was nothing to celebrate about that.

And he was. For the regular, average hunters at least. 

But the other members of Last Bastion had been terrible and arrogant, and he had warned them.

He’d contend with what that meant for his soul later. 

“They’ll be scrambling for replacements,” Atlas said, reclining back against the crisp pillow on his cot. “We’ve lost an S-Class and several A-Classes.”

“Yes, but we awakened an S-Class in the process.”

Atlas froze.

“You don’t need to look so appalled,” the voice said. It was distinctly feminine. Gravelly and smooth, with the barest whisper of an accent. 

In an instant he was ten years in the past, his head bent over a dense contract in a high-rise office. He was young, and enthusiastic, and trusting. 

She had reminded him of his mother. He had trusted the promises she made him, then. 

Senka stood at attention, bowing her head as Atlas scowled.

“It is good to see you, Guild President.”