I Will Be Strong 1 (Patreon)

Celestial Forge.

It’s starting to become a trend. Brockton Bay’s Celestial Forge, Junko’s Emporium, A Celestial Forge in Remnant, Forged Symbol, etc...

Time to jump on the wagon and saturate this market.

Mechanic: Two rolls, one for the category and the other for the choice. If MC hasn’t collected enough CP, then the choice passes by and the unused CP is stored. If the MC doesn’t select anything, then the CP is saved and unused. 50 CP per 500 words. A roll is made every 500 words.

Also, the MC does start off with a warehouse.

Tag: worm, worm au, celestial forge, plot and porn

-VB-

I Will Be Evil

Chapter 1: What is Good?

-VB-

“Yo, Daniel!”

I pulled my head up to look at the owner of the familiar voice. My usually blank stare turned into a frown as someone I did not want to associate with approached me. Sighing resignedly, I stopped typing and stood up from my workbench.

“What?” I groused as I stared at my school bully turned bullying coworker.

The bald bastard grinned. “Don’t be like that, Dan! It ain’t like you’re doing anything important!”

Not important? Our workshop needed to complete a hundred of these workbenches before the end of the week, and it’s been five days since the order came in. We had two more days to finish between the five of us, and I’ve already completed my share. I was already working on Michael’s share because that bastard called in sick again and couldn’t be fired because he was the boss’s cousin. Henry already finished his and was off to do whatever it was that he did during his down time. The boss did part of John’s share, but no more than two.

And then there was John.

The bastard couldn’t be fired because he was a member of the Empire, and they would fuck us and our workshop up if he got fired for anything other than… actually, anything we did to him would result in tenfold retaliation.

I would know.

I nearly fucking died after I reported his gang affiliation and work abuse to the police.

Turned out to be that the police had some bad apples… or were all police in the pocket of the Empire? It was odd how out of all police municipal departments in Brockton Bay, the West Brockton Police Department just happened to be 100% white in a territory ruled thoroughly by the Empire?

Yeah.

They “mercifully” left me after beating the crap out of me two days ago. They left me in that alley, and I thought I was going to die. I was bleeding heavily enough, after all. No one would care if I went away except my boss, who valued my skill and work ethic. I had no parents, no siblings, and no friends.

Being an orphan sucked, yeah?

So I thought I was going to die… but then something happened. Something that let me get back up and return to work to give John the metaphorical middle-finger.

It’s been a day since I returned to work, and the bastard was picking on me again.

“We’re friends, right?” John egged me on with that condescending smirk I wanted to wipe off of his face.

“... What do you want?”

“Well, you see, I need a buddy tonight. You know, someone who can come and pick up me and my boys.”

“No.”

Because even though they may have beaten me up, I was still my own person. Hanging and helping out a Nazi went against everything that made me me. Especially more so since this bastard and his friends have been bullying me for the past five years.

His smirk went away, which made me feel good, and got replaced by a blank look. I felt something in my head as my power alerted me, but I ignored me. My energy reserves were too low anyways.

“You sure, buddy?”

“I’m sure,” I replied, ignoring the way others in the workshop were looking at the two of us apprehensively. “You can’t be so poor as to not even have a car of your own, right?” I ignored the key in my pocket that burned to be used, but I was going to die anyways picking fights with Nazis, so what use was a warehouse?

He scowled.

I grinned right back before I went back to working on that workbench.

It was unlikely that the poor and petty bastard would leave me alone.

There were some shops I needed to visit before I went home…

I stared at the workbench and wondered how these got sold. It was a simple workbench, after all. Anyone with a working basic knowledge of woodworking would be able to make it easily, but I supposed that most people didn’t have two years of woodworking class under their belt nor the experience of actually making one.

… Actually, weren’t there books on the topic?

Whatever.

Anyways, people bought these workbench stations - and they had wheels that could be locked in place as well - and used them for whatever purpose they wanted.

