Through the Distant Universe

Emerging from the crater, I felt an acute compulsion to press onward. Whatever sinister object had triggered the anomaly at the pit's base, I needed to reach the spire as swiftly as possible. The ash rain intensified, settling on my armor, my face, and in my lungs. My body was at its breaking point—wounded, poisoned, yet still capable of moving forward.

"Loss of focus on route. Time lost: 47 minutes. Resource loss: negligible. Optimal course: direct, bearing 73 degrees," the AI's dispassionate voice reported through my HUD, as if chastising my delay.

Ignoring the rebuke, I scanned the fog, searching for the silhouette of my objective. With difficulty, I discerned it. There it was—the needle of the spire.

With each step, the terrain transformed. The lifeless wasteland surrounding the crater gave way to something resembling ruins—twisted house walls, molten iron fragments. Everything suggested I had reached the outermost edge affected by the blast wave.

The debris grew larger, obscuring the horizon. Houses no longer merely stood; they piled atop one another, forming chaotic heaps, as if someone had attempted to construct a mountain of refuse devoid of logic or plan. Progress became increasingly arduous. Though my exosuit alleviated the strain on my legs, it could not fully compensate for the terrain's unpredictability. I had to clamber over rubble piles, scale slanted surfaces, and balance on slick beams coated with a sticky, foul-smelling slime whose origin I dared not contemplate. At times, I plunged into voids hidden beneath layers of dust, barely managing to crawl out, miraculously avoiding serious injury. Sharp metal edges scraped my armor, and cold seeped beneath it, causing my muscles to cramp.

The AI remained silent, issuing only occasional curt course corrections, as if testing my endurance, probing how quickly I would break. It offered no detours, no sympathy for my exhaustion, simply guiding me toward the designated goal, as though I were a programmed automaton rather than a living human.

"Distance to objective: 1.7 kilometers. Elevation gain: 340 meters. Threat level: moderate," its emotionless voice declared, sounding like a verdict, an echo of inevitability trailing me.

As I advanced, I observed increasing evidence of the monstrous force that had devastated this world. Houses, as if turned inside out, with torn walls and mangled supports. Chunks of concrete, charred and melted, as though thrust into a volcano's maw. And worst of all—the bodies. There were more than before. Frozen in their final poses, distorted by grimaces of terror, they lay strewn across the path like discarded dolls forgotten by children. Some were contorted into inhuman shapes, their bones twisted as if wrung like rags. Others were flattened into thin crusts adhering to the concrete, their remains resembling flat shadows carved from darkness.

I tried not to look, but they haunted me, their empty eye sockets boring into my mind. A woman clutching a child, attempting to shield it from inevitable doom, their bodies fused into a petrified lump of despair. A soldier gripping a weapon, ready to fight to the end, his face—now mere tattered rags—still bearing the imprint of silent resolve. An old man seated on a chair, staring into nothingness, as if resigned to his fate, his gnarled fingers clutching the void. Their deaths were not merely the end of life; they were a perversion, a grotesque spectacle staged for a single audience—me.

They had all perished here. In this inferno. And I might be next. I was a walking reminder of their defeat, a living fragment of a world that should not have survived. Every cell in my body screamed in pain, yearning to stop, but something deep within me, some primal spark, kept driving me forward. I could not surrender. Not now.

Gritting my teeth, I quickened my pace. I had to reach the spire. I had to find answers. I had to survive.

And then, at last, it loomed before me. The needle. The spire, rising from the ruins like a mockery of all that lived, of the very concept of life.

It towered over me like a titan, surpassing the height of the Burj Khalifa or any structure I had ever seen. Its peak vanished into the upper atmosphere, piercing the crimson sky, which itself seemed a wound in the fabric of existence. Compared to this colossus, even the tallest skyscrapers I had seen in photographs appeared dwarfish, like toy buildings. The spire was crafted from an unknown material, dark and smooth like obsidian, yet shimmering with each gust of wind, reflecting a sickly light. It appeared monolithic, as if it had grown from the earth itself, impervious to time and destruction, only faintly marred, as though a monstrous claw had lightly scratched its surface. The spire emitted no light, no signals, standing silent and ominous, a monument to a vanished civilization whose fate might become mine.

"Distance to target: 10 meters. Height to access point: 1040 meters," the AI stated dryly, as if reporting a mundane operation.

I halted at the spire's base, craning my neck upward. It seemed infinite, as if striving to puncture the heavens and reach indifferent stars. Every meter of its height was a silent reproach to my own insignificance.

