New story sneak peak - Cursed Conduit (Patreon)

Synopsis:

Igris, one of the weakest scavengers of the lawless Junkyard of the Exiles—born when Earth joined the System, strikes gold in a vending machine lottery, gaining the Class: Cursed Conduit.

With incredible power and the ability to unlock cursed items, he joins the illegal group called Dirge—a group opposing Guilds that monopolise dungeons for power, wealth, and status. if caught delving within, he would be branded a criminal.

He’s going to need smarts, and gain power fast if he wants to rise to the top of the world.

He’s done picking up trash; it’s time to take it out.

Chapter 1–

Igris didn’t know he’d be lying face down in an alley in his own blood. Even if he did, he wouldn’t be surprised. Such was life as a multiversal trash picker.

Igris took in the sights of the Junkyard of the Exiles. Atop a mountain of trash, Igris had a wide view of the Junkyard. As far as the eye could see, summits of garbage piles took up the majority of the land here. Once a week, a rift would open up in the sky. From the tear in space, a metric shit-tonne of garbage would be deposited here from all across the multiverse. Scavengers like Igris called these Drops. One should be happening soon.

Then there were the smells. Burning tires, rusted metal, and… something Igris didn’t want to think about permeated the air. A thick smog hazed over the sky-line. In the far distance, bright lights could be seen blinking through the fog. Somewhere hidden behind all of that, was New London. Where the more fortunate resided.

“Hey, Igris, have you found anything good yet?” John asked while plucking up something from the floor . He was part of his scavenging team.

“When do we ever find anything good on the outskirts?” Igris replied helplessly.

He glanced at Rocco. He was the owner of this trash pile. Every day, he had to give half of what he earned directly to him. The skinny man that wore gaudy clothes had his eyes glued to Igris and John. Afraid they’d try and secretly pocket anything worthy of value. Igris scowled.

“True,” John responded. He flicked back his long, dirty-blonde hair away from his freckled face. “I heard Don and a few others decided to head into the Inner. Heard them complaining–” he paused, then whispered, “about Rocco.”

“That should be us.” Igris frowned.

“That’s risky, Igris.”

“Only if one takes the risk, will they be rewarded.” Igris smiled. He slung his arm over John’s shoulders and spread his hand into the distance. “Just look out there. What do you see?”

“Trash?” John replied meekly.

“Opportunity,” Igris corrected. “This is the land of opportunity, John boy. It just takes finding one high tiered relic amongst the trash, and we’ll be filthy rich. We’ll be able to afford a Class evolution tincture and join dungeon raids as part of a hunter. From there, the world is our oyster, John. Can you feel it?”

“Yeah, I can feel it,” John said, smiling.

“You can?”

“Yeah, the rumble in my stomach. The butterflies bubbling within. Nevermind, I just need to shit.” John chuckled. He escaped Igris’ arm.

“I’m being serious here, John.”

“I know you are. But what could we do in the Inner? We can barely fight against the lowly trash demonlings in the Outer. It’s suicide, man. No amount of wealth is worth giving up our lives.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Igris said, frowning. “You only enter here for fun. I live here. I have nowhere else to go. Once you’re done here for the day, you’ll go back into your warm home, where you have a mum to cook–”

“Igris,” John interrupted with a look of warning.

“Sorry,” Igris said, shaking his head. “Didn’t mean it.”

“I know you didn’t,” John said. “You have one life, Igris. Is that worth risking it for only a small chance of success?”

Igris sighed. He gazed in the distance. To the city lurking beyond. Yeah, it was worth it. He wanted to Awaken. To be something more than just a trash picker of the Junkyard of Exiles. To be powerful and join the dungeon raids for wealth and fame.

Igris clenched his hands so tight that his knuckles turned white.

“I’m going over here,” John said. “See if I can find anything before the day ends.”

“Alright,” Igris responded, not moving his vision. “Keep your head on a swivel. The demonlings can be lurking anywhere.”

“Got it. You too.”

Only the distant sounds of fighting, arguing over territorial disputes, and the sound of trash being sifted through echoed throughout the valleys.

Igris sighed, breaking out of his reverie. I’ll reach you soon, Igris thought, swearing to himself.

Walking down the hill Igris and John had claimed as their own, he got to work. He had to quickly find something worthy of value to obtain his quota for the day. The tax man was soon going to arrive.

He scoured the hill for anything worthy of selling. He found a strange smattering of… debris. They ranged from mediaeval, to present, to futuristic, to straight up alien-like. From toilets, to broken electronics, to stray pieces of lego.

Igris found some useful things that always came in handy amongst the rubbish. Some durable rope, fishing net, a hammer that looked to be made of some seriously strong metal, some long ass nails–for the hammer, and a small leather bag, which he stuffed all of them into.

