Calamity Awakens

A crackle of ozone. The smell of scorched air.

And we reappeared in the staging room.

The transition was just as unpleasant as always—sharp air, sterile and cold, biting down to the bone. The place hadn't changed. The same domed ceiling arched overhead like the inside of a cathedral. The podium still stood off-center in the gloom, pulsing faintly with light I've come to associate with the System.

Hal padded beside me silently, nose wrinkling at the unnatural scent.

I took my winter clothes off to prepare for the transition to a new world.

I walked to the podium, boots echoing faintly across the smooth black floor. The moment I got within range, the interface shimmered to life again—scrolling names, worlds, crimes. The Calamity list.

Still hundreds to choose from.

Still just as overwhelming.

I inhaled slowly through my nose and exhaled hard through my mouth.

"Alright," I muttered. "Let's see who deserves a nightmare today."

The filter panel opened in the corner. I slid my hand through the air, mentally adjusting the parameters.

Cultivation Tier

: Initiate

Dao

: Any

Level

: 30 and under

Noteworthy Actions

: Exploitation, cruelty, manipulation

Location

: Random

The list narrowed sharply, flickering to just under a hundred names. Even with the level increasing there just weren't many people in the Initiate tiers that earned a Calamity.

I felt Hal press lightly against my leg.

"Yeah," I said under my breath. "Let's find someone who needs a little justice."

And I started scrolling.

Finally I narrowed it down to two targets. There were some amazing people on here I would want to keep track of if I could in the future. I wouldn't mind finding someone to bring Calamity to that earned it doing something I approved of. If they were powerful enough and could kill me, they'd be rewarded—and might even grow into one of the Universe's Elite.

I was partial to this target as I could help fend off an assault on a village as well as put down this Rynna Voss. A battlefield might be too chaotic though as I would still die to someone not my target.

I wasn't sure about this one. Someone walking the Dao of Stone might be able to harden their body—make themselves like the rock he worked in. Tougher and slower, maybe, but hard to kill. Still, Kelan didn't have a combat class. He was a Quarryman. Bitter. Dangerous, yeah—but not trained. If I could get the drop on him, maybe hold a limb down while Hal went for the throat, it could work.

The bigger draw was the setting. A mining site might have what I needed—gear, raw materials, maybe even a pickaxe to start carving out that hideaway of mine. Tools meant progress. But the kill felt clinical. No deeper cause. Just a man pissed off at the world.

Then there was the raider girl—Rynna Voss.

It felt right. The village under siege, the chaos of a collapsing raid, her lighting the grain stores on fire like some final act of spite. She stepped onto the Dao of Fire with malice in her heart, and part of me wanted to snuff that spark out.

But battlefields were chaos incarnate.

If I had a shield, a barrier, something to protect myself, I'd go for it. But one stray arrow or panicked villager with a pitchfork, and that was it. Game over. I'd be killed by someone who wasn't even the target, and I'd have nothing to show for it.

Still, walking away from a village like that… letting it burn because I played it safe… that felt wrong too.

The Quarryman was the smart choice.
The scribe was the right one.

Neither felt easy. That probably meant I was finally thinking like someone who had something to lose. It felt like my old job—compromising on my principles because it was the smart move. Swallowing things that tasted like ash. Telling myself I'd fix it later, once I had more leverage. More rank.

But later never came. You just drown slower.

I let out a breath and looked down at Hal beside me. He was watching me—calm, alert, waiting. Not pressuring me. Just… there.

There was so much injustice in the universe. Too much. And I didn't even have enough power to keep us alive. What was I going to do—storm in, righteous and glowing, and expect the world to fall into place because I meant well?

No.

I couldn't fix everything now.

But could I ignore it? Turn away from suffering and tell myself I'd fix it later, once I was stronger?

The old ends justify the means argument.
I'd heard that before. Hell, I'd used it before.

I rubbed my face and stared at the target listings again. The names. The faces. The stories, sanitized into data.

At the end of the day, it wasn't about what was smart or what was right.

It was about who I wanted to be when I got stronger.
And I couldn't fix every wrong.

