Chapter 20: Change of Course
Mike woke stuffed into a small alcove near the mine entrance, with the stiffness that came from sleeping on stone, but still better rested than he'd expected after the forced night march. Rising slowly, he stretched muscles that protested the previous day's exertions, checking his healed wounds out of habit. The gash across his chest had faded to a pink line, while the acid burns from the mantis fight had formed new skin, tender but functional.
"Let's see what we're dealing with," Mike said, gathering his pack and weapons.
The mine entrance looked less imposing in daylight, though no less ominous in its implications. The timber supports framing the opening were massive beams of the same spiral-grained wood he'd collected from the mill, their surfaces etched with symbols similar to those in his notifications. Despite the morning sunlight behind him, the tunnel ahead remained dark and foreboding, a throat leading into unknown dangers.
Unlike the mill, which had felt abandoned, the mine carried an unmistakable sense of presence—as if something waited within, watching, assessing. The air that flowed from the opening carried a metallic tang that made the back of Mike's throat tingle unpleasantly. Every instinct warned him that danger lurked in the depths.
"In and out, fast as possible," Mike reminded himself, recalling his narrow escape from the mill's mantis guardian.
Lighting a small torch using his Zippo and materials from his pack, Mike entered the main tunnel, moving with careful, deliberate steps. The passage was remarkably uniform, its walls smooth and precisely cut at a slight downward angle. Support beams of the special wood appeared at regular intervals, each carved with symbols that seemed to watch him pass. The floor had been leveled and reinforced with fitted stone, the surface disturbed in places by what looked uncomfortably like claw marks.
Most striking were the crystal veins running through the rock walls—blue-white formations that glowed with subtle internal light, following patterns too regular to be natural. They appeared to have been deliberately cultivated rather than simply excavated, pulsing faintly as if in response to his presence. Each pulse sent shadows dancing across the tunnel in ways that repeatedly tricked his peripheral vision, creating the sensation of movement where none existed.
"Definitely what I'm looking for," Mike muttered, examining a particularly thick vein. "Now to find some that's already been extracted."
He advanced cautiously deeper into the mine, every sense heightened for signs of an approaching guardian. The mantis protecting the mill had taught him that these Crafter facilities didn't yield their treasures without a fight. The silence felt oppressive, broken only by the occasional distant sound of shifting stone or dripping water—ordinary mine noises made sinister by context.
Roughly a hundred feet in, the main tunnel widened into what appeared to be a primary work area. Unlike the mill with its well-preserved equipment, this chamber contained only the largest machinery—massive crushing devices, what might have been a primitive ore separator, and heavy metal frames whose purpose Mike couldn't identify. Everything smaller had been removed or destroyed, leaving behind only the components too large to move.
And there, pushed against the far wall, sat exactly what he needed—a mine cart half-filled with raw crystal chunks, apparently abandoned mid-operation when whatever calamity had emptied this facility occurred. The crystals within ranged from fist-sized pieces to larger formations that might weigh twenty pounds or more, all exhibiting the same blue-white glow as the veins in the walls.
"Perfect," Mike whispered, approaching the cart with measured steps, watchful for any trigger or trap.
The cart itself was constructed primarily from the special wood with metal components that gleamed despite centuries of abandonment. When Mike cautiously touched the side, a faint vibration ran through his fingertips, as if the cart itself were humming at a frequency just below audible range.
The crystals matched the descriptions in the trap blueprint—hexagonal formations with distinctive internal structures that caught and redirected light in complex patterns. According to what Mike could remember of the design, these crystals would serve as energy focusing components, channeling and amplifying whatever power the trap used to neutralize the Void Ripper.
As Mike reached for the first crystal, the light from the veins in the walls dimmed momentarily before brightening again, the pulses becoming more rapid. Somewhere deeper in the mine, a sound like metal striking stone echoed through the tunnels. Mike froze, hand hovering above the crystal, every muscle tensed for flight.