"Do you have any idea what a kilometer-and-a-half ascent entails?" I asked into the void, addressing the AI, feeling anxiety bordering on despair swell within me. My voice was hoarse, rasping, as if spoken through sand. "It's… it's impossible. And are you certain there's even power left up there? These systems are over five hundred years old! How could they still function? Are they eternal?"

"Probability of required equipment presence: 97.3%," the AI cut in, its voice cold as ice, dispassionate as statistics, piercing my brain, heedless of my emotional state. "Probability of functional power systems: 64.94%. Geothermal generators are highly resilient; their operability is unaffected by surface damage."

"Geothermal generators?" I echoed, my mind, accustomed to nuclear reactors and solar panels, struggling to process the information. "You're saying there's still an active energy source underground somewhere? And it's powering this… spire? That's… unimaginable."

"Affirmative. Primary spire power source: geothermal power plant located at depth. Damage: likely minimal. Distance: seventy to one thousand five hundred kilometers, depending on location. Precise location: unknown. Total destruction is virtually impossible due to their subterranean placement. Such structures can generate energy for tens of thousands of years."

I let out a low whistle, the sound lost in the dead air. This civilization certainly mastered energy. Seventy kilometers underground! It defied comprehension, surpassing any terrestrial technology I knew. But it also meant there was some hope that operational systems remained within the spire. A faint spark, but a spark nonetheless.

"And why didn't you mention earlier that there was even a chance of power?" I demanded, my voice steadier but laced with irritation. "Why stay silent about it while I crawled through this hell?"

"Information deemed insufficiently critical until objective reached," the AI replied, as if reciting a memorized lesson. "Alternative solutions for map progression will be generated as they become relevant. Protocol mandates minimizing distractions."

"Brilliant," I sighed, feeling impotent anger rise in my chest. "Fine, what's next? How do we get in there? Climb the walls?"

"Entrance to spire structure detected. Recommend proceeding immediately. Ascent: at your discretion," the AI responded, disregarding my emotions.

Realizing this, I understood it would not be simple, and a long, grueling task lay ahead.

I ventured deeper into the structure, climbing through debris across several floors until I found it.

My old nemesis from a past life.

The staircase.

With a heavy exhale, I gazed at it. It stretched endlessly upward, like a thread leading to the sky, vanishing into the impenetrable gloom overhead. Its steps, forged from an unfamiliar alloy, glinted dully in my flashlight's beam, fading into the heights where even my light couldn't reach. There was no end, no edge, just darkness swallowing everything. It resembled a scene from a horror movie, where the protagonist enters a dark forest, knowing only death awaits, yet presses on. Something similar was unfolding here, except instead of a forest, there was a bottomless abyss, and instead of trees, rusted, lifeless constructs.

"You're serious? Up there?" I asked, a shiver coursing through me, a lump forming in my throat. My voice broke into a whisper. "Are there any other options? Maybe a backup elevator? Or… anything else?"

"Alternative routes unavailable. Probability of successful ascent: 93.8%. Recommend commencing ascent immediately," the AI urged, its tone as unyielding as stone.

I knew I had no choice. To survive, I had to climb. Even if it led to my death, even if my lungs burst or my bones crumbled. I had to.

Clenching my teeth, I began the ascent. Each step on the staircase reverberated with a hollow clang within the spire's monolithic walls, amplified into a deafening roar. My labored breathing, filtered through my respirator, echoed in my ears like a death rattle, while my exosuit's servos whined monotonously, supporting my legs but not easing my torment, only adding a mechanical groan to my agony. The air's poison grew more potent, seeping through my filters, burning my lungs and triggering relentless dizziness that made the world sway.

The climb felt eternal, stretching into weeks, months, entire epochs. Step by step, meter by meter. I could neither see the staircase's beginning nor its end; it simply spiraled upward into the darkness above and vanished into the abyss below, a coil of infinity. Hours bled into hours, my movements becoming mechanical, programmed. My muscles burned, my ribs ached with each breath as if hammered, yet I forced myself onward. Occasionally, I paused, leaning against the cold wall to catch my breath, and in those moments, I thought I heard a faint, almost inaudible whisper emanating from the spire's depths. The sounds were indistinct, like voices in a dream, like echoes of others' suffering, piercing me to the bone, stirring an inexplicable, primal dread.

With every ten meters, the air shifted. It grew thinner, colder, the chemical stench giving way to something purer yet still alien, as if I were ascending through the layers of a corpse. Far above, I began to discern a faint, sickly light flickering and pulsing, like a distant, dying lantern. It offered hope but also fear. What awaited me up there, after all this?

