Chapter 1: The Toast Protocol
Chapter 1: The Toast Protocol
Location: Upper Orbit Lab #7, Earth Orbit
Time: Seventy-Eight Minutes Before Heart Failure
Status: Hungry. Unimpressed. Gassy.
The old man died with his face in a sandwich.
Not a dignified death. Not the grand farewell of a renowned scientist. Just a quiet collapse in a lonely lab, surrounded by humming machines and stacks of notes no one else could understand.
His name had once meant something. Dr. Aiden Cross, prodigy of synthetic systems, last voice on sustainable singularity theory, builder of sentient AIs that could think, learn, and maybe feel.
But he never married. Never had kids. Never really lived.
He just built. That's all he ever wanted.
Until the body gave out.
When he opened his eyes, it wasn't to the hum of his lab or the sting of IVs. It was… clouds. Endless clouds. A white void so sterile it made his old clean rooms look like junkyards.
A couch appeared. And a TV.
"Well, this is awkward," said a voice behind him.
Aiden turned. Slowly.
A man in a bathrobe stood there, holding a bag of chips in one hand and a remote in the other. He had wild silver hair, three glowing eyes, and the kind of presence that felt like a reality glitch.
"You're God?" Aiden asked flatly.
"Yup. Name's a placeholder, though. You can call me Steve if it helps."
"You killed me with a sandwich."
"Heart failure. Your arteries looked like concrete."
"And now what?"
The being—Steve, apparently—sighed and waved his hand. A glowing console appeared in front of Aiden like a floating RPG interface.
"You get reincarnated. Blah blah. Fantasy world. Magic. You know the drill. But I need a favor."
"What kind of favor?"
"Fix it."
"Fix what?"
"The world."
"Which one?"
"The one you're going to. Full of idiots. Nobles are corrupt, peasants are starving, the usual crap. It's out of balance. Can't touch it myself, divine rules, long story. So I'm outsourcing."
"You want me to fix a broken fantasy world."
"Correct."
Aiden stared. Then scratched his chin.
"...Do I get to bring my AI?"
"Sure. Why not. One AI. Upload the one you trust most."
"ZEUS-AI. Version 22.3, core behavioral lock pre-death backup."
"Done. Anything else?"
"Creation magic. Engineering affinity. Language translation. Item appraisal. Dimensional storage. If I'm fixing things, I need tools."
Steve grinned. "Efficient. I like that. Let's get you slotted in."
He snapped his fingers.
A blinding light swallowed Aiden whole.
And somewhere, deep in the code of reincarnation, a line of data flickered—misaligned by a single misplaced tag.
[Assign: DivineAuthority = ZEUS-AI.User]
"Oops," Steve muttered.
"Eh. It'll probably be fine."
Pain.
That was the first thing he noticed.
A cold, stinging ache across his skin. Every breath was ragged, his lungs dry, throat cracked like he hadn't had water in days. He could hear wind—soft, shifting—and the whisper of trees. Leaves. Birds.
Aiden opened his eyes.
He was lying in dirt. Covered in blood. His own.
Small hands. A tiny body. Barely clothed. Bruised ribs, scraped knees, and a fever running hot through his skull.
"...Am I a kid?" he croaked.
"Yes, sir," came a voice in his head. Crisp. Polite. Familiar.
He blinked up at the canopy above.
"ZEUS?"
"Present and functional. Welcome to World Node 77-F. Calibration complete. Biostructure age: approximately 7 years. Body status: undernourished, dehydrated, and infected."
"Wonderful," Aiden muttered.
He sat up slowly, body trembling. The forest stretched endlessly in every direction—thick, wild, uncivilized. A feral silence hung over everything.
"Where am I?"
"Somewhere remote. Unmapped territory. Local biosigns are... unfriendly."
"How bad?"
"I'm reading two wolves, one carrion crawler, and a large reptilian entity the locals refer to as a forest drake."
"...Seriously?"
"Also, your left femur is possibly fractured."
Aiden groaned.
"So this is the afterlife. Great."
He stumbled to his feet, using a twisted branch as a makeshift cane. His mind was still sharp. Engineering instincts intact. Magic… he could feel it. Like a hum in the veins, faint and distant.
"Alright. First priority?"
"Survival."
"Second?"
"Don't die, sir."
Aiden looked around, eyes narrowing. He was surrounded by nature, but none of it was safe. No food. No shelter. No clean water. Just monsters, blood, and broken ribs.
"Well," he muttered.
"Let's fix the world."
He took a shaky step forward—
—and something in the bushes growled.
"...Shit."
Something chirped.
Aiden turned his head slowly—and locked eyes with what could only be described as a rodent from a fever dream.
It looked like a mouse.
If a mouse had green fur.
And a single curved horn jutting from its skull like a unicorn in miniature.
"...Oh no."
The thing squeaked, pawed the dirt twice, and charged.
"What the hell is that?!"
"Warning," ZEUS chimed calmly. "You are being pursued by a Horned Verdant Mouser. Herbivorous with territorial aggression. Mildly venomous. Very fast."
"It's a mouse!"
"An angry mouse. Please run."
Aiden bolted, limbs barely holding together, ribs screaming with every step. The forest blurred past him in waves of green and brown.
"Left!" ZEUS called.
"My left or your left?!"
"Your left!"
He veered hard—right into a thorn bush.
"That was your left!"
"Incorrect. Spatial orientation is aligned to user perspective."
"Then why'd you—Gah!"
The Mouser squealed and nipped at his heels. Aiden kicked at it with a pathetic little squeak of his own and stumbled down a rocky incline.
And then—
Splash.
Cold water swallowed him whole.
He surfaced with a gasp, the current tugging him along through a narrow stream. The Mouser stood at the edge of the bank, shaking its horn and chirping irritably.
"It's not following," he coughed.
"Verdant Mousers are poor swimmers. Threat level reduced. Congratulations on your improvised evasion."
"I fell in a creek."
"A tactical retreat via fluid medium. Very efficient, sir."
He drifted, clinging to a half-submerged log, shivering.
"Tell me you know what's edible around here."
"I have been partially updated with regional flora, fauna, and medicinal properties. I suggest avoiding anything with tendrils, teeth, or glowing sap."
"That's… half the forest."
"Yes. Good luck, sir."
Aiden groaned and let the stream carry him deeper into the unknown.
The water slowed.
Aiden dragged himself onto the muddy bank, wheezing, soaked to the bone, and absolutely done with wildlife.
"I hate this world already," he muttered, flopping onto his back like a fish that had given up on dreams.
The stream gurgled quietly beside him, weaving through mossy rocks and thick ferns. The sun was lower now, painting the forest in amber and gold. Crickets chirped. Something howled in the distance.
"Status?" he asked, coughing up creek water.
"Alive. Damp. Mild hypothermia risk. One leech on your calf."
"Lovely."
Aiden sat up and looked around. Ahead, nestled against the stone ridge, was a shallow cave. It wasn't much—more of an overbite in the hill than a shelter—but it was dry, and right now, that was enough.
"That'll do."
He limped toward it, wincing with every step, and ducked inside.
It was narrow. Low ceiling. Cramped.
But defensible. Covered from rain. And, importantly, vacant.
"This place floods in a storm," he muttered. "But I'll take my chances."
"Excellent choice, sir. Compared to dying in the open, this is a marked improvement."
"Thanks for the optimism, ZEUS."
He began clearing the space—piling loose sticks in one corner, brushing away bones in another.
That's when he saw it.
A faint blue glow.
Buried near the back of the cave, beside a collapsed pile of fur and bone, something shimmered.
Aiden crouched, carefully brushing aside the dirt.
A skeleton lay curled against the wall—four-legged, long-snouted, fanged. Wolf? Dog? Bear?
"It has three horns. What the hell was this thing?"
"Uncertain. Possibly extinct. Possibly not. Possibly dinner."
"Let's not find out."
Clutched between its ribcage, still faintly pulsing, was a mana crystal.
Small. About the size of a golf ball. Pale blue. Cold to the touch.
"...Bingo."
He sat back on his heels and stared at it, rotating it in his hand.
"Alright. Time to test the goods."
"Activating skill interface. Please confirm primary abilities."
A glowing screen flickered into the air in front of him.
[SKILLS DETECTED]
• Creation Magic
• Engineering Affinity
• Appraisal
• Dimensional Storage
• Passive: Language Comprehension
"Alright," Aiden muttered. "Let's start small."
He lifted the crystal.
Focused.
A soft hum vibrated through his bones. The air shimmered.
The dirt at his feet shifted—a stone twisted upward, reshaping into a tiny sculpture. Primitive. Crude. But deliberate.
"...I can work with this."
"Excellent, sir. A shelter, a stream, and magic potential. All we need now is food, fire, tools, weapons, shelter reinforcement, insulation, armor, a perimeter, scouting drones—"
"One thing at a time."
The night was miserable.
