Eric shot up in bed, gasping for air. The sensation hit him like a live wire snapped across his chest. A rush of pure, scalding heat flooded his veins, cracking along his collarbone and radiating down his arms until his fingertips burned. His bones ached with a sudden, localized pressure, as if the marrow were expanding inside them. His mind snapped into a razor-sharp clarity that left him dizzy, his lungs pulling in oxygen in ragged, panicked heaves.

  He knew the feeling. Everyone in the world knew the feeling, even if they hadn’t experienced it firsthand.

  The Incursion had been ten years ago. Now, humanity lived behind spell-scarred steel walls and anti-air ballistas, surviving on the backs of the elite. The Awakened.

  He dragged a trembling hand down his face. His skin ran hot. A faint, translucent blue rectangle hovered in the air directly over his face, casting a pale glow over the peeling wallpaper.

  A status window.

  Eric scrubbed the sleep from his eyes and swung his legs out of bed. His bare feet hit the cold linoleum floor of his cramped studio apartment. He leaned forward and read the text.

  Name: Eric Saint

  Tier: Gifted

  Eric froze. His breath caught in his throat. Gifted.

  The word felt like a physical blow to the stomach. Gifted meant he had a Divine Talent, but it also meant his potential was permanently capped. He could never absorb a Class Stone. He could never level up. He would be stuck at level zero for the rest of his life, functioning as a novelty rather than a true Awakener. The elite lived like A-list celebrities; the Gifted were often sideshow attractions.

  "No," Eric muttered, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the edge of his thin mattress. "Come on. Give me a break."

  He blinked, forcing the window to scroll down. He needed to see what the universe had given him in exchange for his future.

  Divine Talent: Dress for the Job You Want (Unique)

  Description: Equip a complete set of Class-specific gear. While wearing the full set, gain the base stats and proficiency of the intended user.

  Eric stared at the hovering blue text. The harsh glow reflected in his eyes. Confusion washed out his bitter disappointment. He read it again. And a third time.

  Gain the base stats.

  He wasn't an Awakened who could level up, but his talent... it implied he could borrow the power of someone who had. If he wore the gear of a high-level Awakened, the system would recognize him as one.

  Two hours later, Eric stood on the bustling corner of Sector 4. The Megacity pulsed around him, a collision of high-fantasy garrison and modern metropolis. Massive skyscrapers towered overhead, their glass facades interrupted by gargantuan glowing rune barriers and rotating anti-air turrets tracking the overcast sky. Armored transport trucks rumbled past on the street, shaking the cracked pavement beneath his boots. The air smelled of sharp ozone, diesel exhaust, and cheap street food roasting on open grills.

  He pushed his way through the chaotic crowds of scavengers, low-level Awakened, and normal citizens rushing to their shifts. He kept his head down, heading straight into the poorer market district. He stopped in front of an establishment with a flickering, half-broken neon sign: Iron & Ash Warrior Surplus.

  The rusted bells above the door jingled as he stepped inside. The shop was cramped and claustrophobic, smelling strongly of oiled leather, dried blood, and stale sweat. Racks of dented chest plates and scuffed greaves dominated the floor space. Bins of chipped iron daggers sat near the counter. It was a graveyard of beginner equipment, salvaged off the bodies of those who hadn't survived the low-level rifts.

  A burly man with a thick, robotic prosthetic arm glanced up from his register. "Browsing or buying?"

  "Buying," Eric said. His voice sounded paper-thin in the quiet shop. He cleared his throat. "I need a full set. Something for a Level 5 Warrior."

  The shopkeeper raised one thick eyebrow, leaning heavily against the counter. "Level 5? You don't look like you've seen the inside of a goblin cave, kid."

  "I have the credits," Eric shot back, though his stomach churned. He pulled his datapad from his jacket pocket. It contained five years of savings. Every miserable, back-breaking shift he’d worked moving cargo crates at the armored rail yard. It was everything he owned, right down to his final meal allowance.

  The man shrugged, a distinct lack of care in his eyes. "Your funeral."

  He motioned toward the back corner of the store. Eric followed the directions into the dim light. He spent the next twenty minutes meticulously assembling a matched set from the scrap heaps. A heavy, interlocking chainmail hauberk that felt like it weighed forty pounds. Thick steel spaulders heavily scored with deep, jagged claw marks. Heavy iron greaves and a thick gambeson meant to wear underneath. Leather gauntlets laced with steel threading for grip. Finally, a wide-bladed iron shortsword, its edge dulled from heavy use, resting in a scuffed wooden scabbard.