I'd help where I could, when I could—but I was done guilt-tripping myself over every fire I couldn't put out.
This life was going to be about me and mine.

Decision made, I selected the quarry worker and disappeared.

Lightning split the sky.

I dropped into the world like a thunderclap, boots hitting packed gravel just outside the collapsed entrance to the mine. Hal landed beside me a half-second later, his form crackling into place with a snarl already in his throat. The scent of dust, sweat, and scorched stone hit me all at once.

Ahead, the mine mouth had caved in—fresh rubble still shifting, timbers snapped like twigs. Two bodies lay half-buried beneath the debris, limp and silent. And standing just past them, backlit by a swaying lantern, was Kelan Marr.

He was already facing us.

His chest rose and fell in slow, deliberate breaths. One hand still gripped the haft of his pickaxe, the other rested on a jagged outcrop of stone, as if drawing strength from it. A faint shimmer danced around him—like the mountain itself acknowledged him now. Stone dust clung to his hair, and his eyes glowed faintly with Dao light.

He'd just done it. Just claimed his revelation and the earth hadn't even settled yet.

"Calamity," he said. Not a question.

His tone was level, but I could hear it beneath the surface—strain, regret, maybe defiance. He knew what he'd done and he knew what came next.

I gave a small nod, letting my cloak settle as I took a step forward, Hal moving in tandem with me.

"You earned one," I said simply. "I'm here to deliver."

Kelan's eyes dropped to the collapsed tunnel behind him—then back to me.

"Do what you have to," he said. "But I won't kneel."

I felt a ripple in the ground—subtle, but present. Kelan was drawing strength from the stone itself, the mountain answering his breath like it recognized one of its own.

"Technically," I said, keeping my tone casual, "I'm only here as a Calamity for your Dao revelation."

Then I bent down and picked up the old, worn pickaxe lying in the dirt—likely one Kelan himself had used not long ago. The grip was slick with dust and blood.

"But really," I added, hefting it and giving it a testing swing, "I'm here for this."

His brow furrowed slightly, not in confusion, but in wary curiosity.

I had a plan. A simple, slightly desperate one.

It relied on a few things: that he had no formal combat training, no speed-based techniques. That his strength made him slow. That Hal was fast—and that his bite hit like a hammer. That I could get in close, or bait him long enough for Hal to do what I couldn't.

Kelan shifted his weight, the stone beneath his boots grinding faintly as it hardened to support him.

He didn't speak, but I could feel the change. No panic. No fear. Just cold resolve.

I raised the pickaxe slightly, not as a weapon, but as a tool.

"Nothing personal," I said. "Just building a home."

Hal snarled low beside me.

Then we moved.

Kelan turned to face us fully now, his eyes hard, jaw clenched. Dust still clung to his shoulders as he held his pickaxe at the ready.

His skin hardened—literally. A rough gray sheen crept across his arms and neck, like stone dust settling into the grain of his body. His posture changed too—lowered, braced, like someone who expected to take a hit and didn't care.

"Hal, flank him," I murmured, the bond already humming with the command. I stepped forward with the pickaxe low in my grip—awkward, but manageable.

Kelan didn't charge. He stood his ground, watching me, arms slightly raised, waiting. He wasn't confident—he was stubborn.

I darted forward, swinging the pickaxe in wide, awkward arcs—not to hit, but to herd. Kelan blocked the first swing with his forearm. It bounced off with a dull thunk, and he barely flinched.

I didn't know if that was because of my class or if it was because of his stone reinforced skin.

But I didn't need to.

Kelan focused on me—just as planned. He stepped in, testing my guard with a short, heavy swing of his own pick. I backpedaled fast, barely keeping out of range. His swings weren't fast, but they had weight. One solid hit and I'd be pulp.

"Now," I whispered as he swung.

Hal moved like a ghost across the stone.

Kelan caught the motion too late. He turned just as Hal used his Frozen Pounce and lunged in low, jaws locking onto the tendon behind his knee. The scream that followed was short, sharp, and furious.

