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

Kael's boots echoed against polished stone as he approached Window 9, the sound unnervingly clean compared to Brinewatch's mud-soaked alleys. The sterile hum of mana conduits throbbed through the walls, and the faint scent of disinfectant clung to the air like judgment. Even with half the crowd thinned out, the waiting room buzzed—the weight of hope and fear pressed like a vice around every soul still seated.

Kael could feel the eyes. Awakeners watched him—some in worn slum leathers, others in crisp uniforms with embossed seals—each one caught between ambition and dread. His throat dried as he remembered walking out of this place several days ago with nothing but E-rank and a sour taste in his mouth.

But his gut burned now, warm with that same pulsing heat that had devoured a knife and stopped a bullet. There was no way this was still E-rank.

At the desk stood a middle-aged woman in a sharply pressed Ashport Registrar uniform. Gray streaked her black hair like war medals, and her eyes didn't blink nearly enough. She didn't look up as she addressed him.

"Kael Voren," she said, fingers flicking across her holo-tablet. Her voice was smooth, precise—merciless. "Tested Sera 25th. E-rank. Talent: Advanced Digestion."Her eyes finally met his, cool and skeptical. "Why are you back already?"

Kael hesitated, voice rough with Brinewatch's drawl. "Think it evolved. Somethin' changed—big."

She exhaled slowly through her nose. "Evolution is rare. Evolution within one orbit is unheard of. Seven days? That's statistical fantasy."

She tapped her screen again. "Per protocol, retesting without evidence of evolution incurs a fee: one hundred Dravaran Marks. Standard anti-abuse measure. You still want to proceed?"

Kael's heart hammered. He couldn't afford to be wrong. Couldn't afford to not know.

"I'm sure," he said.

Her expression didn't shift. "Hand in. Palm on orb."

Kael stepped forward and reached through the mana-sealed slot. The orb was cold and pulsing like a heartbeat, flickering with shifting threads of light. He gripped it. The conduit above his head flared to life, humming. For a moment, time stretched. Kael held his breath.

Then the orb dimmed.The tablet pinged.

The Tester blinked. Once.

"E-rank," she said flatly. "Advanced Digestion. No change."

The words hit like a hammer.

Kael jerked his hand back. "No. That's wrong." His voice cracked, louder than he intended. "I melted a knife in my mouth. Took a bullet. Healed. That's D-rank. Metabolic Conversion—look it up!"

Her eyes narrowed, tone sharpening. "The system doesn't make mistakes, Mr. Voren. You're E-rank. Pay the fee and leave. Now."

His hands balled into fists. "You think I'd waste my Marks to lie about somethin' like this?"

She gave him a look that said yes.

"Enough," she snapped. "Hundred Marks, or security escorts you out to prison."

Kael's pulse pounded in his ears as he reached into his pocket and slammed down a wad of damp floodmarks, stained and creased from weeks of slum trade.

"Here," he growled.

She recoiled. "That's gang scrip." Her voice sharpened again. "Drowned Court floodmarks are not valid currency in Ashport. Legal tender only—Dravaran Marks."

Kael stared, stunned. "But that's what everyone in Brinewatch uses."

"Brinewatch," she said coldly, "isn't Ashport. ArcSeal?"

Kael blinked. "My what?"

She stared. "Identification seal. Biometric ArcSeal. You need one to verify citizenship."

He ran his hand across his neck, collarbone, wrist—nothing. Just bone and sweat.

"We don't got those in the mud," he muttered.

She rubbed her temple, visibly out of patience. "Then pay in real currency or you're flagged. Your Marks?" 

Kael hesitated. Then pulled three tokens from the lining of his pocket—two silver in color, one gold. Their embossed seals caught the mana-light.

Her eyes widened, just slightly. "High Marks? Where'd you get these?"

"Earned 'em," Kael snapped. "They good?"

"They're stores of value, not spendable cash. Take them to a licensed bank and exchange them—today. If payment's not received by sunset, a warrant goes out."

Kael swallowed his frustration, his jaw so tight it ached. "Fine."

She slid a receipt under the glass. "Bank's down two streets. Marked by a red banner."

Kael snatched it and turned without another word.

The Registrar's doors slammed behind him, and the burning city air hit like a slap. Ashport's upper walls loomed to the east, their glowing runes humming with mana and indifference.

His fingers twitched.

The system's wrong. He knew what he felt. That wasn't digestion anymore. He didn't care what the orb said. He'd prove it. One way or another.

****

The bank's doors parted with a whisper of mana, and Kael Voren stepped inside, boots scuffing against spotless marble. The air hit him—cool, dry, laced with the faint hum of mana conduits snaking along the walls. Brinewatch's stink of salt and rot felt a world away. Clerks in crisp uniforms tapped at glowing tablets, their eyes skimming over him, lingering on his patched shirt and mud-streaked pants. He didn't belong here, not among the soft clink of coins and the murmur of wealth.

