The construct straightened to its full height, nearly two meters tall, with runes flickering across its surface like warning lights. Its singular blue eye locked onto Doc with unnerving precision.

  "Lux, tactical assessment," Doc whispered, edging backward as Fish moved to his side.

  Hostile entity may be classified as an autonomous construct. Composition appears to be bronze and stone with crystalline power core. Your current equipment: Silvan cloak, MANTIS utility gauntlet, and standard local clothing. No armor, no primary weapons. H.O.T. Protocol is active but effectiveness reduced by 68% without the suit's servo assistance. Fish appears combat-ready but construct's mass exceeds her weight by approximately 700%.

  "So you're saying I'm dressed for a casual stroll but crashed into a formal combat situation?" Doc muttered. "Fantastic. Next time I'll remember to bring my plasma gun to bed."

  The construct's eye flared brighter. It raised its maul-fist and charged forward with unexpected speed, each footfall sending tremors through the stone floor.

  "Split!" Doc shouted, diving right as Fish phased left.

  The construct's fist crashed into a stone column behind them, shattering it with a thunderous crack. Chunks of stone rained down, forcing Doc to roll again to avoid being crushed.

  "Fish!" Doc called, scrambling toward a darkened archway at the chamber's edge.

  Fish responded instantly, blinking in and out of phase around the construct, nipping at its legs and joints before vanishing before it could retaliate. The construct spun, its singular eye tracking her movements with increasing agitation.

  Doc reached the archway and ducked through, finding himself in what looked like a long-abandoned workspace. Dust-covered tables lined the walls, littered with tools and objects he couldn’t place in the dim light.

  "I need a weapon," he panted, scanning the room.

  A crash from the main chamber told him the construct had tired of Fish's harassment. He heard her growl, followed by the sound of her claws skittering across stone as she retreated.

  "Lux, escape options?"

  The portal remains active but the construct is positioned between your current location and the gateway. Probability of successful direct approach: 17.3%.

  Fish appeared beside him, materializing from the shadows with a soft huff. Her fur bristled along her spine, but she showed no signs of injury.

  "Good girl," Doc whispered, patting her flank. "Let's find another way around."

  A rhythmic thudding approached, the construct methodically searching for them. Each impact grew louder, closer.

  Doc peered through a crack in the far wall, spotting another chamber beyond. "This way," he whispered.

  They slipped through the narrow opening just as the construct smashed through the workshop entrance. Doc and Fish crouched behind a fallen stone table, listening to the grinding sounds of the guardian construct's movements as it swept the room they'd just vacated.

  "So," Doc breathed, barely audible even to himself, "trapped in what looks like an old complex with an angry construct between us and home. Just another day, right?"

  Fish pressed against his side, her amber eyes gleaming in the darkness as they waited for their moment.

  Doc pressed himself deeper into the shadows as the construct's heavy footfalls approached their hiding spot. The grinding of metal joints and soft hum of runes echoed through the chamber, punctuated by the occasional impact as the construct smashed objects in its search pattern.

  "If it finds us here, we're cornered," Doc whispered. "Fish, can you distract it again"

  Fish's amber eyes gleamed with understanding. Her form shimmered, then vanished in a blur of shadow. Doc held his breath, counting seconds.

  A crash sounded from across the room. Fish had materialized directly behind the construct, snarling loudly. The construct spun with surprising agility, its blue eye flaring brighter as it identified the threat. Fish phased again, reappearing even farther from Doc's position, drawing the construct away with each calculated jump.

  "Lux, tactical scan. Find me a weakness," Doc murmured, watching the construct lumber after Fish.

  Scanning structural composition, Lux replied through their neural link. The construct appears to be an Autonomous unit of unknown origin. Primary power source is the crystalline optic in its head structure. Detecting a vulnerability pattern: after using its runic slam attack, the runes across its body enter a recalibration phase lasting approximately 3.8 seconds.

  Doc observed as the construct smashed its fist into a wall where Fish had been moments before. Sure enough, the sigils across its body pulsed rhythmically, and the construct momentarily locked in place.

  Feedback shielding cycle, Lux continued, recognizing the pattern. Like Kepler research station defense units. After discharge, the protective matrix needs recalibration to prevent overload.

  Doc studied the construct's rhythmic rune pulsing, the momentary stillness. "Same vulnerability window, same lockout sequence. Whoever built this understood feedback loops."

