The trash pit was not endless. It just felt that way.
After three hours of walking, the ground changed. The loose piles of bone and scrap gave way to solid, fused metal plates. It looked like the floor of a titanic factory that had been bombed from orbit.
Ren kept his head down, his new fur-lined coat pulled tight against his neck. The wind here was different. It didn't smell like rot anymore. It smelled like ozone. Like burning electrical wires.
He stopped.
Ten meters ahead, the air was shimmering. To a normal eye, it looked like a heat haze. To Ren's left eye, it was a neon-red warning sign.
[Hazard: Spatial Fracture] [Type: Unstable Tear] [Status: Active]
A glitch in the world geometry. A tear in the texture map. Anything that touched that shimmering air would be sliced apart as if it had ceased to exist.
Ren stepped closer, fascinated. He picked up a rusty bolt and tossed it at the shimmer.
Ping.
The bolt didn't bounce. It didn't make a sound. The moment it touched the haze, the front half of the bolt simply vanished. The back half dropped to the floor, cut perfectly smooth at the atomic level.
"Dangerous," Ren noted. "Useful."
He was about to skirt around it when he heard the crunch of boots on gravel.
Voices.
"I'm telling you, I saw smoke back there. Someone's cooking."
"In the pit? No one cooks in the pit, idiot. It's probably a sulfur vent."
Ren froze. He crouched behind a twisted slab of concrete, his heart slamming against his ribs.
Two men walked into view.
They were ugly. Not physically, though they were scarred and dirty, but they carried an aura of violence. They wore mismatched leather armor and carried weapons that looked cobbled together from junk. One held a jagged pipe wrapped in barbed wire; the other held a rusted machete.
[Entity: Scavenger (Tier 1)] [Status: Hostile] [Strength: 1.5]
[Entity: Scavenger (Tier 1)] [Status: Hostile] [Strength: 1.8]
Ren's grip tightened on his sharpened stick. His strength was 0.6. These guys were nearly three times stronger than him. In a fair fight, they would snap him like a twig.
So, he wouldn't fight fair.
The man with the machete stopped. He sniffed the air. He looked straight at the concrete slab where Ren was hiding.
"Come out, little rat," the man grinned, revealing yellow teeth. "We can smell the wolf blood on you."
Ren didn't run. Running triggers the chase instinct. Instead, he stood up slowly, keeping his hands visible.
"I don't have anything," Ren said. His voice was steady, despite the fear coiling in his gut.
The two men laughed. It was a wet, nasty sound.
"You have a coat," the pipe-wielder said, stepping forward. "That's a nice coat. Wolf fur? That's worth five credits in the Lower City."
"And you have a knife," the machete man added, pointing at the glass blade in Ren's belt. "Toss them here. Maybe we'll let you keep your pants."
They spread out, flanking him. Standard predator tactics. They were herding him.
Ren took a step back.
"Please," he said, injecting a tremor into his voice. "I just woke up here. I don't know where I am."
"You are in the graveyard, kid," Machete said. He took another step.
Ren checked his position.
He was standing five meters in front of the [Spatial Fracture]. The invisible death trap was directly behind him.
The men were closing in. Five meters. Four.
If Ren backed up into the fracture, he would die. If he stayed still, they would beat him to death.
He needed them to move faster. He needed them to slip.
Ren focused on the ground between him and the men. It was a smooth metal plate, dusty and dry.
[Surface: Steel Plating] [Property: Friction (Coefficient 0.6)]
Ren's mind raced. Friction was the resistance that allowed boots to grip the floor. Without friction, movement was impossible. Without friction, the world became an ice rink from hell.
"Copy [Grease Effect]?" Ren thought.
No. I don't have grease. I can't copy what is not there.
But he didn't need to add grease. He just needed to Delete the friction.
He extended his hand, pointing at the metal floor.
"Edit," he whispered.
He grabbed the [Friction] slider in his mind's eye. He didn't reduce it. He slammed it to Zero.
[Edit Successful.] [Corruption: 6.8%]
The headache blinded him for a second, blood trickling from his nose. But the effect was instant.
The machete man lunged. "Die!"
His boot hit the affected zone.
Normally, his foot would grip the steel, propelling him forward. But now, the steel was slipperier than wet ice. It was frictionless.
His foot shot out from under him with comical speed.
"Wh—!"
The man's legs flew into the air. He didn't just fall; his momentum carried him forward like a hockey puck. He slid past Ren.
He slid right into the shimmering air behind him.
Zzzzt.
There was no scream. The man simply slid halfway through the [Spatial Fracture]. His upper body, head, chest, and arms vanished into the void. His lower body, legs and hips flopped onto the floor, severed cleanly at the waist.
Blood did not spray. It just poured, a sudden red waterfall on the gray steel.
The second man, the one with the pipe, froze. He stared at his partner's severed legs. He looked at Ren.
Ren stood there, the blood from his nose dripping onto his coat. He didn't look like a victim anymore. He looked like a glitch in the system.
"You..." The pipe man took a step back, his face draining of color. "What did you do? You're a Mage?"
Ren didn't answer. He couldn't. The headache was splitting his skull. But he kept his hand raised, pointing at the survivor.
"Go," Ren rasped.
The man did not hesitate. He dropped his pipe and scrambled backward, tripping over his own feet before turning and sprinting back toward the trash mountains.
Ren watched him go. He waited until the footsteps faded.
Only then did his knees buckle.
He fell to the ground, gasping for air. The corruption counter pulsed in his vision. 6.8%.
He looked at the severed legs of the machete man. He looked at the rusted machete lying on the ground, untouched by the fracture.
Ren crawled over to it. He picked up the weapon.
[Item: Rusted Scavenger Machete] [Damage: 12] [Durability: 15/40] [Hidden Data: Bloodstains (History)]
It was heavy. Real. A weapon made for killing humans, not just skinning wolves.
Ren used the machete to prop himself up. He looked at the void that had eaten the man.
"Zero friction," Ren muttered, a dark smile touching his lips. "Physics is a bitch."
He looted the corpse's pockets.
3 Copper Coins.
A pouch of dried meat.
A dirty map.
Ren unfolded the map. It was crude, drawn in charcoal on leather. But it showed a path through the trash, leading to a large circle marked "Sector 4: The Slums."
Ren wiped the blood from his nose and looked at the horizon.
Now he had a destination.