The first swing of the pickaxe nearly shattered his fingers.
John grit his teeth and adjusted his grip, hands trembling as the old wooden handle bit into his palms. The weight of the tool was awkward, heavier than he expected, and the chain around his ankle dragged with every step. The stone wall ahead of him pulsed faintly with veins of glowing blue mana, but it was solid. Too solid for a single pickaxe to break without effort.
Clang.
The metal struck rock and bounced off, sending a sharp vibration up his arm.
Clang.
Again. Sparks danced for a heartbeat, then faded.
The other workers glanced at him but said nothing. Faces hollow. Eyes dull. Every man here had been broken long before John arrived. Some looked barely alive, their skin pale, their ribs visible through their tattered clothes. Others simply stared ahead, arms moving out of habit, carving pieces of the wall without hope.
John kept digging.
His breath came shallow. His arms burned. His stomach ached with emptiness. The stale air mixed with the sharp tang of raw mana made his head spin, but he forced himself to stay upright.
Again.
Clang.
Again.
Clang.
The stone began to crack.
It took hours before he loosened a single chunk of glowing crystal. His arms shook as he pulled it free and placed it in the bucket behind him. The mana stone pulsed in his hand before he let go, like a small heartbeat against his skin.
As he worked, the air grew heavier.
He noticed it first in the way the light changed.
The blue glow from the veins began to flicker, as if reacting to his presence. Tiny sparks leapt from the stone every time his pickaxe connected. The other workers kept their distance now, eyes flicking toward him with a mix of fear and curiosity.
The mana was responding.
To him.
At first, he thought it was a trick of exhaustion. His body was nearly spent. Every joint screamed. His lips were cracked, throat dry. But the feeling kept growing.
The air buzzed around him like static.
The stone pulsed harder with each strike.
And then the whispers began.
Faint. Like the wind sliding across glass.
He stopped swinging.
His heart thudded once.
Twice.
A strange warmth spread through his chest.
He looked down at his hand.
The ring was glowing.
But this time, it was no gentle pulse.
It was alive.
Lines of black light coiled around his fingers, spreading up his wrist like veins of ink. The surrounding mana veins along the wall flared in response. The blue light turned white-hot for a moment, flooding the tunnel with radiance.
Then the voice returned.
Not a whisper.
A presence.
"System construction complete."
John staggered backward, the pickaxe slipping from his hand and clattering against the stone floor.
The sound bounced across the tunnel.
His breathing quickened. The heat from the ring burned into his bones now, but it did not hurt. It filled him.
"Initializing interface."
A wave of pressure slammed into his mind.
Not pain.
Not physical.
It was like a floodgate opened in his skull, pouring raw data and strange memories into him. He fell to his knees, clutching his head, gasping as vision after vision blurred behind his eyes.
Blueprints.
Circuits.
Wires.
Firearms.
Drones.
Generators.
Names he should not know.
Diagrams of weapons forged with iron and magic. Tools shaped by science and spells alike. The knowledge of another world, filtered through something ancient, structured, and precise.
"System designation: Modern Trade Integration, Abyss Tier."
John gasped for breath.
He looked up, eyes glowing faintly with black light now.
The tunnel was silent.
Even the other workers had frozen.
"User: John White."
A pause.
"Welcome, Administrator."
The words sent a shiver down his spine.
He had heard them before.
In another life.
Another death.
"System protocols unlocked. Core functions active. Mana environment detected: stable."
"What… what is happening?" he whispered.
His voice echoed down the shaft.
"Installation accelerated due to concentrated mana exposure. You have completed initialization one year ahead of schedule."
John raised a hand. The black light around his fingers formed a thin halo. The ring pulsed again, sending ripples through the stone wall beside him.
Then he felt it.
A pressure in the center of his chest.
Something forming.
A pull.
As if the space inside his body was being stretched, twisted inward.
Then it snapped open.
Silently.
But he felt the shift.
A tear inside him.
A vacuum.
Something ancient and hungry.
And then—
Woomph.
The air around him compressed with a soft implosion.
A swirling distortion formed just above his palm. Small at first. The size of a coin. Black and dense. The light around it bent unnaturally. Dust and pebbles lifted from the floor and floated toward it, vanishing into its center without a sound.
A black hole.
Real.
Contained.
Alive.
John stared at it.
No fear.
Only understanding.
"This is mine," he whispered.
"Confirmed. Primary affinity: Void Compression. Black Hole Magic awakened."
The other men scrambled away now, screaming. One dropped his pickaxe and ran. Another fell to the ground and crawled toward the exit. Chains rattled wildly as the others pulled back in terror.
Loric appeared at the far end of the tunnel, eyes wide.
"What in the name of the gods—"
The swirling mass flared.
John's hand closed.
The black hole vanished instantly.
The tunnel grew silent again.
John stood.
No pain. No weakness.
Just power.
The System voice echoed once more.
"Would you like to view your status?"
He smiled.
"Yes."