Martin stared up at a bright blue sky, a lazy cloud drifting by. He was laying in some rank-smelling alleyway, dirty tenements stretching high and wobbly to the sides. He slowly sat up, rubbing his sore neck, and looked around.

A pair of grimy young boys stared at him, wide-eyed and frightened, each holding a boot in their hands. He gave them a little wave, and they scurried off further down the alleyway, disappearing around a corner.

That’s when he realized he was bare feet. Bastards work quick, he thought, standing up and stretching. Other than the now stolen boots, the Goddess had decked him out in a plain brown shirt and pants. There was an uncomfortable wet stain on the back of his shirt, and when he looked down, he saw he’d been laying in a puddle of a liquid he didn’t particularly care to learn the identity of.

The Goddess had said she couldn’t change the location where I was spawning, he thought, stepping to the mouth of the alleyway. This is where they tried to summon their shining hero?

He poked his head out and saw a wide, weed-choked street. More tenements lined the sides, and people trudging by, heads down, a general air of gloom hanging over them. He glanced up and saw a tired-looking woman pour a pot of some disgusting brown slop out the window. It landed in a trough cut into the street with a depressing splotchy sound.

He ducked back into the alley, slowly took his shirt off, and tossed it aside. Some of the people he saw walking had been similarly shirtless, so he shouldn’t stand out too much. Besides, it seemed like it was summer, or the summer equivalent of this world; the temperature was a muggy, humid heat, which unfortunately made the general odor of the place that much worse.

Hmm. So within five minutes of waking up in a new world I was robbed and got shit on my shirt. Martin grinned. At least I still have my pants.

He looked down at his hands and tried to conjure up the power he’d read about in the contract.

An iridescent screen appeared in his eyes.

System Page:

Class: [Godhand]

[Awake - Lvl. 1]: Grants an object the ability to receive [Commands]. The size and complexity of a possible [Awakened] object scales with the skill’s level.

* 0/1 [Awakened]

[Command: Move - Lvl. 1]: Imbue an [Awakened] object with the ability to move. The depth of expression scales with the skill’s level.

[Transfer Command - Lvl. N/A]: Give ownership of an [Awakened] object to another person, binding it to their mana.

Trade: N/A

Titles:

[Lightbringer - (1/8)]: You are the chosen hero of Deniya, wrenched from Death’s embrace by the people’s supplicating hands. You are the light that dispels the darkness. You are the pull to the Inferna’s push.

* [Infernal Sense - Lvl. N/A]: Whenever the Infernum, an Inferna, or one of their ilk is near, alert to their presence.

[System’s Grace - (2/2)]: You were not born to this world but called to it against your will, and as such, the System has modified you to better face the trials that will come your way.

* [Alltongue - Lvl. N/A]: You are able to understand, speak, and read all currently used languages on the planet.

* [Malleable - Lvl. N/A]: Have a greater chance of attaining a Title after overcoming a difficult situation.

He read the words carefully. He puzzled over what a Trade was, but as it was locked he skipped over it and focused on his Titles. He remembered reading in the contract that Titles granted special passive abilities; the [Lightbringer] Title and its passive was interesting but didn’t seem useful at the moment, whereas [System’s Grace] was much more appealing.

He blinked the screen away—an act that felt as natural to him as breathing. Then, pressing his hand on the wall beside him, he thought, [Awake].

Your skill is too low to [Awaken] this object.

“Makes sense,” he muttered to himself, looking around the alley. “Gotta start smaller.”

He found a small, circular stone laying on the ground, and he bent down and picked it up. Breathing out, Martin used [Awake] on it.

He felt something pulse inside of him and flow towards the stone in his hand. He gasped, power suffusing him, and he felt a link snap in place between him and the stone. It buzzed in his hand then fell still, and Martin had the impression it was waiting for something.

He used [Command: Move] on it, and another, smaller link connected him to the stone. Giddy with excitement, he waited for it to start moving.

Nothing happened.

Frowning, he looked around the empty alleyway and, feeling a little foolish, leaned in and whispered, “Cmon, now. Go. Git!”

The stone remained still in his hand.

Hmm. Maybe it's scared of heights. Bending down, Martin laid the stone flat on the ground and stepped back.

The stone stayed in place.

Maybe it needs a little encouragement. “It’s okay, little buddy,” Martin said to it, raising his fist in solidarity. “You got this!”

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The stone did not respond.

Maybe it’s shy. He turned around, then quickly looked over his shoulder.

The stone sat quietly in place.

Rubbing the back of his head, he opened up his System Page again, noting how the previously 0/1 [Awakened] was now 1/1.

He read over the skill [Command: Move]. His eyes focused on the part that said, “The depth of expression scales with the skill’s level,” and an idea came to him.

Bending down, Martin placed the circular stone on its edge and, using the link between him and it, urged it to [Move] forward.

That earlier awareness of power inside him flared again, and this time it moved from him through the link and into the stone.

And the stone shot off like a wheel, tumbling down the alley. Martin whooped with joy, laughing, and ran after it, a pure joy he hadn’t felt in years welling up in him. The rough edges of the stone made its trajectory uneven, and it veered to the left and hit the wall, coming to a rattling still. He grinned and hefted it up to the sky, giving it a big old kiss, then gagged as something wet touched his lips.

