The air inside the New York City subterranean dungeon corridor tasted like ash and stale mana. For Jera Murphy, 24, it tasted like a paycheck.
He braced his shoulder against a load-bearing pillar of solidified earth and wiped the sweat from his brow, his safety lamp illuminating a narrow, dust-choked tunnel. This wasn't one of the pristine, high-end dungeons reserved for the S-Ranks with their television deals and Divine Domain abilities. This was the bottom: a Level-1, Tier-D trash chute known only as The Scrapyard, located three hundred feet beneath what used to be Central Park.
Jera wasn't a Hunter. He was a Dungeon Miner—a glorified janitor in the divine's entertainment complex.
He worked for Goliath Mining and Salvage, a private Hunter Corporation led by the hulking, condescending Markos Vance. His job, like every other miner, was to follow the Hunter teams, stabilize the tunnels they tore open, and salvage the remnants of the battle: low-grade magical ores, shattered monster bone, and the priceless Aether-dust that coated everything.
"Murphy! You done gawking at the walls or are you going to move that Grade-C ore?" Markos's voice boomed over the comms, a harsh static cutting through the helmet's receiver.
Jera flinched, not from the volume, but from the sudden, sharp pang in his chest. Markos was the reason for that hollow ache, that dull, constant background radiation of betrayal that had become Jera's new normal.
"Almost done, Boss," Jera replied, his voice flat. He pressed the controls on his heavy-duty jackhammer, the pneumatic pulses shuddering through his arms. The tip hammered against a vein of ore—a shimmering, dull grey metal known as Ferrum-E—that was stuck fast to the corridor wall.
He'd been working this job for three years, ever since he'd dropped out of the Hunter Academy. Three years of grinding, honest work to pay for the small, three-room apartment he shared with his wife, Sarah. Three years of saving every extra credit to buy her the small, anti-mana necklace she'd always wanted.
And for three years, she'd been sharing his bed, his dreams, and, apparently, his boss.
The discovery had been two weeks ago. A careless notification on Sarah's tablet, a hotel reservation for "Mr. and Mrs. Vance," followed by a panicked, botched lie. Jera hadn't screamed. He hadn't broken anything. He'd simply packed a bag and left the apartment in the dead of the night, taking only his work gear.
He had returned once, yesterday, to confront Markos in the Hunter Bureau cafeteria. The confrontation had been a disaster.
"She told me you were a deadbeat, Jera. You're B-Rank potential stuck at D-Rank ambition. I gave her what you couldn't: security. Now get back to work before I deduct your pay for loitering."
The memory of Markos's booming, dismissive laughter still burned.
The jackhammer finally broke through. The Ferrum-E vein was larger than expected. It wasn't magic-infused, but it was solid. Jera started carefully prying the chunks into his regulation-issue salvage container. Even at a measly 50 credits per kilo, this haul would net him enough to keep his rent paid for another month.
He needed to save. He needed to get out of New York. He needed to be anywhere Sarah and Markos Vance didn't exist.
"Murphy, change of plans," Markos's voice cut in, laced with a new, cruel edge. "The Hunter team above you found a hot spot. They need immediate support—haul this gear up and stabilize the breach. Now."
Jera paused. "Boss, that's a Tier-C zone. We're not certified for-"
"I said Now, Jera," Markos snarled. "Consider it a severance package. Get up there, or you don't get paid for the last three weeks."
A severance package. A final, humiliating blow. Markos knew the rules. Sending a miner into an active Tier-C zone was a blatant safety violation, but down here, safety was just a rumor. Jera had no choice.
He spat on the ground and hoisted the cumbersome stabilization equipment onto his back. The weight felt appropriate, a physical representation of the crushing, worthless reality he now inhabited.
The climb up was brutal. The air grew thicker, heavy with the scent of unspent, volatile mana. He could hear the muffled thuds of battle above him—the sounds of Hunters earning their prestige.
When he reached the Tier-C level, the scene was chaos. A deep, jagged fissure had opened in the ground, spilling raw, purple mana and chunks of corrupted earth. Three high-tier Goliath Hunters were fighting a terrifying, six-limbed creature—a Mana-Gorgon.
The Hunters were doing well, but the ground beneath them was unstable. The fissure was widening rapidly.
"Hurry up, you idiot! Patch the main support beam!" Markos yelled, pointing to a stressed steel beam near the fissure. He was standing safely back, holding a high-powered energy rifle but not firing.
Jera rushed forward, dropping his pack. He grabbed the rapid-setting polymer injector and started aiming for the fissure. He knew he had minutes before the whole section collapsed.
Then, he heard it—a voice he knew, sharp with panic.
"Markos! The north wall is going to give! We need a wider brace!"