  Engineering principles match our world's autonomous systems. Different energy source, but core defensive architecture follows predictable patterns. Vulnerable during reset. 3.8 seconds reduced capability.

  "So I hit it when it's recharging," Doc said, scanning the floor for weapons. Nothing useful, he thought grimly. "Any suggestions on what to hit it with?"

  Your prosthetic arm incorporates shuttle alloy components and monster core fragments, Lux replied. Theoretical calculations suggest sufficient impact force could damage the crystalline optic if applied with precision.

  Doc stared at his prosthetic hand, flexing the fingers. "You want me to punch a seven-hundred-kilogram stone construct in its eye? That's your tactical solution?"

  It is the option with highest probability of success given current resources.

  "This is what I get for being unprepared," Doc sighed, rolling his shoulders. "Fine. Reinitiate H.O.T. Protocol. Let's make this count."

  His vision sharpened as the combat overlay engaged. The world slowed fractionally as his neural pathways optimized for combat. Without his suit's support systems, the strain hit his body immediately, muscles tensing, heart rate spiking.

  "Fish!" Doc called. "Draw it to the center!"

  Fish materialized on a broken pillar, her growl echoing through the chamber. The construct's eye swiveled toward her, its massive form pivoting with surprising fluidity. It raised its maul-fist, runes glowing bright blue.

  Doc sprinted from cover, circling behind the construct. "Lux, predictive targeting!"

  A transparent overlay appeared in his vision, trajectory lines calculating the construct's movement patterns, highlighting the optimal moment to strike.

  Fish phased again, appearing directly in front of the construct. It slammed its fist downward. Fish vanished an instant before impact, leaving the construct's attack to crater the stone floor.

  "Now!" Lux's voice rang through Doc's mind.

  Doc lunged forward as the construct's runes pulsed in their recalibration cycle. He drove his prosthetic fist toward the glowing eye....

  But the construct recovered faster than predicted. Its left arm swung sideways, catching Doc mid-leap. The impact sent him flying across the chamber, crashing into a stone shelf that collapsed under his weight.

  Pain exploded across his ribs. Doc gasped, struggling to breathe through what felt like fractured bones. The Silvan cloak had absorbed some of the impact, but without his suit's protection, the blow had done real damage.

  "Predictive model error,” Lux said. “It adapts. Recalibration shortened by 0.7 seconds.."

  "Thanks... for the update," Doc wheezed, dragging himself upright. Blood trickled from a gash on his forehead, clouding his vision. "Adjusting approach."

  The construct turned toward him, its eye flaring with increased intensity. Fish appeared at Doc's side, nudging him urgently.

  Doc staggered to his feet, pressing a hand against his throbbing ribs. Each breath sent spikes of pain through his chest. The construct advanced methodically, its singular eye fixed on him with unwavering focus.

  "That didn't go as planned," Doc muttered.

  Doc watched the construct's movements, noting the rhythmic pulse of runes across its surface. An idea formed—desperate, but possibly their only option.

  "Lux, can you calculate the exact timing window if I force it to use maximum power?"

  "Theoretically, yes. A higher energy attack would require longer recalibration. However, surviving such an attack without your suit presents significant risk."

  Doc smiled grimly. "I don't need to survive it. I need to avoid it."

  Fish circled back to Doc's side, her fur bristling as she sensed his intent.

  "No, Fish. Stay back for this one," Doc commanded, pushing himself fully upright despite the protest from his ribs. "I need a clear shot."

  The construct raised its maul-fist, runes glowing brighter as it prepared another attack.

  "I'm going to make it commit fully," Doc explained to Lux. "When it swings, give me the dodge trajectory and counter window."

  Understood. Calculating optimal evasion path.

  Doc stepped forward, deliberately presenting himself as an easy target. He raised his arms wide, prosthetic hand gleaming in the dim light.

  "Come on, you oversized paperweight," he called. "Let's see what you've got."

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  The construct's eye flared with increased intensity. It raised both arms high, the runes along its limbs pulsing with concentrated energy. This would be no glancing blow—it was committing to a full-power strike.

  Predictive matrix active, Lux announced. Prepare to move on my mark.

  Doc tensed, every muscle coiled and ready. Time seemed to slow as the H.O.T. Protocol sharpened his senses to their limit. He could see individual motes of dust illuminated by the construct's glowing runes, hear the faint hum of energy building in its core.

  The construct's arms began their downward arc.