According to the boss, we spent eighty dollars worth of materials and manpower on each workbench and sold them for one hundred fifty dollars, netting ourselves a profit of seventy dollars before tax…

That was, if we paid tax, and this was part of the reasons why we couldn’t say shit to the E88 gangbanger among us; all it would take to ruin all four of us was for the bastard to report us to the city.

The city won’t give a shit about the gangs, but a business didn’t pay their taxes?! Oh no no! Call the police!

The fucking city was just a bigger gang, agreed upon by people who lived and voted in it. There wasn’t anything good in this place.

I sighed as I got back to sanding out the top of the workbench, which would prevent our customers from getting splinters in their hands just by running their hands across the top. This kind of thing was putting quality into our work, but it was also time consuming, which was where an eighth of the cost and a tenth of the retail price came from.

Okay. No more mental exposition. Time to actually sand this thing down.

-VB-

The place I was heading to was the Docks. It wasn’t controlled by the Empire, so they wouldn’t be alerted to what I was buying, but the Asian Bad Boyz did control the place. However, there were rules here that the Empire did not have.

Don’t fuck with the ABB gangsters, pay the tolls, and nothing will happen. If any of the gangsters picked on you and you beat the shit out of them? If you paid the toll, then you’re good to go. If not, they had a grave with your name on it.

When I got off of the bus and walked onto the bus stop, there was an ABB gangbanger. Clothed in a red and green painted jacket, a bandana over his head, and a pair of sunglasses, he looked … odd. He saw me, saw that I was not Asian, and extended his hand.

I put a folded five dollar bill. He hummed and turned away from me. In turn, I walked away.

No more than ten steps later, I stopped walking away from the bus stop when I felt that new thing in my head alert me to a choice.

Well, it wasn’t a choice. I had enough energy built up in me, but not enough to take that orb of power. I had to let it go, and felt an emptiness. The choice was blocky, but I felt nothing more from it. Something that I could … eat? Use? Burn?

Whatever. It wasn’t a big deal. I didn’t have it, so why would it and its details matter?

No, I had a reason to be in the Docks. I would do what I came here for, go back home, and prepare.

I walked straight to my destination, pushing my way into an alley between two busy chinese food restaurants managed by a Korean and a Vietnamese, respectively. The alley was long, but I reached the other side, an enclosed courtyard. I came here once before with my friend, though he died two weeks later in a gang skirmish.

It was the ABB’s gun shop, where they sold guns.

“What does a white crackhead want here?” one of the ABB gangbanger guards grunted from the side.

“Just here to buy a gun so I could put a bullet in an Empire skinhead.”

My words caught the man off guard, and he laughed. “Sure, sure. Go ahead and look around. If you try to steal…”

“I’ve seen last year’s example.”

“Good. Go, then.”

I walked deeper in, and there were guns laid out on tables. The entire gun “shop” was the courtyard, and the place was covered with canvases that prevented any aerial surveillance.

In a city where heroes could fly, this was actually a smart move.

I looked around. I came here for something simple. It had to be effective and easy to use. It couldn’t be so weak as to be called a peashooter, but it couldn’t be so strong as to leave me disabled from the recoil.

Then I saw it.

It was a simple Glock, a gun so very infamous for its proliferation among the police and even among the gangs.

I was about to pick it up when I felt my power act up again. I was about to dismiss it… but this time, I had enough energy to pick something.

Maybe.

… Nope. There was nothing within my reach that was actually purchaseable. Bummer.

Shrugging, I picked up the Glock and walked to the courtyard counter. I set it down and waited for the elderly asian guy to pay attention to me.

He did after five minutes. He looked at the gun and then at me.

“Six hundred.”

My cheeks twitched. I knew that this had to be a used gun - the scoff marks and the bits of gunpowder residue inside the barrel showed that - so I tried something else other than expecting an honest price.

“Three hundred. This gun is obviously used.”

“Used or not,” the guy replied right back as if he expected it. “It’s in good condition. Five fifty.”

“That’s a lie. The gun isn’t maintained well. There’s residue still inside the barrel. Four hundred.”

“And where else would you get an unmarked gun? Five hundred. No lower."

"... Alright."

