"It has been a while since I've set foot on grass, right?" Bethel said, though no sound came from his lips. His voice was swallowed by the silence of the void as he gazed upward at the endless expanse of the cosmos. The blue sphere of his home planet lingered in the distance, radiant yet unreachable, as if mocking him with the reminder of a world he could not touch.
As he wandered across the barren surface of the moon, his footsteps left faint marks upon the dust that would never fade. He counted quietly in his mind—by his reckoning, this was the second time he had circled the lunar sphere. A whole month had passed since he first awoke in this nightmare, yet nothing had come to greet him. No enemy. No test. Not even a gaze.
He had been in this silence far too long. No one to speak with. No one to observe him. Loneliness gnawed at him, sharp and merciless. Still, he endured. He was Bethel Abraham—the king of angels of the Door pathway, the one who had once borne the ideal of Mr. Door. This desolation, this solitude, was his trial. Perhaps even his doom. And yet, he did not resist. He had already accepted the truth: there was a high chance he would fail this nightmare.
Bethel sat upon a jagged stone, staring at the distant Earth, and allowed his thoughts to wander. My brothers and sisters of transmigration are different from me, aren't they? he mused. Unlike them, he was no stranger who had stolen Bethel Abraham's skin. No, he and the original had fused into one. Once, he had even spoken with the remnants of Mr. Door's will, but that lingering fragment had long since vanished, leaving behind only the echo of an ideal.
Protect the world from the dangers beyond.
That was the creed Mr. Door left him, the last chain tethering Bethel to something greater than himself.
It was then that he began to hear whispers. At first faint, then louder—familiar voices echoing in the emptiness. He turned, and there they stood: his squad, the companions he once marched alongside. For a moment, his heart trembled, but he quickly knew the truth. These were not his comrades. They were shadows, hallucinations born from this cruel nightmare.
Still, he did not turn them away. He welcomed them.
They asked him questions—about their failures, their regrets, the futures they could no longer see. Bethel answered each with patience, giving them comfort in his calm, steady words. But when their questions pried too deep—his current Aspect, his attributes, his true nature—he withheld. Some truths were not meant to be shared, even with phantoms.
The illusions smiled, but their faces twisted. Skin rippled like liquid. Mouths split open. Their bodies unraveled into writhing forms. They revealed themselves to be what they truly were: a swarm of mimics, miniature devils awakened and cunning, wearing the stolen memories of his comrades like masks.
Bethel did not hesitate. He raised his hand, and the power of the Door responded.
Space cracked open before him. Portals blossomed across the battlefield, a labyrinth of doors yawning into being. He stepped through one, emerging behind a mimic, and struck with the force of a collapsing gate. The mimic screamed, its body twisted into the threshold of another door, then vanished as the portal sealed. Another lunged, jaws snapping, but Bethel only opened a second door, letting its attack rebound upon its own kin.
One by one, the mimics were dragged into his endless maze. The moon itself became a battlefield of doors—opening, closing, redirecting. They clawed at him, at each other, trapped in a relentless cycle of teleportation and reversal. Bethel stood at the center, calm as the eye of a storm, wielding his authority like a conductor guiding a symphony of violence.
Minutes bled into hours. His breathing grew heavy. Sweat gathered on his brow despite the cold emptiness of the void. And yet, he persisted. The last mimic screamed as it was swallowed into a door that slammed shut with finality, leaving only silence.
Bethel fell to one knee, exhaustion weighing upon him, but the moon was silent once more.
Then the familiar voice of the spell filled his mind.
[wake up, Bethel. Your nightmare is over]
[prepare for appraisal...]
Bethel straightened, relief and weariness warring in his chest.
[You have received a memory: silver lunar key]
[You have received a memory: door of endless return]
[Aspirant. Your trial is over]
The moon shattered around him, dissolving into darkness. He stood in the void between dream and reality, and for the first time in a month, he allowed himself to smile.
[Dreamer Bethel, receive your boon]
[You have been bestowed a true name: Angel of Stars]
Bethel exhaled, the silence finally broken. His lips curved into a weary, tender smile, and his voice trembled with relief as he whispered, "Finally… I can meet them once more, after a month."
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I'm actually shocked that the nightmare of Klein is still the longer one even tho it's the one I've spent the lesser time
The greatest king of king of angels, the most miserable angel I know, the one with the most willpower among all angels I know, and the goat of the door pathway is here