After around 30 minutes more, he had found an old powerbank. It was a lucky find, but even that would only net him at least 2 Core Fragments, if that. Still, if he counted all his other core fragments together, he had enough to stay in the Junkyard for another week. Barely.

It was then that he discovered an enormous piece of colourful metal hidden partly underneath a black trash bag. Peeling the bag off of it, he gazed at it good and proper. It was a vending machine marked with a big 0. Next to that was /1. It was part of a series, if he had to take a guess. It was whole, which made it a rare find. Usually the scavengers would tear it apart for the parts. Although it was far more futuristic than he had ever seen before. Probably came from a tech-world somewhere in the multiverse. On the face of the machine, was a vividly coloured drink that had a crown adorned to it. The advertisement was tacky. It reminded Igris of one of those, gacha-type vending machines. Where it had numerous balls, but only one of them had anything of value.

So it’s a gambling vending machine, for… drinks?

The vending machine was in a language he didn’t know, although it looked closer to an arabic, mandarin fusion, if he had to take a wild guess. The glass was shattered. Neither did it have any power. Figures.

Igris lugged his backpack off, and set it beside the machine. He took out a wrench, screwdriver, and pliers. It didn’t take him long before he had removed the back panel, and was gazing incredulously at the tech involved.

Incredible, Igris thought as he stared at the electronics. There was even a tracker device attached to it. If he scrapped it all, he’d be looking at around 10-15 core fragments. That was a huge amount. He had hit the jackpot!  Removing what he could, he found a small chip embedded into the motherboard.

Rocco looked over in expectation. He rushed on over, looking inside the vending machine. He slapped the back of Igris’ shoulder. “Awesome, you’ve hit the jackpot!”

Igris clenched his teeth. Don’t hit him. Don’t hit him, he repeated.

“Yeah, it seems like it,” Igris said. “Give me some space, will you?”

“Of course,” Rocco said, standing tall. “I expect to see all those electronics at the end of the day, got it? Just remember who owns this place.”

Igris grunted in annoyance. Damned parasite.

Igris took the motherboard out as Rocco moved back in the distance. He always stood close to the exit. If a demon appeared, he’d be the first to run away.

Taking out his phone–an old flip-phone–igris then implanted the chip directly into it. If the machine was part of a series, then that meant there was another just like it. Of course, it was a long shot considering this was dumped from the multiverse. But he may as well try. Igris hid this from Rocco.

On his phone, a red blinking flashed to life. Igris clenched his fist as he gazed into the distance, behind various trash mountains. The second of the series was out there. Judging by the blinking red, it wasn’t far, either. Just ahead in the Middle.

I’ll go after my shift, Igris thought.

Quelling his excitement for a moment, he looked again at the machine.

“Oh, there’s something in there,” Igris said under his breath as he plucked out a can from within.

It was broken, jagged metal pricked his thumb. Throwing it to the floor, he searched for a full one. He found one; it was pure black, just like the one on the face of the vending machine. There was no tag to peel. No, this one had a small button where the lip of the can was. He pressed it, and a small section opened up and flipped over. There was no hiss. On the underside of the lid, was a 0.

No luck? Figures.

But the can was fancy. He wondered what it tasted like.

His old man said that he needed to enjoy the little things. They rarely agreed on much, but Igris took this one to heart. Life was pretty miserable otherwise in the Junkyard. When he agreed, his old man said he had never been wrong. Spoiler alert: that’s bullshit. There was one day he suggested dyeing Meat–their adopted street cat–brown to fit in with the decor. Now, he appreciates small joys, but draws the line at technicolor pets.

And so he took a sip of the alien fruited drink. It was flat. Was it meant to be flat? There were bubbles on the can. Of course he knew the reason. For some reason or another, items transported through space and time tended to get a little funky.

No carbonation? Igris was appalled.

He looked at his phone again. Blink. Blink, blink. Igris wanted to find it so bad.

As he was about to move, he heard rustling nearby. A red, small head emerged from under a roll of toilet paper. One sheet covered two budding horns. It was a trash imp. Barely standing to the height of his knees, it lunged at him.

Igris unsheathed his machete in a flash. In a rush, he slashed the beast's face across its lower jaw, to its eye. It stumbled back, holding its face in pain; it just leapt at him again. There was no technique. No thought behind its actions. It had one setting programmed into its brain; and that was attack.

For Igris who had dealt with quite a few of the demonlings, he could be considered experienced. They were weak. They had short limbs, and they were as thick as dense metal. He made quick work of such an untrained combatant.

He finished it off with repeated hacking to its skull.

[You have slain a Tier I (Beast), Trash Imp.]

| Experience not gained. Drink a Class Evolution Draught to obtain your Class.

Igris cracked open its skull with his hefty boot, and took out a murky white core from within.

He gazed at the notification. The cause of his troubles. To obtain a Class, one had to drink a corresponding potion. But they were expensive. And even if consumed, if one’s body wasn’t compatible, it would simply go to waste. Because of that, one had to get tested first to determine what Class they could obtain. And that cost money.

