A Ruin Rat, much like their namesake believe it or not, could not survive on ruins alone. Many things could be found while scavenging the husks of the old world, but almost never food or water nor most of the supplies required to make such a dangerous job survivable in the first place. And so John found himself wrapped in a comically large amount of bandages wandering the streets of Greywater with a few fellow Rats partially to resupply and partially to, as the Supervisor put it, give themselves a break. He and two of the largest fellow Rats, Rubble and Oliver, were the ones chosen to join the Supervisor in the task of exchanging their hard-earned goods into coin. Rubble looked much like his name implied, his large frame covered with various bumps, calluses, scars and craters from a long history of crawling in tight spaces before his growth spurt and subsequent development of a mane of flame red hair made that unfeasible. Oliver was more average in stature but between bulging muscles straining against tanned skin with each movement and a face that wouldn’t look much out of place in an exaggerated thug for a street play it was hard to believe he had a reputation for being a goody two shoes. Privately John wondered how odd of a sight it was to see him hauling the most material despite looking like a stalk of straw wrapped into a bundle compared to the burly frame of Rubble who stood higher than most adults and Oliver, who for reasons entirely unknown ended up the most muscular of the group. He not only had to help haul a cart full of the heavier materials but also still had to carry a large bag on his back with a marginally lighter load, his enhanced strength immediately being put to use.

Out in the middle of nowhere with less than two dozen fellow Rats, John had not felt a downside to his improved senses, but here things were different; this was a city of over fifty thousand souls and it showed. John’s enhanced nose could pick up every foul bit of litter and human waste carelessly… disposed of… in the shantytown just ahead, and he couldn’t help but feel a bit uncomfortable at the eyes pointed towards them, no doubt in large part because of the Supervisor's unconventional appearance but still it made a primitive part of his brain uneasy. Grumbling a little, he readjusted the straps of his bag to better balance the weight of the large volume of assorted scrap and salvage they managed to find on his back and refocused on the task at hand. At the commercial district of the city but not quite in the slums, though it was certainly filthy enough to probably count, was a humble little salvage shop. Entering the small building through a rotting wood door the group found a short but burly looking man sorting out piles of scrap,

“Ah, my favourite clients! Come in and have a seat! I see you have a fresh batch of product for me!” the man jovially announced gesturing at some chairs that looked as though they were one seat away from collapsing while John and the other two boys went in and out the building moving bundles of scrap from the cart,

“Hello Behrooz, as much as I would love to stay and chat, we are on a bit of a tight schedule. We have a load of fresh scrap for you, feel free to inspect it of course.” the Supervisor drily responded,

“Of course of course… say how come the scrawniest lad here seems to have been tasked with more work, he’s carrying a bag the size of his chest and he is still helping with the cart!” the scrap merchant exclaimed upon looking at John, “Come in lad and at least leave the bag on the floor, you are going to break your back at this rate!”

John, not really finding much of a reason to disagree with that statement, looked at Rubble and Oliver struggling with a pile of blue copper wiring and shrugged, going inside the shop to drop off his bag with a loud clang,

“John here has recently reached the Seventh Step, and my bones aren’t getting any younger, I thought I might get him to help me with this load.” the Supervisor explained, “The last set of ruins were quite intact, I think you will find the quality of the material satisfactory.”

Behrooz took out a bar of metal and mumbled something unintelligible, “Leave them in the corner, we can discuss the prices more later.”

The Supervisor and John got to work immediately spreading their haul of salvage evenly on the floor of the shop for inspection. On the floor now the heap of scrap metal and salvage was probably up to John’s chest in height and just barely not quite that in width forming a strange column of wire, rust, glass and iron. Very quickly after that and with practised motions Behrooz began the laborious process of separating each bit of scrap by type.

“This is probably going to take a while, why don’t you boys take a break now? Feel free to stop by the local markets, not much point in having money if you don’t spend it after all.” the Supervisor mused, “Oh and Oliver, I trust you remember the list I gave you, I am not opposed to you buying things for leisure but please try to also keep your coworkers in mind.”

Oliver nodded sharply and though clearly exhausted, straightened his back to give the Supervisor a salute, “Will do, sir!”