Kelan staggered, trying to spin. I stepped in and jabbed the butt of the pickaxe into his shoulder—more of a nudge than a strike, but it tilted his balance just enough.

Hal tore free with a spray of blood.

The miner dropped to one knee, and Hal didn't let up. He was already behind him, leaping for the other leg. Teeth met flesh again. Kelan howled and twisted, trying to crush the wolf against the dirt.

"Tactical Recall" I called using the skill for the first time, yanking the pickaxe up defensively.

Hal vanished in a blink of light and motion, reappearing at my side with a low growl rumbling in his chest. His fur bristled, blood on his muzzle and already staged to re engage.

Kelan staggered, eyes wide, bleeding from the back of one leg where Hal had already torn a tendon. But his attention wasn't on me anymore.

It was on Hal. Kelan growled, voice low and furious. "You're just the bait."

He turned his whole body toward Hal, ignoring me completely.

"Aren't you just supposed to be a meathead"

I lunged forward with the pickaxe—not to strike, just to draw his attention. I swung as hard as I could, trusting my momentum toward his exposed side.

Kelan didn't flinch.

He swung his own pick in a wide arc—clumsy, but with purpose. I ducked under it, stumbling back as it hissed through the air. My own speed not much faster than his was.

"Hal, move!" I shouted, but he already was.

Kelan charged toward Hal like a crippled bull, stone-hardened muscles driving him forward with surprising speed.

But Hal didn't dodge.

He baited.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

The frost wolf darted in low—inviting the swing—then used Frozen Pounce mid-stride, vanishing in a streak of silver not at Kelan but appearing behind him.

Kelan realized too late. He spun, already off balance from the lunge and his torn leg.

Frostfang Bite.

Hal's jaws clamped down on the back of his other knee with brutal precision.

The scream was louder this time—less fury, more pain. Kelan collapsed to one knee, breath ragged, hands grasping at the ground to steady himself. But still, he tried to rise. Stubborn. Desperate. Swinging wide arcs with his pickaxe, trying to catch Hal in the blur.

"Tactical Recall," I called, the words instinctive now.

Hal vanished just as the pickaxe slammed through where he'd been, reappearing beside me in a swirl of frost and mist. His chest heaved, blood matted his muzzle and front legs, and he stood braced, ready to pounce again if needed.

Kelan groaned, one hand planted on the stone, the other gripping his side. He was shaking now—trying to stand on two ruined legs, hardened skin or not.

"I was better than them," he spat, voice hoarse. "They got their positions by drinking with the council and laughing at the foreman's jokes. I was passed over again and again so their friends could get the raise."

He coughed, the weight of it folding him forward.

"I could've built something great here." he rumbled.

His words reminded me of every bad decision I'd made to get ahead in my previous life. The compromises, shortcuts and the quiet betrayals. The only difference?

I didn't bury men under a mountain just because they pissed me off.

Wasn't my style. I liked to think I was a little more subtle than that.

"Let me ask you something Kelan, this class of yours Quarryman. What does that let you do?"

"Let me ask you something, Kelan," I said, stepping a little closer, the pickaxe still held low. "This class of yours—Quarryman. What does that actually let you do?"

Kelan grunted, blood leaking from both legs now. His stone-hardened skin was starting to fade around the edges, cracks forming where muscle trembled beneath it.

"Break rock," he spat. "Cut veins. Move earth. Build."

I nodded slowly. "Right. Skills meant for a Quarryman. For building."

He blinked, unsure where I was going with it.

A plan started to take shape.

My class said it could elevate people to the highest levels of power—not that it handed it to them. That'd be insane. No one got that kind of power without effort. The universe didn't work like that.

I still had to find talent. Cultivate it. And here was one of the most gifted people I'd seen—someone who'd gained a Dao insight at the very start of his path.

"Kelan, how old are you?"

"Seventeen," he rasped, his broad frame shaking, barely upright.

"What are you passionate about?" I asked. "Do you actually enjoy mining—or is it just a means to an end?"

Kelan stared at me through the pain, blood staining his legs. "Why are you asking me that?" he gasped. "Why do you care?"