  Three, Lux counted. Two. One,

  NOW!

  Doc threw himself sideways with every ounce of strength he could muster. The construct's fists crashed into the stone where he had stood a heartbeat earlier, sending shockwaves through the chamber. Chunks of stone exploded outward as the floor cracked beneath the impact.

  Counter window in 2.8 seconds, Lux reported. Maximum force required.

  Doc was already pivoting, using his momentum to spin back toward the construct. Its runes pulsed frantically as the recalibration cycle engaged—longer this time, just as he'd hoped. The construct remained frozen in its post-attack position, temporarily vulnerable.

  Targeting solution locked, Lux announced, highlighting the crystalline optic in Doc's vision.

  Doc launched himself forward, driving his prosthetic fist directly toward the glowing eye. Energy surged through the interface points of his prosthetic arm—a ripple of unseen power that turned a simple motion into something forceful and unnatural.

  The crystal cracked with a sound like shattering ice. Blue light spilled from the fractures, accompanied by a high-pitched whine. The construct shuddered, its limbs jerking erratically as the control systems failed.

  Doc stumbled backward, clutching his prosthetic arm. The fingers twitched with residual energy discharge, sending uncomfortable tingles up to his shoulder.

  Target neutralized, Lux confirmed. Crystal core integrity compromised beyond functional parameters.

  The construct dropped to one knee, runes flickering and fading across its surface. The blue light from its damaged eye dimmed, pulsing weakly like a dying heartbeat.

  "Did we kill it?" Doc asked, backing away cautiously.

  Unknown. It appears to be entering some form of dormancy or shutdown sequence.

  Fish materialized beside Doc, sniffing cautiously at his prosthetic arm before turning her attention to the fallen construct. Doc exhaled, steadying his breath. The Fixer sat clipped to his belt, untouched but intact. At least one variable hadn’t gone sideways.

  "Let's not wait around to see if it has friends," Doc muttered, glancing toward the shimmering gateway across the chamber. "This place could be crawling with more of these things."

  Fish huffed in agreement, her fur still bristling along her spine.

  They moved cautiously around the construct, Doc wincing with each step. The prosthetic arm tingled with residual energy, occasional blue sparks dancing between the fingers. Whatever had happened during that impact, it wasn't standard operation.

  "Lux, status on the gateway?"

  Portal remains stable and active. Recommend immediate extraction before local security systems activate additional countermeasures.

  "Don't need to tell me twice."

  Doc limped toward the glowing archway, Fish keeping close to his side. The light from the portal cast long shadows across the ancient stone floor, illuminating the destruction their brief battle had caused.

  As they stepped through the gateway, reality twisted and compressed. For a heartbeat, Doc felt suspended between two points—weightless, formless—before crashing back into existence on the familiar stone floor of the temple chamber.

  The moment his feet touched ground, Doc's legs gave out. He collapsed in an ungraceful heap, a sharp cry escaping as his injured ribs took the impact.

  "Fish," he gasped, "get Ironha... and Maz."

  Fish barked once and vanished in a blur of shadow, her paws barely touching the ground as she raced from the chamber.

  Doc rolled onto his back, staring up at the temple's vaulted ceiling. "Well," he wheezed, "that was educational."

  Your injuries require immediate attention, Lux replied. Three ribs show fracture patterns consistent with blunt force trauma. Minor internal bleeding detected.

  "So our escape route leads straight to more danger," Doc said with a pained chuckle that immediately made him wince. "Perfect. Just perfect."

  This does present a significant tactical challenge, Lux responded, tone serious. However, given adequate preparation and proper equipment, we can develop countermeasures for—

  "I was joking, Lux," Doc interrupted. "If I'd been wearing my suit and carrying actual weapons, that oversized paperweight wouldn't have been a problem."

  The construct's estimated mass was 780 kilograms. 'Paperweight' seems an inadequate descriptor.

  Doc snorted. "Never thought I'd punch an autonomous construct to death. A two-meter-tall, nearly half-ton stone and metal construct. With my bare hand." He flexed his prosthetic fingers, watching the faint blue energy shimmer beneath the surface. "Well, not exactly bare."

  The sound of hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor. Fish appeared first, materializing from the shadows with Ironha and Lina close behind her. Mazoga and Kesh followed at a brisk pace.

  Lina went about setting up the healing supplies while Ironha knelt beside him, her hands already glowing with healing energy. "What happened?" she demanded, eyes scanning his injuries with professional focus.