“That’s a good lad! Rubble, I would like to remind you that playing in the quarry lake is prohibited, no matter how hot it is outside! We don’t want a repeat of last time now do we?” the Supervisor sternly warned Rubble, and though the ginger boy was nearly as tall as the Supervisor he seemed to shrink under the chastisement,

“Yes sir…” Rubble grumbled,

“Finally John… just… try to stay out of trouble alright?” the Supervisor seemed to resist groaning out as he turned to the last boy assembled,

“I will.” John tried his best to say convincingly,

“Uh huh…” the Supervisor replied in a way that suggested he wasn’t sure he could believe what John said, “Regardless, remember what I told you: stay safe and stay out of fights. Meet me back here when you hear the town bell toll, we should be done with the negotiations then.”

John and the others sharply nodded, followed by racing to see who could reach the markets first.

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The markets were an interesting mix of sights, smells and sounds to the senses of someone who has up to this point only experienced small villages and outposts. Snippets of conversation, spiced meats, samples of coloured cloth that probably cost more than they earned in an average year flashed in John's mind. Dozens of animals from stick-thin dogs, small plump featherless birds, an ox with three sets of horns and even a Rattlebeast nearly as fat as it was long lazing on a pillow with its four useless legs rattling its tail happily also joined in with the humans in contributing in the sensory assault that was Greywater market. Truth be told it was all kind of overwhelming and not even an hour through John found himself needing to take a break from it all in a secluded alleyway.

“Kracking Saints! I don’t much understand the whole cultivation business but is it really that bad?” Rubble asked as John lay boneless on the floor looking at the sky,

“I am fine Rubble, just not used to it all, that’s all…” John grumbled,

“I don’t think we should stay here too long, the sun has moved quite a bit across the sky since we started, the bell is going to toll soon!” said Oliver as he doubled-checked his list against the stuff the group had bought during their short time in the market,

“Shut yer kracking maw Oliver, don’t wanna hear it!” Rubble snapped,

“Can you two please shut up before my headache gets any…” John began to yell in exasperation before noticing a group of masked people blocking the only exit to the alleyway; immediately he got back up to his feet. Rubble and Oliver, noticing the sudden change in atmosphere, followed suit in facing their foes.

There were five of them, three wielding large clubs made of pipe and two burlier individuals with bandages wrapped around their fists evidently ready to use them. At a glance even with the poorly crafted masks of wood and bone they were young, probably not all that much older than John and his friends; teenage wannabe gangers with something to prove. The hooligans began to snicker looking at Rubble and Oliver getting into fighting stances and the largest of the bunch, presumably the leader, strutted up to the front of the group to deliver demands,

“Looks like you lot weren’t aware that this was the territory of the Vipers, but since you seem new I am feeling generous… hand over all your stuff and we let you go without bruises, how about that?” the large masked boy mockingly asked in a grating gravelly voice that was clearly trying to sound deeper than it naturally was.,

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

John not quite thinking rationally between the rapidly growing headache and his newfound strength stoking a fire of ego he wasn’t quite aware he had up to this point retorted, “Counteroffer. Go bomb yourselves!”

The large wannabe sneered, “Well you asked for this, I’ll be handling the scrawny one, lads, you lot handle the other two!”

The first thing John noticed was how slow the movements of ordinary people felt, though of course not yet slow enough to be like the slugs in tar as the legends described of those high in cultivation, more than easy enough to dodge and counter. John slid out of the way and grabbed the masked boy's arm in an attempt to counter…

…only to feel bone snap as beneath the bandages his relic enhanced arm closed with force beyond mortal capability…

Oh shit if he wasn’t careful he might kill somebody here!

Suddenly feeling sick John quickly let go. His assailant could tell something was wrong but perhaps at the moment blinded by adrenaline and rage swung at John wildly with his good arm while screaming in agony. John, momentarily frozen, was hit squarely in the jaw with a dull pain erupting from the impact zone. Though he was stronger the difference in mass was irreconcilable and John slid a few feet from the blow.

Meanwhile Rubble and Oliver were fending off two foes each, Rubble being the largest target was being beaten by two improvised clubs of pipe while Oliver appeared to have somehow managed to knock the club out of one of his assailant’s hands and was now fending off a vicious hand to hand beating. John grit his teeth, his arrogance had gotten them into this mess, and he had to finish it without going too far now. He really should have listened to the Supervisor, but no, he just had to provoke a bunch of wannabe gangers!

