Chapter 7

Gate Initiation, Part I

(Toto, I don't think we're in Cleveland anymore)

14 hours, 58 minutes until Elimination (Culling).

I’ve been driving in slow circles around Downtown Cleveland for the last forty minutes or so, scanning every alley, every crosswalk, every shadowed corner for a glowing, otherworldly portal.

Nothing.

You’d think these things would be easier to find!

Just brick and concrete and cold, dead air. If Gates are supposed to be more common in crowded areas, then where the hell is mine? Was I supposed to make an appointment or something?

I suppose there are fewer people out and about. Likely due to the cold—and the whole ‘people exploding’ thing that’s going on.

I exhale through gritted teeth, my fingers twitching on the steering wheel. Yup, Downtown’s quieter than usual—not empty, but not the steady pulse of people I’m used to. The city feels . . . hollow? Less traffic. Fewer lights. Like it’s already starting to wind down, one missing person at a time.

I pass the theaters for the third time. Same marquee—advertising the current Musical on tour (there’s a show tonight at 7:30 p.m., something about corn . . . I think). Still no giant portal of salvation.

I pull the car into an open street spot—not that there’s much competition for parking—and kill the engine. If I keep crawling around at two miles per hour like a creep, I’m gonna lose my mind. Maybe I’ll have better luck on foot.

The cold hits the second I step out. Sharp and biting, worming through my hooded down coat like it’s not even there. Welcome to Cleveland in the winter—where the wind coming off the lake personally hates you. After college, I had considered positions in both Chicago and New York. At the time the thought of being in another Midwest city (no matter how large) on a windy, cold ass lake sounded miserable. I agree with you, Past Joseph!

I stuff my hands into my pockets and cross Euclid Avenue, boots crunching over a thin layer of ice. My breath fogs the air as I walk beneath the massive crystal chandelier hanging over the intersection. It’s still as absurdly fancy as ever—like someone decided Cleveland needed a little Vegas flair. Because nothing says Cleveland like a twenty-foot tall art installation dangling above the street.

Dad’s mantras pass through my mind again. I breathe out, trying to get my nerves to settle. Okay, I actually like the chandelier.

I glance around, hoping—praying—to see a Gate shimmering in the distance. Still nothing. Just the empty storefronts and snow-dusted sidewalks stretching ahead.

What the hell am I even looking for? Are Participants actually expected to summon the Gates somehow? Should I be waving my beginner wand around like a total jackass?

And why hasn’t anyone bothered to shovel or salt the sidewalks?

Seriously, one wrong step and I’m cracking my head open on the pavement. My luck, I’ll slip and die before I even get the chance to explode.

I rub my palms together for warmth and press forward, heart pounding with every step.

The news made it sound like the Gates were everywhere.

Reddit posts, breaking alerts, live-streams—every channel lit up with shaky cell phone footage of glowing portals cropping up in the middle of outdoor shopping centers, stadium parking lots, and someone’s backyard barbeque. It felt like you couldn’t turn a corning without hitting one.

So why the hell can’t I find one?

14 hours, 43 minutes. The timer ticks down in the corner of my vision like a slow, inevitable death sentence. While driving around, I had toyed with the System interface and learned I could customize the head’s up display.

I rub the back of my neck, scanning the empty street ahead. Maybe I’m overthinking it. If these things are as common as the news says, then—

Wait.

I freeze mid-step.

A faint flicker of blue light glows out of the corner of my eye. Soft. Subtle. Like the shimmer of the System interface.

It’s coming from an alleyway tucked between a bleached white apartment complex and the Heinen’s grocery store. I pause, heart hammering against my ribs. For a second, I think I’m imagining it. Just city lights playing tricks on me. But the glow pulses again—deeper in.

I swallow hard. “Well, this doesn’t scream bad idea at all,” I mutter, but my legs are already moving.

The alley’s quiet safe for the sound of a pipe dripping somewhere in the shadows. Drip … drip … Drip. My steps echo faintly off brick walls as I follow the soft, otherworldly glow. Garbage bags pile up against a rusted dumpster. A busted pallet leans against the wall. Normal. Everything looks normal.

Except for the light.

It’s coming from another alley—an even narrower one bisecting this one. I turn the corner, and there it is.