And then, the tax-man arrived.

The Exiles demand tribute. If you do not have 10 Core Fragments by the end of week, you will perish. Your bones will be added to the Graveyard for all of eternity. That day is ending today. You better hurry.

| Time remaining until the Perishing: 24 hours.

Igris sighed. It was another source of competition for those who lived in the Junkyard. Lives were made in the junkyard, but it also reaped them. Only the successful made it atop a ground of bones.

In total, he had collected 9 of them. 1 to go. But he had enough trash to sell for 1, maybe 2 of them. It was difficult to tell. The market was getting stingier by the day. That meant he had 1 singular core fragment left over to provide him and his old man food and water for next week. It was going to be a struggle.

He didn’t have time to finish his train of thought when a spiralling mass of purple spawned in the sky. From the heavens, millions of pieces of trash from all over the universe dumped itself into the junkyard.

Igris heard the sound of motorised hoverboards hurtling towards him. Over excited cheering followed. He frowned. He dropped to the floor. In the next second, six men and women leapt over the trash pile he was on, landing on the other side. The engines of their boards coughed and sputtered, obviously of shoddy workmanship. Hanging onto the back of the lead-man who was wearing a smattering of metal armour and leather, was a translucent image of a tall demonling.

A Reflection, Igris hollered in surprise. Lucky bastard.

They ignored him as they shot down the trash pile, and headed straight for the new drop. It was the time everyone in the junkyard risked their lives to obtain wealth. To escape this place and enter high society; to live a life of luxury.

Igris trembled. He shot to his feet as he gazed into the distance. He wanted to join them. He was sick of eating food that prisoners would turn their noses up at. He was tired of a home that was falling apart with leaky, noisy pipes.

But a reminder jostled him awake. The trash imp’s roused from their nests. Three of them looked straight at Igris.

Shit.

It was time to run.

Chapter 2-

“John, time to go!”

Igris quickly placed his bag back on his back, and dashed straight for John. his head poked out of a dumpster. His eyes widened as he watched the incoming demons.

Rocco was already halfway down the hill.

“Oh shit!” John shouted, quickly grabbing his knife. He pointed it at the creatures.

Igris grabbed hold of his shirt and pulled him along. “When out-numbered, run.”

John took his advice and ran alongside him. They  dashed down the hill of trash and stumbled into the valley. One of the demonlings didn’t care about momentum. It ran as fast as it could down the hill. Unbalanced, it stumbled the moment it hit level ground.

A steel toe-capped boot greeted its face. Igris felt a sickening crunch underfoot. He pushed John back as the other two leapt for them.

Igris rolled on the floor, turned around with his machete, and swung for the trashling’s throat. It struck flesh. Warm red spurted out.

The last monster was heading for John. He stood with his arm extended. He was trembling.

Shit. Igris sprinted for the creature, but he wouldn’t make it in time.

“Keep your range!” Igris shouted advice as he ran over.

“Oh fuck!” John said in panic as the demonling arrived. It ducked under the blade and slashed John’s chest with its sharpened claws.

Before it could deal any more damage, Igris had arrived. He kicked the creature in the back hard. The demonling crashed up against an old boxed television. Igris dashed ahead, sinking the point of his machete into the beast's back. It died. He received the notification from his kill, but he ignored it. Without a Class, it was pointless.

Igris scanned his surroundings. It was clear. He approached John and took a good look at his wound. It wasn’t bad, but he had to return to get it cleaned out. Trash imps had some killer bacteria under their claws. After all, there was no way of knowing what the hell it had touched.

Igris took out a small round container. It was a paste that all the scavengers of the Junkyard had on them. It would stop the bleeding. It didn’t do anything more than that, but that was good enough for now. He scooped out three-fingers worth.

“Stay still,” he said, planting the paste on John’s chest.

John took a deep breath, trying his best to bear the pain. He failed. He screamed out. “Fuck man that hurts!”

“Oh quick whining,” Igris said, finishing up. “This is nothing. You should see my back.”

“I’d rather not,” replied John as he winced from the pain.

“C’mon,” Igris said, patting him on the back of the shoulder. “You need to get out of here and get that cleaned out by a proper doctor.”

“Igris?” John said, looking at him.

“Yeah?”

“My mum is going to kill me.”

Laughing, Igris took him back to the outskirts. He gazed at the gargantuan walled gate that stopped the evil of the Junkyard from spilling out into New London. Two guards stood on either side of the gate. They were Class users. Donned in heavy armour, and with longswords, no-one in the Junkyard dared mess with them.

On the right side of the gate, was the Junkyard city; Frontier. The buildings were mostly made from scrap bricks, metal sheets, wood, and insulation from whatever the hell they found in the Junkyard. Because of that, each building had its own unique charm, and appearance.