The sound didn't repeat immediately, but the sense of being watched intensified. The fine hairs on the back of Mike's neck stood on end, and a notification flickered at the edge of his vision: [DANGER].
"Time to go," Mike decided, quickly selecting several mid-sized crystal pieces that most closely matched the required components.
He wrapped each hastily in cloth from his pack to prevent damage during transport, his movements efficient but hurried. The blueprint had specified certain crystal types and approximate quantities, which he could identify from the diagrams he'd memorized. He took only what was absolutely necessary—perhaps a third of what the cart contained.
Another sound echoed from the depths—closer this time, a rhythmic scraping like something heavy being dragged across stone. The wall veins pulsed more rapidly, the blue-white light now strobing in a pattern that seemed almost like communication.
"That's my cue," Mike muttered, securing the last crystal in his pack.
As he turned to leave, a new notification appeared: [GUARDIAN AWAKENING].
Mike didn't wait to see what form this mine's guardian might take. Slinging his pack over his shoulder, he sprinted toward the entrance, torch held before him. The sounds behind grew louder, more insistent—a clattering, metallic rhythm that suggested something large and not entirely organic in pursuit.
The tunnel seemed longer during his retreat than it had on entry, the distance to the sunlight at its end stretching impossibly. Mike's breathing came in ragged gasps, not from exertion but from the growing certainty that something terrible was gaining on him. He didn't dare look back, focusing every ounce of his concentration on reaching the exit before whatever hunted him could close the gap.
When Mike finally burst from the mine entrance into blinding daylight, he didn't stop. He continued running for several hundred yards, putting distance between himself and the opening before finally allowing himself to pause and look back.
The mine entrance appeared quiet and undisturbed, no sign of pursuit visible. Yet the sense of being observed remained, as if something just within the darkness was watching, evaluating, deciding whether to continue the chase into open terrain.
Catching his breath, Mike moved to a vantage point overlooking the approach valley, scanning for any sign of the Void Ripper. Nothing visible suggested immediate danger, but the memory of those roars the previous night remained fresh. The Ripper could be anywhere—perhaps still in the valley, perhaps circling back toward the mine, perhaps headed in some other direction entirely. There was no way to know.
Finding a shaded spot among the rocks, Mike spread out his hand-drawn map from the interface. The journey back to Crafter's Haven would take at least three days, retracing his path through the valley and hill country. The path to the obsidian source—marked as a volcanic region on his map—appeared to be four or five days south from his current position, across more challenging terrain including what looked like a mountain pass.
"Supply situation," Mike said, taking inventory.
Food was the primary concern. He had provisioned for a six-day round trip to the mine and back, leaving him with perhaps four days of full rations remaining. Water was less problematic—his containers were mostly full, and he'd passed several streams on his journey that should provide reliable sources. The real issue was the unexpected extension of his journey—if he went directly to the volcanic region, he would be looking at nearly ten days away from Crafter's Haven rather than the planned six.
"Cut rations by a third, should stretch it to cover," Mike calculated. It would mean constant hunger, but not starvation.
Equipment was in good condition—the ancient hammer and Crafter's axe were undiminished by use, his pack remained serviceable despite the wear of travel, and his clothing, while showing signs of repeated repair, would hold together for another journey.
The question came down to risk assessment: which path exposed him to greater danger? Return through territory where the Void Ripper had been confirmed, or press forward into unknown areas that might harbor different but equally deadly threats?
As Mike weighed his options, a distant yet unmistakable sound reached him—the metal-tearing roar of the Void Ripper echoing across the valley. It seemed no closer than the previous night but confirmed the creature remained in the area he would need to traverse to return home.
"That settles it," Mike said, folding the map and returning it to his pack. "South it is."
