There were countless ways to get stronger in this world — but none of them were cheap.
Not in the Undersprawls.
Up here, power was a privilege. The rich had academies, artificial dungeons, and imported relics to boost their levels. The rest, those who lived among the smog and metal rot, had only one real option.
The Spill Zones.
Places where even light seemed to decay. Where the air shimmered with a faint toxic gleam, and where the virus — the same one that ended the old world — still lived, mutating whatever dared to exist within it.
You might be wondering what the Spill Zones are.
To understand that, you'd have to look back two hundred years — to the day humanity died.
---
The Fall
It began with a virus.
No one knew where it came from. Some said it was man-made, others whispered it fell from the stars. But what everyone remembered was how fast it spread.
In the first day, it crossed continents.
By the first week, over half of the human population was dead.
By the third, less than twenty percent remained alive — and most of those were locked behind walls, breathing through filters that cost more than their lives were worth.
But the strangest thing wasn't humanity's extinction.
It was how the rest of nature responded.
While humans perished, the beasts flourished.
Wolves grew larger than cars, their hides as strong as steel. Birds developed metallic feathers that could slice through drones. Even insects became apex predators in their own right.
Every corner of the Earth became hostile. The old cities fell, and nations ceased to exist.
Governments tried to fight back — tanks, bombs, nukes — but everything failed. Scientists realized too late that the virus fed on energy. Heat and radiation only accelerated its spread.
When the last missile was fired, and the last president went silent, the world waited for extinction.
And then… the miracle happened.
---
The First System
Exactly one year after the outbreak, the skies split open — literally.
Every surviving satellite caught it: a line of light that encircled the planet like a halo.
When it faded, a child had been born.
He wasn't normal. A glowing disc was embedded in his chest, pulsating like a second heart.
He would later be called Aristotle, though his real name was lost to history.
From the moment he could speak, he claimed to see something no one else did — a floating interface only he could interact with.
He called it the System.
Aristotle grew faster, fought stronger, lived longer. He was immune to the virus, and when he struck down one of the evolved beasts, light poured into him — and he grew even stronger.
It was the first time in history someone had leveled up.
He became humanity's hope.
When he turned thirty, he led the survivors to reclaim a small fortified city from the beasts. They named it Caldrath, and it became the first of ten new cities to rise from the ashes.
Each one under his rule. Each one protected by System users.
The world that came after was divided into two realms:
The Reclaimed Zones, where cities like Caldrath thrived behind energy domes.
The Spill Zones, where monsters and corrupted beasts roamed freely.
And between those two worlds, in the forgotten Undersprawls, people like Rex struggled to survive.
---
The Undersprawl
It was dumb to run.
Rex knew that. The Spinebreakers had better gear, more men, and higher-tier systems.
If they wanted him dead, they could make it happen.
But he wasn't going to hand them his head without a fight.
He had one chance.
Prepare. Hide. Adapt.
He spent the night combing through the junkyard behind his shack, scavenging anything that could be used — rusted plates, cracked pipes, bent bolts, and dead drones. By dawn, he had a small mountain of scrap piled inside.
The air smelled like burnt oil. A flickering bulb buzzed above him as he sat cross-legged on the cold floor.
He inhaled slowly and whispered,
"System. Open interface."
---
[SYSTEM INTERFACE: DEVOURER PROTOCOL v1.0]
User: Rex
Level: 5
Race: Human (Unregistered)
Class: None
System Tier: Devourer
Stats:
• Strength — 1 + (25)
• Endurance — 2
• Agility — 1
• Intelligence — 2
• Mana — 25 / 25
• Luck — 0
Stat Points: 50
System Points: 3
Abilities:
† Shadowstep (Tier D) — Teleport up to 5 meters. Leaves a fading afterimage.
→ Mana Cost: 5 per use
→ Upgrade Progress: 18 / 100
† Scrapmeld (Tier E) [Acquired]
Fuse junk materials into temporary weapons or armor.
→ Mana Cost: 13 per item
→ Upgrade Progress: Unknown
→ Cooldown: 2 minutes
---
Rex frowned.
Scrapmeld. He still didn't fully understand it. The System said it could fuse junk into usable gear, but… how?
"Alright," he muttered. "Let's see if this actually works."
He grabbed a bent metal pipe and focused. A faint hum filled the air as he activated his ability.
---
[Manufacturing…]
> Failed.
