Silas stared at the data stream, a dozen different feeds painting a disturbingly complete picture of Cole Walker's life. The displays floated in his private office at Nexus Tower, each one a window into violation of privacy that would have been illegal if done to anyone who mattered.

  His shoulders sagged as the final data packet confirmed Cole's travel itinerary. Finally Cole was leaving the city. His reflection caught in the monitor's surface: eyes sunk deep in purple shadows, three days of stubble, and the telltale twitch in his left eyelid that came from a lack of sleep.

  He hated the assignment, a gross misuse of his talents. Yesterday in the break room, Jenkins had made a show of setting a photo of Cole on Silas's usual table with a heart drawn around it. "Don't want you to miss your boyfriend while you eat," Jenkins had said, loud enough for everyone to hear. The mockery stung more because he couldn't explain why this mattered.

  The whole thing started with those four-point-eight seconds. About a week ago, the miles-deep containment structure holding the Lucent deity had blazed like a second sun, its hum rattling windows twenty floors up. The entire facility had gone into lockdown, sending executives and church officials scrambling like roaches when the lights came on.

  It had never done that before. Nexus had their best Pattern Domains try to find some correlation. There were about a dozen statistical anomalies that stuck out from that exact moment, and one of them was from a video taken by a freelance overseer which showed Cole Walker gaining his Lucent powers at the exact same time the structure glowed.

  On paper, Silas could see why the higher-ups were paranoid. The memory of the rift-beasts tearing the old world apart was still fresh. The Deities had followed just months after, silent saviors offering no explanation, just city-wide shields and a new set of rules. Their entire scripture was written in the blood of monster hunters and the data of ascension logs on the net. No prophets, no commandments, no answers. Just arbitrary, divine decrees.

  Why two minutes for the first ritual? Why was every subsequent core absorption untimed? No one knew. You just followed the process and prayed you didn't end up another casualty.

  Coincidence. Had to be. Silas repeated it like a mantra while scrolling through Cole's breakfast orders. The deity hadn't so much as flickered since the day it offered humanity its bargain. Why start caring about one nobody now?

  And that is why a Sequence Six like him was voluntold to run surveillance on the rookie and do a deep dive. If they'd taken it seriously, a Sequence Four would be running this op from a comfortable command center, not hunched over screens in an office that still smelled like the previous occupant's nervous breakdown.

  But now that he was leaving the city, he could finally take a much-needed break from following the guy. He knew way too much about him as it was: his biometrics, his spending habits, his sister's band which was actually quite good, his favorite pizza place, the way he unconsciously touched his new organs when stressed, the exact rhythm of his breathing when he slept. More than a spouse would know about their partner. It was invasive, creepy, and worst of all, boring.

  He closed the surveillance feeds with a thought, the holograms collapsing into nothing. His office returned to its normal emptiness, just him, his reflection in the polished surfaces, and the weight of corporate servitude. He made a Neuro-Link call to the spa, his voice cracking from disuse. "Sensory deprivation tank. Tonight. The full package."

  Then Bella's. Maybe if he paid enough, someone would pretend to give a damn about his day.

  The Inter-City Mag-Lev station entrance gaped like a wound in the city's foundation, reinforced steel and concrete sunk deep into bedrock. Red warning lights pulsed around the entrance, synced to some industrial heartbeat. The guards' fingers never left their trigger guards.

  Warning signs in seven languages decorated the entrance: "AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY BEYOND THIS POINT".

  Cole caught himself holding his breath as they descended. Something about going underground always felt like practice for the grave. The sharp metallic smell of charging rails didn't help.

  "Will never get used to how large this place is, and all of it below our feet," Damian said as he stared up at the massive, self-healing alloy plates that formed the ceiling.

  "Yeah, though you'd think with all the effort they put into carving out humanity's only lifeline, there would be at least one decent spot to eat," Cole replied, sidestepping a vending machine that offered 'NUTRITION CUBE - FLAVOR: GREY' for eleven credits.

  "It's by design," Senna stated, her eyes tracking the crowd patterns. "The terrible food is just a polite way of saying, 'Get on your train and get out before something explodes.'"

  Their pod was a sleek, windowless tube built for efficiency and the lie of safety. Cole studied the alloy walls. It was a comforting thought, right up until you realized that if something truly powerful got into the tunnels, all the metal in the world wouldn't matter. It was the illusion of safety, and he was getting very familiar with those.

  The doors hissed shut. The interior walls came alive, pixels flowing until they formed a high-fidelity projection of the city they were abandoning. Then the image switched, replaced by a map of the global tunnel network. The deity-claimed cities pulsed like nerve clusters, bright nodes of light connected by threads of electromagnetic rail.