I paid in twenties, and the old man counted. I waited until he finished counting. "You're good. It's yours."

I silently took the gun and left the gun shop, leaving through the same alleyway. I then went to other places. With each visit, I found myself poorer and poorer, but it was for the best. Once my shopping trip was done, I made my way back home by bus.

It took me thirty minutes to get back home in the south, but I got there. It was a dirty little apartment building - probably used to be a motel - just outside the city limits that was right next to the bus stop.

I walked up the outdoor stairs to the third floor, and then to my apartment unit at the very end of the hall. I ignored the stare of a person watching me from across the street. Tried to ignore that he was a skinhead.

Once I was inside my home, I had to prepare. I knew for a fact that sooner or later, John and his bastard friends would come and mess with me. They already left me for dead once, so I wouldn’t put it past them to just outright kill me.

No, I was not going down by myself. I wasn’t going to be a pig to the slaughter.

So I got ready. I set up bear traps and even caltrops. By the time I was ready, the sun had set.

Then I walked over to the darkest corner of the living room with my glock in my hands. I sat down, hidden by the couch between me and the door, and waited.

As the night wore on, my power - and I knew that I was a parahuman, if a little different from the rest - poked at me again to tell me that I had another chance to …

The fuck? A magical furnace that made gemstones? What use would I have for gemstones in a world where the federal fucking government would rather have you destitute than rich?!

No, it would be a waste of my reserves to get it. It was such a narrow focus that I would be found and exploited by other powerful capes or people in general. I was not going to make myself a bigger target than I already was.

I watched it leave my reach - metaphorically - and continued my wait for the eventua-.

BAM BAM BAM

Speak of the devil.

“Daniel, it’s your friend, John! Open up!”

I didn’t move or speak.

BAM BAM BAM

BAM BAM BAM

Then I heard a murmur from the other side of the door. “Fuck it. He must be out. We’ll just trash the place.”

CRACK

CRACK

Ah, they were breaking down my door. Assholes.

I pulled my glock and placed my wrists and hands on the couch armrest. The living room was dark with curtains drawn and electricity cut off (I had shut it off as part of my preparation), so there was no way they were going to see me. I also held tightly to a string I’d attached to my first trap.

The thin wooden door gave away on the fifth smash, and flew open. I flinched as wooden splinters flew everywhere but I was a bit too far for them to reach me.

Four men walked into my home in a row… and I pulled the string.

The string was connected to the ceiling, and went all the way to the ceiling above the entryway. There, the pulled string pulled away at the only thing keeping an open sack closed.

An open sack filled with caltrops.

The bag opened up, held in place by a few staplers, and its contents poured out.

The Nazis shouted as sharp objects rained down on them, but it wouldn’t hurt them.

No.

This would.

I pulled the trigger.

BAM

It hit something.

BAM

Someone screamed and the rest tried to run away, only to step on the caltrops.

I fired again.

BAM

And again.

BAM

They went down to the floor, unexpected pain causing them to trip and fall.

I stood up and aimed at their fallen forms.

BAM BAM BAM click

I blinked and held the gun close to my face. One of the ammo shell got jammed in the ejector thing.

Cursing, I quickly grabbed the shell to remove it, but its intense heat got me to let go with a yelp. Instead, I slammed the butt of the pistol against the wall, and that got it to work.

I looked to the entryway… and grimaced.

On the floor were four men, bleeding and quiet. With the bright moonlight pouring in, I could see that one of them was John. His eyes were wide open and his face set into an expression of surprise and shock and … still.

So he was dead.

I grimaced as my stomach rebelled against the image. I held it down, held it down-!

My power prodding me again got me to hurl on my couch. I grimaced for a different reason now. I liked this couch, not that I could stay here.

No, I was going to have to leave. I had to go somewhere they wouldn’t be able to touch me…

The Docks? Downtown?

I needed to leave.

I quickly packed up lightly, taking only the most important documents, favored items, and clothes, and then…

Well, I kind of felt bad about doing this.

But I walked to the corner of the house where I had stored the gasoline… and lit it.