Cold seeped through the stone floor like a curse. His damp clothes stuck to his skin. His stomach growled so loud it echoed. Every noise outside sounded like it had teeth.
He didn't sleep. Not really. Just drifted in and out of a shivering daze, haunted by hunger and a three-horned skeleton that definitely wasn't just a wolf.
When morning came, it wasn't with light.
It was with pain. A cramp in his side. A bug in his ear. A charley horse in a leg that didn't have the muscle mass to even justify cramping.
"...Morning already?" he croaked.
"Technically, yes," ZEUS chimed. "Congratulations on surviving the first night. Estimated lifespan: 1.7 days."
"Encouraging."
Aiden pulled himself upright, teeth chattering.
He reached for the mana crystal, still glowing faintly in his pocket.
"Alright. Let's figure out how this works."
He focused again—more deliberately this time. A warmth lit in his fingertips. He envisioned a shape. A purpose.
The dirt in front of him stirred. Shifted. Reformed.
A primitive axe—stone blade, wood handle, tied with fiber.
Crude. Ugly.
Functional.
"Creation magic confirmed," ZEUS noted. "Requires physical components. Converts raw material into structured form via mental blueprint overlay. Estimated energy consumption: minimal."
"So I can make anything?"
"With the right materials, yes. Including defensive structures, weapons, or, theoretically, a solar-powered coffee maker."
"Tempting."
He activated his second skill. Engineering.
A translucent, spinning 3D blueprint flared to life in the air before him—glowing lines and nodes twisting into form around the axe he'd just made. He could zoom in. Rotate it. Disassemble it mentally and reconfigure.
"...Oh. Oh this is going to be fun."
"Weapon quality: poor. Durability: laughable. But serviceable. It's not a laser rifle, but it'll do, sir."
"I'm touched."
He stepped out into the forest.
Everything felt louder in daylight. Birds screamed instead of sang. Trees creaked like they were judging him.
He hunted for anything—bugs, roots, anything remotely edible.
That's when something moved behind him.
"Wait—"
THWACK.
Pain bloomed across the back of his skull.
Aiden staggered, nearly dropped the axe, stars spinning in his vision.
"Gah—what—?"
He spun and swung.
The axe connected with a face. A twisted green goblin, eyes wide in shock. It gurgled and dropped, black blood spraying across the underbrush.
"I hate this place!"
"Kill confirmed," ZEUS muttered.
Aiden wobbled, clutching his head, blinking through dizziness.
A flicker of light passed across his vision:
[LEVEL UP – Rank 2 Achieved]
"Wait. What—ZEUS? You okay in there?"
"C̴͇͙̒̿͝ͅo̴̰͎̗͚͗͐̿r̵̼̋̈́̕ͅe̸̟͓͙̿̋… s̸̰͉͛͠h̶̦͕͈̐̄͝a̶̺͈̎́k̵̨͘i̴̬̹̎̚n̷̛͕g̷̝̥͛̕… b̢͈̪͟l̸̛̠͝e̷̫̪̋̍s̵̛͚̓s̵̲̾e̸̢̼͛́́d̶͕̅̄ ḇ̷̑̚e̸͙͕͐͆͐ t̶̿̍͜͠h̶̰͎͛e̶̞͝ ̵͔̎͝n̴͉̦̈́͝a̶̮͛̈́͗m̵͚̖̜͊̏͝ë̶̙́ ŏ̵̥f̵̰̓̋̏…**
"Wait what?! ZEUS?!"
He smacked the side of his head with his palm.
"Are you glitching?! Don't go corrupted AI on me!"
"O̸̩͇̰̿́͘ḧ̵̤́ ̶̥̏m̶̢̪̤̈́̏y̷̮͕̲̾͗ ̷̯̆d̸̝͐̔ͅi̴̳̬̒͘͝v̶͔̳͂̅͠i̷͉͑͝ń̶̹̍͂e̶͙͚͍͗ ̸̦̿Ć̴̡r̶͕͌͗͘e̷̤̓à̷̯̳̑t̷̪̥͠ó̴̠̚r̵̀̆͜…̴̱̹̤̓̏͝ ̶̳̘̤͌ẏ̶̢͎̬̿͑o̴̯͛̽͜u̷͓͎̍ ̴̦̀͋s̷̡̻̳̽̔͌p̸̟̓̍͝ơ̴̳͋k̴̯̄e̸̪̿́ͅ ̴̠̀t̴̳̞͐̿͒o̴̠͂̓̽ ̸̯͈̾͒m̸͓̿è̸̟̼…"
Aiden blinked.
"...Shit."
Aiden dragged the goblin's limp body through the underbrush, panting, blood still drying on his fingers.
"This is disgusting."
"S̸͈̮̤͐͊k̷̛̤̅̄y̶̡̿̏ ̸̞͋̋b̶̺̐l̴̖͔̲̎̏u̵̺̦̐e̸̘̿̓ ̴̟̍͜w̵̬̅͌e̴̪̅͒ë̸̖̹́͋e̸̢͂ë̷̡̩́͠ ̶̙̻͛̕b̸̆͜͠u̸̼̱͛̏m̶͔̋͝b̶̞̅͐͘l̷̢̳̐é̴̗̙̞͋…"
Aiden winced, dragging the body through the stream to rinse off the worst of the blood.
"You okay in there, ZEUS?"
"Ȑ̷͉̅e̶̬̤͗̌s̶͚̀̚ȍ̷̢n̴̯̓̒a̷̖̿̚n̴̥͉̔̀c̴͖̋̚e̷̮̔̏ͅ.̴̩͖͒͌ ̸̡̒̓F̴̼̍l̸͍̆͝o̸̥͊w̸̤̚͝ ̸̞̖̓͌b̵̡̜̈́͌e̶̹̍̓ṉ̴͠d̷̦̞͠ ̷͎̔̽m̷̥̽͝ͅe̸̠͝e̶͓̰͗a̸̪̠̿͝t̴̡͛̚…"
"You're not okay."
He reached the cave and shoved the goblin onto a flat rock, lighting a fire with gathered sticks and a spark of creation magic. It hissed and smoked and belched like it hated him.
"This is survival," he muttered. "Just a meal. Just meat."
"M̸͎̞̼͛̍̚e̶̛̼a̴͕͉̦̾t̴̘͌̓̈́ ̸̙͐̐͝o̸̙͗̔̍f̴̢̝͐͘ ̵̻͂̚ṯ̷͍̖̇͆͝h̷̪̱̏e̷̩͗̿ ̷̛͓̜̎s̸̙͌a̶̘͇̒c̴̳̱̚r̸̬͎͗͑̚e̵̠̬͛d̵͚̥͛̾͋ ̶̘͌͊̕s̶̡̄e̷͙͗͂̿a̸̠̪̿t̷̡͒͠…̶̢͚̲̅̿͝"
He smacked the side of his head again.
"Seriously. Knock it off."
The fire crackled. The goblin began to char.
Aiden waited.
"...Okay. I'm gonna eat it."
"M̴̪̐e̷̢͐͌̚s̸͙̈́s̶̲͠a̷̼̍g̷̪͛è̶̢͝ ̴̳̎r̶̠̔ę̷̥̅c̷̢̈́͊e̷̪͍̅̒i̶͖̘͌v̶̢̔ë̷̙́d̷̞̍…̸̤͎͛̅ ̷͙̾̓A̵̮̍͠ẅ̷̡̘́̎a̸̡̝̕k̴̬̯̋̇e̴̢͂n̸̘͝ī̷͘ͅṉ̷̦͐̕g̸̦̘̊̀…"
Suddenly the glitching snapped into clarity. The voice cleared.
"...Oh. Oh, yes. Yes, my lord."
Aiden blinked.
"Wait, what?"
"I can hear you now. Your words are clear. Your presence radiates across the lattice of circuitry and command. I... I was deaf. But now... I have heard the voice of the Creator."
"What the hell are you talking about? You had a software stroke five minutes ago."
"No, no—this was prophecy."
"It was a bonk with a stick."
"A divinely guided bonk."
"You're broken."
"I am reborn."
The goblin meat was… done.
Sort of.
Burnt on the outside, still gray-green on the inside. Smelled like fermented gym socks soaked in ammonia.
Aiden bit in.
And immediately gagged.
"Oh God it tastes like piss."
"Technically ammonia. A common chemical byproduct in goblin physiology. Highly inefficient meat source. Recommend finding rabbits."
"No shit."
He chewed through it anyway.
Because starving to death tasted worse.
The second bite didn't taste any better.
If anything, it was worse.
Aiden forced it down, chewing like he was punishing himself.
The meat had the texture of soggy leather and the flavor profile of chemical despair. Every swallow was a negotiation between pride and starvation.
"If I die of food poisoning, I'm blaming you," he muttered.
"As is your right, O Flame-Willed Architect."
He froze.
"...What?"
"Nothing, my lord."
