SOWER: My Cultivation Creates Gods

**Question:** What's the difference between raising a seventeen-year-old sister in Los Angeles on an entry-level salary and being able to take home a five to seven thousand dollar monthly check from the Hunters Association of America?

**Answer:** Twenty essence points.

That was the whole game. The magic number. The golden ticket that turned "would you like to supersize that" into "would you like me to kill that goblin for you." Twenty essence points meant One-Star certification. The bottom of the barrel. The absolute floor of what it meant to be a hunter.

Rome had somehow gotten twenty-one.

One point is what separated him from washing dishes at Denny's or using his looks to become a host to make ends meet.

The gate hovered in the middle of Lincoln Park like someone had punched a hole in a painting. Fifteen feet of shimmering blue light, contained behind yellow tape and portable barriers. Association personnel in matching black uniforms stood at the perimeter, looking about as excited as DMV employees on a Monday morning. A couple of LAPD cruisers had blocked off the nearby paths, because apparently the city still felt the need to pretend normal laws applied when literal doorways to hell dimensions opened up in public spaces.

Rome stood near the cluster of food trucks that had materialized the moment the gate appeared. Because LA never missed an opportunity. Tacos, burritos, coffee, acai bowls. Someone was even selling hunter merchandise. 

*If the apocalypse came to LA, someone would be selling tickets and tacos within the hour.*

About fifteen hunters were milling around the staging area. Some were geared out in full tactical gear that easily cost five figures while others look like they were preparing for a brisk afternoon jog.

Yet all of them have the same job.

Rome took out his earbuds and put them in his pocket. The music gave way to the beautiful sound of LA traffic. His stomach grumbled after the smell of bacon from the breakfast burrito place hit his nose but he ignored it as soon as he saw the price.

*Thirty dollars is highway robbery for a single burrito!*

Rome rubbed his forehead, feeling the medical wrap and wincing as he made contact with the gash underneath. He had a mishap at a gate last week and since it was a one-star, no one thought it was necessary to bring a healer. Rome sighed, putting up the hood of his sixteen dollar jacket from a Goodwill in Koreatown that smelled vaguely like Old Spice. His lucky jeans had a hole in the left knee and his bookbag was stuffed to the brim with water bottles, protein bars, and a spare shirt.

Rome refused to be unprepared after the "labyrinth incident."

" Hey Rome!"

He looked up. Rodriguez. Big guy, bigger hammer. One of the regulars.

Rome nodded.

"You good? Heard you had some trouble last week."

Another nod. Slower this time.

"Ready to rock?"

"Always."

Rodriguez grinned and moved on. More familiar faces passed by. The morning shift of One-Star grinders who showed up to every low-level gate in the county. They waved. They called out. They asked if he was okay. If he was ready.

"Well, well, well! If it isn't America's Nuclear Deterrent here to grace us with his presence!"

Old Man Patterson. Sixty-something. Beer gut. Gray beard that looked like he'd stolen it from a garden gnome. He'd been running low star gates since before Rome's parents met, and he never missed an opportunity to bust someone's balls.

Rome turned. Face blank. "Ha ha. Fuck you, Patterson."

"There's my boy!" Patterson slapped his knee like that was the funniest thing he'd heard all week. "Watch yourselves, everyone! The ultimate weapon has arrived! We're all saved!"

A younger hunter nearby, some fresh-faced kid Rome had never seen before, leaned toward the woman next to him. "Wait, is he actually strong? Why would someone like that be on a One-Star gate?"

The woman, short hair, spear on her back, didn't even try to lower her voice. "It's a joke. Rome here is basically the opposite of a nuclear deterrent. Rome is more like a glow stick. Crack him once, he shines for an hour, then ends up in the trash."

"Oi." Rome's eyes slid toward them. "What was that?"

The woman threw her hands up. "Nothing, nothing! Just hoping we clear this gate before six. The Masked Singer's on tonight."

"The Masked Singer," Rome repeated.

"Hell yeah." The newbie kid jumped in, apparently over his confusion. "Word is Asteria might be performing. You know her, right? The ice queen from New York?"

The woman fanned herself. "Four-Star beauty. That woman could freeze me solid and I'd thank her for it."

Rome scratched his jaw. Asteria. Yeah, everyone knew Asteria. The Association's poster girl. Face like a model, powers like a blizzard, and a PR team that made sure you never forgot either of those things.

"She's fine," he said.

"Just fine? She's a bombshell! A twelve out of ten easy!"

"Eh, more like a seven and a half." Rome shrugged. "But Nefer...?"

"Of course you would like the cat girl." The kid scoffed.

"What can I say, I'm a sucker for eyes and thick thi--"

"What was that about Nefer?"

Rome's spine went stiff.

He turned with the agonizing slowness of a man realizing he’s just stepped on a landmine.

Kiona stood three feet behind him.

Arms crossed. Hip cocked. One perfect eyebrow raised to devastating effect.

Oh no.

She's beautiful.

And I'm about to die.