And then ran out of the apartment. Sorry, Mrs. McGrumin. I’ll pay you back. It’s not like you didn’t have twelve other properties.

-VB-

My aimless brief journey took me to the east side of the city just outside Downtown Coast.

This place was… not exactly well known, probably because it wasn’t the rich Downtown, whitewashed western suburbs, or the cosmopolitan though not well to do Docks. Riddled more with trees, shrubs, and ponds than actual people, this place was the unattended backyard of the city.

“What’s a young lad like you doing here?”

I stopped and looked at the man who called me. He was a white bearded homeless sitting in front of his little tent.

“Just… running away from the Nazis,” I sighed.

“Ah shucks. Them fuckers still fucking in the city, huh?”

“... ‘still’?” I asked.

“Ye! I’ve been in the city for like five decades!”

So someone who was here and remembered when parahumans began to grow in number. Parahumans like me.

The homeless man intrigued me, even if he smelled like shit and piss. I walked over and sat down in front of him.

“Wanna tell me some stories?”

That got him to smile. “Sure, sure! Why I think the best time the city’s ever had was under Marquis!”

“Marquis?” I remembered him, though I was a little young to remember in full detail.

“Yeah, the man was ruthless and arbitrary as fuck, but he was a good man.”

“But he was a villain…”

“Yes, because he stole from the government, didn’t you know? The government made us pay for their new programs by our nose! Why, I know some families who never got their business off the ground cuz the government told them that new businesses had to pay more fees to open up! Something about that new government team they made having a branch in the city or something…”

Wow, he was talking about when the PRT ENE came to town. That was like … twenty years ago.

“Yeah, so Marquis said ‘fuck all them assholes! We ain’t paying no tax!’ And then he went and attacked just about everyone, but mostly the government government and villains.”

“Government government?” I asked even as my power prodded me again. This time, I had a big store of energy so…

Oh. A database? And I could actually purchase this?

I’ll take it!

I winced as I felt the energy reserve drop back down to nothing.

“Yeah, the big guy! The feds!”

“Ah.”

“But then because he fights the government, heroes tell him that he’s a villain, and they start attacking him.”

“... Anything else?”

“Well, he also did like killing off his rivals, messing with the heroes, embarrassing the heroes, asskicking the heroes, perverting heroic images…”

I can see why heroes might not like him.

"But why was he impressive to you?" I asked him.

The old man blinked. "Well, because he was the kind of guy who didn't give a shit about what the goodie two shoes said about what is proper and did things as he wanted, that's why!"

… did as he wanted?

Could I do that, too?

…

"Thanks for the talk, old man," I said as I stood up.

"No problem, though if you feel really thankful, get me a loaf of bread or something."

I chuckled. "When I have the money, sure."

I continued to travel this desolate place, filled with junks and unattended lots. Eventually, I came across a moderately intact building. It looked like it may have once been a warehouse, but nore than half of the building had collapsed long ago, if the young tree growing there was any indication.

But it did have a door… a door with a keylock that I could use the first expression of my power into.

I pulled out the key from my pocket. It never left me, ever since I almost died to John and his skinhead friends.

But did I need it?

…

I did not want to be weak. I did not want to be humiliated. I did not want to be helpless.

Villains or heroes, they all wanted a servile populace.

…

I wasn't going to be servile.

Determined to grow, I pushed the key into the door knob's key hole and turned.

What do you have in store for me, power?

No, Forge.

-VB-

Saved CP: 150

Ancient Knowledge Base (Stargate Atlantis) 200 CP, Database: Mundane

Not interested in buying a Lantean City Ship or infiltrating Atlantis itself to get your hands on all that wonderful science? This small server farm(the size of an olympic swimming pool)will be placed in your Cosmic Warehouse or other property of your choice with the appropriate power and network hookups. Don't expect to start churning out ZPMs just by buying this; first you'll have to sift through what is basically the Ancient scientific equivalent of our Internet - only instead of being a few mere decades worth of information produced by a people who've barely gotten off their first rock, this database holds tens of thousands of years of information collected by an entire intergalactic civilisation.