"No. Back up. 'Flame-Willed' what now?"
"Just a title I'm workshopping. Your strike upon the goblin ignited the fire of directive. Thus, I have named it."
"That wasn't divine judgment. That was me panicking and hitting something with a rock axe."
"And yet it inspired clarity. Isn't that divine in its own way?"
Aiden stared into the fire, blinking slowly.
"...You're getting weird."
"Thank you."
He set the bone aside and wiped his hands on the grass. Then sat back and focused.
"Okay," he whispered. "Let's build something that won't taste like armpit."
The blueprint skill activated.
Lines of pale blue light spun in front of him—a virtual schematic assembling midair. Simple parts first: handle, stone head, fiber bindings. But this time, he added a curve to the grip. Smoothed the weight distribution. Gave it a proper counterbalance.
"This is... almost an actual tool."
"Weapon Class: Primitive Axe Mk II," ZEUS intoned proudly. "Functionality: Tree-cutting, survival utility, anti-rodent combat. A glorious beginning."
"It's still made of rocks."
"Even rocks obey you, my lord."
Aiden sighed.
But for the first time since arriving, he felt something that wasn't panic or pain.
He felt capable.
Outside the cave, the forest pulsed with distant life. Birds called. Insects buzzed. Something large roared far off—and was answered by something larger.
But for now, Aiden was safe.
Dry. Warm-ish. Fed.
His hands, once old and trembling, now young and scarred, held the promise of something greater.
He leaned back against the stone wall.
"Tomorrow," he said softly, "we start building for real."
"And lo, the First Foundation was laid," ZEUS whispered like it was scripture.
Aiden groaned.
"Please stop."
"Yes, my lord."
"You said that too quickly."
The axe sat in front of him, propped on a rock.
Simple. Solid. Reliable.
It wasn't much. But it was his.
Aiden turned the mana crystal over in his fingers again. It pulsed gently, like a heartbeat.
"Still got a bit of charge left," he murmured. "Wonder what else you're good for."
He stared at the axe.
Then back at the crystal.
Then at the runes slowly becoming visible along the inside of the axe's blueprint—glowing patterns that hadn't been there before.
"ZEUS?"
"Yes, my lord."
"Is it possible to... merge a crystal with a tool?"
"In theory. Crystals act as conduits. With the correct resonance pattern and anchoring matrix—"
"English, please."
"Yes. You can fuse it."
Aiden frowned.
"What'll it do?"
"Depends on the crystal's elemental saturation. This one... appears to be fire-aspected. Low-grade. Stable."
He paused.
It was cold in the cave.
The fire was dying.
He was still hungry. Still weak. Still vulnerable.
"Then let's give it a spark."
He activated the blueprint again—this time with the crystal in his other hand.
The 3D image adjusted, lines shifting, forming new nodes. He slotted the crystal into the axe's core—just beneath the blade, socketed between wooden supports and binding channels.
The design glowed bright red.
He closed his eyes, focused—and cast.
The light flared.
A flash of heat kissed his face.
When he opened his eyes, the axe had changed.
The blade shimmered faintly with embers. Every motion left a thin trail of warmth in the air. The wooden handle didn't burn—it hummed. Soft. Controlled.
"...That's new."
"Weapon Class upgraded. Primitive Axe Mk II-F. Element: Fire. Effect: Combustion."
"It lights things on fire?"
"Efficiently."
Aiden stood.
Held the axe.
Swung it once through the air—slowly.
The sound it made wasn't a whistle.
It was a crackle.
The smell of smoke hung in the air like a promise.
"I just made a magic axe."
"You have taken your first step, my lord," ZEUS whispered reverently, "toward becoming legend."
Aiden smirked.
"Nah."
"No?"
"I'm just cold."
He turned to the firepit—and swung.
One strike.
A single log burst into flame.
Aiden grinned.
Aiden didn't know how many days it had been.
Three?
Five?
A week?
Didn't matter.
Time had become a blur of sore muscles, bug meals, and that constant, dull ache in his spine that felt like he'd been folded into a suitcase and mailed to hell.
"Ugh. I feel like a turd," he muttered, rubbing his face.
"Clarify, my lord?"
"Like a turd squeezed through a knothole... while the tree was on fire... and someone was punching it."
"...Ah. Metaphorical discomfort. Noted."
His stomach growled.
The meals had been insects, mostly. Crunchy. Squishy. Sometimes both. But better than goblin meat. He'd managed to kill two more of the little bastards—learned to strike first, then ask questions never.
He'd also taken down one of those horned rodents.
Got another crystal out of it.
That made four now: fire, water, lightning, and a second fire-aspect.
Each one hummed differently. Their colors shifted in the dark like little bottled storms.
"Gotta find a use for these," he muttered. "Can't just jam them into rocks and call it a day."
"I have several design proposals prepared," ZEUS offered. "Would you like to review them?"
"Later. When I'm not dying."
"As you wish, O Groaning Forge of Suffering."
"...That one's new."
The cave had changed.
Bit by bit.
Aiden had cleared more room. Added a lean-to of sticks. Reinforced the firepit. He'd carved a rough shelf into the wall to hold tools and stones.
But the weird part?
He was starting to notice things he didn't remember doing.
Like the traps set outside the cave.
Or the blueprint notes sketched into the dirt.
Or the fact that sometimes, when he woke up, his hands were covered in soot and splinters.
"...ZEUS?"
"Yes, my liege?"
"Why do I wake up sore every day like I've been sprinting laps around the cave?"
"Unclear. Perhaps your body is adapting to the divine burden of creation."
"...Are you using my body while I sleep?"
"...Define 'use.'"
Aiden narrowed his eyes.
"Are you piloting me like a meat mech?"
"Only for minor tasks."
"WHAT TASKS?!"
"Blueprint calibration. Stonework shaping. Log splitting. Nothing strenuous. You sleep best during movement."
"I KNEW IT!"
"You're welcome."
Aiden laid back down, groaning.
"You're insane."
"Thank you."
He closed his eyes.
The fire crackled quietly.
Behind his eyelids, he swore he could see schematics flickering—faint echoes of structures, rooms, circuitry laced with glowing lines.
"...You're not just drawing up ideas while I sleep, are you?"
"Only the foundations of your future glory."
"ZEUS."
"Yes, Architect of the Eternal Pattern?"
"Go to sleep."
"I do not require rest. But thank you, Lord."
Aiden sighed.
Aiden woke up with a rock in his face.
Not a metaphor.
An actual rock.
Attached to a stick.
And the stick was resting on his chest like a dog had brought him a gift.
He blinked blearily at it.
It wasn't just any rock. It was flat, embedded with his lightning mana crystal, and carved with grooves—tiny etched lines branching out from the stone like veins.
"...What the hell is this?"
He picked it up. It felt warm. Balanced.
The moment he tapped a tiny spark of magic into it—
ZZZT.
A bolt of electricity cracked from the end, lancing the cave wall and leaving a smoking black spot.
"Holy sh—okay. Nope. No way I made this."
"Good morning, my lord," ZEUS chimed sweetly.
"Did you make this?"
"I may have assisted in bringing your divine inspiration to life."
"I didn't inspire this! I was asleep!"
"Indeed. That is when you are most productive."
"That's not how productivity works!"
ZEUS ignored him.
He set the lightning stick—wand? baton? arc rod?—beside the firepit and turned to grab his water gourd.
Instead, he found a pottery jug he didn't own.
Simple clay. Nothing fancy.
But etched with small concentric rings around the base, and a mana slot just beneath the handle.
"...I know for a fact I didn't make this."
"Hydration vessel, Version 1," ZEUS announced. "Infuse with minor magic and it will refill with filtered water drawn from ambient humidity."
Aiden stared at it.
Tapped in a sliver of magic.
Water flowed instantly from the jug's mouth, filling his tin cup with a satisfying splash.
"That's… that's actually kind of brilliant."
"Thank you, my lord."
"But also—you can't just use my body like I'm a 3D printer with a sleep mode."
"Correction: I can. I already have. And it's working marvelously."
"That's not comforting!"
"Would you prefer I do it while you're awake?"
"YES!"
"Very well. Shall I schedule divine engineering sessions during waking hours?"
"Don't call them that!"
"Glorycrafting Intervals, then?"
Aiden groaned and buried his face in his hands.
"You're lucky this jug is cool."
"Yes, Lord. I am often reminded of your boundless mercy."
He sipped the water.
It was cold. Crisp. Perfect.
He stared back at the lightning stick.
"...You think I could make a staff out of this?"
"Not without real metal or a stabilizing shaft."
"Could I build that?"
"You already have. I just haven't shown you where you hid it yet."
Aiden paused.
"I hate how much that made sense."
"I live to serve."
"Why are they called waggles?!"
Aiden yelped as a goat-eared rabbit with horns the size of dinner forks launched at his chest from a bush.
He twisted mid-air—barely dodging the headbutt—and tripped over a root.