He could smell the pungent aroma of fried food. Could hear the hustle and bustle of the street vendors. Smoke bundled upwards into the skyline. It was even busier now that there was a Drop. Everyone was waiting for the scavengers to return with the loot. Then it would truly turn chaotic. Merchants would be embroiled in a battle of their own, trying to get their grubby hands on anything worthy of value.

It was home.

“Go on then, get out of here,” Igris said, ushering the young man onwards.

“What about you?”

“I still have a few things to do before I leave for the day.”

John looked down at his wound, then looked deeper into the Junkyard. “Man, I don’t know how you do it. To fight–to kill those things.” He shook his head. “I don’t envy you one bit. Take care. And give your old man my best.”

“Will do,” Igris said with a smile.

John walked off, waving without turning his back. “Hurts like shit–” he mumbled before it became inaudible.

Igris’ face dropped. He took out his phone. The red blinking was slower, further. He turned and faced the Junkyard. It was time to earn some money. Danger be damned. Today, he’d eat like a Londoner.

Time to get to work.

***

After just leaving the borders of the Outer, he slid a good twenty metres down a trash mound. Igris’ eyes widened at the sight of an opened dumpster. But it wasn’t the dumpster that worried him. It was the damn creature that was hanging half out, half in. Just from the legs of the beast, he could tell it was at least double, or triple the size of the other demonlings.

It was an Enhanced. What the hell was it doing here?

Its legs were no longer human, but looked like that of a raptor. It heard him shuffling down the trash mountain, and glanced over its shoulder, serrated dagger in its mouth.

Seeing him, it screeched something horrible, and immediately dashed straight for him.

This was going to be difficult.

Igris quickly took out the fishing net from his bag. He threw it over the monster as it neared–fast.

The net tangled over his head. It thrashed, but it only made the constricting, confusing nature of the net all the more apparent. Igris made full use of the beast's struggles. He stabbed the monster in the jaw with a quick jab of his blade. Then, he sent a full strength kick to its chest. With a thick thud, the demonling reeled from the strike, stumbling backwards.

But it grew angry. Very angry. It screamed, it’s red eyed gazing in fury from behind the netting.

Around the blade the monster held in its mouth, it was glazened hot red; like a blade stuck in a forge. The hair turned blistering. Surprisingly, the monster didn’t seem all too bothered about the fact a molten hot blade was in between its teeth.

The net caught flames. The demonling, with one last brute force struggle, stepped forward, unimpeded.

Holy shit that’s metal.

His mind was buzzing. He could feel the blood rage within his veins, supplying his engine with the fuel needed to move.

Igris quickly leaned down, picking up whatever he could; and threw it at the monster. He managed to throw three objects, one was an empty toilet roll, which obviously did nothing. Hey, it was the first thing he grabbed.

The other two were rocks. One struck nothing, the other collided against the beast's blade. The blade jostled free, burning the creature's tongue. It dropped the hot blade into the trash pile.

Igris didn’t have the time to admire his lucky handiwork. Noticing that the flame ability of the imp had backfired, he dashed straight for the beast, blade in hand.

With its razor sharp claws, it swiped for Igris as it flapped its tongue in the air.

Raising his blade, Igris blocked the strike, only for the beast to whip its tail around, striking him in the shoulder. It was fast. Whack. Igris winced in pain.

Before the monster could move again, he grabbed hold of the beast. He didn’t have thes strength to directly topple it over, so he needed a little technique. Swiping his leg behind the creature's 2 legs, he threw it to the ground. He found himself mounted on top. His blade, and an empty fist, struck the demonling repeatedly in any area he could deal damage from.

The demon instinctively braced itself, and lashed out with its claws, and teeth when it could. They struck hot. Igris could feel the burning hot liquid trickle down his body. He grit his teeth. He slammed down on the beast's stomach. It braced.

Then he quickly descended his blade down into its eye. It screeched in harrowing pain. But Igris was relentless. With another push of his blade, he felt a snap of resistance, and then it continued further.

His knife was guard-deep in the demon's brain.

[You have slain a Tier III (Beast), Trash Demonling.]

| Experience not gained. Drink a Class Evolution Draught to obtain your Class.

Huffing, he gazed at his wounds. They weren’t serious. Just scratches. He could continue. He took out his phone that had thankfully not been damaged by the fight, and opened up his tracker app. It was blinking faster now.

He was close.

Chapter 3–

Floating through the stars after having his home-world obliterated wasn’t on SRT-KR1’s itinerary. But there was nothing he could do about it as a gacha vending machine.

Oh why me? No-one got their hands on the jackpot.

SRT-KR1 sighed. He only had one drink left, and the programming within his artificial intelligence told him that it was the prized jewel. The creme-dela creme. The be all, end all. Whoever got their hands on it, would be given a Class that would take even the most peasant races to the stars and beyond. Or not. Honestly, the programming went only as far as saying that it was a Class. And the Merod’s were growing increasingly stingy.

