"…A-Ah… Big sister, your body is see-through…!? Where are we…?"

  Tam’s voice was thin, trembling on the jagged edge of a full-blown panic attack. She huddled on the floor, her eyes darting frantically from the flickering holographic remnants of Elis to the "inorganic monsters" surrounding her—the refrigerator humming in the corner, the microwave's digital clock blinking a steady, mocking pulse of light. To a girl from a world of wood, stone, and magic, Haruto’s apartment was a labyrinth of alien metal.

  Elis looked on with a pained, helpless expression. She reached out to comfort the girl, her hand glowing with a soft, sapphire light, but her fingertips slipped uselessly through Tam’s shoulders. On Earth, stripped of the ambient Mana that sustained her, she was nothing more than a ghost in the machine—a high-definition illusion without the weight of a soul.

  "Elis, don't push yourself," Haruto said, his voice low and steady despite the throbbing ache in his chest. "You’re only flickering more. It’ll scare her."

  He forced himself to his feet, his muscles groaning. He knew the look in Tam’s eyes; it was the look of a creature backed into a corner by things it couldn't understand. To unravel fear that deep, logic was useless. He needed to ground her. He needed something primal.

  Haruto dragged his battered body to the kitchen. His hands shook as he reached for a cup of instant noodles—a humble, chemical-laden staple of his student life. He poured the boiling water, the steam rising in a fragrant cloud, and waited. Those three minutes felt like an eternity as he watched Tam tremble on the rug.

  Finally, he placed the steaming container on the coffee table in front of her.

  "What is… this?" Tam whispered, sniffing the air. "I’ve never smelled anything like it. Is it… a potion?"

  "It’s food, Tam. Just eat. It’ll make the world feel a little more solid."

  With her first tentative bite, the girl’s entire demeanor shifted. The intense hit of MSG and salt—the "refined umami" of a modern world—was a world-shaking feast for a child who had known only thin stews and hearth-baked bread. She began to slurp the noodles frantically, the warmth returning to her cheeks. The sheer sensory overload of the meal seemed to push the terror to the back of her mind.

  Ten minutes later, her stomach full and her adrenaline spent, she collapsed onto the sofa. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she fell into a heavy, dreamless sleep, her "batteries" finally hitting zero.

  Haruto covered her with a thick fleece blanket, lingering for a moment to ensure her breathing was steady. Then, his face set in a grim mask, he headed straight for his workbench.

  He unlatched the Orion from his left arm. The metal was still uncomfortably warm. As he cracked the outer casing, the smell of scorched insulation wafted out. The internal lithium-polymer cells were swollen like bruised fruit, their surfaces blackened by the localized sun Gemini had ignited to save them.

  "…Please, wake up, Gemini," he muttered, his fingers moving with practiced, desperate precision.

  He spent the night submerged in a world of fine tweezers, soldering irons, and bypass shunts. He worked until his eyes burned and the sun began to bleed through the blinds. Finally, after swapping out the primary power regulator for a spare, he held his breath and flipped the manual reset.

  The monitor flickered. A series of jagged green lines stabilized into a familiar interface. A sharp, clear electronic tone chirped in the quiet room.

  [System rebooting. …Good morning, Nago. Confirming the completion of emergency repair work. Current power levels: 12%.]

  "Gemini…!" Haruto let out a long, shuddering sigh of relief, leaning back in his chair. "You’re safe. I thought… I thought I’d lost you back there."

  But as the relief faded, a sharp, cold memory resurfaced. He leaned back in, his gaze narrowing at the glowing screen.

  "Gemini, right before the teleportation… something happened. You weren't acting like an AI. You were commanding Elis. You sounded… different. What exactly did you do?"

  A beat of silence followed—longer than a standard processing delay.

  […Searching for relevant audio and system logs. …Answer: Due to the extreme thermal load and Mana contamination in the three minutes preceding the emergency shutdown, internal logs have been fatally corrupted. There is no record of the event you are describing in my active memory.]

  The voice was flat. Mechanical. Perfectly consistent with its original programming. Yet, a lingering sense of unease curled in Haruto’s gut. Was the data truly lost, or was the system hiding the one thing it couldn't explain?

  The following day was a surreal blur. Haruto took Tam into the heart of the city, hoping to find her clothes that wouldn't mark her as a fantasy refugee. For Tam, the "Otherworld" was a sensory explosion. She gawked at the asphalt roads, the skyscrapers that seemed to pierce the clouds, and the roaring metal beasts she eventually learned were called "cars."

  Her voice was a constant stream of amazement, her energy seemingly boundless as she pointed at every neon sign and digital billboard. For a few hours, the tragedy of the village felt like a distant nightmare.

