The rain started as Kael limped away from the alley, a cold, greasy drizzle that slicked the cobblestones and washed the worst of the blood from his face. It did nothing for the chill inside him. Brak's terrified eyes haunted him more than the phantom pain in his arm. He hadn't just won a fight; he'd been *unmade* and remade into something lethal by a cold, alien presence squatting in his skull.
He found refuge under the sagging awning of a shuttered pawnshop, the smell of damp wood and despair thick in the air. Leaning against the wall, he closed his eyes, trying to steady his breathing. The silence in his head was worse than the voice had been. It felt like waiting for an executioner's blade.
*Alright,* he thought, the words raw and tentative in his own mind. *Alright. You're here. What… what do you want?*
The response was instantaneous, a cool imprint on his consciousness:
**PRIMARY OBJECTIVE: FACILITATE HOST ASCENSION TO THE APEX OF COMBAT PROFICIENCY.**
**SECONDARY OBJECTIVE: PREPARE FOR DESIGNATED CONFLICT SCENARIO.**
**CURRENT HOST DESIGNATION: SILAS. STATUS: NEOPHYTE.**
"Ascension?" Kael muttered aloud, the word tasting foreign. "Conflict scenario? What conflict?" He thought of the fractured, impossible images he'd seen during the… *synchronization*. Golden skies bleeding, mountains falling, a titan dying. The sheer scale of it was dizzying. "Where did you come from? Who made you?"
A pause. Longer this time. Then:
**QUERY: SYSTEM ORIGIN.**
**ACCESS DENIED.**
**REASON: HOST AUTHORIZATION LEVEL INSUFFICIENT. MINIMUM REQUIRED: GRADE 3 COMBATANT.**
Kael barked a harsh, humorless laugh that echoed slightly under the awning. Grade 3? In the rigid hierarchy of power that governed Earth, from the lowliest street thug to the legendary Archmages commanding city-states, Grade 3 was *solidly* mid-tier. It meant mastering your chosen Ability – be it Metal Shaping, Beast Bonding, or one of a thousand others – to a level where you were a recognized force, not just a sparker or a novice. Brak, even with his brute strength, was barely scraping Grade 1 Enhancement. Kael himself? Officially, he had no registered Ability. Unofficially… he'd survived. That was his grade. Zero.
"And how," he asked, the skepticism thick in his mental voice, "am I supposed to reach Grade *anything*? Especially with… whatever you did back there?" The memory of his body moving with impossible speed and precision, guided by that cold intelligence, sent another shiver down his spine. It hadn't felt like power. It had felt like possession.
**METHOD: THE WAR GOD'S CRUCIBLE.**
**PROCESS: SYSTEM-GUIDED COMBAT, SKILL ACQUISITION, RESOURCE OPTIMIZATION, AND EVOLUTIONARY PRESSURE.**
**INITIAL STEP: COMPREHEND BASELINE CAPABILITIES.**
**ACCESS STATUS PROFILE?**
Kael hesitated. Knowing felt dangerous. It made this thing more real. But ignorance in the face of whatever this was felt like suicide. He needed leverage. Information. Even if it was terrifying.
*Fine,* he thought, bracing himself. *Show me.*
A translucent blue screen materialized in his vision, superimposed over the rain-slicked street. It was stark, utilitarian, devoid of flourish:
---
**<<< STATUS >>>**
**HOST:** Kael
**SYSTEM:** War God's Crucible (Initiate Phase)
**AUTHORIZATION LEVEL:** Neophyte (0)
0/100exp
**COMBAT GRADE:** Unranked
**<<< ATTRIBUTES >>>**
* **Strength (STR):** 8 (Baseline Human Average: 10)
* **Agility (AGI):** 11 (Baseline Human Average: 10)
* **Vitality (VIT):** 9 (Baseline Human Average: 10)
* **Perception (PER):** 13 (Baseline Human Average: 10)
* **Willpower (WIL):** 15 (Baseline Human Average: 10)
* **Unallocated Points:** 0
Energy (ENG)***100/100 What will be used up as you use your skills when you get them
**<<< ABILITIES >>>**
* **NONE REGISTERED**
**<<< SKILLS >>>**
* **System Synchronization (Unique) Lv1
***Will be gotten through system as user levels up and completes quests
**<<< SYSTEM FUNCTIONS >>>**
* Status Profile (Active)
* Tactical Override (Situational - Cooldown: 23:17:42)
* Basic Analysis (Active)
* Skill Acquisition: LOCKED (Requires: Grade 1 Combatant)
* Ability Manifestation: LOCKED (Requires: Grade 1 Combatant)
**<<< OBJECTIVES >>>**
* **Immediate:** Achieve Grade 1 Combatant Status.
* **Long-Term:** Ascend to Grade 3 Combatant Status. (Unlock: System Origin Data)
---
Kael stared. Numbers. Cold, hard numbers quantifying his existence. His below-average Strength and Vitality – the legacy of too many missed meals and hard knocks. His slightly higher Agility and Perception – honed by years of navigating treacherous streets and avoiding trouble. His Willpower… 15. That felt strangely affirming, a flicker of defiance quantified.
But the locks… the *requirements*. Grade 1 Combatant. It wasn't just a measure of strength; it was a societal stamp, requiring registration, testing, often patronage or significant coin to even attempt. For a gutter rat like him, it was a mountain.
"And how exactly does this 'Crucible' plan to get me there?" he asked, the skepticism warring with a terrible, burgeoning curiosity. "More alley fights? More… possession?"
**METHODOLOGY WILL BE ADAPTIVE.**
**PRIMARY CATALYST: CONFLICT.**
**RECOMMENDATION: SEEK MEDICAL ATTENTION FOR FRACTURED ULNA (RIGHT FOREARM). CURRENT IMPAIRMENT: 37%.**
Kael instinctively flexed his right arm, wincing at the sharp stab of pain. The system knew. Of course it knew. It knew *everything* inside him. The violation was profound.
He pushed himself off the wall, the blue screen flickering but remaining stubbornly present in his vision. The drizzle was turning into a steady rain, washing the grime of the alley fight down the gutters but doing nothing to cleanse the feeling of something vast and alien coiled within his mind. He had no money for a healer. He barely had money for moldy bread.
He looked down the rain-blurred street, towards the labyrinthine slums he called home. Seeking conflict wasn't hard in the Warrens. Surviving it was the trick. And now he had a passenger that seemed hell-bent on pushing him into the fire.
"War God's Crucible," he muttered, the name tasting like ashes and ozone. He took a step into the rain, then another, the blue status screen a constant, eerie companion in his sight. The path to answers – terrifying, impossible answers – was laid out before him in cold, digital terms. It started with becoming something he'd never dreamed possible, or wanted to be: Grade 1.
He walked, the rain plastering his hair to his skull, the ghostly blue text hovering before him, a silent testament to the dying god's desperate gamble now unfolding in the filthy heart of a city that had no idea what was coming. The Crucible was active. And Silas, battered, broke, and profoundly skeptical, was its first, unwilling champion.