"Answer my questions," I said, voice low and firm. "Or your path ends here and now."

I wasn't an imposing man—no overwhelming aura, no pressure rolling off me. But Hal picked up on my intent. He began to circle behind Kelan, silent and steady, each pawstep crunching the gravel.

Kelan's jaw worked as he watched Hal move behind him. His shoulders rose slightly, instinctively trying to shield his back, but he knew it was useless. One wrong move, and Hal would finish what he started.

"I don't know," Kelan said finally, his voice rough with pain and shame. "I liked shaping things. The way stone splits when you strike it right. The way tunnels echo when they're carved clean. It felt… honest."

He grimaced, the weight of his failure pressing harder than any wound. "But no one cared how well I cut. No one cared how straight my supports were. They cared who I drank with and who I bowed to."

I gave him a moment, watching the way his hands clenched, the way his eyes never quite met mine.

"That why you collapsed the tunnel?"

"I was angry," he admitted. "They smiled while they passed me over again. I saw them standing near the weak point. I just… walked away. Let it fall."

Silence stretched between us. The wind whispered down from the broken mine mouth, kicking dust across the stone.

"You earned your insight," I said quietly. "But not all growth comes from revelation. Some come from what you do after."

Kelan let out a bitter breath. "And if I stand, what then? You let me go?"

"I have a job offer for you, my class is…..unique. You might have noticed I couldn't do any damage to you. That's part of it. The other part is a unique Brand I can impart."

Kelan stared at me, blood drying on his legs, chest heaving, face caught somewhere between disbelief and suspicion.

"A brand?" he asked warily, eyes flicking to Hal, then back to me. "You mean like a slave mark?"

I shook my head. "Not even close. It's a pact—voluntary. You can say no. Hell, most should. But if you accept it, you'll be bound to me in a way that helps us both grow. You'll get a path suited to who you are at your core—not what people tell you to be. But make no mistake, you will be mine."

He was silent, watching me carefully.

"I'm not offering safety," I continued. "Where I live now… it's a world that bites. We've nearly died more than once just trying to find shelter. There are things there that make you feel small in ways no words can explain. But there's also something else."

Kelan blinked slowly, listening.

"Freedom. And a chance to build something that matters. No overseers. No council. No politics. Just the cold truth of what you can make with your hands, your mind, your Dao."

He gave a bitter chuckle, wincing from the pain. "You think I've got anything left to build?"

I crouched in front of him, letting the weight of my words settle.

"I think you just started," I said quietly. "You earned your Dao in anger, but that's not where it has to end. You're still standing. well…kneeling. That means something."

I held out a hand. Not forcing it, just offering.

"This is your call, Kelan. Come with me—and maybe, you get to carve something into the world no one can take from you."

Hal watched him silently from behind, frost still clinging to his fur like warning.

Kelan looked between us—at my outstretched hand, at the ruined tunnel, and finally at the sky.

Then, slowly, he reached out.

I grasped his work callused hand. Smiled, and said "Brand".

The word didn't echo in the air—it echoed in reality.

Power surged through me, flowing into Kelan like a bolt of pressure less lightning, invisible but undeniable. His back arched as the magic took hold, and then it burned. Light flared along his shoulder, carving the same intricate symbol Hal bore: a looping spiral bound in jagged arcs, part chain, part flame, part something deeper.

Not a leash. A path.

The same mark that now glowed faintly beneath the frost wolf's fur etched itself into Kelan's skin—just below the collarbone, the words "All Things End" burned into the skin above his heart.

Kelan collapsed to one knee, breathing hard, eyes wide with something between awe and fear. His hand pressed to the still-warm symbol as he looked up at me.

"I saw… a mountain. One I could build into. One I could become," he said, voice hoarse.

Hal stepped forward, standing beside Kelan now. Two souls branded by the same purpose—even if they didn't know what that purpose was just yet. It was mostly just survive Harold chuckled to himself.

I reached out and pulled Kelan to his feet.

"Let's get you through the portal," I said. "We've got a world to carve, and not much time to do it."