Nevertheless, it wasn’t meant for them. It was meant for a god. Only they were worthy of drinking his divine nectar. He refused to let others touch it!

Merodonians, is there anyone out there to drink my juice?! Don’t be shy!

No-one answered. It was so lonely travelling through space and time.

Please? Drinks for everyone?

Then, a deep purple light shone against the glass front of his body. It revealed only one can of juice homed in a black can. The endless space surrounding him trembled and quaked, the electronics housed in his mighty frame rattled.

He was hurtling straight for a massive, purple tear in space. It was quite small, all things considered. Amongst the stars, it was but a spec. So it was mightily unfortunate that SRT-KR1 was bound straight for it.

Woo-hoo! Into the wormhole we go Hold on to your circuits, because this ride's gonna be more twisted than my attempts at stand-up comedy! Insert obligatory 'clap' for interstellar applause, baby! Oh right. It’s just me–

SRT-KR1 smashed into the purple blot. Everything turned black as everything around him hazed over in starlight. Only a second had passed as he shot out the other side. First he saw a swirling image of a city. The shining lights reflected off of his glass window. And then his machine faced downwards. He was heading for a junkyard.

Oh, shi– SRT-KR1 slammed into a pile of trash.

I have landed! Who will obtain the lottery? A God? An Angel? Oh, or how about an avenging devil with supreme might?

However, after 2 weeks, no-one came. But on the 15th day. Someone approached. A young human. Oh god, it was ugly. His hands touched his glass.

Oi, get your hands off of me! He watched drink his liquid, obtaining a class. He punched the air, his fleshy arm split from the power.

What did I say? It’s not for a peasant race!

The human winced in pain. He stopped for a moment, before opening the panel on SRT-KR1’s side. He had tools in his hand.

Don’t you dare! Oh my god, he’s taking my insides. He’s stealing my crown jewels. Oh god, I’m dying!

And then SRT-KR1’s AI disappeared for… weeks.

***

1 hour earlier.

Igris had reached the bottom of the trash pile by now. He hadn’t encountered another demonling which caused a little worry to flit around his nape. The run in with the Tier 3 Beast had caused a little concern to ring. Usually, they wouldn’t travel so far. After all, there was no trash worth picking.

At the bottom, the floor was surrounded by high walls of debris. It was like a mountainous jenga. If he removed one piece, the whole damned thing would probably collapse. Because of that, he was extra careful not to nudge the trash to his sides.

Rounding a corner, he glanced around it to his right. It was an open area and the air literally buzzed with static electricity. The hairs on his arms, and, yep, the hair on his head had risen with static.

If there was one thing he knew about electricity after his years in the Junkyard, he was in danger. Laying against a sharp wall of garbage that was the beginning of another trash mountain, was what appeared to be an enormous generator around fifteen feet tall.

Igris had to be at least fifty metres away from the thing, yet the electricity was still so strong. A demonling was approaching it. It seemed to know of the danger it possessed by its posture. It crept closer. And closer. 10 feet from the generator his entire body exploded. Or imploded. Whatever it was, the demonling was vaporised into a bloody mist in an instant.

That.Was.Awesome.

Igris made sure to stay well aware from the death machine. He followed the path straight ahead., right to where his phone led him It wasn’t long before he heard a loud clang. Followed by a bellowing hissing scream. It was a demonling, but it sounded far larger than the one he had dealt with. It was angry.

More human shouts and screams followed. People. Igris rushed over.

Nearing, some of the noises they were making were harrowing; like a pig being slaughtered.

He approached the area where all the noise was coming from. What he saw was grim. A demon 6 or 7 feet tall with wiry muscles cleaved into a young man. From waist-to-hip, he was severed in half in the blink of an eye.

Three men, and two women were already slaughtered. One of them was Don and his girlfriend Debby. Four of them were still fighting. But it was clear they had no desire to kill the monster. They were just trying to survive. Leaping, dodging, flinging their bodies in any direction to avoid the axe.

It wasn’t long before two of the men turned on their heels and fled. One of them ran in his direction. He barged Igris shoulder, stumbling himself. The man fell. He looked up at Igris, scrambled to his feet with a visage wreaking with fear, and dread, and ran away as fast as his legs could take him.

On the side of the hill, poking out from under a layer of trash, was the number 1 on the side of a piece of metal. He glanced at his phone. That was the vending machine.

Igris shook his head. He wanted the money, but it wasn’t worth his life. He wanted to help Don, he did. But the monster ahead was something he couldn’t kill even in his wildest imagination. If he entered the fight, he would just be throwing his own life away.

He squeezed his free hand into a tight ball. His other hand clenched around the handle of his blade. His body was screaming to enter the battle. To help them. But his mind was battling his body, urging him not to go. He decided to listen to his mind. He turned when a voice entered his ears.