It was Sarah. She was one of Markos's top logistics specialists, and she was pinned down near the exploding wall, her face pale with terror.
Jera froze. He watched as the Mana-Gorgon, distracted by the Hunters, lashed out a claw. It missed the Hunter but struck the wall right next to Sarah. The already unstable support beam splintered.
"Murphy! Brace the beam now!" Markos roared, finally taking aim at the Gorgon.
Jera saw it all in excruciating slow motion. If he braced the beam, it would buy the Hunters precious seconds. But the wall above Sarah was crumbling, and the splintered beam was about to crash down on her.
He had a choice: the Hunter Corporation's profit, or the life of the woman who had shattered his world.
A raw, unfamiliar wave of cold indifference washed over him. He felt nothing. No love, no pity, no urge for revenge—just a hollow, empty zero.
Jera turned his back on the beam and ran toward Sarah.
Markos saw it. "Jera, you worthless piece of trash! Get back here!"
Jera ignored him. He reached Sarah, grabbed her arm, and dragged her hard, just as the beam collapsed, sending tonnes of rock and metal crashing where she had been.
"You idiot! You just ruined the structural integrity!" Sarah shrieked, looking at the rubble, not at him. Her relief was instantly replaced by anger.
Before Jera could answer, a roar split the air. The Mana-Gorgon, having dispatched the Hunters, now turned its six black eyes on the two nearest humans: Jera and Sarah.
Markos Vance, seeing the situation was lost, didn't fire at the Gorgon. He fired at the remaining support structure.
A sickening crack echoed through the tunnel.
"Severance complete, Jera!" Markos's voice was laced with triumphant malice over the comms. "Enjoy the dirt nap!"
The ground gave way. Not a clean collapse, but a grinding, violent cascade of stone, dirt, and raw mana. Jera felt Sarah's desperate grip slip away as the floor dissolved beneath his feet.
He was- falling. Falling into the deep, dark heart of the dungeon, into the raw, volatile mana that could cook him alive.
The last thing he heard was Sarah's distant, terrified scream, followed by the sound of Markos Vance's cackling retreat.
He hit the bottom of the pit—a new, unrecorded sub-level—hard, his body striking wet, uneven rock. His helmet cracked, and the world went dark, the taste of blood, dust, and raw, divine betrayal filling his mouth.
Jera awoke to silence. The darkness was absolute, save for a faint, phosphorescent green glow emanating from the strange, slick walls of this sub-level.
He lay on his back, his body a map of throbbing agony. His left arm was definitely broken, and a sharp pain radiated from his ribs. The pressure of the raw mana was immense, making his head swim. Any normal human would be dead from exposure alone.
He tried to move, gritting his teeth against the pain. He was alone. Sarah, Markos, the Hunter teams—they were all gone, sealed off by tonnes of rubble. He was buried alive.
And for the first time in two weeks, he cried.
Not a weeping cry of grief, but a silent, shaking, internal cry of fury. Fury not at Sarah, nor at Markos, but at the sheer, cosmic injustice of it all. He had done everything right—worked hard, been loyal, loved truly—and in return, the world had spit him out, broken and discarded, deep in the earth.
I am nothing.
I am a failure.
I am worthless.
The silent words echoed in the oppressive darkness, until they were suddenly interrupted.
A voice—not Markos's, not Sarah's, not even his own inner monologue—spoke. It was a soundless whisper that bypassed his ears and lodged directly in the core of his consciousness. It felt ancient, vast, and completely, utterly cold.
[...Subject Jera Murphy. Status: Critical Emotional Despair. System Resonation: Detected.]
[Analysis: The Mortal System is preparing an intervention.]
Jera's eyes snapped open. The pain was still there, but now, a blindingly bright Interface had materialized directly in his field of vision. It was a chaotic, dizzying cascade of text, numbers, and symbols that burned against the green wall-glow.
[Welcome, Jera Murphy. Your Betrayal Triggered System Activation.]
[System Core: Multiplier. Function: Unlimited Potential Unlocked.]
[Error! Core Function has been Randomized and Stabilized.]
[New Core Parameters Established:]
$$\text{MULTIPLIER SYSTEM V1.0}$$
$$\text{All Gains (XP, Stat, Loot) will be multiplied at a random rate: } \times 8 \text{ to } \times 1000$$
$$\text{All Inventory space is now UNLIMITED.}$$
$$\text{All future potential is now NEAR-LIMITLESS.}$$
The numbers and text pulsed like a hungry heart. Jera stared, his broken body forgotten for a moment. What in the hell...?
He tried to dismiss it, to rationalize it as a hallucination brought on by a concussion and mana poisoning. But the interface was real. He could feel its presence, cold and electrical, deep within his very soul.
Then, a new notification appeared, a cold-blue line of text cutting through the chaos.