Insufficient knowledge and level to create Proton Blaster.
Insufficient tools.
Try again later.
---
"Tsk!" He clicked his tongue. "Of course."
He ran a hand through his messy hair. Should've guessed it'd need intelligence. Figures.
He wasn't even mad at the failure — more like annoyed that the System had teased him with the idea of a blaster in the first place.
"Guess I'm stuck with knives or something primitive," he sighed. "Can't exactly bring a pipe to a gunfight."
Still, the test gave him an idea.
If Scrapmeld needed knowledge, maybe he could cheat the process.
He didn't know how to make throwing knives — but he could draw them.
He snatched a broken data pad and began sketching. The result was… terrible. The proportions were off, the edges uneven, and the handle looked like a toddler's attempt at art. But it was something.
He pressed his palm over the crude drawing.
---
[Manufacturing…]
> Blueprint Required.
…
[Blueprint Acquired.]
Mana Required: 13
Time Remaining: 2 minutes
Grade: D
Description: Throwable Knives.
The creator has a fetish for long-distance attacks. These knives were born out of that passion. Made from rusted bars.
---
Rex blinked. Then frowned.
"Wait—fetish? What fetish?!"
The System didn't respond. A faint hum filled the air as the metal scraps before him began to melt. Rusted steel flowed like liquid mercury, reshaping itself midair. Sparks danced across the surface as the mana in his body drained rapidly.
Two minutes later, the metal cooled into shape — a seven-inch blade, thin and sharp, the edges glowing faintly with residual mana.
Then came another notification.
---
[Success!]
> Congratulations! You have successfully crafted your first equipment.
May your journey as a Blacksmith bring you joy.
New Title: Mediocre Newbie Blacksmith
New Weapon Stored in Inventory.
New Job Route Unlocked.
Level Up! → Level 6
---
He couldn't help but grin.
A real weapon — even if it was D-grade junk, it was his D-grade junk.
Still, "Mediocre Newbie Blacksmith"?
Seriously?
He chuckled, shaking his head. "You couldn't make me sound just a little cooler, huh?"
He opened his inventory, curiosity bubbling.
A four-by-four grid appeared before him — sixteen neat squares, each pulsing faintly with blue light.
Currently, only one square was occupied: [Throwable Knives ×1]
He poked at it mentally, opening its stats.
---
[Item Info]
Name: None
Grade: D
Creator: Rex (Mediocre Newbie Blacksmith)
Abilities: None
Description:
A throwable knife. The creator has a fetish for long-distance attacks. Made from rusted bars.
Attack: 20%
Accuracy: 0.4%
Durability: Poor
---
Rex groaned. "You really had to keep that line, didn't you?"
Still, he couldn't deny how real it felt. The blade gleamed faintly in his hand, cool to the touch. When he flicked it into the wall, it embedded halfway through the rusted sheet metal.
His grin widened.
"Yeah… this'll work."
He opened his inventory again, experimenting like a kid with a new toy. He tried storing random objects — a cup, a bolt, even a half-eaten ration pack. Each one vanished into a pixel shimmer and returned at his command.
He laughed quietly, almost forgetting the danger that lingered outside his walls.
Almost.
Then his eyes drifted to the corner of the room — to the Throne Relic, a strange artifact he'd stolen from the Spinebreakers the night before.
A jagged piece of obsidian that pulsed with golden veins.
He hesitated for a moment, then stored it too. Better safe than sorry.
---
He stood, tightening the strap of his jacket.
His new weapon felt light in his hands — barely any weight, but sharp enough to matter. He tucked a few more into his belt, each one freshly crafted through Scrapmeld.
The System's voice echoed faintly in his mind as he checked his mana.
25/25. Each knife cost 13. He'd need to pace himself.
He took a breath, steadying his pulse. The memory of the Spinebreakers came back: the sound of their boots, the metallic skull insignias on their armor, the way they laughed as they burned the shacks of the Undersprawl.
He clenched his fist.
"Alright," he murmured. "Let's see who the real predator is."
His eyes gleamed as he whispered,
"Shadowstep."
The world blurred — the air bending around him. His body flickered, vanishing into a ripple of shadow. When he reappeared five meters away, an afterimage shimmered where he once stood.
He grinned, the adrenaline burning through his nerves.
Maybe he couldn't beat them in quality.
But he could sure as hell beat them in quantity.
And in this world, sometimes that was all it took to survive.