Chapter 1: Inheritance in Ash and Iron
Sector Twelve didn't sleep. It twitched.
Between broken vents and neon haze, the forgotten layers of Oraka City groaned through another night. Garbage floated like paper prayers through busted alleyways. Kids hustled incense sticks soaked in dream-dust. Drones blinked by overhead, trailing synthetic hymns like they were still pretending the city had order.
And somewhere in that mess, Kyren Omari stirred a pot of soup that wasn't soup.
"You burned it again," Jamo said.
Kyren didn't answer right away. He sat on an overturned crate, stirring the bubbling mess with a cracked spoon, eyes glazed. The mix barely had ingredients—mostly scavenged broth powder, a handful of old beans, and a flavor packet from some forgotten ration.
"It's soup," Kyren finally said. "It's fine."
"It smells like failure."
"You smell like debt."
Jamo grinned. "Takes one to know one."
---
Their place wasn't much. A broken-down food cart wedged between two collapsed buildings. Once, it had served spicy tofu bowls to bankers. Now it was home. The walls were patched with tarp and prayer paper. A string of stolen lanterns buzzed overhead.
Kyren handed his younger brother a bowl.
Jamo squinted at it. "It's grey."
"Eat it."
"I'd rather lick the floor."
"You did that once. You cried."
"Because it tasted like hope, and I wasn't ready."
Kyren chuckled in spite of himself.
They sat in silence a moment longer, legs hanging off the edge of the cart.
"You ever wonder what it'd be like to live up there?" Jamo asked, pointing at the glowing spires overhead.
"Like fresh air and fewer police drones?"
"Like no soup nights. Ever."
Kyren leaned back. "People up there don't have to earn rest. They just buy it."
Jamo's eyes dimmed. "You think we'll ever get out?"
Kyren didn't answer. He didn't have to. They both knew the odds.
---
The wind shifted.
Kyren stiffened. The spoon dropped into the pot.
The air grew heavy—static, electric. Every hair on his arm stood up.
Jamo looked up. "Do you feel that?"
The sky cracked.
A deep tearing sound echoed across the stacks. Lights flickered. A shockwave rippled through the slums, knocking cans off rooftops and loose wiring from walls.
Above them, the clouds parted—not naturally, but forcefully. Something was carving a message into the sky.
Giant glowing letters ignited in midair.
> KYREN OMARI – INHERITANCE DETECTED POTENTIAL: UNSTABLE CLASSIFICATION: UNCLAIMED
The soup exploded.
---
Pain hit his chest like fire.
Kyren dropped to his knees, gasping. His skin lit up—lines spiraling up his arms, glowing red like molten veins.
He screamed.
> "Oh no," said a voice. "You're early."
The voice didn't come from outside. It came from inside.
> "Well, welcome anyway." "Initiating Laughing Devil Protocol." "Probability of survival: roughly the same as surviving your cooking."
Jamo screamed his name.
Kyren buckled as the glow spread. A symbol—like a laughing face crossed with a burning glyph—etched itself across his chest. His fingers spasmed.
> "You're not dying," the voice added cheerfully. "You're transforming. Stop screaming. You'll wake the neighbors."
The light pulsed. Then collapsed inward.
Kyren hit the floor.
---
When he woke, he was shirtless, covered in sweat, and shaking.
Jamo hovered above him. "Dude. You okay? You stopped breathing for like a minute."
"I think I just downloaded a nightmare."
> "Correction," said the voice in his head. "You've inherited a cursed martial technique and an unstable rhythm-based combat interface. Congratulations."
Kyren groaned. "Who are you?"
> "I'm the part of you that laughs when the blade misses."
Jamo handed him water. "Your arms. They're... glowing."
Kyren looked. The red lines were still there. Still pulsing. Still hot.
The old, cracked spear leaning against the wall twitched.
And rose.
---
They stared.
The spear floated midair, humming low, spinning slowly.
"I think it wants you to touch it," Jamo said.
"I think it wants to kill me."
"Same thing, really."
Kyren reached out.
The moment his fingers wrapped around the shaft, the world blinked.
He wasn't in the food cart anymore. He was in a black space, floating.
A battlefield.
Spirits danced like echoes around him. All wielding spears. All laughing.
He turned.
A version of himself stepped forward—eyes glowing, body marked with the same glyphs.
> "You're me," Kyren whispered.
> "Not yet," the figure said. "But if you survive long enough... you might become more."
Then it lunged.
---
Kyren flinched.
Back in the real world, the spear flared in his grip.
> Technique Zero: Reactive Bonding Initiated.
Then the window exploded.
A figure in black dropped through, blade flashing.
Jamo screamed.
Kyren moved.
The spear snapped to life—dragging his body with it. He twisted, swung wide, blocked a strike he didn't see coming.
> "Welcome to your first dance," the voice in his head said. "Try not to bleed out."
Kyren parried, ducked, rolled.
He didn't think—he reacted. Like something else was helping him.
> Technique One: Debt Thrust
He stabbed.
The glyph flared.
The attacker slammed into the far wall.
Down. Not dead.
Kyren stood, panting.
The spear glowed in his hand.
Jamo stared. "What the hell was that?!"
"I don't know," Kyren said. "But I think it's mine now."
> "And I think we're gonna have fun," the voice said.
---
Outside, in the shadows of the spires, dozens of bounty boards across Oraka updated simultaneously.
> NEW TARGET: KYREN OMARI REWARD: 250,000 Credits THREAT LEVEL: UNKNOWN
Inside the cart, the boys sat in silence.
Kyren's arms still glowed.
Jamo finally broke it.
"So… does this mean we skip soup night?"
Kyren laughed.
And something inside him laughed back.