[Injury Status: Critical. Chance of Survival: 0.1%]
[Activating First Random Multiplier Protocol: Self-Heal.]
[Initial Calculation: Minor Health Regen (1 unit). Multiplier Roll: $\times 912$.]
[Result: Self-Heal (912 units) Applied. Mana Core Stabilization: Complete.]
A shock, like a million volts of pure lightning, coursed through Jera's body. He gasped, his back arching, but the pain was instantly replaced by a surging, addictive rush of power. He felt his shattered bone knit together, his lacerations seal, and the mana poison drain from his veins. He stood up, testing his arm. Perfect. Stronger, even.
His eyes fell on a small, insignificant rock near his feet—a dull, non-magical piece of gravel.
[Observation: Common Earth Stone (0 Value). Multiplier Roll: $\times 8$.]
[Result: Common Earth Stone $\times 8$. Now entering Unlimited Inventory.]
Jera mentally commanded the rock to enter his inventory—a concept he somehow instantly understood. The rock vanished, and a small icon of it appeared in a corner of his vision.
He looked around the sub-level, a cold, calculated fire igniting in his gut. The raw, ambient mana in the air, the very thing that should have killed him, was now a resource.
[Ambient Mana Absorption Initiated. Multiplier Roll: $\times 431$.]
[Result: Mana Core Growth +431.]
The knowledge flooded his mind: his body was no longer passively absorbing mana. It was multiplying it. The very energy of the dungeon, the lifeblood of the Hunter world, was now working for him.
Jera Murphy, the disgraced miner, the betrayed husband, was gone. In his place stood something new, something forged in the absolute zero of despair.
He looked up at the ceiling of rubble, the thick, unmoving barrier that sealed him off from the world.
Sarah. Markos. The Hunter Association. The World.
A cold, fierce smile spread across his face, a smile utterly devoid of warmth.
You want to play a game?
Fine.
Let the multiplier begin.
Jera began to walk. The sub-level was a dead-end, so the only way was up, through the rubble Markos had engineered to kill him.
He was no longer looking at rocks. He was looking at multiplied resources.
He reached the wall of debris. It was solid, compact earth and magically reinforced concrete. He needed to dig, but his jackhammer was gone.
[Observation: Unstable Wall of Rubble. Composition: Earth, Concrete, Low-Grade Mana-Ore.]
[Action: Digging. Multiplier Roll: $\times 512$.]
[Result: Digging Speed multiplied. Strength Stat +512.]
He plunged his bare hands into the earth. The strength surge was incredible. The dirt felt like powder, the concrete like cheap gypsum. He tore into the rubble with terrifying speed, his movements precise and powerful. The wall was cleared in what should have taken an hour of heavy machinery, but for Jera, it was mere minutes.
He found chunks of low-grade mana ore embedded in the concrete—the same Ferrum-E he'd been struggling with earlier.
[Observation: Ferrum-E Ore (Minor Resource). Multiplier Roll: $\times 1000$.]
[Result: 1 unit of Ferrum-E Ore $\times 1000$ = 1000 units of Ferrum-E Ore. Now entering Unlimited Inventory.]
The haul wasn't just the expected weight; it was a thousand times that weight, somehow compressed and stored instantly. Jera could have hauled out a literal metric ton of the ore, and his inventory would have swallowed it instantly, without adding a single ounce of weight to his body.
The wealth alone from this one strike was enough to buy a small mansion, to live comfortably for years.
A thousand times. The realization sent a cold tremor of understanding down his spine. This wasn't just a System; it was an engine of exponential power.
He continued his ascent, digging and climbing. Every piece of scrap metal, every fractured monster bone, every trace of Aether-dust, was multiplied and consumed by his infinite inventory.
He didn't need to sell it yet. The wealth was simply a growing number in his mind. What he needed was power.
He reached the Tier-C level where he had fallen. The air was now thick with the scent of dried blood and ozone. The Mana-Gorgon was gone, but the bodies of the three Goliath Hunters lay scattered, mangled by the beast.
Jera felt a flicker of detached pity, then focused on the resources.
[Observation: Corpse of Hunter (Contains Experience and Gear). Multiplier Roll: $\times 8$.]
[Result: Experience (Minor) $\times 8$. Gear $\times 8$.]
The meager experience from dead Hunters was multiplied, causing a faint warming sensation in his core.
Then, the gear. He stripped the corpses of their gear: three low-grade mana pistols, three sets of C-Rank armor, three combat knives. When they entered his inventory, they multiplied.
Three pistols became 24 pistols.
Three knives became 24 knives.
Three armor sets became 24 armor sets.
The utility of this was staggering. He could sell the multiplied duplicates for immediate, untraceable wealth, or he could use them.