Holy shit. A portal.

Seven feet tall, give or take. Oval-shaped. Its surface shimmers like rippling water, but the color—an electric, vivid blue—glows so bright it makes the shadows around it feel thicker. The air near it hums with a low, vibrating frequency, like the barely-audible buzz of T.V. static.

It’s real. It’s right there.

My mouth goes dry.

I take a shaky step closer, boots scuffing against the concrete. Up close, the thing looks even more unreal—like someone took the northern lights and crammed them into a doorway. Faint motes of light drift lazily off the edges, dissolving into the cold night air.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

I take a long breath, forcing my heartbeat to slow as I focus on the glowing portal in front of me. This is real—too real. If I’m going through with this, I need to be prepared.

“Inventory,” I murmur.

The faint hum of the System responds instantly. A translucent window snaps into existence in front of me, its edges softly glowing in the dim alleyway light.

Inventory Level: Beginner.

Maximum Capacity: 20.

Slots Available: 15 of 20.

Huh. I hadn’t noticed that part before. A limit. Of course there’s a limit. Can’t have me running around like a video game hoarder with a mountain of junk. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I am disappointed by this revelation—when I play video games, I raid and loot everything. It’s one of the best parts!

I flick my finger through the menu, scanning my gear. Five slots are already spoken for—my hat, cape, wand, the two mana potions, and the spellbook. I’m curious if equipped items take up Inventory space.

I glance down at the Novice Wand (Beginner) sitting in its neat little menu box, and then tap the Equip option. The diagram of a human body appears and with a single mental command I drop the wand into my Hand (Left) slot. In a flash of pixelated light, the wand appears in my left hand—slender, smooth, and warm to the touch.

Whoa.

Alright. Hat next.

I tap on the Basic Cone Hat of Wizardry. This one I place into the Head slot in the Equip menu. Another flash. Something soft plops onto my head, slightly askew. I reach up and adjust it into place.

“Looking good, Gandalf,” I mutter under my breath.

I shake my head as I chuckle at myself, tapping on the Cape of the Arcane Student. In another burst of light, the cape unfurls across my shoulders, draping over my winter coat.

I swipe back to the Inventory menu and—yep. Three slots just opened up. Confirming my suspicion: equipped items don’t count against my carrying capacity.

Which is . . . good? Yeah. That’s good.

Still, eighteen slots isn’t much room to work with. What happens if I find something important and can’t pick it up? And what about these mana potions? They’re grouped together in a single slot, but is there a limit on how many I can stack? Could an infinite number of the same item be placed into a single Inventory slot?

I shake my head, dropping the train of thought. One thing at a time. Right now, I’ve got a Gate in front of me, a ticking clock in my head, and no idea what’s waiting on the other side.

“Alright,” I say quietly to myself, tightening my grip on the wand. “Let’s do this.”

I take a deep breath, square my shoulders, and step forward.

The moment my foot meets the shimmering blue threshold, a tingling sensation sparks at my fingertips and races up my arms. It’s not unpleasant—not exactly—but it’s weird, like my nerves are buzzing on some strange, otherworldly frequency.

Then the tugging starts.

A sharp yank behind my navel, like some invisible hook has latched onto me. My stomach flips. I lurch forward, and before I can even think to resist, the portal pulls me in.

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A wall of blinding white light floods my vision.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I squeeze my eyes shut against the glare. My whole body feels weightless, like I’m falling without moving. There’s no sound—just a heavy, buzzing pressure filling my ears. For one heart-pounding moment, I wonder if I’ve screwed up, if I’m about to get disassembled atom by atom or spat out into a hell dimension filled with teeth-monsters and eldritch nightmares.

Then, just as suddenly as it started, it stops.

I stumble forward, blinking against the fading brilliance. My boots press softly against . . . grass?

I lift my head, and—wait, what?

I’m standing in the middle of a field. No more grimy alleyway, no more frozen Cleveland concrete. Just a rolling expanse of soft, green grass stretching out in every direction. Patches of purple flowers—lavender, maybe?—dot the landscape in lazy, sprawling swaths. Overhead, the sun hangs warm and golden in a cloudless blue sky.