Finally, when my strength was nearly spent, and I felt on the verge of collapse, the staircase ended. Before me lay a wide passage leading into a vast, circular chamber. The light source emanated from its blaming center.

With a final, convulsive effort, I crawled inside, my limbs barely obeying. The floor was smooth, polished as if centuries ago, the walls crafted from the same dark, obsidian-like material as the spire's exterior. At the chamber's heart, beneath a colossal, nearly imperceptible dome of the same dark substance, stood the object.

The control panel. It was not merely a console but an entire complex, encircled by terminals, machines, and control stations. It was immense, spanning perhaps dozens of meters. Its surface shimmered like living metal, casting glints of dim light, and above it hovered hundreds of small, once-pulsating spheres resembling eyes, now suspended by some unknown force, silent and lifeless.

A mix of awe and horror gripped me. This technology surpassed anything I had ever seen or could imagine. It was intact. A miracle defying logic.

I approached the panel cautiously, as if fearing to shatter this fragile illusion, this mirage of a functioning civilization. Its surface bristled with buttons, levers, and touchscreens. Deciphering their functions was impossible, but the AI would guide me.

"Identify the primary console. Remove the technical panel and activate the red lever. Connect. Initiate 'Data Recovery' procedure," the AI's voice rang out, sharper than usual, as if invigorated by anticipation.

I scanned the area, locating the console the AI indicated. It was slightly smaller than the others but still formidable, its surface coated in dust yet faintly glowing with indicators, as if awaiting my touch, like living eyes.

Taking a deep breath, I placed my hand on the panel and slid it aside with a grating sound. Locating the large red lever—the only element seemingly designed for human interaction—I pressed it down. The console's indicators flared brighter, and it emitted a low, guttural hum, like a beast stirring from slumber.

I touched the activated panel.

The world shifted.

Instantly, my visor flooded with data, a torrent threatening to overwhelm my mind. Schematics, codes, graphs, languages I had never seen yet somehow grasped on a subconscious level. I comprehended barely a fraction of what I saw, but I felt the data streaming into the AI, which began speaking, its voice loud and clear, as if finally accessing all it required, absorbing knowledge like a sponge.

"Connection established. Initiating 'Data Recovery' procedure. Progress: 0.001%. Estimated completion: 12 hours." Twelve hours. An eternity to succumb to poisoning or starvation.

I stepped back from the console, my head buzzing as if swarmed by bees. Too much. Too complex. Too long.

But I had succeeded. I had reached the spire. I had connected to the system. Now, I could only wait.

I approached the platform's edge, where a massive breach in the wall formed a window. It opened onto the outside world, and the view before me froze me in place.

The planet stretched out beneath me, as far as the eye could see, majestic and terrifying in its devastation. Blood-red clouds cloaking the sky now appeared as faint haze, through which the scarred outlines of continents visible, gashed by wounds resembling festering sores. Where oceans once were, vast, desiccated basins sprawled, coated in salt crusts and cracked, where water once danced, now only the wind's whistle lingered. Mountains, like colossal bones, jutted from the earth, their peaks ground to dust, their slopes gnawed by corrosion.

But this was not what struck me most.

I saw the ring. The one hanging in the sky, now closer, more massive, more horrific. From this height, it appeared even more monumental yet more fractured, more distorted. It didn't merely encircle the planet; it pierced it, plunging into its depths, like a colossal hoop fastened onto a dying world. It was inextricably linked, its fragments like veins feeding the planet death. Debris orbiting the planet formed trails resembling comet tails, but composed of dead metal and frozen souls. Some glowed with faint, ghostly light, like the spirits of perished ships, spectral flames in a galactic graveyard.

And somewhere far below, I saw the crater. The one I had escaped. It seemed tiny now, insignificant, a mere dimple on the vast, lifeless body of a world whose wound would never heal.

I stood at the platform's edge, gazing at this spectacle, feeling something shift within me. This world wasn't just destroyed. It was torn asunder, disemboweled, defiled. And left in this state, as a mockery of those who once lived here. And I was one of them, the last fragment of their senseless demise.

Images flashed through my mind: home, parents, friends, MIT. It all felt distant, unreal, like a dream that would never come true, memories of another, unattainable life. I was here, alone, surrounded by the ruins of a lost civilization, seeking meaning in this madness, in this endless silence, broken only by the wind's drone and the ash's whisper.

I had survived. I had reached the spire.