He kept one knife and one pistol. The rest vanished into his Inventory.
He continued toward the exit shaft, moving with the quiet, predatory efficiency of a man who no longer had anything to
lose.
He reached the Hunter access shaft—the main exit. It was sealed from the top. He could force it, but he needed to assess the situation.
He activated the comms on his cracked helmet. The static was bad, but he could hear distant voices.
"...the collapse was total. No survivors from the mining team. Confirmed Jera Murphy is dead. Sarah Vance is stable, she was a true hero, risking her life to warn the main team."
It was Markos's voice, a sickening performance of sorrow. Sarah's last name—Vance.
Jera listened, his heart utterly cold. He hadn't ruined their relationship. He had simply been removed from their narrative.
He could hear Sarah's scripted sob in the background. "I... I tried to save him, Markos. He was a good man, but reckless."
Markos: "I know, darling. You showed loyalty to the company and to me. You'll be rewarded. The promotion is yours. Now, let's close up this shaft. We can't have anyone investigating the cause of the 'accident'."
The sheer audacity of the lie, the immediate, sickening replacement of his life with her promotion, galvanized Jera.
He would not be a nameless corpse in the Hunter Bureau's archives. He would not allow their lie to stand.
He focused his multiplied strength on the sealed door of the access shaft. His Mana Core, amplified by his multiplied experience, thrummed with incredible power.
[Action: Door Force. Multiplier Roll: $\times 777$.]
[Result: Strength $\times 777$. Endurance $\times 777$. Door Force Success.]
The sealed steel door exploded outward with the sound of tearing metal and a thunderous BAM!
Dust and debris flew everywhere. Jera stepped out of the shaft, bathed in the dim emergency lighting of the Hunter Association's outer staging area.
Markos and Sarah were standing there, their backs to him, celebrating their 'victory' with the Bureau Chief.
They turned at the deafening noise.
Their faces—Markos's turning from smug triumph to slack-jawed horror, Sarah's from feigned sorrow to genuine, heart-stopping terror—were the most satisfying sight Jera had ever witnessed.
He stood there, covered in dungeon ash, his helmet cracked, holding a salvaged, ordinary C-Rank knife, his eyes burning with the cold light of his new, terrifying power.
"Hello, Boss," Jera said, his voice a low, gravelly whisper.
Markos, recovering, pointed his energy rifle. "Murphy! You're dead! I'll put you back down, you pathetic miner!"
He fired. A bright, blue bolt of pure mana streaked toward Jera's chest.
Jera didn't move.
[Incoming Attack: Mana Bolt (D-Rank Threat). Defense Multiplier Roll: $\times 1000$.]
[Result: Endurance Stat $\times 1000$. Mana Resistance $\times 1000$. Damage: None.]
The mana bolt struck Jera's chest, splashing around him in a cascade of harmless sparks. He didn't even flinch. His body, multiplied a thousand times in defense, was suddenly an impenetrable fortress.
Jera walked slowly toward Markos, every step crushing the concrete floor. Markos, panicking, kept firing, but the bolts were useless.
Sarah shrieked, backing away, clutching at Markos's jacket. "Markos! Stop! What is he?!"
Jera reached Markos, the C-Rank combat knife in his hand. He didn't swing. He didn't threaten. He simply pressed the tip of the knife against the reinforced metal of Markos's expensive A-Rank armor.
[Action: Melee Pressure. Strength Multiplier Roll: $\times 891$.]
The multiplied force, focused entirely on the single point of the knife's tip, was overwhelming.
The A-Rank armor, designed to withstand a tank shell, groaned under the pressure, and then, with a terrifying, piercing screech, the armor tore.
Jera didn't even need to use the knife. The amplified, terrifying pressure of his finger pressing on the dull metal of the blade was enough to punch through a fortune in defensive gear.
Markos Vance collapsed to his knees, his face pale, not from pain, but from the sudden, terrifying realization that he was facing something beyond a Hunter. He was facing a natural disaster.
Jera leaned down, his voice chillingly calm. "The severance package is complete, Markos. You're done. And for the record: I was never reckless. I was just in the wrong game."
He pulled the knife away. He looked at Sarah, who was sobbing uncontrollably, finally seeing him not as the weak husband, but as the terrifying, powerful unknown.
He had everything he needed: multiplied wealth, a terrifying System, and the absolute, final, satisfaction of knowing his tormentors were now broken and terrified of him.
Jera Murphy turned his back on the terrified pair, his multiplied steps silent on the ruined floor, and walked out into the streets of New York, a B-Rank miner with the power of an Ascended, utterly unknown and entirely free.
The system flashed one last message:
[First Test: Survival and Retribution. COMPLETE.]
[Reward: System Stabilization. Welcome to the New World.]