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

Night had settled over Brinewatch, the shanty hut's single electric battery-powered lamp emitting a soft flicker of yellow, barely pushing back the shadows. Kael slumped on his straw mattress, boots kicked off, his muscles sore from shoveling waste into his mouth all day. His mother, Elira, smoothed out a threadbare blanket, her hands trembling slightly, while Sera, his little sister, nestled against him, her breathing slow as sleep tugged at her. The distant crash of waves and the creak of rotting wood were the only sounds—until a sharp knock split the quiet.

Sera jolted upright, eyes wide. "What's that?" Her voice quavered, small and scared.

Elira dropped the blanket, her face paling. "Kael?"

"Stay put," Kael said, voice low and rough, shaped by the slums. He slid off the mattress, bare feet silent on the damp floor, and edged toward the door. His Advanced Digestion talent hummed faintly in his gut, a reflex. He cracked the door, cool salt air rushing in, and saw Malik—wild orange curls and fresh scratches on his face—standing in the muddy alley.

"Malik," Kael breathed, tension easing a notch. "You scared us."

"Yo, man, my bad," Malik said, his grin tight. "Gotta borrow you. Outside."

Kael glanced back. Elira stood rigid, clutching Sera, both staring at him. "It's just Malik," he said, forcing calm. "Go to sleep."

"Why's he here so late?" Sera asked, her blanket bunched in her fists.

"She's right," Elira added, her voice thin. "Something's wrong."

Malik poked his head in, raising a hand. "Nah, nah, it's cool, ma. Just need Kael a sec. Promise."

Elira's lips pressed tight, but she nodded. Sera didn't look convinced, her eyes tracking Kael as he stepped out, the door groaning shut behind him.

Outside, the night was thick with brine and shadow. Malik leaned close, voice dropping. "Torv tipped me off—Soggy Bottom Boys after you. Word's out 'bout your trash hustle. Five waves from one job? They want their piece."

Kael's stomach sank, the 500 drips he'd earned today now seemed like a curse. The SBBs were a Drowned Court gang that owned Brinewatch's streets—Saltpier, the docks, all of it. "Their piece?" he muttered. "Ain't theirs."

"Tellin' me," Malik said, grim. "They say you're workin' their turf without payin' dues. Wanna teach you respect. But they don't know your shack. Mom and Sera stay low, but you got no shop. They'll sniff you out, and here's the only place you got. They might hurt 'em too."

Kael's jaw tightened, his talent buzzing sharper. Elira and Sera, cooped up in that shack, defenseless. "Can't let 'em," he said.

Malik gripped his shoulder. "I got a fix. Talked to one of 'em—set a meet at their Saltpier base, first light tomorrow. Keeps your fam clear. Tonight, bring 'em to my place. Hide 'em."

Kael's chest twisted—gratitude, guilt, all of it. Malik was family, blood or not, but leaning on him felt wrong. "Can't dump that on you," he said, voice rough. "You've done enough."

"Man, shut it," Malik snapped, eyes fierce. "You're my brother. They're my family, too. I got room. But you gotta meet those SBBs and deal with 'em. They won't kill you unless they dumb. They want drips, that's all."

Kael stared at the shack, the faint mana-light seeping through the cracks. Elira and Sera were all he had. "Alright," he said finally. "I'll go tomorrow. Alone."

Malik's grin flashed, crooked but real. "Sure ya don't need me to put these Pussy paws on 'em? Keke"

"No, I'll be alright alone," replied Kael.

"That's my boy. Don't die, yeah?"

"Ain't gonna," Kael said, a faint smirk breaking through. He'd face the gang, protect his own, and figure out how to keep those floodmarks from drowning them all.

****

Dawn crept in slow and gray, filtering through the warped slats of the shanty roof and spilling pale light across the dirt-packed floor. The air hung thick with sea brine and alley rot, every breath tainted by the salt-stained heartbeat of Brinewatch. Outside, waves crashed in the distance—a steady rhythm beneath the coughing hum of the slums waking up.

Kael lay on his straw pallet, staring at the ceiling.

