Universe Creation System: I Devour. I Build. I Rule!

Kael Voren pushed through the creaking door of the Krusty Kraken, the tavern's stale ale and sweat stench clinging to his new shirt. His E-rank Advanced Digestion talent buzzed in his gut, still humming from devouring rotten fish, broken glass, and a jolt of electricity from Bork's natural gas generator. The five drips felt small in comparison to the experience of devouring the electricity. Maybe that's because he had so much money now. The late afternoon air hit him, humid and thick with the faint musk of ashfruit rinds. His body felt stronger, the cut on his palm healed, his talent maybe edging toward D-rank Metabolic Conversion. He started toward his next job, resolve burning despite the hunger clawing his core.

A shadow loomed, blocking his path—a broad man, face flushed red, eyes blazing with rage. His patched coat reeked of sour ale, and his fists twitched with a faint F-rank strength talent's glow. "You!" he growled, voice thick with Brinewatch slang. "Stop stealin' my work, trash-eater!"

Kael froze, hands balling. "Who're you?" he snapped, his voice rough, shaped by the slums. "Ain't stealin' nothin'."

"Torm," the man spat, stepping closer, his breath hot with booze. "I haul waste—food, junk, septic. You're stealin' my work! Takin' food outta my daughter's mouth!"

Kael's jaw tightened, his talent stirring. "I'm workin'," Kael said, voice low. "Same as you. Back off."

Torm's fist swung, a heavy punch aimed at Kael's jaw, sparked with F-rank force. Kael braced, but his talent surged, a warm pulse in his gut swallowing the kinetic energy as the blow landed. The air shimmered, Torm's eyes widening in shock. "What the—?" he stammered, stumbling back.

Kael blinked, heart pounding. Before he could process, Torm swung again, but this time he was aiming his glass beer bottle at Kael's head. The bottle's force dissolved on impact with Kael's face, absorbed into Kael's gut with a faint heat, leaving him unscathed.

Torm felt like he hit a pile of cotton or goose down, while Kael felt like Torm affectionately rubbed him with the bottle.

The tavern door slammed open, and Bork stormed out, his grizzled face twisted in a scowl, a cleaver gleaming in his grip. "Torm, get lost!" he roared, voice like gravel. "Kid's mine today. Beat it, or I carve you up."

Torm froze, the cleaver's edge glinting under a flickering electric lamp. He spat at Kael's feet, his eyes blazing. "This ain't over," he growled. "You'll pay for takin' my kid's food." He turned, bolting into the alley, his footsteps fading into Brinewatch's dusk.

Kael stood, pulse racing, the hunger still gnawing but his mind reeling. His talent had eaten kinetic energy again, like a D-rank could. At this point, Kael was all but certain that his talent had evolved. He glanced at Bork, who shrugged and went back inside, muttering about troublemakers. Kael's hand flexed, feeling stronger, denser, like the metal he'd eaten earlier. He couldn't wait to register it tomorrow, and wait for the line of offers he'll get that will give his family a new life, a good life.

For now, he had rounds to finish. He trudged on, the drips in his pocket a promise for Elira and Sera, his talent a mystery he'd unravel, one job at a time.

****

Dusk bled violet and soot across Brinewatch's streets, the muddy alleys slick with runoff and shadow. Kael trudged through them, boots heavy with grime and the day's labor grinding in his bones. Waste disposal had been brutal—acid-leaking batteries, spoiled produce fused with maggots, and Torm's ambush still throbbing in his knuckles. But the weight in his pocket—a bulging pouch of High Marks and a folded stack of floodmarks—was a lifeline. So was the buzz deep in his gut.

He stopped at the edge of Boiler's Hollow, a crumbling side street near Brinewatch's northern runoff trench, where sulfuric steam hissed from fissures in the stone. The public hot springs weren't much—cracked concrete basins fed by underground thermal flows—but for the poor, it was sacred. Here, grime peeled away. Here, you remembered you were still human.

Kael ducked into the steamhouse shack, paid a single drip to the old man nodding off at the counter, and stepped into the fog.

The heat wrapped around him like breath from the earth itself. Sulfur and iron clung to the mist. The basin he chose was half full, its water cloudy but warm. He stripped, easing into the pool with a hiss, muscles singing from the sudden change. Bruises bloomed purple across his ribs. His hands were blackened with soot and streaked with dried blood. He dipped them below the surface.

His body still buzzed. Beneath the warmth, he could feel it: not healing, not really—converting. The ache faded, but not in the way rest would cure it. His gut was working. Processing. Reinforcing.

"Metabolic Conversion," he whispered. The words were strange on his tongue.