  But excitement has a way of masking the wounds that haven't healed.

  As the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the city in shades of bruised plum and gold, Haruto carried a tired Tam home on his back. Her head rested on his shoulder, her small hands gripped his shirt. The city noise had died down to a low hum.

  "…Papa… Mama… where are you…?"

  The murmur was so soft it was almost lost to the wind. Haruto felt a damp warmth on his shoulder—amber tears rolling down the girl's cheeks in her sleep. She wasn't seeing the skyscrapers anymore. She was looking for home.

  Elis, floating invisibly beside them, looked at Haruto with a gaze heavy with sorrow.

  (Elis): "Nago. She's reaching for them. It is only natural… after the fire, to be brought to a place where the stars are hidden by lights and the air tastes of metal. She is brave, but she is lost."

  Haruto stopped walking. He adjusted his grip, feeling the small, fragile weight of the girl he had essentially kidnapped for her own safety. Her grief was a physical pressure against his back. He had saved her life, yes, but he had also torn her away from everything she knew.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  "…Yeah," Haruto whispered, his eyes hardening as he looked toward the horizon, toward the place where the veil between worlds was thinnest. "I know. I’m the one who brought her here. So I’m the one who has to fix it."

  He wouldn't just survive the next encounter. He would dominate it.

  Returning to the apartment, the atmosphere of domestic peace vanished. Haruto laid Tam in bed and went straight to the center of the room, spreading out his notes and the half-disassembled Orion unit. To kill a Reaper, he needed more than just fire and desperation. He needed a weapon that could strike between the dimensions.

  "Gemini, forget the logs," Haruto said, his voice cold and focused. "Begin a full combat simulation. I want every scrap of data we have on the Reaper’s movement patterns and its necrotic aura. We’re going back in, and this time, I’m not running until that thing is nothing but dust."

  [Understood, Nago. Initializing 'Project Godslayer.' Warning: Current hardware may require illegal overclocking to meet required output.]

  "Then overclock it. I don't care if the arm melts off as long as the Reaper dies first."

  "…A-Ah… Big sister, your body is see-through…!? Where are we…?"

  Tam’s voice was thin, trembling on the jagged edge of a full-blown panic attack. She huddled on the floor of the apartment, her eyes darting frantically from the flickering holographic remnants of Elis to the "inorganic monsters" surrounding her. The refrigerator hummed in the corner with a low, predatory vibration; the microwave's digital clock blinked a steady, mocking pulse of crimson light. To a girl plucked from a world of timber, hearth-fires, and slow magic, Haruto’s living room was a nightmare labyrinth of cold metal and alien sorcery.

  Elis looked on with a pained, helpless expression. She reached out to comfort the girl, her translucent hand glowing with a soft, sapphire light, but her fingertips slipped uselessly through Tam’s shoulders. On Earth, stripped of the ambient Mana that sustained her physical presence, she was nothing more than a ghost in the machine—a high-definition illusion without the weight of a soul.

  "Elis, don't push yourself," Haruto said, his voice low and steady despite the throbbing ache in his chest. "You’re only flickering more. You’ll scare her if you start to phase out."

  He forced himself to his feet, his muscles groaning in protest. He knew the look in Tam’s eyes; it was the look of a creature backed into a corner by things it couldn't comprehend. To unravel fear that deep, logic was a blunt tool. He needed to ground her. He needed something primal, something that bridged the gap between worlds.

  Haruto dragged his battered body to the kitchen. His hands shook as he reached for a cup of instant noodles—a humble, chemical-laden staple of his student life. He poured the boiling water, the steam rising in a fragrant cloud, and waited. Those three minutes felt like an eternity as he watched Tam tremble on the rug, her small frame looking impossibly fragile against the backdrop of his modern life.

  Finally, he placed the steaming container on the coffee table in front of her.

  "What is… this?" Tam whispered, sniffing the air tentatively. "I’ve never smelled anything like it. Is it… a potion?"

  "It’s food, Tam. Just eat. It’ll make the world feel a little more solid."

  With her first tentative bite, the girl’s entire demeanor shifted. The intense hit of MSG and salt—the "refined umami" of a modern world—was a world-shaking feast for a child who had known only thin vegetable stews and coarse bread. She began to slurp the noodles frantically, the warmth returning to her cheeks. The sheer sensory overload of the meal seemed to push the existential terror to the back of her mind.

  Ten minutes later, her stomach full and her adrenaline spent, she collapsed onto the sofa. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she fell into a heavy, dreamless sleep, her "batteries" finally hitting zero.