It’s . . . beautiful. Peaceful. Like I’ve wandered straight into the Windows XP desktop background. Definitely not the dark and dank dungeon corridors I was expecting to greet me on the other side of the Gate.

The breeze brushes against my face—cool and crisp, like a late-winter chill that shouldn’t belong here. It tugs gently at the hem of my cape. Instinctively, I glance back.

The portal—the only way home—is already shrinking. The last of the cold, winter air passes through the gate as it rapidly closes.

“Wait—” I start, but too late.

With a faint, whispering whoosh, the shimmering blue light collapses inward on itself and vanishes, leaving nothing but open air.

…Well. No turning back now.

A sharp ping rings out, and a translucent notification flickers to life in my vision:

Entering Dead World #43.

Dead World?

That doesn’t sound great.

“System,” I mutter under my breath, but nothing happens. No helpful guide. No soothing tutorial voice. Just me, the wind, and the quiet rustle of grass.

I shift my grip on the novice wand still clutched in my left hand, trying to shake off the creeping unease curling in my stomach.

“Alright,” I say to no one in particular. “Dead World. Not ominous at all.”

The wind picks up, carrying the faint scent of something sweet and earthy across the field. It would almost be relaxing—if not for the clock ticking down in the corner of my vision.

14 Hours, 40 Minutes until Elimination (Culling).

I scan the horizon. No buildings. No landmarks. No signs of life.

What the hell am I supposed to do now?

A sharp ping jolts through me—like the world’s tiniest electric shock zapping the back of my skull, its accompanied by a pulsing sensation in my mind.

A notification window pops up in my vision, hovering a few inches above my line of sight:

New Quest!: Bright-Eyed New Adventurer!

[Description: Welcome to your first Gate, Participant! To complete this Quest, kill 5 monsters.]

[Reward: One random Beginner’s Chest.]

[Additional Objective (Spellcaster Discipline): Use spells to deal the killing blow for each monster killed in completing this Quest.]

[Reward: Beginner’s Chest upgraded to an Advanced Chest.]

I stare at the glowing text, trying to decide how I feel about it.

On one hand—a quest! That’s progress, right? Clear objectives. Tangible rewards. I am beginning to have a sense of what it will take to complete this Gate Initiation Quest and not be exploded Dave-style. Also, all the comforting structure of a video game to distract from the fact that I’m stranded in a place called Dead World #43.

On the other hand . . . I have to kill something. Five somethings, to be exact. And the System seems awfully keen on me doing it with spells. You know, those things I only have two of—neither of which could so much as bruise a fruit fly. I’ve never even gone hunting, and am nervous at the thought of it.

“Great,” I mutter. “Because nothing says ‘bright-eyed’ like magical murder.”

Still, I wonder what the difference is between a Beginner’s Chest and an Advanced Chest. How much of an improvement is that? What will I be giving up if I can’t complete the Additional Objective? If there’s any chance it contains something that’ll make me less pathetic, I want it.

I dismiss the quest window with a mental nudge and glance around the field again. Same endless grass, same patches of purple flowers swaying lazily in the breeze. Nothing looks particularly monstrous.

“Alright,” I sigh. “Let’s go poke around for something to kill, I guess.”

I walk, keeping my footsteps light, ears straining. A hint of wind brushes my back, tugging at my cape like it’s trying to nudge me forward. The portal that spat me out here is gone—sealed shut like I’m trapped inside a snow globe (field globe?) with a homicidal to-do list.

I take another step, and something moves.

It’s small—just a ripple of motion ahead, near a cluster of lavender blooms. I freeze and squint.

There. About ten yards away, something wobbles into view.

It’s a . . . blob?

A shimmering, quivering mass of pale blue jelly, about the size of a basketball. It pulses faintly, oozing forward in small, bouncy hops.

A new notification flashes in front of me:

Monster Identified: Lesser Slime

Level: 1

Classification: Basic Ooze

A Slime.

Of course. My first monster is straight out of every low-level fantasy game in existence.

The slime bounces again, wobbling like an overfilled water balloon.

I should be relieved. This is probably the least-threatening monster possible—unless it suddenly grows teeth and a taste for human flesh. But still . . . it’s a monster. And I’m supposed to kill it.

With magic, preferably.

“Alright, you wobbly bastard,” I mutter under my breath, raising my wand. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”