  The man grunted and tallied the cost on his machine. Eric stared at the final number glowing on the register screen. It would drain his account entirely.

  He held his breath and tapped his datapad against the scanner. A sharp beep confirmed the transfer.

  He was totally, completely broke.

  Eric hauled the heavy canvas duffel bag out of the shop and dragged it into a narrow, damp alleyway a block down. Rain water pooled in the deep potholes around his boots. The constant roar of the Megacity traffic echoed off the spray-painted brick walls, isolating him from the thousands of people just feet away.

  He unzipped the bag. His hands shook uncontrollably as he pulled out the heavy chainmail. This was the moment. The gamble. If the talent was a joke, or if he misunderstood the requirements, he was going to die a broke, unemployed idiot in the slums of Sector 4.

  He stripped off his jacket and overshirt, shivering violently in the biting morning chill. He pulled the thick gambeson over his head, then hauled the chainmail onto his shoulders. The sheer weight of the metal immediately bore down on his spine, pressing him into the asphalt. He let out a strained grunt, fighting to keep his footing. He strapped on the greaves, secured the heavy steel spaulders around his collar, and shoved his trembling hands firmly into the leather gauntlets. Lastly, he grabbed the iron sword and hooked the scabbard onto his thick leather belt.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  The second the final steel buckle snapped into place, the air around him warped.

  A jolt of kinetic energy violently arched up his spine. Eric gasped aloud, falling backward and slamming against the wet brick wall.

  His muscles seized, expanding with sudden, localized density. The heavy chainmail that had been crushing his shoulders a moment ago suddenly felt as light as a cotton t-shirt. The weight of the metal vanished, replaced by a surge of raw, terrifying bodily strength. His vision sharpened, hyper-focusing on the individual drops of dirty water dripping from the fire escape three stories above. He clenched his fists. The dense leather gauntlets creaked under the pressure. He could feel the explosive, kinetic output stored in his biceps and thighs. His Body stat had skyrocketed.

  A notification pinged sharply in his mind.

  [Divine Talent Active: Level 5 Warrior]

  [Class: Warrior]

  [Body: 5] [Mind: 0] [Spirit: 0]

  [Skills: none]

  Eric laughed, a short, breathless sound. He pushed himself off the brick wall.

  He stumbled immediately. His feet moved far faster than his brain could process the command. Vertigo hit him like a sledgehammer. Tunnel vision narrowed his sight to a pinpoint, and he crashed shoulder-first into a metal dumpster, the impact ringing loudly in the alley. The stat imbalance penalty. His Body stat now far exceeded his Mind stat, leaving his physical movements entirely detached from his brain's processing speed. Sensory overload pounded behind his eyes.

  He breathed through his teeth, closing his eyes to block out the overwhelming visual input. He forced his brain to slow down, to adapt to the sudden physical shift. "It works," he whispered into the alley, testing his grip on the sword hilt. "It actually works."

  The Sector 4 Portal Hub was a military checkpoint dialed up to eleven. Massive reinforced concrete barricades formed a hard perimeter around a swirling, violent violet tear in reality that hovered three feet off the pavement. Searing arc-lights glared down on the cracked tarmac. Hundreds of Awakened milled around the staging area, shouting over the electric hum of the portal and the deep, rumbling engines of the armored troop carriers idling nearby.

  Eric adjusted his chainmail, fighting down a fresh wave of nausea. The stat imbalance made walking an exercise in extreme concentration, akin to piloting a high-speed vehicle on a half-second delay. He kept his posture straight, forcefully rolling his shoulders backward to imitate the confident swagger he’d seen the elites use on the broadcast feeds.

  Registering as an Awakened had been his first real test. By opting to hit a physical strike pad instead of taking the standard magical Soul Scan, his Level-5 enhanced strength had easily earned an Awakened classification on his ID.

  Now came the hard part.

  He approached the makeshift rallying point, an open stretch of pavement where group leaders yelled out for specific roles to fill their party slots.

  "Need a frontline!" shouted a lanky Awakened holding a glowing, rune-etched staff. Two others stood close behind him—a woman carrying a sleek compound bow and a heavily armored man resting his weight on a massive iron tower shield. "Paying standard shares. Need an off-tank or a damage dealer right now."

  Eric walked straight up to the mage, doing his best not to trip over his own empowered stride. "I'll join."

  The mage eyed his gear critically, taking in the scuffed chainmail, the mismatched spaulders, and the heavy iron sword. "You look like you've been dragged backward through a thresher."

  "Just got off a consecutive shift in the tunnels," Eric lied smoothly, keeping his voice deliberately flat. "Level 5 Warrior. I need the cash and I don't care about the loot. Just want the baseline clear bonus."