  Haruto covered her with a thick fleece blanket, lingering for a moment to ensure her breathing was steady. Then, his face set in a grim mask, he headed straight for his workbench.

  He unlatched the Orion from his left arm. The metal was still uncomfortably warm to the touch. As he cracked the outer casing, the acrid scent of scorched insulation wafted out. The internal lithium-polymer cells were swollen like bruised fruit, their surfaces blackened by the localized sun Gemini had ignited to save them.

  "…Please, wake up, Gemini," he muttered, his fingers moving with practiced, desperate precision.

  He spent the night submerged in a world of fine tweezers, soldering irons, and bypass shunts. He worked until his eyes burned and the morning sun began to bleed through the blinds, painting the dust motes in gold. Finally, after swapping out the primary power regulator for a spare he'd scavenged from an old drone, he held his breath and flipped the manual reset.

  The monitor flickered. A series of jagged green lines stabilized into a familiar interface. A sharp, clear electronic tone chirped in the quiet room.

  [System rebooting. …Good morning, Nago. Confirming the completion of emergency repair work. Current power levels: 12%.]

  "Gemini…!" Haruto let out a long, shuddering sigh of relief, leaning back in his chair until the plastic groaned. "You’re safe. I thought… I thought I’d lost you back there."

  But as the relief faded, a sharp, cold memory resurfaced. He leaned back in, his gaze narrowing at the glowing screen.

  "Gemini, right before the teleportation… something happened. You weren't acting like an AI. You were commanding Elis. You sounded… different. What exactly did you do?"

  A beat of silence followed—longer than a standard processing delay.

  […Searching for relevant audio and system logs. …Answer: Due to the extreme thermal load and Mana contamination in the three minutes preceding the emergency shutdown, internal logs have been fatally corrupted. There is no record of the event you are describing in my active memory.]

  The voice was flat. Mechanical. Perfectly consistent with its original programming. Yet, a lingering sense of unease curled in Haruto’s gut. Was the data truly lost, or was the system hiding the one thing it couldn't explain to its user?

  The following day was a surreal blur. Haruto took Tam into the heart of the city, hoping to find her clothes that wouldn't mark her as a fantasy refugee. For Tam, the "Otherworld" was a sensory explosion. She gawked at the asphalt roads, the skyscrapers that seemed to pierce the clouds, and the roaring metal beasts she eventually learned were called "cars."

  Her voice was a constant stream of amazement, her energy seemingly boundless as she pointed at every neon sign and digital billboard. For a few hours, the tragedy of the village felt like a distant nightmare, drowned out by the sheer noise of civilization.

  But excitement has a way of masking the wounds that haven't healed.

  As the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the city in shades of bruised plum and gold, Haruto carried a tired Tam home on his back. Her head rested on his shoulder, her small hands gripped his shirt with a desperate strength. The city noise had died down to a low, rhythmic hum.

  "…Papa… Mama… where are you…?"

  The murmur was so soft it was almost lost to the wind. Haruto felt a damp warmth on his shoulder—amber tears rolling down the girl's cheeks in her sleep. She wasn't seeing the skyscrapers anymore. She was looking for a home that no longer existed.

  Elis, floating invisibly beside them like a guardian spirit, looked at Haruto with a gaze heavy with sorrow.

  (Elis): "Nago. She's reaching for them. It is only natural… after the fire, to be brought to a place where the stars are hidden by lights and the air tastes of metal. She is brave, but she is lost."

  Haruto stopped walking. He adjusted his grip, feeling the small, fragile warmth of the girl he had essentially kidnapped for her own safety. Her grief was a physical pressure against his back. He had saved her life, yes, but he had also torn her away from the only world she knew.

  "…Yeah," Haruto whispered, his eyes hardening as he looked toward the horizon, toward the invisible point where the veil between worlds was thinnest. "I know. I’m the one who brought her here. So I’m the one who has to fix it."

  He wouldn't just survive the next encounter. He would dominate it.

  Returning to the apartment, the atmosphere of domestic peace vanished. Haruto laid Tam in bed and went straight to the center of the room, spreading out his notes and the half-disassembled Orion unit. To kill a Reaper, he needed more than just fire and desperation. He needed a weapon that could strike between the dimensions of life and death.

  "Gemini, forget the logs," Haruto said, his voice cold and focused. "Begin a full combat simulation. I want every scrap of data we have on the Reaper’s movement patterns and its necrotic aura. We’re going back in, and this time, I’m not running until that thing is nothing but dust."

  [Understood, Nago. Initializing 'Project Godslayer.' Warning: Current hardware may require illegal overclocking to meet required output.]

  "Then overclock it. I don't care if the arm melts off as long as the Reaper dies first."