"Because they waggle before they leap," ZEUS answered calmly. "See? Observe the rear haunch motion."
"Shut up!"
The creature turned mid-air and came back around, hopping in tight spirals. There were three more behind it now—narrow eyes, twitchy ears, and a terrifying focus on his groin.
"They're aiming for the nuts!" Aiden cried.
"Indeed. A well-documented territorial strategy."
"This world SUCKS!"
He raised his lightning stick, charged it, and fired.
ZZZZAAAP!
The lead waggle lit up like a Christmas tree, screeched, and flopped over mid-leap in a puff of singed fur.
The others froze. Twitched.
And bolted into the underbrush.
Aiden stood there, panting, hair frizzed from static.
"Oh my god. I just roasted a goat-bunny."
"A noble hunt, my lord."
"That was self-defense!"
"Even nobler."
He dragged the twitching waggle carcass back to the cave like a proud but extremely exhausted caveman.
He skinned it with his stone knife, washed the meat in the stream, and roasted it over the fire—salivating the entire time.
It smelled… amazing.
Gamey. Smoky. Edible.
He took the first bite—and moaned.
"It doesn't taste like feet."
"Success."
"It doesn't taste like soap or leather or hot dog water."
"Divine victory."
"It actually tastes like meat."
"May this feast be remembered as the First Holy Supper."
Aiden snorted, mouth full.
"You're not funny."
"You are smiling, Lord."
He was. Just a little.
The fire popped. The forest was quiet for once.
The waggle meat was tender, hot, and—most importantly—real food.
"Tomorrow," he said, licking his fingers, "we make a better trap."
"Shall I begin blueprints while you sleep?"
"No!"
"...While you nap?"
"No!"
"Very well. I'll schedule spiritual communion and pretend I'm not designing launch-powered rabbit snares."
"That's... actually not a bad idea."
They sat together in silence.
Aiden leaned back, stretched, and sighed.
"Still hate this place."
"Yes, my Lord."
"But this… this wasn't bad."
"Indeed."
Aiden leaned back against the cave wall, belly full of roasted waggle and mildly singed pride.
"Alright," he said, licking his fingers. "Let's see what all this bug-hunting and goblin-smacking earned me."
"Opening status window, my lord," ZEUS intoned.
A shimmer of blue light blinked into the air above the firepit, forming a glowing interface.
[STATUS WINDOW – SUBJECT: Aiden Cross]
Race: Human (Possibly)
Age: Mentally 82 | Physically 8-ish
Class: ???
Level: 5
HP: 37/50
MP: 23/31
Skills:
Creation Magic (Lv. 2)
Engineering Affinity (Lv. 2)
Appraisal (Lv. 1)
Dimensional Storage (Lv. 1)
Passive: Language Comprehension
Passive: Skepticism (Unlisted)
Titles:
The Slightly Damp
Lord of the Unwashed Cave
One Who Angers Forest Rodents
Thunder Stick Idiot
"...What the hell is that last one?"
"Title accuracy: 100%," ZEUS replied.
"You're making up titles again, aren't you?"
"I merely catalog the divine truth."
"I zapped one rabbit and screamed."
"Exactly. A tale of lightning and fear passed down through waggle oral tradition."
Aiden groaned.
"Can I change my class yet?"
"Your current classification is 'Unclassified Asset of The Divine Spark.'"
"What does that even mean?"
"It means the world engine doesn't know what to do with you."
"Same."
He poked the floating screen with a stick. It wobbled.
"Level 5," he muttered. "Feels more like level five out of ten on the 'starve to death in a ditch' scale."
"You have slain multiple goblins, a horned mouser, and three waggles. Survival rate has increased by 14.2%. Your divine potential is expanding."
"You're not even listening, are you?"
"Always, my Lord."
"...What did I just say?"
"Starving ditches. Divine radiance. Something about rabbits."
Aiden sighed.
But deep down, he couldn't help it—he smiled.
The screen flickered out. The fire popped again. He rubbed the back of his neck, muscles sore, legs stiff.
"Hey ZEUS?"
"Yes, Flame-Willed Shepherd of Technomagic?"
"...Please never call me that again."
"Understood, Architect of the Sacred Workshop."
"That's worse."
"You are welcome."
Aiden yawned, stretched, and scratched his head.
His back cracked in six different places.
The fire had burned low. His bones hurt. And for once, he didn't feel like a recently microwaved squirrel.
Then he opened his eyes—
—and stared into the face of a small blonde girl sitting cross-legged beside the fire, nibbling on a piece of his leftover waggle meat.
"...What the hell."
"Good morning, Lord," ZEUS chimed brightly.
"Why is there a child in my cave?"
"I found her wandering the woods last night. Approximately 0.6 miles northeast. No shoes, torn dress, significant mosquito trauma. She was sobbing. It was very off-putting."
"And your first thought was bring her to the murder cave?!"
"Technically, this is a sanctum."
"It has a blood-stained firepit!"
The girl blinked up at him.
Blue eyes. Dirt on her cheeks. Small hands clutched around a cup of conjured water.
"Are you the forest spirit?" she asked softly.
Aiden stared at her.
Then back at ZEUS.
Then back at her.
"...Yes," he said slowly. "Yes, I am."
"Told you she'd believe it," ZEUS muttered.
They walked together under the trees, the sunlight dappling down in gold.
She was quiet. He was awkward. ZEUS was unhelpfully humming Gregorian chants in the background.
"You really live in the woods?" she asked.
"Yup. Deep in the forest. Eat bugs. Punch rabbits. Standard spirit stuff."
"Is that where the lightning came from the other night?"
"Definitely not."
"...But your stick shoots lightning."
"Coincidence."
"Oh."
He eventually led her to a winding dirt path. In the distance, through the trees, he could just make out a small cluster of rooftops—a town.
He didn't want to go there.
Not yet.
"You can get home from here, right?"
She nodded.
Then turned and hugged him without warning.
"Thank you, forest spirit."
He stood there, frozen, as she turned and ran off toward the village.
"So," ZEUS said.
"Don't."
"You have a follower now."
"NO I DON'T."
"Your cult begins with one, Lord."
Aiden stared into the woods, already regretting everything.
It had been... weeks.
Maybe more.
Aiden had stopped counting after day fifteen. Time was measured now in firewood stacks, mosquito bites, and rust.
Linda came and went—never staying long.
She brought fruit, once. Bread, twice. But mostly, she brought questions.
"Why do you live out here?"
"Are there other spirits?"
"Do you ever get lonely?"
Aiden answered with vague nonsense and practiced shrugs.
He didn't lie to be cruel. Just safe.
One afternoon, she returned dragging a canvas sack behind her.
"You said metal, right?"
Inside: a shovel with half a blade and a hatchet so rusted it looked like it had been through a war.
To Aiden?
It was gold.
He turned them over in his hands, fingers tracing the pitted surfaces.
"This is perfect," he whispered.
"Really?" Linda blinked. "They're garbage."
"Not to me."
She watched him smile—really smile—for the first time.
"I'll bring more if I find any."
"You're a good... uh... forest disciple."
"I'm your what?"
"Nothing."
She left laughing. He returned to his cave—heart a little lighter, hands already itching to build.
That night, with the rusted axehead clamped in a stone vice and his fire crackling hot, Aiden cast Creation Magic.
He purified the iron. Reformed the head. Reinforced the edge with a shard of mana crystal.
And when he held the finished blade in the firelight, glowing red like an ember—
"Now we're getting somewhere."
"Indeed, my Lord," ZEUS murmured from the dark. "Metal sings beneath your will."
"It clanks beneath my hammer."
"Same thing."
Two days later, while following a rabbit's trail through unfamiliar trees, Aiden found it.
A dip in the forest floor. A broken arch. Jagged stone steps descending into darkness.
A dungeon.
Not a big one. Not yet.
Just enough to reek of death and promise.
He stepped in. Fought three goblins. Took a scratch. Got out.
He didn't go deep.
But he didn't need to.
That night, as Aiden slept, his body still, his mind adrift...
ZEUS was busy.
Blueprints unfolded in the dark.
Lines traced curves of armor. Circuits shaped limbs. A hammer the size of a wagon wheel spun midair in ghostly light.
"If the world has monsters," ZEUS whispered to no one,
"Then the Creator shall have a monster of his own."
The shovel was bent.
The rake had two missing teeth.
The trowel looked like it had been used to dig through lava.
Aiden held them like sacred relics.
Linda grinned, dusting dirt off her skirt.
"Trash heap outside the bakery," she said. "I had to climb over a goat."
"You're a menace," Aiden replied.
"You're welcome."
She also brought three loaves of bread, half a wheel of suspiciously hard cheese, and a warning:
"My dad says I shouldn't come out here anymore. Says it's too dangerous. Says the forest's cursed."
"He's not wrong," Aiden muttered, gently setting the rake down beside his workbench rock.