A stifled but audible gasp rang through the alley. Martin slowly turned, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and saw one of the boot thieves from earlier staring at him wide-eyed from around the lip of a wall. He squeaked when he saw Martin looking at him and made to run, but Martin quickly said, “Hey, it’s alright! Look, you want to play with this?” He held out the stone, and the boy paused.

“You a mage?” he said suspiciously, looking ready to bolt at any moment.

Martin smiled, his [Alltongue] passive translating the words for him. “Nah. Just a guy in an alley, is all.”

“Sounds like summin a mage would say.”

“Would a mage let you and your buddy steal his boots right from under his nose?”

“Probs not,” the boy admitted, then stepped forward warily, his eyes locked on the stone. “How’d ya do that with the rock, then?”

“I’m not a mage, but I’ve got a trick or two up my sleeve,” Martin said, then bent down. The boy tensed, but Martin just set the stone down and made it [Move] again. Power transferred from him once more, leaving him feeling a little tired, and the stone shot forward into the wall again.

The boy ooh’ed, dirty eyes widening.

Martin slowly walked up and picked the stone, careful not to make any sudden movements. He held it out to the boy and said, “I’ll make you a trade. The stone for my boots and some information.”

The boy looked down at the ground. “I ain’t got your boots no more. Genk went to trade it.”

“That’s fine. Just information then. Starting with your name? I’m Martin.”

The boy stared at him then said, “I’m Lev. You’ll… really give me that magic rock for some words?”

Martin grinned. “That’s right, Lev.”

“Sounds like a mage to me,” Lev grumbled, but he stepped forward eagerly, reaching his hand out.

“Information first,” Martin said, pulling his hand back. “I’m going to ask you some questions that’s going to sound ridiculous, but I just want you to answer honestly, alright?”

Lev looked at him like he was stupid, or drunk, or both, but he slowly nodded. “‘Aright.”

For the next handful of minutes, Martin learned what he could from the boy. He was currently in the city of Minar, the so-called Free City independent of the five dukedoms otherwise running the country. Specifically, he was in the Lower Reach, the poorer and largest part of the city, though Lev said all the locals called it the Guts. The richer part of the city where the aristocracy lived was the Upper Reach, commonly referred to as the Crown. Sandwiched between the two was Midtown, which Lev called the Belt.

“Nobles rule the Crown,” Lev said, growing more comfortable with Martin, who sat and kept the stone moving to keep the boy enticed. “Guilds the Belt, and the dons the Guts. You’re in Don Vasca’s turf, by the by, and she don’t take kindly to mages on her stones, you hear?”

“I hear,” Martin said. He was starting to get a headache from continually using [Move], a strange exhaustion soaking his bones. “Tell me more about these dons.”

“Well, there’s four of them.” He ticked off his fingers one by one. “Don Vasca, Don Ash, Don Pirrian, and Don Raha. Their turfs split the Guts into four, and they each got a vice they control. Don Vasca controls gambling in the Guts, Ash the drugs, Pirrian the alcohol, and Raha the whores.”

Martin let the information sink in, nodding slowly. “Then I only got one last question for you, Lev.”

“Whassat?”

“Where can I find Don Vasca?”

Lev’s eyes nearly bugged out of his skull. “Why? You wanna die?”

He shrugged. “Humor me.”

Lev scratched his head. “Well, it’s your funeral. Her base is the Lucky Six, over that way.” He nodded his head to the left. “Can’t miss it. Biggest building in the area. Got a big statue of a naked girl on top.” He blushed.

“I’ll keep an eye out,” Martin said, snatching the stone and rising to his feet. A wave of dizziness nearly made him buckle, and he breathed out slowly. Need to be careful with using these skills. When it passed, he smiled at Lev and held the stone out.

“Pleasure doing business with you, Lev,” he said. “A deal’s a deal.”

Lev warily stepped forward, snatched the stone out of his hand and scurried backwards. He clutched it tight to his chest, as if afraid Martin was going to nab it right back. When Martin didn’t make a move, a small smile stretched his grime-encrusted face, and he eagerly bent down and set the stone on its edge.

It fell over.

“How do I make it move?” Lev said, frowning up at Martin.

Ah, right. I need to use [Transfer Command] to him. He tried thinking of the skill and focusing it on the boy, but nothing happened. Maybe I need to touch him to make it work?

Martin thought about it and stuck his hand out once more, this time empty. “A deal ain’t a deal until you shake, Lev. That’s what makes the magic work.”

Lev looked at Martin’s outstretched hand, down at the stone, then back up at the hand. He looked as if he was going to just cut his losses and bolt but, taking a deep breath, he ran forward and gripped Martin’s hand with his own.

Martin took a good look at Lev then. The boy’s curly brown hair was matted and stiff, his small hand riddled with cuts and scrapes, his stick-thin body covered in more dirt than skin, a faded scar on his cheek.

My first customer, Martin thought, then shook and used [Transfer Command].

He felt the links between him and the stone wiggle then rotate from him to Lev, snapping in place once more. His awareness of the stone faded as the boy gasped and wrenched his hand out from Martin’s, preparing to run; Martin simply gestured toward the stone with a nod.

Rubbing his hand, Lev knelt down and lifted the stone on its edge again. This time when he let go, it shot forward, and Lev burst out into a tinkling laughter. He snatched the stone up and ran away, not even bothering to say goodbye.

Martin watched him go, a warm feeling in his stomach. He savored it for a moment, then turned in the direction Lev had said Don Vasca’s base was.

It’s time to get to work.