The decision made, he performed one final check of his supplies and equipment before departing. The mine entrance remained quiet behind him, whatever guardian had stirred apparently unwilling to venture into daylight. The blue-white crystals nestled in his pack alongside the small samples of special wood he'd brought from Crafter's Haven—two of the three resources now secured.
"One more to go," Mike reminded himself, orienting toward the south where the volcanic region awaited.
The terrain immediately south of the mine was unfamiliar, not part of his original journey plan. According to his map, he would first need to traverse a series of rocky plateaus before reaching a pass through the higher mountains beyond. After the pass would come a gradual descent into what appeared to be a more arid region, with the volcanic area at its southern edge.
Mike set out at a measured pace, knowing that conservation of energy would be crucial for the extended journey. The rocky ground made for challenging walking, the sparse vegetation offering little shade against the midday sun. His boots, worn by countless miles since arriving in this world, scraped against stone with every step, the sound unnaturally loud in the quiet landscape.
"Four days if everything goes perfectly," Mike muttered to himself. "So figure six."
As afternoon approached, he found himself descending toward what his map indicated should be a stream valley—a welcome prospect given the heat and exertion. The terrain had proven even more difficult than anticipated, with frequent detours required to navigate around impassable rock formations or sudden drop-offs.
The valley, when Mike finally reached it, was a disappointment—the streambed clearly visible but completely dry. Whatever water source had fed it was now absent, leaving only a dusty channel winding between steep banks. His map's age was showing; water patterns had changed since its creation.
"Great start," Mike sighed, checking his water supplies. He had enough for several days if carefully rationed, but the loss of an expected refill point was concerning.
He made camp that evening in a shallow cave along the dry streambed, optimally positioned for defense with clear sight lines in multiple directions. Without water for cooking, dinner consisted of dried meat and tuna fruit—nourishing but unsatisfying after a day of hard travel. As darkness fell, Mike studied his map by the light of a small fire, plotting the next day's route with greater care now that water had become a more pressing concern.
The map showed another potential water source about a day's journey further south—a spring marked near the base of the mountain range he would need to cross. If that too proved dry, his situation would become significantly more precarious.
As Mike rolled out his bedding for the night, a thought struck him with unexpected force: he was now committed. With each step south, he moved further from Crafter's Haven, his only relatively secure base in this world. He was gambling everything on this direct route to the obsidian source, with no fallback position if things went wrong.
"One way or another, this ends soon," he told himself. Either he would collect all three components and build the trap, or the dangers of this world would finally overwhelm him. The middle ground of perpetual survival without progress was no longer an option.
The night passed without incident, though Mike's sleep was light and broken as usual. Dawn found him already preparing to continue, eager to reach the mountain spring before his water supplies became critical. The second day's travel proved even more challenging than the first—the terrain growing increasingly rugged as he approached the mountain range, the vegetation sparser, the sun hotter as it reflected off bare rock.
By mid-afternoon, Mike had spotted the landform that should contain the spring—a distinctive rock outcropping at the base of the mountains, surrounded by a patch of greenery that suggested active water. The sight lifted his spirits despite his growing fatigue and thirst.
"Please be there," he whispered as he picked his way down a steep slope toward the green patch.
The spring proved to be real, though diminished from what the map suggested had once been a substantial water source. A trickle emerged from beneath the rock formation, feeding a small pool before disappearing underground again. The surrounding vegetation—hardy shrubs and stunted trees—created a natural oasis in the otherwise barren landscape.
Mike approached cautiously, watching for signs of wildlife that might be drawn to the water. Finding no immediate threats, he refilled his containers and drank deeply, the cool water reviving his energy and focus. This was a stroke of fortune he badly needed—confirmation that at least some of the map's information remained accurate despite the passage of time.
With water secured, Mike decided to make camp near the spring rather than pushing on toward the mountain pass. The site offered both resources and relative protection, with the rock formation providing natural shelter. He used the remaining daylight to gather what little wood he could find for a small fire, supplementing his diminishing food supplies with edible stems from one of the water plants that resembled the reeds near Crafter's Haven.