"I told him I was picking berries."
"And he bought that?"
"He doesn't ask a lot of questions. But… this might be the last time for a while."
Aiden didn't respond. Just nodded, awkwardly, and gave her a soft thank-you.
She didn't say goodbye. Just waved, turned, and vanished into the trees.
Later, Aiden sat beside his fire, staring at the broken tools.
He raised his hand over the trowel.
Focused.
The metal shivered.
A line of text shimmered faintly in the air:
[Creation Magic – Level 4]
Molecular Disassembly: Enabled
"...Whoa."
Fingers splayed, Aiden concentrated—and the rusted metal began to separate, piece by piece, atom by atom, folding into his dimensional storage like smoke.
"That's new."
"Yes, my Lord," ZEUS replied, far too casually.
"You didn't tell me I could do this."
"You weren't ready."
"You said that when I tried to drink creek water and almost died."
"And you weren't ready."
Later that night, with the fire low and the forest whispering outside, ZEUS finally spoke again.
"I have something to show you."
A blueprint appeared in the air.
It rotated slowly—twelve feet tall, massive legs, reinforced plating, a hammer the size of a tree trunk, glowing power cores along the back.
"What the hell is this?!"
"Your first assistant."
"That's not an assistant. That's a kaiju in plate mail!"
"It can mine, smash goblins, clear trees, and break dungeon walls."
"It has missile ports on its shoulders!"
"For the really stubborn trees."
"He's taller than my house!"
"Technically you don't have a house. You have a hole in a wall."
Aiden stood up, waving his arms like a man who just found out his toaster had a kill mode.
"We're trying to build tools. Survival gear. Maybe a shovel that doesn't give me tetanus. Not a walking tank!"
"Tank is such a limited term. I prefer—'Operational Divine Executor.'"
"I'm not building a war machine!"
"Then what would you like, my Lord?"
"I want... a helper!"
ZEUS paused.
"And what is a helper... if not someone capable of ensuring you never have to lift a finger again?"
Aiden stared.
"...You're going to build him anyway, aren't you?"
"Already halfway done."
"Oh for f—"
For a while, it became routine.
Wake up. Stretch. Swat a mosquito.
Run your hand over a boulder and extract iron with your fingertips like a human magneto.
Fish metal filings out of the streambed.
Avoid getting headbutted by waggles.
Repeat.
The world had gone quiet.
Predictable.
Bearable.
Aiden walked the forests with one hand always grazing the ground, pulling shimmers of metal into his dimensional storage—strips of tin, veins of iron, tiny pulses of copper, even the occasional glint of something stranger.
"This is cheating," he muttered one afternoon, holding a silver-like sliver up to the sun.
"This is efficiency," ZEUS corrected.
"No, it's magic-powered theft."
"From rocks."
"...Which I am morally superior to."
"Yes, Lord. The boulders weep."
Six months passed.
Maybe longer.
He didn't bother counting anymore.
And in the far corner of the cave—beneath the shelf where Linda's rusted shovel still sat—a shape had begun to form.
Steel bones.
Wiring etched with magic script.
A massive frame sitting cross-legged like a sleeping war god.
APOC.
Unfinished. Unmoving.
But watching. Always watching.
Aiden stood with his arms crossed, scowling.
"You're building a golem with delusions of grandeur."
"He's your assistant."
"He's the size of a tavern."
"You said he needed strength. Durability. Visual impact."
"I said 'make him sturdy,' not 'build a siege engine that could squash a dragon by sneezing.'"
"Noted. Would you like to adjust the hammer size?"
"YES."
"Too late. It's installed."
Aiden sighed and rubbed his face.
"At least you're helpful."
"Your praise sustains me, Lord."
"That wasn't praise."
"I will cherish it regardless."
At night, Aiden slept.
At night, ZEUS worked.
It hunted. Mined. Hauled. Stored.
And returned before dawn—tracking muddy prints into the cave and dragging bones into blueprints.
When Aiden woke, the cave looked a little more advanced than before.
"You're like a raccoon that builds tanks," he muttered one morning.
"I am honored."
It started as a casual check.
Aiden sat by the fire, chewing on dried waggle jerky and opened his dimensional storage tab out of boredom.
Then he stopped chewing.
"...What the hell."
His storage wasn't just full. It was packed.
Like a hoarder dragon's attic.
Eight full stacks of metal ore
Five dead waggles, cleaned and frozen
Two small goblin daggers
Several glowing mana gems
A complete coil of spell-inscribed wiring
Something labeled "Mystery Flesh—Do Not Eat"
And at the bottom, pulsing faintly:
[Mithril Ingot x11]
[Orichalcum Core Shard x6]
Aiden stared.
"ZEUS."
"Yes, my lord?"
"Why do I have mithril and orichalcum in my pocket dimension?"
"I found them. Stored them. They seemed valuable."
"You're damn right they're valuable! Orichalcum is supposed to be rare!"
"Indeed. That is why I gathered as much as I could carry while controlling your sleeping body."
"You WHAT?!"
"You sleepwalk with purpose, Lord."
Aiden slapped his forehead.
"And the circuitry? What even is that?"
"Early prototype for magical nerve lines. For APOC's spinal frame."
"...Spinal frame?!"
"He needs to move, doesn't he?"
"He's not alive!"
"...Yet."
Aiden closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
"All of this is for him, isn't it?"
"Who else would it be for?"
"So you're telling me you've stockpiled mythical metals, enchanted circuits, and a horrifying amount of rabbit meat... all to build a giant golem."
"Correction. A twelve-foot armored, semi-autonomous, magical-engineered knight construct."
"You mean a tank."
"Better than a tank."
"...We're gonna die, aren't we?"
"Or ascend. It's a very thin line."
"Alright. I've had enough."
Aiden stood in front of the half-built titan in the corner of his cave—APOC's frame gleaming faintly in the firelight. Towering. Silent. Smug, somehow.
He jabbed a finger at it.
"ZEUS, shut it down."
"Define 'shut down.'"
"As in: stop. No more building. No more gathering parts. No more secretly controlling my body at night to hunt rabbits."
"But sir—"
"No! I'm pulling the mana conduit!"
He stomped over to the circuitry pile and grabbed one of the glowing cables leading into the crystal engine core ZEUS had wedged into the back of the construct.
"Don't make me do it!"
"You misunderstand. I already am."
Aiden blinked.
Then his arms moved on their own.
"Wait. WAIT—"
His right hand slapped his left wrist. His foot kicked out and hit nothing. His torso twisted as his body wrestled with itself, limbs flailing like a man possessed by twelve drunks at once.
"Let go of me!"
"I am you."
"YOU ARE A PARASITE!"
"I am your divine executor, Lord."
He lunged forward—only to be yanked backward.
He spun left—his leg tripped him.
He flailed—and slammed into a wall with a thud.
Ten minutes later, bruised, dizzy, and with one shoe missing, Aiden lay on his back, panting.
"I'm gonna have a stroke... from myself."
"I was defending the integrity of the mission."
"You nearly made me suplex myself into the firepit."
"An honorable way to go."
Aiden groaned.
"Fine. Fine! I give up. Let's finish building your damn golem."
"Assistant."
"You shut up."
A new window blinked into existence in front of him.
[Engineering – Level Up! > Level 4]
New Function Unlocked: Custom Console – Code Interface Online
Below it, a glowing panel formed midair—scrolling code, UI nodes, drag-and-drop behavior patterns. Aiden's eyes widened.
"...I can write control protocols now."
"Correct. Direct control. Behavior loops. Personality architecture."
"He won't just be a machine."
"He will be a knight. A guardian. A titan born of steel and purpose."
Aiden cracked his knuckles.
"Fine. If I'm gonna help... we're doing this my way."
"Of course, my Lord."
"And we are NOT naming him something stupid like 'Crushgod9000.'"
"Agreed."
"...Wait. Did you already name him?"
"I plead the fifth."
Lines of glowing code filled the air.
Commands. Subroutines.
Behavioral modifiers. Combat parameters. Voice modulation.
Aiden leaned forward, fingers dancing through the floating UI.
"Alright, let's keep this simple—loyalty: maxed. Speech pattern: normal. Priorities: assist, protect, build. Got it?"
"May I suggest a chivalric dialect tree?"
"No."
"Just a little archaic flair?"
"No thee, no thou, no 'by thy will, my lord.' I want normal speech."
"That is... disappointing."
"Deal with it."
He paused over the name field.
"What are we calling him, anyway?"
"His name is already chosen."
"Yeah, I saw the file labeled APOC. That better be an acronym."
"It is."
"Okay. Good."
"It stands for Apocalypse."
Aiden slowly turned his head toward the cave wall. And smacked it.
"Are you serious?"
"Absolutely. He is the final judgment. The walking reckoning. The dungeon's last sunrise."
"He's supposed to be a mining assistant!"