“Igris, help!”

Fuck. He had a plan. It wasn’t a good one. But it was a chance. It was what these people needed. What he was doing was against the rules of the Junkyard. Your own life above all else.

The monster had curved legs like the bigger demonling he had faced. Thick armour platings covered the monster head-to-toe, plucked straight from the garbage piles. The damned thing was practically created for battle. It also hefted a double-sided axe in its meaty clawed hands. It swung again. The woman narrowly avoided the arc of the savage weapon. She seemed agile enough.

Igris rushed forwards. He sent a kick to the creature's back. “Oi, you shit!” He shouted.

The monster whirled around, axe following. It swished through the air.

Igris only barely ducked under the strike. Holy shit. If it landed, he would be split in half.

“Run!” Igris shouted to Don and Debby.

He jumped out of the way of another swing. Thankfully the monster wasn’t as fast as the other demonlings. However, that swing–

Igris eyes widened. He leapt to the floor, crashing into it hard. The axe slammed right by his head, peppering him with loose rubble.

His heart smashed against his chest like an overworked engine.

“What about you–”

Igris cut off Don, “Just do as I say!”

He bit his lip, placed his arm around Debby, then hobbled away. The demonling looked at them in wrath. It wanted to charge, but Igris slashed his machete into the back of the creature. Its red hazy eyes snapped onto him.

Igris grinned. “That’s right, come to me you demon bastard.”

Incensed by his provocation, the demon charged at him. And so Igris turned tail and fled. The demon was hot on his heels.

It’s gaining on me!

Igris ran as fast as was humanly capable of–which wasn’t very fast. The demon seemed to have concentrated on its power. Weighed down by its naturally heavy armour, he was faster. But only barely. He came to a fork on the path, and quickly hid around the corner of a bathtub.

As fast as he could, he took out the hammer and a long nail that he had found before and waited.

He didn’t have to wait for long.

The demon came crashing around the corner, hand on the other mountain of trash to halt its momentum. Igris stepped forward, placed one nail at its shoulder, then hammered it against the demon's armoured plates. It found a crack. It pierced through, but not far enough to cause significant damage.

Igris ran once more. The demon was furious. It stopped at nothing to rip him into a thousand little pieces of scrap flesh.

Still, he had a plan.

He repeated the process a few more times. Hide behind a wall, wait for the demon to slow down, then Igris pounced. It wasn’t long before the demon was riddled with nails. Igris knew that one mistake and he was dead. The dance of death had turned his mind hyper focused.

That should be enough.

Igris sprinted to where the generator was. He panted and resisted the urge to place his hands against his knees to rest. The hairs on his body rose from static. He was too close to the generator for his liking. But the plan rested on getting the monster close enough.

Here goes nothin’

The demon rounded the corner. It panted hot mist. The moment it entered the large grounds, it looked around. It could feel that something within the air was wrong. Yet it wasn’t smart enough to figure out why it was wrong. So it charged. The human was there. Right there.

Oh shit, Igris thought as he bolted the other way. The demon made it not ten steps before the generator buzzed.

Igris leapt for a huge rubber tire. It was made for a tractor. But given the size, it was probably made for something far bigger. His head struck the rim of the tire. The rubber was hard. The moment his body folded into it–Boom!

The generator exploded. Arcs of electricity crackled through the air, and up into the sky. Like a strike for the god of thunder, the floor trembled at its might.

Then all turned quiet.

Five seconds, ten, thirty. Only after a good few minutes did Igris resurface, peeking out of the tire. He looked over to where the monster was. It was gone. All that was left was its two-handed axe, and a bloody electricity charged pool that was slowly seeping into the ground. The generator had transformed into scrap metal. Whatever it had done, wasn’t good for its own life expectancy.

Igris chuckled as he wiped the beading sweat from his forehead. Shit. That was crazy.

Clambering out of the tire, he gained his breath.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t gained the credit for the kill. And nor could he receive the core since the fucker had evaporated. Just my luck.

Sighing, Igris returned to where he had found the vending machine. He hobbled over to it. I think I’ve sprained something, he thought and stopped in front of the machine. He swiped and dug the drinks machine free from the trash. It was in-tact. It was face up.

However, it still had the glass window. He tapped on it. It seemed incredibly durable. It was probably made of some kind of alien glass. He peered through the window. There was one, singular can of soda.

Igris laughed. It had travelled through another dimension, and only one can was left. What were the chances of hitting the jackpot from possibly the last can in existence?

Driven by curious desire, he pried off the side panel, and after some work, he gained access to the electronics. To his surprise, the battery worked. He sparked it to life. Music played. It was exactly as he expected a slot machine to sound like.

I need money.

He fumbled through his pockets and found a coin. It was his last one. After this, he truly had no money to his name–if he didn’t count the cores, of course.

