The God of Ruin’s Pocket Change

The first thing I noticed was the smell. It hit me like a divine insult—wet dog, rotting cabbage, and something far worse. Despair, maybe. If misery had a scent, this would be it.

“Disgusting,” I muttered, lifting a hand to wave it away. My arm felt heavy. Sluggish. Like it had been filled with sand instead of light.

That was wrong.

I opened my eyes.

Instead of the polished gold tiles of the Celestial Palace, I was staring at a cracked concrete ceiling stained with mold and regret. A rusty pipe ran along it, leaking steadily. Cold water dripped directly onto my forehead, each drop echoing in the silence like a slow, mocking countdown.

I sat up with a groan. My back popped. Loudly.

A mortal sound.

A mortal sensation.

“Seraphim?” I called, my voice echoing weakly through the space. “If this is a joke, it’s lacking taste.”

No answer.

No choir of angels. No soft glow of divinity. No attendants hovering nearby with trays of peeled grapes and existential praise. Just the distant wail of sirens and the unmistakable sound of a rat gnawing on something disturbingly solid near my boot.

I glanced down.

I was wearing… rags.

Well, they weren’t literal rags, but they felt offensively mundane. A black hoodie—soft, irritatingly plain, completely devoid of starlight. Faded jeans. Heavy boots scuffed beyond recognition. I pushed myself to my feet, and the world tilted sharply to the left.

I grabbed the wall, heart pounding.

My balance was off. Gravity felt aggressive here, like it had a personal vendetta.

Right.

The banishment.

Fragments of memory stirred. The trial. The blinding courtroom. The High Judge’s face twisted in smug righteousness as accusations flew like poorly aimed lightning bolts.

“Arrogance.”

“Excessive use of miracles.”

“And,” someone had added sharply, “accidentally turning an entire star system into a fondue fountain.”

In my defense, no one had specified what kind of miracle they wanted.

“Survive, Russ Javier Stone,” the High Judge had sneered as they stripped the divinity from my soul. “Learn the value of a struggle.”

I snorted softly and patted my pockets.

Empty.

No celestial tokens. No relics. No emergency teleportation charm sewn into my sleeve. Just fabric and disappointment.

Wait.

Paper.

I pulled it out—a single, crumpled green bill. Some old, dead mortal stared back at me with judgmental eyes. A bold 10 sat in the corner like a cruel joke. I checked the other pocket. Three copper coins and one silver-ish one that looked like it had lost a fight with a vending machine.

“Ten dollars and thirty-four cents,” I sighed, staring at the pathetic collection in my palm. “In the Celestial Realm, this wouldn’t even buy a napkin.”

The alleyway stretched around me, narrow and filthy. Brick walls stained with graffiti and something darker. Trash bags sagged like defeated beasts. A flickering streetlight buzzed overhead, struggling to stay alive.

Then, without warning, a translucent blue screen materialized in front of my face.

[SYSTEM ERROR 404: DIVINITY NOT FOUND.]

[REBOOTING AS MORTAL USER…]

[WELCOME, RUSS.]

[CURRENT ASSETS: $10.34]

[STATUS: GOD-TIER WEALTH DETECTED.]

I stared at it.

Then I scoffed.

“God-tier wealth?” I crumpled the bill and shoved it back into my pocket. “Sarcastic piece of junk.”

I kicked a nearby trash can.

It flew across the alley like a meteor and slammed into the brick wall at the far end. The impact detonated the bricks into dust, leaving behind a clean, smoking hole.

Silence.

I stared at the destruction. Then at my foot.

“…Okay,” I said slowly, brushing grey dust off my hoodie. “So I’m not completely helpless.”

I took a breath, straightened my shoulders, and surveyed the ruined alley.

“First order of business,” I muttered. “Find food.”

A pause.

“Second order of business,” I added, eyes narrowing. “Figure out how to burn this trash planet down and go home.”