The red barrier parted like liquid and allowed the interceptor to pass through

effortlessly.

Sebastian exhaled a slow nasal breath. He was in.

He looked down through the canopy. Server 112 was a sprawling endless cityscape

of towering metal spires flying cars and oppressive neon advertisements.

It was a corporate hellscape operating on absolute ruthless efficiency.

And somewhere down there was a Regional Core with his name on it.

——

The descent into Server 112 was a depressing tour through a highly structured

dystopia.

Sebastian was perfectly disguised as Trent the Level 42 Gunner as he guided the

sleek silver interceptor down through the atmospheric layers of the Dyson sphere.

Above him the gleaming pristine towers of the Upper Ring floated on anti-gravity platforms. That was where the Guild Masters and corporate elites lived in absolute luxury.

But Trent wasn’t an elite. Trent was a grunt.

Sebastian’s navigation HUD automatically routed him down into the smog-choked

perpetually rainy underbelly of the server.

Sector 4.

It looked a lot like the ruined Earth he had just left behind minus the giant invisible spiders.

Towering rusted apartment blocks were crammed together so tightly that no natural light ever reached the streets.

The area was filled with industrial runoff and the buzzing of cheap neon signs advertising noodle stands and cybernetic repairs.

"Home sweet home," Sebastian muttered and his nasal voice dripped with sarcasm.

He pulled the interceptor into a massive heavily guarded military docking bay built into the side of a concrete fortress.

Dozens of other Vanguard soldiers in grey-and-blue armor were marching around carrying crates of munitions and yelling orders.

Sebastian landed the ship with a heavy THUD.

He popped the canopy and climbed out. The moment his boots hit the metal grating of the landing pad the reality of his new disguise set in.

He wasn’t a god here. He was the bottom of the food chain.

"TRENT!"

A voice barked across the hangar loud and dripping with sadistic authority.

Sebastian turned slowly. Marching toward him was a tall heavily augmented

officer.

The man’s right arm was entirely replaced by a sleek black cybernetic prosthetic that hummed with energy. He wore an officer’s cap and a sneer that made Sebastian’s trigger finger genuinely itch.

Floating above the man’s head was his data.

[Lieutenant Garret - Level 65 - Vanguard Officer]

"You are exactly forty-two minutes late you worthless piece of trash!" Garret roared and stopped inches from Sebastian’s face.

Spit flew from his lips and landed onSebastian’s visor.

Sebastian didn’t react. He stood perfectly still.

The Sovereign of Laws who had just casually crushed a Level 90 Warlord into a bloody marble stared at the mid-level officer with dead flat eyes.

"Engine trouble, sir," Sebastian replied and kept his voice carefully entirely devoid of emotion.

"Engine trouble?" Garret mocked and his eyes went wide with manufactured rage.

"You think the Syndicate pays you to have engine trouble? You think you get to

slack off while the rest of us hold the line against the mutant scum in the lower levels?"

Before Sebastian could offer another perfectly bland excuse Garret moved.

The Lieutenant didn’t draw a weapon. He just lashed out with his heavy steel-toed combat boot and kicked Sebastian squarely in the stomach.

THWACK!

Sebastian had the physical density of a collapsing star. If he had braced himself Garret’s leg would have shattered into a dozen pieces upon impact.

But Sebastian saw the red Admin Suspicion meter hovering in his vision.

If a Level 65 officer broke his leg kicking a Level 42 grunt the system would

immediately flag the mathematical anomaly.

So Sebastian did the hardest thing he had ever done in his life. He let it happen.

He purposefully relaxed his core and allowed the kinetic force to throw him backward.

He hit the wet oily metal grating of the docking bay and slid through a puddle of dirty engine runoff.

"Ugh," Sebastian grunted as his grey armor was instantly stained with black grime.

Several other soldiers in the hangar stopped to watch and began snickering and pointing at the pathetic display.

Garret stepped forward and looked down at Sebastian with a look of absolute sickening superiority.

"You’re on latrine duty for the next week, Trent. And if you’re late again I’ll have your neural implant scrubbed. Get out of my sight."