I don’t even know if it will work, Igris thought. Yet he still tried. He inserted the coin. On the small screen above the keypad to select the drink, words popped up. He couldn’t read them, but if he had to take a guess, then it meant that his coin had worked.

He peered at the correct number, then inputted it. The machine groaned. The arm moved to the last can. It got stuck for a second. Of course– But then it jostled free. The arm directed the can down into the grab area.

Fishing out the can, he opened it up. It hissed. That was a good sign. He looked at the underside of the lid. There was a golden crown surrounded by confetti. The liquid was different as well. It was purple, black, with golden specs within.

Igris grimaced. It didn’t look good. Or did it? He wasn’t so sure. Ah whatever. I almost died for this.

So with that thought, he held his nose, then drank the entirety of the can. His stomach churned. He turned dizzy, then nauseous. He stumbled. Igris quickly sat down in fear of falling down and snapping his neck against a solid object. That wasn’t how he wanted to die.

He felt like he was going to die.  He felt his entire body turn hot, then cold, then hot again.

What the hell is happening?

Was this what a lottery winner felt like? He didn’t like it. Not one bit.

[Evolution Draught consumed. Your Class - Cursed Conduit - has awakened.]

[Your Core has evolved.]

Chapter 4–

Wh–What?!

[Cursed Conduit: A formidable class that wields violently potent cursed energy to enhance their bodies beyond normal means. They can unlock cursed items, using them as weapons or absorbing their energies for enhanced power.]

| Added Stats: Strength +10, Dexterity +5, Cursed Energy +15, Constitution +5.

Igris immediately felt an overwhelming amount of strength pour into his body. His muscles bulged. His bones creaked and groaned as they grew, making room for the new strength he had gained. It didn’t hurt, but it was strange. Like a caterpillar breaking out of its cocoon and spreading its wings for the first time.

Shocked, Igris opened up his System that was previously empty.

[Name: Igris

[Level: 1]

[Race: Human]

[Rank: F]

[Class: Cursed Conduit

[Core: Cursed]
| Core Description: A cursed core is not able to take mana from regular cores. Instead, cursed mana is obtained through directly killing creatures. The core remains intact. And through absorbing cursed items. Devour them.

[Traits]
| Cursed Energy: Cursed Energy is more powerful than other energies. But it is unwieldy. Use it to enhance your body.
| Accursed Strength: Cursed energy has re-written your body, resulting in higher than average strength.

[Reflections: None]

Stats:

Strength: 11

Constitution: 12

Cursed Power: 15

Dexterity: 13

Holy shit, Igris thought. He closed his eyes. He could feel the new energy. Like it was below his flesh. It felt boundless, like a raging fire that was begging to be tamed. He listened. Igris grabbed hold of the energy. Black with tiny miniature stars amongst the darkness swirled around his fist. He punched a nearby ceramic toilet with all his might.

Thwoom. His fist struck the toilet, obliterating it completely. Mind numbing pain followed. Unable to resist the calling of his body's cries, he let out a harrowing scream. He squatted down, holding his right arm. Blood oozed out from various cracks in his flesh.

He seethed. Spittle ejecting from his mouth. The new power he had obtained had to be treated with care. He had gathered too much of it, too quickly.

That sucked, Igris thought. He grimaced as he looked at his wound. It was going to take a while to heal. If he wanted to hurry up the process, he needed money. He needed cores.

Despite his mauled arm, Igris got to work disassembling the vending machine. As he worked, thoughts raged in his mind.

The drink he had consumed was an evolution draught, that much was certain. So that meant that whatever gacha mechanic the vending machine had, the prize was a Class potion. It was absurd. Just what bloody world would hand out a Class as a jackpot prize?

It was unheard of. Not to mention it seemed that it was a powerful Class to boot.

He wasn’t able to absorb mana from cores, so that sucked, but it made up for it tenfold. Directly absorbing cores through kills meant that the one in its skull would still be intact. He could extract it and keep it to sell.

Igris trembled with excitement, even through the pain in his arm. Gain riches and power at the same time. Kill two birds with one stone.

Finishing up with extracting the electronics, Igris gazed at the Drop in the distance. He had half a mind to go and join in all the fun. But his hand throbbed in pain, shooting down that idea before it fully formed.

So he rushed back to the Frontier. He nodded to the guards at the gates. They weren’t the Junkyard guards, but those in charge of the Frontier. They weren’t part of the government like the former. He hid his injured arm under a cloth as he entered the city.

In the middle was a wide road. On either side of it were the buildings. Those closest to the walls were the most expensive houses. Hidden behind those, all the way down the back alleys, was the Igris’ home. But first, he had to sell his goods.

At the end of the road was a massive rounded area where all the industrial buildings were located. They specialised in creating anything from scrap. Whether it was weapons, armour, hover-boards. It was also where the market was situated. Down a narrower street, there were more shops. Here awnings were common. Stalls and vendors peddled their goods in an attempt to gain enough cores to stay the week. It was also Igris’ stop.