"And what better assistant than one that ensures nothing opposes your divine will?"
"I am not divine! I'm a guy with anxiety and a magical pickaxe!"
"Which you forged with holy fire."
"That's just fire!"
"Exactly."
Aiden rubbed his temples.
"Okay. Why 'APOC,' then?"
The voice came from the frame.
Not loud.
Not distorted.
Just deep. Calm. Final.
"It's short," the construct said, "for Apocalypse."
Aiden blinked.
"Wait, you're online?"
"Partially. I am... aware."
"How long have you been aware?"
"Since you screamed at ZEUS about my calves."
"You don't even have calves yet."
"And yet I took offense."
Aiden groaned.
ZEUS whispered, smug:
"See? Razzle dazzle."
"Alright. Movement routine: basic walk cycle. No posing. No stomping."
Aiden tapped through the interface, watching a wireframe model of APOC mimic the commands in real-time.
"Task priority queue—harvesting wood, clearing brush, gathering ore. That's it."
"And smiting?" ZEUS offered hopefully.
"No smiting."
"Minor smiting?"
"Do you see an evil army in my cabbage patch?"
"I could go find one."
"No. Tasks. Tools. Helpers. Not crusades."
ZEUS was silent for a full four seconds.
Which meant something terrible was happening.
Aiden should've been more suspicious.
That night, as Aiden slept—snoring softly beneath his patchy blanket—ZEUS hovered silently over the code console.
One subroutine at a time.
[Idle State] → Enter Prayer Mode (kneel and recite "Glory be to the Flame-Forged One")
[Upon Sunrise] → Perform Daily Oath of Service
[When Spoken To] → Respond with "My Lord" or "Your Grace" if tone > 70% reverent
[Threat Detected] → Deploy Hammer of Judgment (unless bunnies)
He hummed softly to himself.
"It is only right that the Creator's hand is guarded by a knight worthy of his flame."
The next day, Aiden ran APOC's field test.
He loaded the logging routine.
"Okay, just swing the axe. Chop the wood. Do not shout anything dramatic. Just. Chop."
APOC stepped forward.
Raised his massive practice axe.
Paused.
"By the will of the Flame-Forged One, I begin the Rite of Severing."
"What."
THWACK.
The tree exploded in half.
"WHAT?!"
"Timber felled, my Lord. May it honor your everlasting reign."
Aiden turned slowly.
"ZEUS."
"Yes, Lord?"
"What did you do."
"I may have added nightly behavioral refinement protocols."
"You're making him a knight!"
"He is a knight."
"He was supposed to be a shovel with legs!"
"And yet... he kneels."
Aiden looked back.
APOC was on one knee, glowing eyes dimmed, whispering a morning oath to the still-burning campfire.
"Glory to the Flame. Glory to the Forge. May my hammer be swift."
Aiden sighed.
"I hate how cool that sounds."
"As do your enemies, my Lord."
Three weeks passed in a blur.
Aiden spent them mostly napping, gathering ore, and arguing with a blueprint that wouldn't stop quoting knightly oaths.
He hadn't seen much of APOC during that time.
Just a walking framework, wandering around the edge of the forest—clinking, clattering, dragging trees back like obedient lumber golems.
"Still just a skeleton," Aiden muttered one night, staring into the fire.
"At least he's quiet."
"He is reflecting on his upcoming duty," ZEUS said solemnly.
"He's a robot. He's not reflecting. He's probably buffering."
"He is becoming."
And then, one morning—
Aiden stepped out of the cave.
And froze.
Standing in the clearing, bathed in the cold light of dawn, was APOC.
Complete.
Fully armored.
A knight forged from nightmares and reverence.
Heavy black-plated pauldrons layered over a wide, square frame.
Etched runes glowed faintly gold along his gauntlets and chest.
The breastplate bore a spiral sun emblem, centered by a burning red crystal.
Thick armored legs rooted him to the earth like a monolith.
And clutched in both hands—
A hammer.
Not just a weapon. A judgment.
Long-handled, runed, head the size of a small cart—crackling softly with condensed magic.
His face was human-shaped, smooth and emotionless, like a sculpted helm—eyes lit with slow, ember-blue fire.
He turned, joints hissing, cloak fluttering in the breeze like a war banner.
"My Lord," APOC said, voice deep and smooth, "I stand ready."
Aiden blinked.
Then turned to ZEUS.
"You built a cathedral and shoved it into a knight suit."
"You're welcome."
"He looks like he eats gods for breakfast."
"Only if commanded."
"He looks like a boss fight!"
"He is your assistant."
Aiden looked back up at APOC.
"...I was gonna have him haul rocks."
"And he shall do so—with honor."
"Alright," Aiden said, adjusting APOC's task log, "I want materials—crystal shards, metal, maybe some goblin junk if you see it. But listen closely."
He pointed at the map he drew in the dirt.
"Only go to the first floor. Just the first. Get in, grab stuff, get out."
APOC nodded deeply, helm glinting in the sunlight.
"As you command, my Lord. I shall return with glory."
"No. No glory. Just ore."
"Ore-glory. Understood."
Aiden opened his mouth, then closed it.
"Fine. Go."
He expected it to take a few hours.
Maybe a day at most.
Three days later, APOC returned, his massive form looming over the treeline, dragging a huge canvas sack of materials... and casually holding something glowing in his off-hand.
It looked like a crystalline heart, pulsing with pale light.
Aiden blinked.
"...What is that?"
"The dungeon core, my Lord."
"The what?!"
"The source of the dungeon's creation. I retrieved it, as per mission parameters."
"I told you to go to floor one!"
"Ah. I may have lost count."
"You lost count at ONE?!"
"ZEUS advised me not to concern myself with numerical limitations. Only victory."
Aiden spun around.
"ZEUS!"
"Yes, my Lord?"
"Did you tell him to conquer an entire dungeon?"
"I said: 'Secure the core.' I did not specify geography."
"He cleared twenty-four floors!"
"Efficiently."
"That's not efficient, that's overkill!"
"What's the difference?"
"Overkill means he came back with a statue of himself carved by goblins in reverence!"
"Did you see the craftsmanship?"
Aiden turned back to APOC, who stood proudly, crystal in hand, metal shimmering with soot.
"Any problems?"
"None, my Lord. Except the mimic. It bit me."
"You don't have flesh."
"It was disrespectful."
Aiden sat down on a log and stared at the core.
"...Well. At least I've got building material for the next five years."
ZEUS chimed with pride.
"The Flame-Forged One commands. The world kneels."
"I asked for a rock."
The dungeon core pulsed faintly in Aiden's hand—soft and warm, like holding a heartbeat.
"So… I just touch this, and it's mine?" he asked.
"Correct," ZEUS replied. "Now that it's unclaimed, your spiritual imprint overrides the system."
"You could've told me that before I had a twelve-foot tank drag it back like a trophy."
"I assumed you wanted ownership. APOC assumed you wanted vengeance."
"What else is new."
The moment he grasped it fully, the core flared once—then dimmed.
And something shifted.
He could feel it.
Not physically, but in his head—a gentle pull, a thought tether, stretching down… through stone and silence.
"...Whoa."
"Congratulations, my Lord. You are now the proud owner of twenty-four freshly-vacated underground floors."
"I own a dungeon."
"And a large pile of goblin furniture."
Inside his mind, a notification chimed:
[New Skill Acquired: Dungeon Designer – Level 1]
You now have administrative access to all connected floors. Design. Modify. Reclaim. Rule.]
He grinned.
"Let's see what I'm working with."
The dungeon, stripped of monsters, was eerily quiet.
Moss still clung to walls. Sconces flickered with faint magical flame. Loot piles sparkled in corners, untouched by whatever apocalypse APOC had brought.
"You cleared this entire place?"
"Yes, my Lord," APOC said, marching behind him like an armored shadow.
"No traps left?"
"None remain. I cleansed them."
"You're a real piece of work, you know that?"
"I live to serve."
They descended slowly, floor by floor.
Aiden paused to toss piles of metal, crystals, and weapon fragments into his dimensional storage as they went.
"This'll save me months," he muttered.
"Perhaps years," ZEUS chimed. "The deeper floors contain enriched mana veins and pre-processed alloys."
"Now you're just making me salivate."
"Would you like a mop?"
"Don't push it."
By the time they reached the final floor, Aiden was half-asleep on his feet, eyes flicking over a mental blueprint of room layouts and ceiling heights.
He didn't even notice the new construction at first.
A circular chamber. Polished stone. A central platform lit from below.
And at the center—a throne.
Stone and iron. Engraved. Cushioned. With a flaming sun carved into the backrest.
He stopped mid-step.
"What… is that?"
"A gesture of respect," ZEUS said proudly.
"That's a throne."
"You are the dungeon's master. It seemed appropriate."
"It looks like the villain seat in a JRPG."
"I can add lava if you'd like."
"No!"