The Lieutenant turned on his heel and marched away laughing with a nearby sergeant.

Sebastian lay in the mud for a long quiet moment. He didn’t clench his fists. He

didn’t radiate an aura of killing intent.

A slow genuine smile spread across his face.

"Oh, Garret," Sebastian whispered to the oily puddle. "I am going to remember you."

He slowly pushed himself up and wiped the grime off his chest plate. He ignored

the mocking stares of the other grunts and walked toward the dimly lit barracks at the back of the hangar.

He needed to figure out exactly what tools he had at his disposal.

He found an empty bunk in the corner of a crowded smelly locker room and sat down.

He opened Trent’s skill tree. It was pathetic.

[Basic Kinetic Shield] ↳ Tier 1

[Advanced Vitality Drain] ↳ Tier 2

[Rifle Mastery] ↳ Tier 2

"This guy was a walking bullet sponge," Sebastian sighed. "No utility. No evasion. Just stand there and shoot."

He couldn’t use his massive server-breaking spells without triggering the firewall. But he still had his Code Compiler hidden beneath the spoofed UI.

"Let’s see if we can do some quiet renovations," Sebastian muttered.

He closed his eyes and accessed the foundational code of Trent’s skills.

He didn’t use the 10,000x multiplier to violently evolve them into conceptual

laws. That would instantly spike the Suspicion meter to 100 percent.

Instead he used the compiler to perform surgical microscopic edits to the math.

He highlighted Basic Kinetic Shield. Normally it just spawned a static wall of blue energy.

Sebastian tweaked the geometric rendering and altered the code so that the shield didn’t just block force but perfectly angled it.

[Skill Updated: Micro-Deflection]

↳ Effect: Kinetic impact is redirected at

a 45-degree angle. Mana cost reduced by 80%.

He moved to Advanced Vitality Drain. It was a messy close-combat skill that siphoned health points.

Sebastian dug into the biological decay subroutines and rewrote the target parameters to ignore armor values and focus entirely on cellular breakdown.

[Skill Updated: Cellular Necrosis]

↳ Effect: Touch applies a localized rapid

decay debuff. Bypasses standard physical armor.

Sebastian opened his eyes. The red Admin Suspicion meter hadn’t moved a single

inch. It sat comfortably at 0 percent.

He had successfully weaponized a grunt’s loadout without alerting the gods of the server.

He leaned back on the uncomfortable thin mattress of the bunk. He listened to the snoring and the complaining of the Vanguard soldiers around him.

He was in the belly of the beast. He was broke and he was surrounded by enemies and his commanding officer was a sadistic prick.

’I love the early game,’ Sebastian smirked and closed his eyes to get some

actual sleep.

—-

The piercing screech of the barracks alarm ripped Sebastian from a deep sleep.

He groaned and snapped his eyes open.

For a split second, his brain expected to see the pitch-black void of the Juncture or the polished stone walls of his Sanctuary.

Instead, he was staring at the rusted underside of the bunk above him.

Right. He was Trent now. Level 42 Gunner. A completely expendable corporate grunt in the Vanguard Syndicate.

"Up, you miserable sacks of meat!" a voice bellowed through the cramped room. "Gear up! Transport leaves in five!"

Sebastian swung his legs over the side of the thin mattress.

His body felt heavy and limited by the utterly average stats of his stolen identity. He missed his Demigod strength already. He missed not having a spine that actively popped when he stood up.

"I really hate Mondays," Sebastian muttered as he rubbed his face.

Around him, dozens of other Vanguard soldiers were frantically strapping on

their tactical armor. They looked like stressed-out office workers who had been handed assault rifles instead of spreadsheets. They complained about the food, they complained about the damp air, and they mostly complained about Lieutenant Garret.

Sebastian pulled on Trent’s uniform.

The armor was clunky and restrictive. He grabbed the standard-issue kinetic rifle from the weapon rack. It felt cheap in his hands. It lacked the crushing weight of his Earth Sword.

"Move it, Trent!" a soldier bumped into his shoulder and rushed past. "Garret is already looking for an excuse to dock our pay. Don’t give him one."