With his unenhanced left arm John stuck a heavy blow, but not quite heavy enough to end the fight then and there. His staggered foe seemed to try to say something, but John would not let him as he threw a second punch at his face. Immediately his opponent collapsed at the hit like a puppet whose strings were cut and a deep fear settled in John’s chest momentarily before he saw his chest softly moving up and down. That is one down at least, four more to go…

Moving to assist Rubble first John ran over and grabbed one of the club users, who evidently did not expect John to pick him up and throw him at his friend. This was not quite enough to knock them out, but it was enough for Rubble to rise bruised and thoroughly pissed and pay them back for his troubles.

By now the other two had caught onto the fact something was wrong and had paused their attack on Oliver. Shakily one pointed a finger at John,

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU?"

He was shut up quickly by Oliver slamming into his head from behind leaving one left,

The last masked boy standing took one good look at the situation and very wisely decided to turn and run leaving John with a heavily injured Rubble, Oliver and four unconscious teenagers.

"Never do this again…" Oliver grumbled.

John felt inclined to agree.

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After dragging the Vipers to the city guard it was not long before the inevitable chastisement would follow. The three boys sat nervously in front of the Supervisor who rubbed his forehead with a great deal of exasperation. Rubble and Oliver were badly injured and would likely require a visitation to an apothecary, John found his eyes gravitating towards the floor unable to meet the eyes of the Supervisor and all of them braced themselves for whatever may follow. Eventually the silence was broken by a heavy sigh and the three boys tensed,

“I don’t think I need to say I am disappointed…” the Supervisor began, “But I also can’t say I blame you, you are young and inexperienced and when threatened it is natural to want to respond. But I hope you are aware what you did was reckless and irresponsible, two of you are badly injured, it was sheer luck it wasn’t worse!”

The boys sat there in silence not sure what to say for themselves, if there was anything to say at all.

“John, I hear you were responsible for escalating the situation?” the Supervisor said eyes boring into John’s soul,

“Y-yes…” John managed to murmur out.

“I am glad nobody died, I know you are not used to your strength yet, I am sure you are aware how bad it could have been! You have power now, and that means taking some responsibility!” the Supervisor harshly reprimanded John, who was now feeling sweat run down his brow, “As I said earlier however… I cannot blame you too much. No, in truth you three were put in an unfortunate situation beyond any of your control in which there was no good solution and you acted accordingly to what you thought was the best option available. That is no crime in itself, reckless and stupid it may have been I understand why you did it.”

“What should we have done?” Rubble asked slowly, cringing before the sentence was even finished,

“There were as I said before no good choices in this matter, that is what life is sometimes, choosing the best path in a sea of thorns. In the end you decided the value of your coin was more than that of the health of yourself and those you fought, or perhaps you simply did not understand the cost when you made that bargain. Either way you all paid the price already I am sure, come now, no use remaining forever stuck in the past, let us go home.” the Supervisor concluded.

The trip back to camp was made in suffocating silence.

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At dawn John found the Supervisor in the location he had been given, waiting patiently in a clearing in a patch of gnarled trees growing from poisoned soil that seemed to have been at one point too deadly for even those hardy plants to thrive. Now however a layer of thin grass, stunted, yellow and dry they may have been, stuck out between dry cracks in the earth clinging onto life. Nearby in a broken heap of pure orange rust John could barely distinguish the three triangles that marked things from before the Age of Ash that were of interest to cultivators. It did not need to be said what this location was for, this was once the Supervisor’s private cultivation grounds, a place cultivators that chose not to wander the wastes would often guard jealously like it was evidence of a great crime, and the Supervisor had let him join him here for training. It felt wrong in a way to even be here, like the ground itself was going to open up and swallow him whole just for daring to intrude on a place he was not meant to be, and yet the slight nod of acknowledgement the Supervisor gave him as he saw his approach reminded him that this was indeed real.