His ribs still ached. Not from yesterday's work—but from Malik's warning.

They're lookin' for you, man. The Soggy Bottom Boys. Gonna teach you a lesson.

He'd known this day was coming. No one undercut the Drowned Court's cut and walked away clean. But knowing didn't make it easier to leave his mother and sister behind—not without guarantees.

Kael sat up, movements slow, boots scraping the floor as he reached beneath the mattress. His fingers found the leather pouch Garrick had given him yesterday—his real savings, the High Marks bundled in oilskin. Not many in number, but actually enough to change their lives.

He worked in silence, counting drips with practiced fingers. He peeled away a roll of a hundred, slipping it inside the pouch alongside the High Marks. Enough to get them out, if things went sideways.

He left fifty flows for himself. Bargaining money, if it came to that.

Dressed in seconds—work shirt, patched pants, salt-stiff boots. The rusted knife went into his waistband. It was dull, but heavy. Sometimes, weight was all you needed.

He knelt beside Sera, still curled beneath her threadbare blanket, arms wrapped around a stuffed ashfruit doll. Her breathing was light, shallow. Peaceful.

"Sera."

She stirred. Hazel eyes blinked open, confused and bleary.

"Kael? Why're you up so early?"

"Got somethin' for you." He pressed the leather bag into her hands. "Keep it hid. Don't open it unless I don't come back."

Her fingers tightened. "Wait—what? What do you mean don't come back?"

"Just in case," he said, forcing a grin. "You're smart. If somethin' happens, go straight to Lira. She'll know what to do."

That name struck home. Sera's face crumpled.

"Kael, what's going on?"

A voice cut across the room, sharp despite its wear.

"Kael." Elira sat upright on her cot, one hand braced on her knee. Her green eyes locked onto his, lucid and steady. "Tell me."

He crossed to her and dropped a hundred drips into her palm. "If I'm not back by noon, go to Taryn's Goods. She'll find Malik—he'll get you both out. Doesn't matter where. Just not here."

Her fingers closed around the bills. "Is this about the Drowned Court?"

Kael hesitated. Then nodded once.

Elira's breath hitched. Her voice dropped. "Kael, you don't owe them anything."

"I do if it keeps you safe."

She reached for him—frail fingers brushing his wrist. "Please. Just walk away."

"I will," he said, gently pulling free. "After this."

Behind him, Sera stood with the bag clutched tight to her chest. Her eyes were glassy.

"Promise you'll come back."

He turned and hugged them both—fast, hard, desperate. He didn't want to let go.

"Promise."

He stepped out into the Brinewatch morning, the door creaking shut behind him. Fog rolled through the alleys, kissed with the stench of seaweed and fish oil. Kids splashed through puddles, hawkers shouted over the whine of a gas-powered rig, and somewhere close, a generator sputtered to life with a wheezing cough.

But all Kael saw was the road ahead.

He made for Saltpier, each step heavier than the last. The streets narrowed as he approached the waterfront, the air turning sharp and chemical near the tide's edge. At the far end, hunched like a bloated crustacean, sat the Sludge House—a rusted warehouse strung with netting and grease-slick barrels. Brine dripped from the gutters. Oil slicked the puddles at the base.

Two enforcers lounged by the front—tattooed arms, bloodshot eyes, hands never far from their belts. They watched Kael with the disinterest of men already convinced they'd won.

This meeting wasn't a favor. It was a test. One he had to pass if he wanted to walk out.

He reached the door, and knocked once.

It creaked open, the smell of mold and old smoke wafting out to greet him.

Kael stepped into the shadows, ready for what waited inside.

****

The Sludge House stank like a drowned engine. Oil, mildew, old blood—every breath Kael took tasted like rust. Inside, weak yellow light flickered from electric lamps strung high along the rafters, casting long shadows over barrels, broken crates, and graffiti-scrawled walls. Water dripped from a crack in the ceiling. The floor was slick, the kind of slick that could be blood or brine or worse.

Kael stepped inside. The door shut behind him with a heavy, echoing click.

He counted five men, scattered like scavengers—enforcers of the Drowned Court, lounging with knives and lazy smiles, but none of it was casual. They watched him like wolves watched a limping deer.