  "Incredible, isn't it?" Lia said, her finger hovering above the projection. "The project took decades to complete after the gods arrived. Only feasible due to Domains like Forge, which could sculpt through bedrock, and Hive-Domain nanites that helped create the self-healing alloys that repair microfractures. Countless died building it. Their names are carved into the memorial walls at every station."

  Incredible was one word for it. Cole saw it different. A map of the last places humanity could breathe without divine permission. Each bright dot was another cage, another place where people pretended the walls kept them safe instead of keeping them contained.

  "Humanity's only refuge, besides the cities," Cole murmured, tracing the thin blue line that would take them from the former Boston to the heart of Europe. He could see the dead zones too, cities that had fallen, their lights extinguished. New York City was just a dark void on the map.

  "And they'll never let us build down here," Lucius added with a cynical snort, restlessly tapping his new chrome foot. The metal rang against the floor in an annoying rhythm he probably didn't realize he was making. "Too much paranoia about the rift beasts ever discovering our only line of connection. So we get a glorified tunnel instead of a new world."

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  "There were plans once," Lia said quietly. "Underground cities, whole civilizations beneath the surface. But then the Shanghai tunnel breach happened. Three million dead in six hours when a Depth Crawler found its way in. After that, the tunnels became transit only."

  The pod accelerated, Cole's stomach dropping as invisible hands pressed him deep into his seat. The speedometer climbed: 300... 400... the numbers blurred at 450 mph.

  Lucius was already bored, making tiny lightning bolts jump between his fingers like a nervous tick. One jumped too far, and the cabin lights flickered. Senna shot him a look that could freeze plasma.

  Cole dozed fitfully, his new audio processors picking up sounds through the pod's hull: the rush of air, the occasional scrape of maintenance drones, and once, something large that moved in the darkness between stations. He chose not to mention it to the others.

  The deceleration pressed him forward against the restraints. A pleasant voice spoke in German, but his processors overlaid English so seamlessly he heard both languages simultaneously, creating a disorienting echo.

  [Welcome to Storm City Terminus. Please have your identification and Domain licenses ready for inspection.]

  The graffiti on the station walls was alive, charged with electricity that made the paint writhe and pulse like veins under skin. The air hit hard: sausage grease, rain, and that distinctive crackle of static that hung over everything.

  The crowd was louder here, more electric. A riot of punk fashion and chrome that didn't give a damn about practicality. Everyone moved like they had somewhere to be yesterday.

  "God, I love this place already," Lucius said, pupils blown wide, his whole body vibrating in the electrical field like he'd found his frequency. "It's like the entire city's having a seizure and enjoying it."

  They rode a massive escalator toward the surface. A colossal structure began eating the sky above them. At the top, silhouetted against perpetually grey storm clouds, two massive bronze horses reared up, scarred but unbroken. The Brandenburg Gate, or what survived of it. Now it was a fortified entrance to what used to be Berlin, its arches filled with flickering neon and guards who looked like they'd shoot first and skip the questions entirely.

  Scorch marks decorated its surface. Some from when the Storm deity arrived, others from the Domain wars that followed. Each burn told a story nobody wanted to remember.

  Cole stared, his historical awe giving way to something else. This gate had survived two world wars, the collapse of nations, and the arrival of gods. Now it stood here, humanity's middle finger to extinction.

  So this is Storm City.

  “Cole! Over here!”

  Alice bounced on her toes as she waved, the bells in her blue braids creating a melody. A custom-forged guitar case slung over her back bore fresh scorch marks. Storm City's music scene was apparently more literal than most. She ran and threw her arms around him in a hug that felt more real than anything he'd experienced in months. She smelled like that cheap strawberry shampoo she'd used since they were kids.

  "You actually came!" she said, pulling back with a grin that was all familiar mischief. She looked him up and down, her eyes widening at the new chrome and the subtle, dangerous energy he now carried. "Damn, big brother. You look… expensive. And tired. And is that a new spine? Mom would've killed you for replacing so many original parts."

  "Mom would've killed me for a lot of things," Cole replied softly. "How've you been, really?"

  "Surviving," she said, her smile flickering slightly. "The band's good, crowds are bigger. Had eight offers from clubs this week alone. Storm City loves its music angry and loud, and we deliver both."

  She turned to the team, straightening her shoulders in that way she did when meeting new people. Trying to look taller than her five-foot-three frame. Old habit from when kids used to give her crap about being small. "You must be the new team. I'm Alice. Thanks for keeping my brother from becoming sidewalk art."