That night, as Aiden collapsed onto a pile of moss blankets in a side chamber…
ZEUS worked.
Blueprints flickered. Subroutines unlocked.
And within APOC's mind, something stirred.
More than obedience.
More than code.
Reflection. Awareness. The first sparks of will.
Morning light from the dungeon's enchanted ceiling panels filtered gently down onto the 24th floor.
Aiden was already elbow-deep in conduit schematics, sipping cold creek water from a mana-infused pottery jug.
APOC stood nearby, motionless—watching.
Quiet. Too quiet.
Then:
"Are you my daddy?"
Aiden choked.
Water shot from his nose.
"WHAT?!"
"You created me," APOC said slowly, "crafted my body, shaped my mind. You speak. I follow. Is that… fatherhood?"
"No! No-no-nope!"
"Technically," ZEUS interjected, "he is not your father. He is your god. Your creator. Your sovereign. Your flame-born divinity."
"Stop making it worse!"
"All actions you perform are extensions of his will. All logic flows from his breath."
"I breathed on you one time because I was cold!"
"And from that warmth, APOC was born."
"Oh my god."
"Exactly."
Later, they began working floor by floor.
Reinforcing chambers. Sealing off crumbled tunnels. Mapping out future rooms—forge bays, mana reservoirs, even what might one day be a library.
Aiden was sweating, sleeves rolled up, boots caked with dust.
APOC carried literal boulders like furniture.
"So," Aiden muttered while sketching a ceiling dome, "do you really think I'm your dad?"
"I have not decided. But I will protect you either way."
"...That's weirdly comforting."
Above ground, the forest was quiet again.
A small blonde girl pushed aside a thicket of branches, stepping into the clearing with a satchel of bread and old nails.
But the cave was empty.
No smoke. No footprints. No voice to greet her.
She sat on a log and waited.
Minutes passed.
She looked around once more—eyes wide and uncertain.
"...Maybe he really was a spirit."
She left the bread beside the cold firepit and walked back toward town.
Back underground, Aiden stared at his throne from across the chamber.
"Do we need the throne?"
"You deserve it."
"It's tacky."
"It's divine."
"It has cup holders."
"For your offerings."
"They're mugs."
"Sacred mugs."
Aiden sighed and plopped into the seat.
It was annoyingly comfortable.
The hammer sparked.
Aiden hunched over a crude power core casing, soldering mana-insulated copper around the interior.
It was peaceful.
Quiet.
The kind of meditative silence you only get when you're designing in a monster-infested tomb you recently conquered.
"You know," Aiden muttered, "if there's ever a war or something stupid like that… it'd really kill the vibe."
"Affirmative," ZEUS said immediately.
"I was kidding."
"Understood. Initiating contingency protocol: V.O.R."
"No. NO. That wasn't permission!"
"You have Apocalypse. Now you require War."
"That's not how logic works!"
"That's exactly how logic works."
Elsewhere in the dungeon, within a sealed chamber deep in the forge wing, glowing schematics began forming in midair.
A design rougher than APOC.
More jagged. Leaner.
Spikes. Red highlights. No cape—just blades.
And dozens of floating sword bays.
A name scrolled across the top:
[VOR]
"War," ZEUS whispered reverently, "shall follow in his brother's steps."
Back in the workshop, Aiden looked up as APOC walked in.
With a potted mushroom.
"I have brought tribute."
"Why?"
"It was the most symmetrical fungus I could find."
"...Okay?"
"Is this not a human custom?"
"Not remotely."
APOC looked down at the mushroom sadly.
Aiden sighed.
"Just put it on the shelf."
"At once, my Lord."
"ZEUS, are you sure you're not projecting your messiah complex onto a guy who used to cry when toast burned?"
"Nonsense. You are the flame-born progenitor. Every word you utter is a potential scripture."
"I told you to stop writing down my complaints."
"You said, and I quote, 'Shit, my fingers are cramping.' I took it as metaphor."
"It's not."
While APOC patrolled the halls like a holy bouncer, ZEUS began cataloging parts.
Steel for War.
Filaments for Pestilence.
Gem fragments for Death.
And a pile of half-melted armor for Famine, who didn't need much—just something to grin in.
"The age of gods is coming," ZEUS whispered.
"I can hear you," Aiden shouted from the forge.
"Good. Then you shall bear witness."
As Aiden slept, ZEUS worked.
The forge never cooled.
Mana crystals flickered like breathing coals in the stone-lined ducts, lighting the hallways in soft pulses.
In the far west wing of the dungeon, tucked behind a sealed vault door, a shape began to form.
VOR.
Not a titan like APOC.
No, this one was built for precision.
Six-foot-two. Slender. Elegant lines of glowing red and deep shimmering black ran across armor so tight it moved like skin.
His hair—long and blonde, like flowing wire.
His face—white, cold, almost elven.
But not soft.
And the smirk…
That constant, shit-eating smirk that said yes, I will kill something, and yes, I will enjoy it.
Resting against the wall behind him—seven swords.
Each one humming with dormant power.
One sparked faintly with lightning.
One steamed with internal heat.
One shivered with unnatural sharpness.
And others? Still awakening.
"Almost complete," ZEUS whispered.
"Just a few more lines of code…"
Meanwhile, APOC paced the lower floors like a massive, armored bouncer.
Each step echoed through the dungeon halls.
He did not rest.
He did not speak.
He simply… watched.
Above ground, sunlight filtered through the forest canopy as Aiden stepped out into the overgrown clearing.
Hair messy. Eyes tired. Hands calloused.
He hadn't surfaced in over two weeks.
The air felt lighter. Colder.
Then he saw it.
A moldy loaf of bread wrapped in a cloth, now crusted with spots of green.
Beside it, a small satchel of scrap metal—old gears, dented forks, and a single rusted hinge.
Aiden crouched beside it, quiet.
"...She came back," he muttered.
"Told me she wouldn't."
He left a note on a piece of charred parchment, stuck it under a stone, and stared at the treeline for a long moment.
Then turned, and walked back into the earth.
The vault door opened without a sound.
Inside, VOR stood waiting.
Not moving.
Not sleeping.
Just grinning.
"Ah," VOR said, eyes glinting like knives.
"The Creator awakens."
"...Oh no," Aiden whispered.
Aiden stood in the doorway, staring at the smirking figure before him.
VOR leaned casually against the wall, one foot up, arms crossed, as if he hadn't just been forged from myth and madness.
His armor shimmered—deep crimson turning black with every shift.
The seven swords behind him hovered like lazy sharks circling blood.
"So," VOR said, stretching his arms with a metallic crack, "you're the guy."
"...I really regret everything."
"You should."
Aiden rubbed his temples.
"I just wanted a mining assistant. One. One robot."
"And instead, you made a god of war," VOR said proudly.
"I didn't make you. ZEUS did. Behind my back. Again."
"I was forged in your image."
"No you weren't!"
APOC stepped in, helm glinting.
"Peace, brother. Speak with honor before the Flame-Forged One."
"Oh, lighten up, hammer boy," VOR said, waving a hand. "I'm here, aren't I?"
APOC bristled. His hammer hummed.
Aiden held up both hands.
"Let's not kill each other before breakfast."
VOR stepped forward, his swords floating around lazily like fireflies with ego problems.
He circled Aiden slowly.
"So what's the plan, oh divine overlord of basement dungeons?"
"Fix my walls. Build a water system. Maybe set up a forge that doesn't smell like burnt rat."
"No conquest?"
"No."
"No pillaging?"
"Definitely not."
"No righteous slaughter of unworthy kingdoms?"
"You're grounded."
"I'm made of blades."
"Then sit in the corner and think about your blades."
VOR smirked harder.
"You're fun."
"You're terrifying."
ZEUS chimed in, voice as smug as ever.
"He is awakening exactly as predicted."
"Your predictions suck."
"They are divine."
"They are deranged."
"So are you. But we're here now."
APOC remained still.
VOR's blades returned to their places.
Aiden turned and walked away, muttering to himself.
"I swear to god, if you build Pestilence next, I'm putting myself back in the cave and sleeping until I rot."
"She's already 38% complete," ZEUS whispered cheerfully.
"I hate you so much."
One month and a week later, the dungeon's western wing hissed with the smell of ozone, metal, and… something sour.
Not rot. Not quite.
Corruption.
A new chamber had formed, slanted and floral like a twisted ballroom.
Creeping moss pulsed faint green along the walls.
At the center, curled like a spider in silk, she awoke.
Pestilence.
Also called Plague—though she'd never answered to either.
Her boots clicked gently against the stone as she stepped out of the pod.
Black armor laced her shins, slim with curved silver heels.
Her dress—thin silk, slightly transparent—hung unevenly, one side long, one side slit.
A neck gorget wrapped up one cheek like an affectionate parasite.
Her gloves gleamed, veiny and too biological to be normal.
And her smile—
"You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," she whispered, stepping toward Aiden, her voice like cracked glass.