And then there was Pickel. A scrawny runt with a pockmarked face, crooked teeth, and a dagger swinging off his belt like he thought it made him important. "You the trash-eater?" Pickel sneered, voice dripping with Brinewatch grit. "Heard you been makin' waves. That true?"

Kael didn't answer.

Pickel spat on the floor, stepping forward. "You owe the Court two floods. That's two thousand drips. Half your take. We're real generous—figured five hundred a day, seven days. Didn't pay? We had to come find you."

Kael's jaw tensed. His gut churned—not with fear, but with heat. Power. His talent stirred, coiling like a slow flame. "That's wrong," he growled. "I've made maybe a thousand drips. Total. You want five hundred a day? You're lyin'."

"Lyin'? Nah." The voice came from Weeza, lounging on an overturned barrel. Wiry. Pale. A smile like a crack in wet glass. He licked the side of his dagger, slow and deliberate. "It's what we say it is, kid. That's how taxes work in Brinewatch."

Kael pulled out five hundred drips—crumpled floodmark bills, sweat-stuck and folded tight. He tossed them on the floor at Pickel's feet. "That's what I've got," he said. "Most jobs pay five, ten drips. I ain't holdin' out."

Pickel bent, snatched the money, and tucked it into his vest. "Guess that leaves fifteen hundred. Call it a fee. For wastin' our time."

"That's bullshit." Kael took a step forward, voice rising. "I ain't payin' lies."

The words hadn't even finished leaving his mouth before Weeza moved.

The dagger flashed—one clean line aimed to split Kael's mouth into a bloody grin.

Kael's gut flared. A heat—familiar now—roared up through his chest. The blade slid between Kael's lips with precision... and melted. The steel dissolved on entry, disappearing with a faint metallic tang.

Weeza staggered back, staring at the bare handle in his hand, mouth open. "What the—?!"

Pickel cursed, tossing a second blade to him, drawing his own. Both blades sparked with F-rank aura, weak but deadly in a gang fight.

Then, from somewhere in the rafters—a bang. A hot sting nicked Kael's cheek.

He flinched, but there was no pain—only heat. The bullet's momentum vanished as it touched his skin, its force devoured in an instant. The round hit the ground with a faint clink, spinning harmlessly in a pool of brine.

The room went still.

No more swagger. No more grins. Just the sound of water dripping and every man in the room staring at the bullet like it had spoken.

Kael looked up at the shadows beyond the rafters, where the shooter had hidden.

Then a voice boomed from the dark. "Enough."

Tadd "Toadface" Grebbin stepped forward, boots echoing. His skin glistened with sweat and seawater, his broad, bulbous face catching the yellow light. His voice rumbled like waves smashing rock.

"You're not just some rat with a stomach trick," he said. "You're eatin' kinetic energy. Blade and bullet. That ain't E-rank. Might not even be D."

He stopped a few feet from Kael, arms crossed, eyes narrow and sharp. "We didn't know," Toadface went on. "That's on us. You're clear. No more drips."

Kael blinked, heart still hammering. "That's it?"

Toadface's grin was thin. "Not quite. Even a high-rank talent ain't untouchable in Brinewatch. You ain't A-rank, right? The Court's got rules. We won't mess with you now—but you got family. And our backers?" He leaned in. "They're monsters compared to us."

Kael's stomach knotted. Elira. Sera.

"Then let's be clear," Kael said. "I'll pay what's fair. But no more lies. And if anyone comes near my family again—"

Toadface raised a hand. "Relax. You're a high-rank in the makin'. You'll be valuable soon enough. We don't kill drips we can invest in."

He turned to the others. "Let him walk."

Kael didn't wait. He backed out slow, the smell of brine and rust clinging to his skin. The moment the door slammed behind him, he exhaled—a sound between relief and fury.

He touched the welt on his cheek. Still warm. The bullet had tried to kill him. His talent had saved him. Again.

This was no longer just digestion. This was defense. Evolution. Power.

He needed that test, now more than ever. Not just for recognition.

But because the city was watching.