“Come along young John, we don’t have all day!” the Supervisor called,

Cautiously like a rabbit leaving its burrow John exited the woods, “Sorry Supervisor it’s just… this feels like a very private place to you…”

The supervisor laughed, “Don’t worry John, long ago before you were even born me and my friends squeezed everything we could out of this spot, and after that every now and then I would return to scrape off the scraps chasing dreams of former glory. No, this place is as good as any other patch of dirt now, though forgive an old man for some sentimentality would you?”

The Supervisor then straightened his back and rose to a height John did not know his body was capable of, “As you know I am here to teach you what I can about fighting so you may survive your trials, but I also want to help expand your cultivation. You are not yet in the Mutant Realm, your foundations are malleable and I intend to see them strong and solid like a block of stone before you are ready to join the sect. The first thing I would be doing is judging your skills necessary for each of the trials that you are to face going forward starting with the trial of combat. Are you ready?” the Supervisor asked authoritatively,

“Y-yes, sir!” John stammered suddenly feeling small under the pressure building in the air,

The Supervisor’s eyes narrowed, “Then prove it!”

The first move was beyond what John could follow, a flash of light, a blur and then an impact. He was sent flying through the air and landed a half dozen feet away before he could react. Spitting blood as he rose, John was only given a slight warning by a gust of wind before sensing something behind him. This time he rolled to the side just barely enough to dodge another blow. The Supervisor was moving with a grace his unsymmetrical frame did not suggest possible, and yet John could see in his eyes during the brief moment of respite between attacks that he was still holding back.

John spent the next few minutes trying to get his footing, just barely able to avoid getting knocked on his ass each time, and even then it was more the mercy of his instructor than his own ability. There was a rhythm to this battle, a pattern to the constant barrage of attacks… if only he could be given a moment’s pause…

[ADRENALINE RUSH INITIATED]

The long silent Relic on his arm began to heat up and John could feel his heart rate hasten as the world around him slowed to a crawl. He could see a rock kicked up by his own movements earlier soar through the air like it was thrown in water, he could see particles of his own spit and blood slowly make their way to the ground from when he spat moments earlier…

He could see the fist of the Supervisor getting closer to his side…

With his enhanced reflexes John parried away the blow with his relic arm, shockwaves travelling down the metal shaking his very bones. He felt as though he was on fire, but now the flow of the fight has changed. The Supervisor had clearly noticed something different and began to retreat, revealing a slight opening; if only he could just…

John put his all into one attack, recklessly diving forward with everything he had. For a moment it seemed as though he finally could get a hit in but the Supervisor began to speed up once more and he felt his fist instead impact against the trunk of a long dead tree.

Metal-enhanced flesh met rotting wood and naturally met no real resistance. Looking upwards John could see the tree slowly barrelling towards him. Nothing he couldn’t dodge right now of course, except one small problem…

The Supervisor was holding onto the trunk with two arms and as it began to fall he spun his body around with speed even his now improved senses could barely follow adequately and kicked the trunk right at John,

John rolled rapidly out of the way as the tree slammed into the ground reducing it instantly to a pile of splinters, he could feel the aftereffects of whatever the Relic had done to him set in as the flow of time seemed to return to normal. The world began to spin, he could still feel his heart beating erratically in his chest as his vision started to blur around the edges and pain blossomed around his body. He was only capable of getting back up with shaking feet before a wave of wind rushed past his face and he saw the Supervisor’s third arm come to a halt alarmingly close to his face,

After seeing John tap out by smacking the ground twice the Supervisor helped him to his feet. Immediately, wasting no time, he began his lecture, “You did better than I would have expected, but that wasn’t all, was it? I wager it was that Relic of yours doing the heavy lifting back there, and now that it has worn out you don’t look like you were ready to handle it, were you?”

John’s groan served as his only response,

“Take some time to recover boy, then I will be running through your flaws, I expect to see improvements by the time we spar tomorrow you hear me?” said the supervisor as John clumsily stumbled around and puked out his lunch,

“Yes… Supervisor…” John replied weakly, wiping a trail of vomit from his mouth,

The Supervisor patted him on his back, “You did well, remember this is just the very start of your journey. In time I expect to see you surpass me, while I was the one who discovered this poisoned place I expect you to be the one leaving it green and full of life once more by the time we are done. Now let’s go over your mistakes…”

Over the course of the next few hours John found himself experiencing the emotional equivalent of being a nail that stuck out a bit too far.