The shift whistle blew, a shrill, mechanical scream that echoed off the damp stone walls like a dying bird. It was the sound of ownership. It meant: Stop dreaming, cattle. Time to bleed for the quota.
Around me, three hundred men groaned. It was a symphony of misery I hadn't heard in twenty years. Honestly? I preferred the silence of the void. At least the void didn't smell like three hundred unwashed armpits.
I stood up. My joints felt suspiciously fluid. In my old life or future life, whatever temporal headache this was getting up involved a series of pops, clicks, and a solid thirty seconds of cursing God. Now? I just... stood. My 21-year-old knees didn't even complain. It was disgusting. I felt like a coiled spring trapped in a body made of wet cardboard.
"Sector 4, move out!" a guard bellowed. He was a Tier 4 Static, a common grunt with dense muscles and night vision. He held a shock-baton like it was Excalibur. "Quota is up. Merrick wants the haul in the hopper by 1800. You lag, you bleed."
I fell into line between Jaren and Lyra. The shuffle to the mines was a ritual. Heads down. Eyes on the boots. Don't look at the guards.
But I wasn't surviving anymore. I was smurfing.
I kept my head up, scanning the crowd for the Resonance.
Most of us were Dims (Tier 5). No glow. Just meat.
Some were Statics (Tier 4). A faint hum. Labor mules.
Then there were the Volatiles (Tier 3).
I spotted him immediately. Bront.
He was a walking landslide. Grey, cracked skin like dried river mud, pulsing with angry orange light. Earth Resonance. In the hierarchy of the mines, Bront was a king. He could punch through rock without a pickaxe.
In my first life, Bront broke my arm over a spilled water ration. I spent three weeks mining one-handed, terrified he'd come back.
Now? I looked at him and felt... bored. I saw the vectors of his movement like lines of code. He favored his right leg. He telegraphed his weight shifts. He was a very loud, very stupid equation.
"Keep your head down, Kael," Lyra whispered, nudging my ribs. "Bront's looking for a victim today."
"Let him look," I said.
Lyra stopped walking. "What is wrong with you? Did you hit your head? You're acting like you have a death wish."
"I just woke up, Lyra," I grinned. "Realized the view from the floor sucks."
We reached the mine proper. Sector 4 was a labyrinth of silica dust and ozone. I grabbed a pickaxe. It felt light. Too light. It felt like a toy.
"Hey! Dim!"
The voice boomed. I sighed. Tutorial Boss time.
I turned. Bront was looming over Jaren. The orange veins in his neck were pulsing.
"You're in my spot, Runt," Bront spat.
Jaren shrank back. "I... Overseer Merrick assigned me "
"Merrick assigns the quota," Bront interrupted, grabbing Jaren by the tunic and lifting him one-handed. "I assign the spots. Move to the slurry pit, or I break your legs."
The slurry pit. The toxic runoff. A death sentence.
"Please," Jaren squeaked.
"Not my problem," Bront grinned, his skin shifting, hardening into jagged plates of rock.
The cavern went silent. Three hundred slaves watched. This was the moment. In the original timeline, I looked away. Jaren went to the pit. He got sick. He died three years later.
It started here.
I stepped forward.
"Put him down, Bront."
Bront froze. He turned slowly. "What did you say, Dim?"
"I said put him down," I repeated, walking calmly. "You're blocking the workflow. It's inefficient."
The lackeys laughed nervously. Dims didn't talk back to Volatiles.
Bront dropped Jaren and stepped toward me. He was a foot taller and eighty pounds heavier. He cracked his knuckles, the sound like grinding gravel.
"You got a death wish, Kael?" Bront sneered. "I'll grind you into paste."
I tapped into the System.
[Target: Bront. Designation: Tier 3 Volatile. Threat: Low. Suggestion: Kinetic structure is rigid. Use impact resonance.]
[Warning: User's physical conditioning is Garbage Tier. Recoil will hurt.]
Shut up.
"No death wish," I said. "Just an observation. Your stance is wide. Your center of gravity is high. And you telegraph your punches like you're sending a letter by carrier pigeon."
Bront roared. He swung a massive, stone-encased fist at my head.
To the onlookers, it was a blur. To me, it was underwater.
I stepped in. I slipped inside his guard. I placed my left hand flat against his stone chest plate. Not a strike. A touch.
Kinetia: Impact Storage.
I released the energy I'd stored from the walk over. I snapped my fingers against his chest.
CRACK.
The sound was like a gunshot. A ripple of pure force slammed into his armor, finding the microscopic flaws in the stone frequency.
A spiderweb of fractures exploded across Bront's chest. He gasped, the air knocked out of him.
SNAP.
Pain shot up my own arm like a lightning bolt. My unconditioned muscles screamed at the sudden release of force. I gritted my teeth, forcing my face to stay neutral. Ow. Note to self: Do pushups later.
Bront stumbled back. "What...?"
"You're stiff," I lectured, fighting the urge to rub my throbbing shoulder. "Stone protects you from cuts, but it transfers shock perfectly. You're basically a giant bell, and I just rang you."
Bront panicked. He swung a wild haymaker.
I ducked. I grabbed his wrist my fingers straining against the weight and tapped his elbow.
His arm snapped straight. I pivoted and swept his leg.
Bront hit the floor. The ground shook.
He tried to scramble up. I didn't let him. I placed my boot on his cracked chest plate and pressed down.
"Stay."
Bront looked up at me. The glow in his veins flickered. "How? You're a Dim. You don't glow."
"Yeah," I said, leaning down so only he could hear. "I'm nothing. Which means you just got beaten by nothing. Think about what that makes you."
I pressed harder. The stone cracked audibly.
"Jaren keeps his spot," I said. "And from now on, your tribute goes to me. Fifty percent."
"Protection fee?" Bront sputtered.
I smiled. It was the smile of the Praetor. Cold. Arrogant.
"Exactly. Protection from me."
I stepped back, fighting a wave of dizziness. My stamina bar was flashing red in my head. God, this body is weak.
"Get up. We have a quota."
Bront scrambled away, looking at me like I was a demon.
I turned around. The entire cavern was staring. Jaren's mouth was open. Lyra looked terrified.
I picked up my pickaxe, hiding the tremor in my hand.
"What are you all looking at?" I shouted. "Dig! Unless you want Merrick to come down here and ask why the belt is empty!"
The slaves hurried back to work, but the rhythm was frantic now.
I walked over to the vein.
System Notification:
[Combat Tutorial Complete. Kinetic Proficiency Increased. Reputation with 'Barracks 4': TERROR.]
[Physical Status: Right Arm - Mild Sprain. User is advised to stop showing off.]
I smirked, striking the rock. My arm throbbed with every swing, a dull ache that reminded me I was mortal.
"Show off," Lyra muttered, stepping beside me. "Since when do you know Kinetia?"
"They saw a Dim get lucky," I lied.
"You shattered his armor," she whispered. "Who are you?"
I looked at the purple crystal in the wall.
"I'm just a guy who's tired of eating sawdust, Lyra," I said. "Now dig. We're going to be rich."
One bully down. My arm felt like jelly. Only an entire planetary empire left to go.