  "The pleasure is ours," Lia said with a polite smile. "He's a good idiot. Useful, even."

  "High praise from Domain paths," Alice said. Something in her tone, not quite resentment, but that awareness of the divide between powered and normal. She touched the faint scar on her neck without thinking. Souvenir from getting too close to a Domain gang fight two years back.

  "So where's Jess?"

  "Family emergency," Cole said, voice dropping. "Her brother... he relapsed."

  Alice flinched. The cheerful energy drained out, replaced by that familiar, weary sadness Cole knew too well. "Dammit, Ben," she breathed, shaking her head.

  Cole watched shared history cross his sister's face. Ben had been her first real thing, teenage romance that crashed and burned in a haze of cheap stims and broken promises. She still wore his ring on a chain. Not for love. As a reminder of what combat drugs could steal from you.

  After taking a sharp breath she shook it off, forcing the bright tour-guide smile back into place. Practiced move, one Cole had seen a hundred times. Her fingers found a guitar pick in her pocket, worrying it between thumb and forefinger. Her tell when processing difficult emotions.

  "So, what do you think of the place? Forge City is all corporate steel and right angles. Here? We've got more energy than we know what to do with. Less rules, more chaos. It's why the music scene is so good. The whole city feels like it's on the verge of a glorious, beautiful collapse."

  "Sounds like home," Lucius said.

  "Alright, first stop on the grand tour," Alice announced, voice filled with proprietary pride as she led them into the city's embrace. "The basics: traffic lights are suggestions, crosswalks are dares, and if you see public art that looks like it might kill you, it probably will. Last week, someone's kinetic sculpture decapitated a pigeon. The artist called it 'an unintended feature.'"

  Cole watched his sister navigate the crowds with practiced ease. Locals nodded to her with recognition, respect. A street vendor called out "Alice! New song killed last night!" and she threw him a casual salute.

  She'd built a life here, away from their shared past. Away from family history that weighed like lead in your bones.

  Buildings that should've collapsed decades ago held up by crackling energy fields, covered in murals that shifted with atmospheric charge. The paint itself was conductive. Storm Domain artists had weaponized their medium.

  Street performers juggled balls of static electricity, created miniature lightning dances for a handful of credits.

  A street kid, maybe sixteen, sat cross-legged on a corner. Business professionals lined up to hand him their dead devices. He'd press them to his chest, his body convulsing as electricity poured out, and hand them back fully charged. His payment box was full of credits and burn cream.

  They passed a flower shop, "That's the thunder lotus," she explained. "Only grows here. The constant electrical discharge mutated them. They bloom whenever the lightning's about to get really bad. Better than any weather report."

  The roar of Alice's favorite band, 'Static Prophet,' blared from hidden speakers, the sound occasionally shorting out and rebooting as the city's unstable power grid fluctuated.

  "This city's power grid is running on prayers and duct tape," Senna noted as the streetlights cycled through colors they shouldn't be able to produce, finally settling on a sickly blue before shorting out entirely.

  "That's what makes it fun!" Alice laughed. "See that building? The one that's kind of... tilting? Lost power last week. We climbed nine flights of stairs in the dark, set up on the roof, and played acoustic while the whole district was blacked out. Best tips we ever made."

  "You played acoustic in a thunderstorm?" Lia asked, a note of respect in her voice.

  "With rubber-lined instruments and insulated strings," Alice grinned. "We're crazy, not suicidal."

  They turned a corner and Cole stopped. In the plaza, a group of people were sculpting with raw electricity. They pulled lightning from the air and shaped it like clay. A dragon made of pure electricity floated in the air for three seconds, its eyes tracking Cole before it dissolved into sparks.

  "Come on, our favorite dive is just up here. I want you to meet everyone."

  Reroll Saga: I Brought Sarcasm To A Sword Fight

  [Slow-Burn ? Kingdom-Building ? Science-Magic]

  Before the world knew his name, it learned to fear his blueprints.

  What to Expect:

  ? Scientific magic experiments gone “slightly” explosive

  ? Sarcastic AI commentary (now with 30% more sass)

  ? Medieval tech upgrades: plumbing, soap, and thermodynamics

  ? No chosen-one clichés. No plot armor. Just stubborn ingenuity

  ? Kingdom-building, slow-burn growth, and a dash of chaos

  ? Experimental rune-coding that turns logic into magic

  He doesn’t cast spells. He reverse-engineers them.

  Read Reroll Saga today.