He lay back against the basin wall, letting the steam loosen the day's weight. Voices echoed softly through the mist—other workers, other wrecked men. No one spoke loud. It wasn't that kind of place.

He thought of Elira, bent over the stove. Sera's crooked smile. The money in his pocket and the system ticking in his bones.

Tomorrow, he thought. Everything changes tomorrow.

He stood, letting the water sheet down his frame, and dressed in the cleanest shirt he had—still worn, but intact. He ran wet fingers through his hair, straightened his spine, and stepped back out into the cooling air.

Now, he could go home.

****

The shack came into view, half-sunk into the alley's edge like a forgotten relic. Kael pushed open the door.

It groaned on warped hinges, and warmth spilled out—grilled fish, woodsmoke, ashfruit, sharp and sweet. The new gas stove gave a steady hum, casting golden light over their one-room home. The old table gleamed faintly beneath the bulb overhead, polished like it had something to prove.

Elira stood at the stove, her brown-and-white hair tied back, cheekbones no longer ghostly. Her frame had filled out—still thin, but no longer brittle. Sera lay sprawled on a threadbare blanket, stubby pencil scratching across yellowed paper. Her hazel eyes lit up when the door clicked shut.

"Kae Kae!" she shouted, bolting across the room. She slammed into him like a dart, arms latching tight around his waist. "You're so late! The fish is almost gone!"

Kael laughed, ruffling her tangled hair with one grimy hand.

Elira turned from the stove, eyes green and sharp in the lamplight. "Don't listen to her," she said, voice smooth—no rasp, no fatigue. "I saved you a plate. Sit. You look like you got dragged behind a rig cart."

Kael slumped into the stool, the table's solid frame under his hands a quiet victory. His plate waited—golden fish, crisp-edged and flaky, with a scoop of ashfruit mash glowing faintly orange. He was happy to taste something delicious after a day of eating some of the most disgusting things most could imagine.

"Thanks, Mom," he murmured. His Brinewatch accent clung to every word. "You're lookin' better. Stronger."

Elira placed a cup beside him. Her fingers brushed his. Warm. Steady. "You did that," she said softly. "The medicine is working. And real food? That's you, Kael."

Sera flopped back down onto the floor, giggling. "Yeah, 'cause he's the trash king! Eats junk, stacks drips, makes gold outta gunk!"

Kael smirked around a mouthful of fish, but his mind spun. His body still thrummed with that strange, electric buzz. The healing. The strength he felt hauling Garrick's scrap. That punch from Torm—he should've felt it.

He swallowed, wiped his mouth. "Got news," he said, tone low. Serious. "Think my talent's evolved. D-rank, maybe. Metabolic Conversion. Been healin' faster. Gettin' stronger."

Elira froze, spoon halfway to her lips. Sera sat bolt upright.

Elira's voice came out tight. "Evolved?"

"Yeah," he said, leaning forward. "Felt it after I ate some mithril fragments. Weird heat in my gut. A cut on my palm closed up in no time. Like the energy stuck around, did more than just fuel me. Gonna register it tomorrow. Make it official."

Sera's eyes went wide. "Whoa. You're gonna be a beast! Like—like one of those demolition guys who tear down buildings bare-handed!"

Kael grinned at her, but his eyes stayed on Elira.

She didn't smile back right away. Her expression was pride tangled with something heavier—fear, maybe. Or memory. "If it's true," she said slowly, "it changes everything. But Kael, that kind of shift—people notice. And people don't like change coming from below."

He nodded. "I know. That's why I got a plan."

He set his fork down. The words had been turning in his head all day. "I'm movin' us outta Brinewatch," he said. "To the Grays. Safer streets. A school for Sera. Clinic access. After tomorrow, evolution or not, I'll find a place—maybe start a demo crew. Haulin', cleanup. Real work. Real pay."

Elira's breath caught. Her hand found his again, grip firm despite the tremor. "The Grays? That's a whole new world, Kael."

"Exactly," he said. "One we deserve."

Sera launched herself into his lap again, knocking his cup sideways. "Yes! A real house! With a window and a door that closes all the way!"

Kael caught the cup, chuckling, but Elira's smile didn't quite reach her eyes. She looked tired in a way that had nothing to do with illness. "You're doing so much," she said quietly. "Just… promise me you'll watch your back. The moment someone sees you rising, they'll try to drag you back into the mud. Or worse."

Kael squeezed her hand, something tight coiling in his chest. "I promise."

The fish was nearly cold by the time he finished, but the warmth in the room had only grown. The shack felt smaller somehow. Or maybe he'd finally outgrown it.

Tomorrow, he'd face the city's truth. Talent evolution. Opportunity. Risk.

But tonight, he sat beside the two people he'd fight for until he had nothing left.