  The woman with the bow leaned forward, her eyes darting toward the portal. "He's got the build for it. I'm tired of waiting, Jax. Let's just go."

  Jax sighed, running a hand through his closely-cropped hair, and took a look at his ID. "Fine. You're our frontline. I'm Jax, this is Kira, and the big guy is Garth. Let's move."

  Eric fell into step with them, his heavy iron greaves clanking against the concrete. They bypassed the civilian onlookers, stepping through the heavily armed military cordon. The sheer, unnatural cold radiating from the violet portal raised the hairs on the back of his neck. He adjusted his grip on his sword belt, gritted his teeth, and stepped directly into the swirling light.

  The spatial transition was instantaneous. The chaotic noise of the Megacity simply vanished, replaced by the damp, echoing drip of water and the overpowering stench of rot and sulfur. They stood in a wide, cavernous tunnel illuminated only by thick, glowing green moss clinging stubbornly to the jagged stone walls.

  "Form up," Jax ordered immediately, keeping his staff raised as pale light gathered at the tip. "Garth taking point, new guy on the right flank."

  Eric drew his iron sword. The wide blade slid from the wooden scabbard with a heavy, metallic rasp. He gripped the leather-wrapped hilt with both hands, his palms suddenly sweating profusely inside his gauntlets. Pure panic started to claw its way up the back of his throat. He had the physical strength, yes, but he was a civilian who moved boxes for a living. He had never been in a real fight. He didn't know how to swing a heavy sword. He didn't know how to block an attack. If a monster charged him, the stat imbalance delay meant his brain wouldn't even register the strike until he was already dead.

  A sharp, violent screech ripped through the silence of the cave.

  Shadows quickly detached from the ceiling and the stalagmites ahead. Goblins. They were bigger than he expected, the size of large dogs. Their skin was a sickly gray, and they wielded rusted, jagged cleavers, moving with terrifying, jerky bursts of speed.

  "Contact!" Kira yelled over the din. She drew back her bowstring and unleashed an arrow that slammed perfectly into a charging goblin's collarbone, dropping it into the dirt.

  Garth stepped forward, roaring a challenge as he slammed the bottom edge of his tower shield down into the rock floor to intercept three rushing monsters at once. Claws and rusted metal scraped violently against his shield.

  A fourth goblin broke off from the main pack. It banked hard off the cave wall, kicking off the mossy stone, and launched itself horizontally through the air—straight at Eric's throat. Its slit-like yellow eyes locked onto his face. The rusted cleaver raised high overhead, poised to split his skull.

  Eric froze. His conscious mind blanked entirely. The overwhelming vertigo from the stat imbalance roared in his ears, paralyzing his thoughts. He watched the rusted blade descending like it was moving in slow motion. He was going to die.

  But his arms didn't wait for his brain to catch up.

  Without a single conscious thought, Eric's right foot pivoted backward automatically, perfectly adjusting his center of gravity to brace against the incoming weight. His wrists rotated, bringing the heavy iron blade forward in an incredibly tight, fluid arc. He didn't think about swinging; his muscles simply knew exactly where the dense iron needed to be.

  The edge of his sword caught the descending cleaver with a violent, ear-splitting screech of metal. Eric pushed his hips upward, applying leverage exactly where it was needed, parrying the goblin's strike entirely off its downward path. The monster stumbled forward, its guard completely exposed.

  Eric's body moved again on its own. He twisted his torso, driving the heavy iron pommel of his sword directly into the side of the creature's jaw. The bone crunched audibly. The goblin collapsed into the dirt, twitching, blood spilling fast from its ruined mouth.

  Eric stood over it, gasping for breath, his chest heaving under the chainmail. He looked down at his gauntleted hands. The heavy sword hung perfectly balanced in his reinforced grip, an extension of his own arm. The suffocating panic in his chest began to recede, rapidly replaced by a surging, white-hot rush of adrenaline.

  His Divine Talent didn't just borrow the raw bodily strength of a Level 5 Warrior. It had borrowed the years of grueling physical training. It had downloaded the rote muscle memory, the split-second battle reflexes, and the deeply ingrained survival instincts baked into the very fibers of the armor he wore. His brain didn't need to process the fight. His body already knew how to win it.

  Another goblin shrieked, bounding over a scattered pile of rocks to his right, its cleaver dripping with dark blood.

  Eric didn't freeze this time. He tightened his grip on the hilt, shifted his stance into a perfect, practiced guard, and stepped forward to meet it.