The gates of Origin Academy loomed ahead, massive stone arches carved with intricate runes that pulsed faintly with latent mana. Children, twelve years old by design, scurried beneath them, laughter and ambition mingling in the crisp morning air. I walked among them, unnoticed—just another boy, small and unassuming, yet my mind stretched across the continent like a map of invisible threads.
Two years of preparation had brought me here. Pawns placed, rumors planted, drones integrated, the System dissected and rewritten. And now, it was time to formalize everything.
I stepped into the empty hall behind the main gate, a place no scout, teacher, or student lingered. I touched the coin in my palm—a sliver of stolen System telemetry—and whispered the intention.
Disintegrate.The air shimmered, reality bending inward.
Integrate.A panel of glowing symbols appeared before me, floating, rearranging themselves into a structured framework.
I studied it. This was mine. Not the world's, not the System's—it was a framework of observation and control, designed for me.
[Stats:
Strength: ???
Endurance: ???
Mana: ∞
Intelligence: ???
Charisma: ???
Abilities:
Null: Disintegration of any object or concept.
Reforge: Reintegration and reshaping of matter, energy, and abstract variables.
Observation: Integrated System telemetry for predictive modeling.
Titles:
Shadow Schemer: +10 Influence on pawns.
Forgotten Background: -10 Detection by the world's default narrative.
Architect of Threads: Ability to manipulate minor story variables without raising suspicion.]
I smiled. Every title, every stat, every ability was a tool. Every metric could be tested, expanded, or exploited. And unlike the System, which only measured and punished, this codex obeyed.
I began experimenting.
A pebble on the floor. I disintegrated it. The codex ticked, registering precision, efficiency, and speed. I reintegrated it into a miniature blade. Tick. Efficiency rating: 98%.
I focused on the abstract: Fear in a passing child. The codex noted the variable, the intensity, the ripple. I erased it. Efficiency rating: 100%.
I chuckled softly. It was like playing with the world as a game of numbers and thresholds. Pawns, patterns, perception—every variable trackable, every deviation measurable.
Titles could be earned. Stats could be grown. Variables could be manipulated.
And the most delicious part? The Codex was modular. Any artifact I created, any pawn I guided, any fragment of the System I harvested could feed back into it. My power, my organization, my influence—they were all quantifiable. Predictable. Perfectly aligned to my will.
I ran my fingers over the thread in my pocket—a sliver of artifact that whispered instructions to one of my pawns. Integration rating: 100%. Influence: High. Exposure risk: Low.
I leaned back and surveyed the Academy grounds from my hiding spot. Children laughed, teachers moved, magic flickered in dormant circuits beneath the stones. All of it observable, measurable, manipulable.
The Codex would guide me. The Codex would teach me. And the Codex would record every victory, every step, every cut I made into the story itself.
I was no longer a background character. I was a god with tools, networks, and numbers.
And the Academy, with its heroes, rivals, and storylines, was my first puzzle.
I whispered my name. Zeryth Malakar.
And I opened the Codex to the first page of the game.
Step One: Observe. Integrate. Rewrite.