Novixel

The ore fights back today. Not with an edge, but with weight. Pure, stubborn mass.

My vibrospade screams against it for hours before a shard cracks loose. My hands are raw beneath these rags. My arms burn. But I keep digging.

This ore is the only thing on this rock that matters. When I press the shards together, they hum. A faint whisper. A machine dreaming. And it's sharp. I already know it will punch through bone. I paid for that knowledge in blood.

The beasts came again last night. A six-legged horror, scales chattering like broken glass, jaw unhinging sideways as it stalked my camp. I killed it with my oh so useful shard of ore. My leg is torn open, but I'm alive. For now.

The blood vanishes into the black sand. I tell myself it's a fair trade. Every bruise, every cut, is currency for a chance to leave...