"Pay your dungeon tax. Report unauthorized awakenings. Submit compatibility scans before curfew."
– Government Broadcast, Sector 5A
The sky above Sector 5 was an empty gray — not from clouds, but from the smog of civilization.
Holographic billboards hovered between towers like artificial stars, pulsing with color no human had asked for. Their slogans danced through the haze:
"Unleash your potential."
"The System Sees All. Be Worthy."
"Join the Blessed. Become More."
Erwin Wail stood in a long line of civilians outside the Central Recruitment Dome, his delivery uniform sticking to his back in the heat. He wasn't there for hope. He wasn't even curious.
He was just here to drop off a sealed cargo crate — another one of the energy cores used to scan for compatibility. He handled dozens a day.
The line was full of people clutching prayer beads, ID chips, or lucky charms. Some whispered incantations. Others were silent, eyes hollow from too many rejections.
"Next!" a voice barked.
A teenager stepped forward. Nervous. Sweaty. Hopeful.
He placed his palm on the floating interface.
The scan took 4 seconds.
Compatibility: 12%. No bloodline found. Access denied.
"Next."
The next one was dressed better. A suit jacket. Designer shoes. Clean face.
He scanned in at 9%.
But instead of being dismissed, the gatekeeper whispered to the Evaluator. Something changed on the screen. The man was suddenly approved for "System Cadet Tier 3."
No one commented.
Erwin didn't flinch. He'd seen it before.
He remembered when it was his turn, five years ago.
He'd paid for the scan with three months of wages. He wore his best clothes. Cut his hair. Practiced smiling.
When he placed his hand on the interface, there was a glitch.
The machine hesitated for 0.2 seconds.
Then lit up red.
Compatibility: 0%. No divine potential. Rejected.
"Next."
He hadn't cried.
He hadn't screamed.
But that day, he went home and sat in silence for six hours.
Not because his dream was broken.
Because he realized the dream had never been for him.
Now, years later, he still worked in a world shaped by the chosen — but never for the unchosen.
As he walked back toward the train station, a news drone buzzed overhead, blaring into the smog-choked sky:
"BREAKING: Hero Astraeon slays Leviathan-class dungeon spawn in live broadcast!"
"Zone 3 blessed population reaches 40,000. Citizens advised to donate support credits to maintain shield grid."
"Mythic bloodline detected in New Jakarta slum—patrol dispatched to acquire potential."
Erwin didn't bother listening. He already knew the headlines.
Hero worship. Taxation. Recruitment. Repeat.
He entered the station.
Swiped his chip.
Waited silently for the train, watching rich bloodline kids in personal rune-shield bubbles laugh at something on their retinal feeds.
His phone buzzed.
[📢 SYSTEM NOTICE: ₹12,750 has been deducted from your account under Dungeon Security Enforcement Tax.]
[Thank you for protecting your nation.]
He stared at the message.
Then at his balance.
₹118.22
He put the phone away.
The train home was full. The air recycled. Two Blessed sat in golden seats marked Priority Class, legs crossed, glowing lightly with passive mana fields.
A mother with her child stood nearby. The child coughed once.
One of the Blessed wrinkled his nose and tapped his interface.
An invisible pulse passed through the carriage. The child went silent. Their expressions dulled.
"Silence field," Erwin realized.
The Blessed smirked. Their laughter continued — quiet, elegant, surrounded by light only money or lineage could buy.
By the time Erwin reached his stop, the sun had disappeared into neon.
He passed a food wall, bought a tasteless protein cube with the last of his credits, and sat on a bench facing the alley behind his building.
A massive screen high above lit the city with one final corporate hymn:
"The world is fair. The system watches all. Rise, if you are worthy."
Erwin chewed in silence.
No anger. No tears.
Just... silence.
Then he looked up at the sky — where somewhere above, gods walked among stars, kings bathed in spirit light, and immortal bloodlines dictated history.
"Same sky," he murmured.
"Different gods."
And for the first time in a long while, something sharp stirred in his chest.
Not hope.
Disgust.
[End of Chapter 2 – Same Sky, Different Gods]