  "Fell through a portal, met the welcoming committee," Doc grunted as her fingers probed his ribs. "Turns out they weren't very welcoming."

  Ironha confirmed. “Three fractured ribs.” She took a potion from Lina. “Drink this.”

  Doc swallowed the bitter liquid, feeling warmth spread through his chest as the magic began knitting his bones back together.

  Mazoga crouched on his other side, her amber eyes narrowed. "You activated the gateway."

  "Accidentally," Doc clarified.

  "And?" she prompted.

  Doc laughed, then winced as his healing ribs protested. "It's a long story."

  "I've got time," Mazoga said, settling more comfortably beside him as Ironha and Lina continued their work.

  "Well," Doc began, "turns out that touching ancient runes with an object that is able to interact with magical energy isn't the best idea..."

  Maz sat with her back against the cool stone wall, arms folded across her chest as she listened to Doc's tale. Ironha's hands worked methodically, the soft glow of healing magic pulsing between her fingers as she tended to Doc's injuries while Lina help kept Doc stable. His story unfolded in that matter-of-fact way of his—like he was reporting on the weather instead of describing a battle with an ancient construct.

  "So I calculated the timing window between its attack and shield recalibration," Doc continued, wincing slightly as Lina pressed against a tender spot. "The construct was designed with overlapping defensive capabilities, but they couldn't maintain continuous coverage during power redistribution."

  Maz raised an eyebrow. "You figured all this out while it was trying to cave your skull in?"

  "I had help," Doc replied, glancing at Fish, who lay nearby with her head on her paws, watching the proceedings with alert amber eyes.

  Mazoga shook her head. The man before her was a contradiction that still confounded her after all these months. Brilliant enough to translate ancient texts that stumped scholars, yet reckless enough to stick his hand into magical gateways without backup.

  "Let me understand this," she said, leaning forward. "You punched a stone and metal golem—"

  "With my prosthetic arm," Doc clarified.

  "—with your prosthetic arm, and somehow shattered its eye."

  Doc flexed his mechanical fingers. "The energy interaction was... unexpected. When the arm made contact with the crystal, there was a feedback surge that disrupted its core functions."

  Kesh made a soft sound of appreciation. "Clean kill."

  "Not sure if it's dead," Doc corrected. "More like... powered down."

  Ironha sat back on her heels, wiping her brow. "Your ribs are mending, but you need rest. The potion can only accelerate natural healing."

  "I should get back to the library," Doc said, already trying to sit up. "We need to document what happened and prepare for—"

  "Bed," Maz cut him off, the single word carrying the weight of a command. "Now."

  Doc blinked at her. "I'm fine. The ribs are almost—"

  "No," Ironha, Lina, and Kesh said in unison.

  Maz stood, towering over him. "You're going to bed, and you're staying there until morning. The gateway isn't going anywhere, and neither are you."

  Doc looked between the four of them, apparently recognizing the futility of argument. "Fine," he conceded with a sigh. "But first thing tomorrow…"

  "We'll discuss it then," Maz said firmly.

  Ironha and Lina helped Doc to his feet, steadying him with a hand on each elbow. "Come on. I'll make sure you don't collapse in the hallway." Ironha said.

  As they disappeared down the corridor, Fish padding silently behind them, Maz turned to Kesh. The hunter's face was impassive as always, but she caught the slight crinkle at the corner of his eyes.

  "What do you make of that story?" she asked, nodding toward the now-active gateway. Its surface shimmered with a faint blue light, casting rippling patterns across the ancient stone floor.

  Kesh's laugh rumbled deep in his chest, the sound startling her. "If anyone else claimed they'd beaten a Golem with just a metal arm and a wolf..." He traced the worn leather grip of his bow with calloused fingers, amber eyes reflecting the gateway's shimmer. "I'd call them a liar to their face and probably slap them for wasting my time." His expression softened almost imperceptibly. "But Doc? After everything we've seen him do? I've learned not to doubt the impossible when it comes from him."

  "Yeah," Maz sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. "That's the problem, isn't it? I can actually see him doing exactly what he described."

  She walked toward the gateway, stopping just short of its shimmering surface. Six months they'd been here, building a life within these ancient walls. Six months of farming and hunting and building. Sometimes she almost forgot why they'd chosen this place, not just for safety, but for this very doorway. Their ticket out of the Hollow Vale.

