System of Malice Reign of the Broken A novel by Seira

The First Conversion

The flickering, sodium-tinted bulb of the charity clinic buzzed overhead like an angry hornet trapped in amber. Ethan jerked awake, his breath catching in his throat as a white-hot spasm of agony ripped across his fractured ribs. The cot beneath him groaned, a thin, paper-lined mattress smelling of stale disinfectant, cheap bleach, and decades of human misery.

"Don't move, you idiot," a tired, exhausted nurse muttered, tossing a stained roll of medical gauze onto a rusted metal tray. "Your ribs are cracked, not broken. Be glad someone dragged your half-dead carcass off the curb instead of leaving you for the street sweepers."

Ethan propped himself up on one elbow, his teeth gritted so hard his jaw ached. His body felt heavy, bruised, and thoroughly wretched. Yet, beneath the throbbing pain, an odd, unfamiliar warmth thrummed through his veins, steady and rhythmic.

Before he could process the sensation, the clinic's heavy metal front door slammed open against the wall with a deafening bang.

"Ethan! Where is that miserable, good-for-nothing freeloader?" a booming, gravelly voice echoed down the cramped hallway. Heavy footsteps stomped across the linoleum floor, fast and entirely uninvited.

The curtain was violently yanked back, revealing Arthur, his perpetually scowling landlord. Arthur’s face was flushed a violent, mottled red, his thick fingers clutching an overdue eviction notice like a weapon. He loomed over the narrow cot, his breath smelling heavily of stale beer and cheap tobacco.

"Look at you, pathetic as always," Arthur sneered, leaning in close so his sour breath hit Ethan squarely in the face. "Laying here like a rotting dog while I've got bills to pay! Where's my rent, Ethan? Two months overdue! If you don't fork over every single cent right now, I'm throwing your meager trash out onto the sidewalk, and you can sleep in the damn gutter where you belong!"

In the past, this exact threat would have made Ethan shrink back, his heart hammering against his ribs in sheer panic as he stammered pathetic excuses. He would have apologized, begged for time, and offered whatever meager possessions he had left.

Instead, Ethan stared up at the furious man with a cold, unnerving calm.

"Go to hell, Arthur," Ethan said softly, his voice remarkably steady despite the dry rasp in his throat. "You'll get your money when I feel like paying you. Not a second sooner."

Arthur blinked, momentarily stunned by the sudden defiance before his face twisted into an ugly, raging snarl. Spit flew from his lips, landing directly on Ethan's cheek.

"You ungrateful little maggot! Who the hell do you think you're talking to? I should beat the rest of your worthless teeth down your throat right here and right now! You're nothing! You're broke, dumped by your fiancée, and living off charity!"

As the vicious insults rained down, a crisp, metallic chime echoed directly inside the center of Ethan's mind, completely cutting through Arthur's tirade.

Ding.

[Host has successfully provoked Target: Arthur Vance.]

[Malice detected: 89 units.]

[Converting hostile emotional output into System Capital...]

[Conversion complete: +10 Stat Points acquired.]

Ethan watched the floating, translucent blue interface materialize directly in his field of vision. A profound shiver raced down his spine, entirely unrelated to the chill of the clinic. The dull ache in his bruised ribs began to recede, replaced instantly by a cool, soothing wave of vitality rushing through his muscles. He could literally feel his physical density increasing, his sinews tightening and strengthening beneath his torn shirt, and his mind clearing with terrifying, crystalline precision.

Arthur, entirely oblivious to the supernatural shift occurring inside Ethan, continued to jab a thick, calloused finger aggressively toward Ethan's chest. "Did you hear a word I just said, you deaf bastard? I said pack your bags or pay up!"

"I heard you loud and clear, Arthur," Ethan replied, a dangerous, razor-sharp smile curving the corners of his lips. He swung his legs over the edge of the cot, standing up with a swift, fluid motion that completely defied his earlier injuries. "And like I said: no."

Arthur recoiled in sheer shock, stepping back a half-pace as he looked up into Ethan's eyes. The timid, broken man who had cowered in the hallway for three years was entirely gone, replaced by a gaze so cold and piercing it sent an involuntary shiver down the landlord's spine.

"You... you've lost your damn mind," Arthur stammered, his anger flaring back up instantly to mask his sudden, inexplicable unease. "Enjoy your last night under a roof, because tomorrow morning, you're out on the street!"

With a furious huff, Arthur whipped around, storming down the hallway and slamming the clinic's front door so hard the walls visibly shook.

Ethan stood in the quiet aftermath of the outburst, taking a deep, steady breath of the sterile air. His lungs expanded fully, entirely pain-free. He flexed his hands, watching the faint blue glow of the system interface hover in his vision, displaying his freshly updated status.

Ten points.

This was only the very beginning. Marcus, Clara, and every single person who had spat on him in the gutter were about to learn just how expensive their hatred truly was.