As night fell, Mike found himself thinking of the Haven—the shelter he'd built, the underground chambers with their mysterious pedestals, the carefully stacked special wood waiting for his return. It felt like a lifetime ago rather than mere days. The constant movement, the need for vigilance, the unrelenting physical demands of this world had compressed his perception of time into an eternal present where only immediate concerns mattered.
"Wonder if Sarah's given up on me yet," he murmured to the fire, allowing himself a rare moment of dwelling on home. His wife would have reported him missing immediately, of course. By now, there would have been searches, investigations, perhaps even a funeral or memorial service if enough time had passed in the Earth realm. Jeremy would be devastated, blaming himself as teenagers often did when tragedy struck, searching for ways he could have prevented his father's disappearance if only he'd been there or said something different.
The thought stung worse than any physical wound Mike had suffered in this world. He pushed it away, focusing instead on the map spread before him. Tomorrow would bring the mountain pass—the most physically challenging portion of the journey to the obsidian source. After that, if the map was accurate, the terrain would become more level, though increasingly volcanic in nature as he approached the final resource location.
Morning brought clouds gathering around the mountain peaks—the first suggestion of weather changes since he'd left Crafter's Haven. Mike eyed them warily as he prepared for departure. A storm in the mountains could be deadly, turning dry gullies into flash floods and exposed ridges into lightning rods. Timing would be crucial to navigate the pass safely.
The approach to the pass consumed most of the day, the climbing steep and technical in places, requiring Mike to call upon his construction experience for judging hand and footholds. The clouds continued to build overhead, though they had not yet begun to release precipitation. By mid-afternoon, he had reached the base of the actual pass—a winding trail through a natural gap between two higher peaks.
"Need to clear this before dark," Mike decided, surveying the pass from below. According to his map, the crossing itself would take several hours, with no suitable camping spots along the way. Being caught on the exposed trail after nightfall or during a storm would be extremely dangerous.
Setting a pace that balanced speed with caution, Mike began the ascent through the pass. The trail showed signs of ancient improvement—steps cut into steeper sections, crude retaining walls reinforcing unstable areas—suggesting this had once been a regularly used route between the mine region and the volcanic lands beyond. The work had weathered over centuries but still provided crucial assistance on the more challenging sections.
Halfway through the pass, the first rumble of thunder echoed between the peaks. Mike quickened his pace, concern growing as he watched dark clouds gathering directly overhead. The air had taken on the distinctive electric quality that preceded storms, and a cool wind now whipped through the narrow passage, carrying the scent of rain.
Three-quarters of the way across, the first heavy droplets began to fall. Within minutes, the light shower had transformed into a deluge, water cascading down the rock faces on either side of the trail and turning the path itself into a miniature streambed. Mike pressed on, his footing increasingly treacherous on the slick stone.
Lightning flashed, illuminating the pass in stark white light, followed almost immediately by a crack of thunder that suggested the storm was directly overhead. Mike hugged the inside wall of the trail, minimizing his exposure while maintaining forward progress. Visibility had dropped dramatically, forcing him to navigate almost by memory and touch, each step a careful negotiation with the increasingly flowing trail.
Just as it seemed the storm couldn't intensify further, a new sound cut through the din of rain and thunder—a roar that Mike had hoped not to hear again so soon. The Void Ripper, its cry audible even above the storm, somewhere ahead of him along his intended route.
"You've got to be kidding me," Mike shouted into the wind, frustration momentarily overriding fear.
Had the creature somehow circled around while he traveled south? Was there more than one of them? Or had it simply been heading in this direction all along, its territory larger than Mike had estimated? There was no way to know, but the immediate implications were clear—continuing forward had become significantly more dangerous.
Mike paused in the shelter of a slight overhang, reconsidering his options. Turning back would mean retracing his steps through the increasingly dangerous pass in deteriorating conditions. Continuing forward meant potential confrontation with the Void Ripper in unfamiliar territory. Neither choice offered safety.