  "Find four people to guard this in shifts," she said, turning back to Kesh. "Armed and alert. Doc says the golem was too big to fit through, but who knows what else might come visiting."

  Kesh nodded, already mentally selecting candidates. "Better safe than sorry."

  "Exactly," Maz agreed, casting one last glance at the pulsing gateway. "And when Doc wakes up tomorrow, we need a plan that doesn't involve punching ancient golems."

  Ironha caught Doc's sharp intake of breath as they navigated the corridor's uneven stones. His left hand pressed against his ribs while his prosthetic arm hung loose at his side, the amber-threaded metal catching torchlight in dull flashes. Each step sent a visible tremor through his shoulders, though he tried to mask it by keeping his chin up and his pace steady.

  "Careful," she murmured, adjusting her grip on his elbow as he stumbled slightly over a raised threshold.

  The man was exhausted. She could see it in the way his eyelids drooped between blinks, in the subtle sag of his normally straight posture. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and his breathing came just a fraction too shallow—favoring those tender ribs even as the healing potion worked through his system.

  Yet here he was, trying to walk like nothing had happened. Trying to convince them all he was ready to march back into that library and work through the night.

  How can someone so brilliant be so utterly reckless?

  The thought struck her with a mixture of exasperation and genuine worry. This was the same man who could decipher ancient texts that left scholars baffled, who had guided her through creating cures that saved lives, who approached every problem with methodical precision. The same man who had apparently decided that playing with an unknown magical gateway—alone, in the middle of the night—was a perfectly reasonable course of action.

  "Almost there," Lina said softly from Doc's other side, her young voice carrying the same gentle authority Ironha had been trying to teach her.

  Doc's room lay just ahead, and Ironha felt him lean more heavily on their support as fatigue caught up with him. His steps grew shorter, more careful, though he still maintained that stubborn tilt to his jaw that said he was fine, everything was under control.

  She shook her head, biting back a smile despite her concern. Six months of working with Doc, and she still couldn't reconcile the careful scholar with the man who charged headlong into danger whenever curiosity struck. It was like watching someone calculate the precise trajectory needed to throw themselves off a cliff.

  "Here we are," she said as they reached his door. Fish slipped past them into the room, already circling to claim her usual spot near the foot of his bed.

  Now came the challenge of actually getting him to stay put until morning.

  The door clicked shut behind them, and Ironha felt the tension in Doc's frame shift as the weight of performance finally lifted. No more audience to convince he was fine, no more need to project that calm, controlled demeanor he wore like armor.

  "Easy now," she murmured, guiding him toward the narrow bed tucked against the stone wall.

  The moment his knees touched the mattress, Doc's carefully maintained composure crumbled. He sank onto the edge with a soft exhale, his prosthetic arm falling limp while his flesh hand braced against the blanket. His eyelids fluttered once, twice—and then he simply toppled sideways, unconscious before his head hit the pillow.

  Lina let out a small gasp. "Is he—?"

  "Exhausted," Ironha finished, moving quickly to lift his legs onto the bed proper. "His body finally caught up with what he put it through tonight."

  Fish completed her customary three circles at the foot of the bed before settling with a contented sigh, her midnight fur rippling with faint violet traces in the dim light. The wolf's presence brought an odd comfort to the room—like a piece of normalcy anchoring itself amid all the strangeness that seemed to follow Doc wherever he went.

  Ironha pulled the blanket up to Doc's shoulders, then placed her palm against his forehead. Vital Sense flowed through her touch, reading the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, the even draw of his breathing. The healing potion was doing its work—ribs knitting properly, exhaustion fading toward genuine rest.

  "Is he going to be alright?" Lina asked, worry threading through her young voice.

  Ironha smiled, withdrawing her hand. "He'll be fine. Doc's body heals remarkably fast, so you needn't worry too much."

  Ironha studied his face, the sharp angles softened by sleep, the ever-present furrow between his brows finally smooth. Even now, there was a restlessness to him, as if his mind didn’t know how to stop moving.

  “Brilliance doesn’t come with a survival instinct,” she muttered, shaking her head.

  She brushed a stray lock from his forehead, her fingers soft and brief.

  “You’ve got people who care for you, you silly little man.”

  Fish’s amber eyes gleamed in the quiet, a flick of understanding in the dark.

  Thanks for reading!

  Chapter 33 drops Tuesday.