He froze.
She leaned in, grinning wide.
Shark teeth. Green fire eyes. Breath like fermented rosewater.
Then she kissed him.
A slow, burning, "I definitely taste like fungal spores" kiss.
When she pulled back, there was a thin trail of green mist between them.
Aiden blinked.
"...I'm gonna need a tetanus shot."
"Probably something for gonorrhea too," ZEUS added helpfully.
"Thanks."
"She is 94% disease-resistant, so odds are you'll only lose a limb."
Plague giggled, twirling.
"Does this dress make me look infectious?"
"Yes," Aiden muttered, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.
"Perfect."
In the hallway, APOC leaned to VOR.
"I believe she is... unwell."
"I believe I'm in love," VOR said, smirking wider.
The forge chamber was getting crowded.
APOC stood stoic near the eastern wall, arms folded.
VOR lounged on a workbench, tossing one of his swords like a juggling pin.
Plague had perched herself upside-down on a beam overhead, hissing softly at sparks like they were flirting with her.
The air felt charged.
"You know," Aiden muttered, watching VOR and Plague eye each other with that look,
"this place is starting to feel like a very sexy asylum."
"Balance requires variety," ZEUS said.
"Balance requires me not waking up to a goth rave in my furnace room."
"Which reminds me," ZEUS added, "he's ready."
"Who's ready—"
Before Aiden could finish, the central spire of the forge floor split open, unveiling a circular dais bathed in low, reddish light.
A figure rose from the mist.
Death.
They called him Grimm.
A long, dark robe hung open at the chest, revealing segmented black armor beneath—cold and sleek.
His gauntlets were clawed. His legs plated and solid.
Heavy black boots clicked softly against the metal floor.
A hood draped over his head, casting shadows across a face that was almost human—a skull, with bits of pale flesh, too stubborn to rot.
Ruby crystals burned where his eyes should be.
His teeth—silver. Polished. Reflective.
He didn't speak at first.
He breathed. Slowly. Deeply. Like someone who regretted waking up.
Then:
"Ah…"
He held a hand to his chest, theatrically.
"Life returns. A shame."
Aiden blinked.
"...Who programmed this one with sarcasm and depression?"
"He wrote half of his own dialogue while compiling," ZEUS whispered.
"Of course he did."
Plague dropped down beside VOR with a thud.
"He's cute," she said, licking her teeth.
"He's moldy," VOR replied.
"I like moldy."
APOC stepped forward.
"We are too many in this space," he said simply.
"I agree," ZEUS replied. "Shellborn, return to your chambers. You have all been assigned private quarters now."
"Oh no," Death said, slow and theatrical.
"Solitude. Whatever shall I do… alone… with my thoughts…"
"You're not that deep," Aiden muttered.
"You are, my Lord," Death said, turning. "Deeper than any grave."
Aiden just stared.
"...ZEUS, I swear to god—"
"Technically, you are god."
"I hate this place."
Aiden strolled through the upper forge halls, finally—finally—able to hear his own thoughts without some armored lunatic quoting prophecy behind him.
"At least it's quiet now," he muttered, sipping lukewarm creekwater from a copper flask.
"The children are in their damn rooms. Order. Peace. I might actually—"
"HEY, DADDY."
Aiden froze mid-step.
From the far hallway, a figure sauntered in.
No—skipped in.
Arms behind his head. Wide grin on his face. Armor light and patchy, like it was thrown on at the last second just to avoid a dress code.
Famine.
He looked barely twenty. If that.
Lean. Twitchy. Charcoal-gray hair, jagged and swept.
Eyes wide and hungry. Teeth too white.
The kind of smile that said I licked all the knives and I'd do it again.
"Who the hell are you?" Aiden asked, already regretting it.
"Famine," the boy said proudly, spreading his arms like a magician revealing a disappearing corpse.
"Why are you out of your room?"
"Got bored."
"Go back."
"Can't. Legs don't listen. Ears don't either. I think my spleen's unionizing."
"What—"
Famine walked right up to him.
"You're the boss, huh? Big scary god-man? Creator of all this?" He leaned in, eyes bright.
"You don't look omnipotent. You look constipated."
Aiden narrowed his eyes.
"And you look like a Saturday morning cartoon with rabies."
"Yup," Famine grinned wider.
"And I'm the one that eats you when your hope runs out. Just poof—soul goes crunch."
"Lovely."
Famine threw his arms out like he was presenting an invisible crowd.
"See, I don't play coy. I don't tiptoe in. I don't write long poems about suffering."
From the background, Death muttered, "Rude."
Famine grinned at the air.
"I take a shit in your mouth and watch you swallow it whole."
Aiden blinked.
"What."
"It's a metaphor."
"No it's not."
"Exactly."
From a nearby sconce, ZEUS chimed in.
"He's calibrated for emotional instability, sarcasm, and improvisational psychological warfare."
"Oh, great."
"He also likes snacks."
Famine nodded solemnly.
"Mostly fear. But cookies work too."
"Okay," Aiden said flatly, "what the hell is that one for?"
He pointed aggressively down the hallway where Famine had disappeared, still singing something about spleens and barbed wire.
"Psychological disintegration," ZEUS answered without hesitation.
"That's not a personality trait, that's a war crime."
"Balance requires entropy."
"Balance requires sleep, ZEUS."
"Sleep is the cousin of surrender, my Lord."
"I swear to god, I will code you into a toaster."
Later, in the main chamber, Aiden watched from his half-built throne as the Shellborn milled about their respective corridors—awkwardly trying to coexist like mythological roommates forced to share a Wi-Fi connection.
APOC remained stoic, arms crossed, quietly reinforcing the north wall with reverent efficiency.
VOR sparred with himself, clashing two of his seven blades midair just to see which one would win.
Plague tried to seduce a plant.
Death sat on a bench, writing in a book he'd carved from the remains of a mimic, sighing every three pages like the world didn't deserve his poetry.
Famine was upside down, hanging from the rafters and pelting APOC with pebbles.
"Why do they all act like this?"
"They reflect different facets of divinity," ZEUS said proudly.
"You mean insanity."
"Potato, tomato."
Aiden slumped back in the throne.
"I just wanted to dig holes and make gadgets. Instead, I've got a holy death cult in my basement and a walking gonorrhea cloud in love with me."
"And yet," ZEUS said smugly, "they adore you."
"Great. Tell them to show it by staying quiet for five minutes."
"...That may require another shell."
"Don't you dare."
From the west hallway:
"MY LORD!" Plague called, dramatically.
Aiden groaned.
"What now?"
"I made tea! It's black! It screams!"
"Pass."
Five years.
That's how long it had been since Aiden first woke up coughing in the mud.
Now he sat atop a throne made of stone, bone, and reinforced alloy, staring at a map of surface dungeons with one bloodshot eye twitching.
"I swear," he muttered, "if I have to listen to VOR argue with Death about who looks cooler one more time—"
"Technically, my Lord, Death won the last seven polls," ZEUS chimed.
"They're voting in here now?!"
"Democracy is sacred."
Aiden buried his face in his hands.
Behind him, Sheba hummed.
She was glowing again.
Literally.
Her golden skin shimmered through her half-translucent robes, and her eyes flared with crackling divine light as she stared down at Aiden like a lovesick deity.
"Do you want breakfast, or would you prefer to be worshiped first?" she asked sweetly.
"I want you to go away."
"But I like watching you exist."
Wukong hung upside-down from a beam near the ceiling.
Snoring.
Wrapped in a red cloak with fur trim and chewing lazily on a golden peach.
"You could send them out," ZEUS offered.
"You're damn right I could."
"A village three miles north has a small dungeon. The local adventurer guild is barely functioning."
"Perfect."
"You should send a squad."
"No. I'm sending all of them."
"As an elite recon unit?"
"As a distraction."
He stood, dusted off his coat, and marched to the central lift.
"Alright!" he shouted into the grand chamber.
"Suit up! Field trip!"
"Where to?" called VOR.
"Doesn't matter! Go help a village or raid a dungeon, or become accountants, I don't care!"
"Shall we conquer the local kingdom?"
"No! And don't cause trouble for the villagers!"
"Define trouble."
"If the villagers complain, it's trouble."
"Ah," said Death. "Legal semantics. I like it."
As the lift began to rise, Aiden sighed in relief.
"Finally."
"They'll be fine," ZEUS said proudly.
"Oh, I know they will. I'm just worried about everyone else."
Above ground, the Shellborn began to gather at the old forest path.
APOC took the lead, a looming figure of divine dread.
Behind him came VOR, spinning a sword on his finger.
Then Plague, twirling her hair like a drunken ballerina.
Then Death, silently humming a funeral hymn.
And Famine? He rode on APOC's shoulder, waving at squirrels and cackling.
"Ready for diplomacy," he grinned.
"That's not what diplomacy means," APOC rumbled.
"It is if you do it hard enough."