Another lightning flash illuminated the pass ahead, revealing that the trail descended steeply about a hundred yards further on. According to the map, that descent should lead to the southern side of the mountains—the approach to the volcanic region and, ultimately, the obsidian source.
"Forward," Mike decided, his determination hardening. He had come too far to turn back now.
Pushing out from the overhang's minimal shelter, Mike continued through the pass, each step deliberate despite the urgency pulling at him. The Void Ripper's roar didn't come again, perhaps drowned out by the storm's growing intensity or simply a single declaration of presence rather than immediate threat.
As the trail began its descent, the rain somewhat lessened, though lightning continued to dance between the peaks overhead. Mike picked up his pace on the downward slope, eager to reach lower elevation and relative safety before full darkness fell.
The southern exit of the pass opened abruptly onto a view that momentarily stopped Mike in his tracks, despite the rain still falling around him. Below, stretching to the horizon, lay a vast landscape unlike any he'd seen in this world—a dark expanse broken by lines of red-orange light that pulsed and shifted like living veins across the surface. Plumes of steam or smoke rose from multiple points, catching the intermittent lightning in dramatic silhouette.
The volcanic region. His destination.
Even from this distance, Mike could see that the terrain was more active than he had anticipated. What the map showed as a relatively dormant volcanic field appeared to be in a state of significant activity, with multiple visible lava flows and active vents. The obsidian source would be somewhere within that hellscape—the final component needed for the Void Ripper trap.
Finding shelter for the night became the immediate priority. The storm continued to rage, and the descent from the pass looked treacherous enough in daylight, let alone encroaching darkness. Mike scanned the area near the pass exit, eventually locating a rock overhang large enough to provide meaningful protection from the elements.
Setting up camp in these conditions proved challenging. Everything was soaked, including Mike himself, making fire nearly impossible to start even with his Zippo. He settled for a cold meal of preserved rations, huddled beneath the overhang as lightning continued to illuminate the volcanic landscape below in brief, dramatic flashes.
Despite his exhaustion, sleep remained elusive. The Void Ripper's roar had confirmed that nowhere in this world was truly safe—the creature's territory apparently encompassed areas on both sides of the mountain range. This rendered his decision to take the direct route to the obsidian source neither more nor less dangerous than returning to Crafter's Haven would have been. Both paths held peril.
Morning arrived with clearing skies and the first unobstructed view of the volcanic region. In daylight, it appeared both more impressive and more intimidating—a blackened landscape punctuated by glowing fissures, steaming vents, and occasional fountains of molten material from more active areas. The air carried a sulfurous scent even at this distance, suggesting air quality would become another challenge as he descended into that blasted terrain.
"One more day," Mike told himself, checking his supplies before beginning the descent. If the map was accurate, the obsidian source should be near the northern edge of the volcanic field—perhaps a day's journey from his current position, assuming the terrain allowed for steady progress.
As he shouldered his pack and began picking his way down the steep trail from the pass, Mike felt a weight he hadn't anticipated. Not physical exhaustion, though that was certainly present, but a deeper weariness born of constant vigilance and the knowledge that greater challenges still lay ahead. The Void Ripper's unexpected appearance yesterday had shaken his confidence in any plan or route being truly safer than another.
Yet beneath that weariness lay a core of determination that had only strengthened through his trials in this world. He had survived the portal arrival, built shelter from ruins, defeated goblins and the tryclops, navigated the mill's guardian, and secured both the special wood and crystal components. The obsidian remained within reach, and with it, the possibility of creating a defense against the Void Ripper itself.
"One step at a time," Mike reminded himself, his boots finding purchase on the rain-slick path downward.
Ahead lay fire and stone, danger and opportunity. The final resource awaited, and with it, perhaps, a path toward safety—or even home.