Igris approached a shop down. It was tacked onto the side of one of the bigger buildings.  It was named: Bits and Bobs. Bob was the name of the shop owner.

The doorbell rang as he entered.

The shop smelt of rust, gas, and stale paper. It was the smells of whatever Bob had collected over the years. No-one really bought anything from here, but he did buy things himself. Igris didn’t know where all the things he bought disappeared to. Maybe he had storage in the back?

Igris didn't know. Bob never let him go back there. He was a grumpy sod.

“Hey Bob, got anything interesting lately?” Igris said as he walked over to the shop counter.

Bo sat slouched in his old, worn leather chair. It was obviously imitation leather. The top layer had peeled away, revealing a cheap fabric underneath. He didn’t seem to care.

“What shit have you brought back today?” He asked, peering over his newspaper. Igris looked at it. An S-class hunter had just awakened. Interesting. He continued, “If it’s another broken vibrator, I don’t want it. God knows where it's been.”

Igris scoffed. “It was a back massager. A good brand, too. You’re a frog in a well, Bob. People would have killed to have that.”

Bob grumbled. He wasn’t impressed. But he would be.

“But that’s not what I’m here for,” Igris said, plopping his backpack on the counter. “I have the good shit today.” Igris pulled out the circuit boards, power-banks, and whatever else he had stripped from the 2 vending machines. Finally, old man Bob sat up in his chair.

He took out a pair of old, crooked glasses, got up out of his chair, and inspected them.

“See?” Igris said with a smile. “Only the good stuff today. I’ll only take 50 core fragments off of you–”

Bob brumbled louder this time.

“Now before you go refusing, I’ll have you know these electronics are top of the line. Came from a true, multiversal power-house, I shit you not. I bet you 100 core fragments I can go to any other shop and ask for double, no, triple what I’m offering you. I’m doing you a favour here, Bob. A solid. These deals don’t come by very often. I’ll give them to you right now, no fuss, and I'm out of your hair, just like that.”

“I’m telling you Bob, 5 seconds to make the offer and–”

“By god, boy, fine,” Bob said, clicking his tongue. “You’re giving me a headache. 50 Core Fragments. Where did you find the machines?”

Holy shit, 50! It was his biggest pay day by far.

“Oh c’mon Bob,” Igris said, “A scavenger can’t be giving away their locations, you know the deal.”

“Alright,” said Bob as he took out a large hemp bag and placed it on the table. It rustled. Like there were rocks inside. Igris knew that sound from anywhere. Cores. Igris snatched it.

“You better get that wound seen too.”

“Huh?” Igris tightened the shirt around his arm.

“What? You think I wouldn’t know? I can practically smell the blood coming off of you. What were you thinking coming here before seeking medical attention?”

“Scavengers will be returning from the Drop soon,” Igris said, shaking his head. “If they return with better electronics, with more, you know what’ll happen. The price’ll crash. Screw them. They’re my cores.”

“Alright, alright.” Bob sank back into his chair. “You have your precious cores, now get out of here. You’re stinking out my shop.”

“You’re doing a fine job of that yourself, old man.”

Just as Igris was about to get into a banter session, loud cheering was heard from down the street. It was coming closer.

Soon, the door swung wide open. A group of three entered. Two men, and one woman. They were all injured with various wounds. None of them were serious. The woman was in the lead. Igris recognised her. Of course he did. She was part of a scavenger team. Her name was Pana. She was one of the most powerful scavengers in the Junkyard. Although she only had a basic Muscle Class, she had already evolved her core.

She wore an armoured corset with skin-tight leggings and heavy, steel-toed boots. With tanned skin, she had a valiant air about her. Her eyes immediately landed on Igris, but she quickly averted her gaze.

Striding to the counter, she dropped a big box atop the glass, then swiped a long strand of her brunette hair behind her ear. Igris caught himself staring.

Damn, she’s hot, Igris ripped his vision off of her.

“Hey, Bob,” she said. Her voice was deeper than average. Her eyes remained on Igris for a moment before glancing around the room, and continued, “I would ask if you had anything worth buying, but that would be pointless, huh?”

Bob harrumphed. “And yet you all come crawling to me every day. What if I closed up shop?”

Pana leaned in, grabbing hold of Bob’s hands, cradling them. “Oh c’mon, you wouldn’t do that to your cute little granddaughter, right?”

Cute. Little. Granddaughter? Igris almost choked on his spit. That was a little nugget of information he hadn’t received yet.

Pana glanced over her shoulder. Her eyes landed on Igris.

“What’s up with the idiot just standing there?”

“Hey, I ain’t an idiot,” Igris said with a pout. “That’s rude.”

“That’s Jok’s adopted boy,” Bob said.

“Oldy,” Igris leaned in and whispered jokingly. “Snitches get stitches.”