He approached a banker—a wiry man with slicked-back hair and a pressed vest—who barely glanced up. "What do you want?" the man asked, tone sharp, like Kael was a beggar interrupting his day.

"Got High Marks," Kael said, voice rough from Brinewatch's alleys. "Need Dravaran Marks." He fished the three coins from his pocket—two silver, one gold—and set them on the counter, their shine cutting through the sterile light.

The banker's eyes flicked to the coins, then widened. "High Marks?" He straightened, fingers hovering over them. "Where'd a kid like you get these?"

"Earned 'em," Kael snapped, jaw tight. "They good or not?"

"Good?" The banker's laugh was thin. "They're worth a ton of Marks. But it's dangerous to carry them around. Why don't you open an account with us? They'll be safe here and you'll earn interest.

Kael looked confused. "Interest?"

The banker seemed amused at Kael's slum rat ignorance. "Interest is a payment we give to you for borrowing your money. When you store it with us, you're technically lending it to us, so we pay you for that."

Kael could understand the gist. "Sounds good. Let's do that."

The banker smiled a big greasy smile. "Smart man. We'll just run your ArkSeal, then you can hand me the High Marks and you'll be on your way."

Kael frowned. "ArkSeal?"

"Yeah, your identification tattoo. You don't have one?" the banker said with a confused look.

Kael replied, "No, I'm from Brinewatch. I don't think anyone has anything like that out there."

The banker consoled him. "It's fine. People get ArkSeals here everyday."

The banker flashed his palm, a faint rune pulsing under the skin, and continued: "An ArkSeal is a tattoo that links to your national profile. It is automatically linked to your account upon creation. Then you'll have access to everything financial—transactions, records, marketplaces—all by thought. No more fumbling with bills. You may be from Brinewatch, but you're in Ashport now!"

Kael's gut twisted—half suspicion, half intrigue. A tool like that could change things. "What's it cost?"

"It's free with the account," the banker said, already gesturing to a side room. "It's a quick process. You'll thank me."

Kael nodded, hesitant but sold. "Fine. Do it."

The room was small, all white walls and mana-tech hum. A technician—sharp-faced, silent—pointed him to a chair. "Palm," she said, and Kael held out his hand. She pressed a sleek rod to his skin, and a sting bit deep, runes flaring bright before fading to a black spiral tattoo. "Focus on it," she ordered.

He stared at the mark, thinking—Account—and a window bloomed in his mind, blue and ghostly: Kael Voren. Balance: 0 DM. Options: Deposit, Withdraw, Marketplace. His breath hitched. Magic, but sharper—realer than Brinewatch's street tricks.

"Deposit the High Marks," the banker said, sliding a tray over. "We'll convert them."

Kael dropped the coins in—two silver, one gold. The banker tapped his tablet, and the window shifted: Deposit: 1110 DM. Kael's eyes widened. 1,110 Marks—enough to choke a Brinewatch thug with envy.

"Test it," the banker said, pulling a scanner from his desk. He waved it over Kael's palm, and the window flared: Vendor: Ashport Central Bank. Request: 5 DM. Approve? Kael thought yes, and his balance dipped to 295 DM. The banker pocketed a chit, smirking. "See? Seamless."

"And I can do that anytime anywhere?" Kael confirmed.

"You can do it anytime, but you have to be in Dravara to transact. Outside of Dravara, you're better off getting High Marks. They trade with other currencies very easily. But if that time ever comes, you can just walk into any one of our branch offices and get your High Marks in minutes."

Kael paused and thought in silence for a minute. Then he reached into his waistband and pulled out his bag. He took out his mithril High Mark, and said "How many Marks can I get for this?"

The banker almost dropped to his knees. W-w-well, uh, that's a mithril Mark. Uh, it usually goes for 10,000DM, but Dravara is in a shortage of mithril at the moment, so the value has gone up. It's actually 12,033DM.

Kael was beaming with joy. "Good, I want to trade this for the 12,033 DM and deposit it all into my account."

"Sure thing" the banker replied, and took the Mithril Mark with timid and shaking hands. Soon after he took the mark, Kael saw his account balance go from 1,110DM to 13,143 DM.

Kael's mind raced. "Also, what's a marketplace?"

"It's everything," the banker said. "Businesses, profiles, realty. If you can think it, you can find it on the marketplace."

Kael focused—Realty, Grays—and the window flooded with listings. Houses, shops, prices in Marks. A one-room flat, 50 DM a month. A storefront with a loft, 90 DM. His pulse thrummed—Elira and Sera, safe. A place to build. He scrolled by thought, filtering cheap to steep, weighing each against his stash. The Grays weren't Brinewatch—less blood in the streets, more chance to rise.

He shut the window, the rune dimming. "Good system," he muttered, half to himself.

The banker handed him a slip. "You're set, Mr. Voren. Don't lose that hand."

Kael stepped out, the ArkSeal a quiet buzz under his skin. Ashport loomed—mana-skiffs humming, towers gleaming—but his eyes were on the Grays. A home. A start. He'd make it work, for them.