A panel appeared.

I threw some bandages to Kelan. "Bandage yourself! We don't have much time before we get pulled back."

Around us, I could see the other wide-eyed miners staring in fear—none dared step closer.

"Hal, hold this pickaxe!" I shouted, handing it to the wolf. "We need to grab everything we can to help!"

I turned back toward Kelan. "Are there any rations around here? Extra clothing? You're gonna need it! What about coin?"

"Check the foreman's office—there." Kelan pointed to a squat stone building near the edge of the site, smoke still curling faintly from its chimney.

I didn't waste a second. "Hal, stay with Kelan," I said, already sprinting toward the office. My boots pounded across the packed dirt, the miners scrambling to get out of my way as I ran through them.

The door to the foreman's office creaked open under my hand, the hinges warped from years of grit and neglect. The warmth of a dying stove greeted me, its orange glow flickering low. It smelled of smoke, and wet wool.

I scanned the room fast. No time to waste.

A heavy coat hung by the door, thick with fur lining and soot-stained sleeves. I grabbed it and tossed it aside with a grunt, searching deeper. A bedroll was stuffed in the corner, worn but intact. I rolled it up tight and slung it over my shoulder. Another sat near it. The desk in the room was a mess. Paperwork strewn about, half-burned logs of ore counts, broken quills, a cracked mug—and a small leather pouch, split open with coins scattered across the wood.

Silver and bronze glinted in the low light. I didn't know what the currency here was worth, but coin was coin. I swept the whole mess into the pouch and cinched it tight, shoving it into my pack.

Next to the desk leaned a second travel pack—half-full, probably a spare. I opened it quickly: a bit of hard tack, a flint striker, a coil of rope, and some spare gloves. I took it all.

Two axes sat in a wooden crate near the stove, rough and unbalanced, but sharp enough. I stuffed one in my belt and slung the other over my shoulder. Not weapons, really—but they'd do damage if needed, and they'd be damn useful in the mountains.

In the room beyond I found a lockbox and had no time to try to open it. I grabbed it, almost not strong enough and put it into the spare pack.

By the time I burst out of the office again, my arms were loaded and my breath was fogging heavily in the air from the strain.

"Catch!" I shouted, tossing one of the coats to Kelan. He caught it clumsily with one arm, the other still bloodied and bound.

"We've got maybe 20 seconds left," I called, handing Hal the bundled bedrolls. "Let's move!"

The portal timer ticked down somewhere inside me, that ever-present clock reminding me how little control I really had.

But we'd made it.

Gear in hand, blood on the snow, and a new soul bound to my path.

It wasn't clean and definitely not heroic. But it was ours.

The air around us snapped taut like a rubber band pulled to its limit—and broke.

With a crack of unseen lightning, the world vanished.

We landed hard in the staging room.

Same blank floor. Same endless space. Same soft, humming stillness that reminded me of being underwater without the pressure. The warmth of the mine was gone, replaced by that unnatural neutrality—no wind, no scent, no feeling.

Hal was already pacing, ears flicking as he shook the last bits of blood from his paws. Kelan staggered once as he adjusted to the sudden shift in gravity, still clutching his new coat to his chest with the bandaged arm.

I dropped both packs to the ground and exhaled.
"We made it," I muttered. "Hell of a second run."

Kelan let out a shaky breath as he lowered himself to one knee. He looked around the space, confused but trying not to show it. "Where… are we?"

"Between," I said simply. "This is the staging room. We don't stay here long—it just gives me time to choose the next target."

"And the lightning?" he asked, voice still rough.

"The system's way of slapping us between worlds," I said. "You get used to it. Sort of."

He looked at Hal, who met his gaze with a quiet confidence, then turned back to me. "What now?"

I reached into my pack, pulled out a ration bar, and tossed it to him. "Now? We rest. Then we go home."

"Check your notifications while I check mine, I'm sure we both have some." I said pulling up my log.

I gained 5 levels and I didn't even kill the target. I was worried I wasn't gonna gain anything but I guess the system is counting defeating him. He could have easily killed me in one blow If he connected. I suspect the brand actually brands our souls together so our accomplishments count for each other. I had another 60 points to distribute.

"Kelan, how many points do you get per level? I'm getting 12, is that alot?"

Kelan blinked at me, still adjusting the coat I'd thrown him. The blood had mostly stopped, but he looked pale and shaky.

"Uh… I get eight," he said after a pause. "I thought that was high. Some of the guys at the mine only got five or six, depending on their class. My class is an uncommon class, I think I got it cause I grew up working the mine with my father before coming of age."

I raised an eyebrow. That confirmed it.

Twelve was a lot.

No complaints from me.

Another mystery to figure out.

For now, I pulled up my screen again, eyeing the 60 unassigned points like a starving man at a buffet. Where to assign my points though, I wanted to lean into a support role but I had no way of doing that for now and I had no way to manipulate my mana.

I wanted to lean into a support role eventually, but right now I had no way of influencing anything with mana. No spells, no constructs. Just a good dog and a pickaxe I couldn't swing hard enough.

That meant staying alive and giving openings.

Extra speed and strength would help me support Hal better in a fight. But now that Kelan was here too, things were shifting. I couldn't just rely on one bonded companion.

I decided to hedge my bets.

Perception would be vital for scouting the valley, spotting threats before they found us.
Agility would help me navigate snow, terrain, and anything else this frozen hell threw at us.
Strength gave me a bit more physical leverage—I wasn't going to kill anyone, but I could trip, shove, or drag someone into Hal's jaws. And Intelligence and Willpower? Those would matter down the line when I finally had a way to use mana—whatever that looked like.

I split the points:

+10 Perception

+5 Agility

+5 Strength

+20 Intelligence

+20 Willpower

It was a start. Not perfect. But it made me more dangerous than I'd been yesterday.

"Another question, Kelan," I said, still staring at my screen. "When can I upgrade my class skills? Or get new ones? And how the hell do I actually use my Dao?"

Kelan looked at me like I'd grown a second head.

"You're the all-mighty Calamity," he said slowly, eyebrows furrowing. "A walking myth. Calamities haven't appeared in centuries… and now the one that does show up doesn't even know how to use his own Dao?"

I gave him a flat look. "That wasn't a no."

He snorted, wincing as he adjusted the bandages on his legs. "Fine. Skills usually evolve at Tier breaks, or when you push them far enough in the right context. Like… using a skill under pressure, or unlocking a deeper understanding of what it means. Same with Dao—except it's not just doing, it's feeling it. Living it."

He paused, then added, "The other part is how compatible you are with your class—some people call it affinity. Most folks don't have much. They're forced into their class by hardship, expectations… all kinds of things, really. But people with real compatibility? They can sometimes gain a skill every 25 levels. I was lucky. Got Weak Point at twenty-five."

"So no user manual," I muttered.

Kelan grunted. "No." Even that word sounded like it cost him.

"Perfect," I sighed, rubbing my temples.

Kelan grinned despite himself. "You're the Calamity. Figure it out."

"People used to respect their boss," I muttered, shaking my head.

Hal let out a quiet huff and bumped my leg with his head, tail flicking once before settling beside me. I looked down at him.

"What, you agree with him now?"

Hal gave a short, sharp bark—almost like a laugh—and sat down smugly, tongue lolling.

Kelan chuckled through the pain. "Smart wolf."

I stood up, brushing frost from my pants. "How are your wounds? We've got a harsh movement when we get back, and not a lot of time for you to recover."

Kelan grunted, adjusting the bandage on his thigh. "Your wolf packs a bite. I'll be okay. I can draw from the earth to refill my stamina, but it's not endless."

Hal gave a low growl at the mention of his bite, ears twitching like he wasn't quite done proving his point.

"Alright—winter up," I said, tightening the strap on my pack. "It's time to go back."

Hal stood immediately, shaking out his fur and giving a low, eager huff.

Kelan nodded, pulling the heavy coat tighter around him and limping upright. "Lead the way, boss."

I took one last breath of staging room air before confirming I wanted to return.