The God of Ruin’s Pocket Change

CHAPTER 1: The Billion-Dollar Belly

The first thing I noticed was the smell.

It was a thick, oily stench that coated the back of my throat, tasting of wet rust, rotting cabbage, and despair. I tried to command the air to purify itself—a simple cantrip, something I used to do with a snap of my fingers—but nothing happened.

No sparks. No divine wind. Just the sound of a distant siren and the drip of acidic water hitting a puddle near my boot.

I opened my eyes.

Instead of the golden, vaulted ceilings of the Celestial Palace, I was staring at the grey, leaking underside of a concrete overhang. I was lying in an alleyway that looked like the armpit of the universe.

I sat up, groaning as my spine popped. A mortal sound. A mortal sensation. My body felt heavy, like I was wearing a suit of lead armor.

"Seraphim?" I called out, my voice raspy. "If this is the High Judge’s idea of a practical joke, tell him it lacks nuance."

No answer. No choir of angels to peel me a grape. No attendants to fan me with feathers woven from starlight.

Just a rat the size of a small dog, sitting on a pile of trash, staring at me with beady red eyes.

"Right," I muttered, rubbing my temples. "The banishment."

I remembered the trial vaguely. It was a blur of accusations. Arrogance, they said. Excessive use of miracles for personal entertainment, they claimed. Apparently, turning a nebula into a fondue fountain was a misuse of cosmic resources.

Survive, Russ Javier Stone, the High Judge had sneered, stripping away my divinity layer by layer. Go to the Mortal Realm. Learn the value of a struggle. Learn what it means to start with nothing.

I looked down at myself.

I was wearing black. A hoodie that felt irritatingly soft against my skin, black jeans, and heavy boots. It was the mortal disguise I had been wearing when they kicked me out. To me, these were rags. The fabric didn't shimmer. It didn't hum with celestial energy. It just sat there, lifeless.

I stood up, and the world tilted. My balance was off. Gravity on this rock was aggressive.

My stomach let out a roar that sounded like a dying beast. The hunger hit me so hard I almost doubled over. It wasn’t the polite appetite of a God who wanted a snack; it was a violent, clawing emptiness.

"First order of business," I grumbled, steadying myself against a brick wall. The brick crumbled into dust under my palm. "Find food. Then, find a way to burn this planet down and go home."

I patted my pockets. If I was going to eat, I needed currency.

My fingers brushed against something paper.

Hope flared in my chest. Maybe the High Judge had been merciful. Maybe he had left me with a stash of Gold Bars or a Void Diamond.

I pulled it out.

My heart sank.

It was a single, crumpled green bill. A picture of a stern-looking mortal man stared back at me. The number 10 was printed in the corners.

I dug into my other pocket. Three copper coins. One silver-ish one.

"Ten dollars," I whispered, staring at the pathetic scraps in my hand. "And thirty-four cents."

I scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. In the Celestial Realm, ten dollars wouldn't buy a napkin. It wouldn't even buy the air inside a napkin. This was an insult. It was a slap in the face. They had sent me to this dumpster world with absolutely nothing.

"God-tier poverty," I muttered, shoving the trash money back into my pocket. "Fine. I’ll make do. I’ve conquered galaxies; I can conquer a lunch menu."

I stepped out of the alleyway and into the street.

The sensory overload was instant. The sky wasn't blue; it was a bruised purple, choked with smog. Neon signs buzzed and flickered overhead, casting the wet pavement in jagged pools of pink and electric blue.

The street was crowded, but it was a quiet, fearful kind of crowd.

People shuffled past with their heads down. They looked... grey. Their skin was sallow, their eyes hollow and sunken. They wore patchwork clothes that looked like they had been stitched together from industrial waste.

But what caught my eye were the necks.

Every person who walked past me had a tattoo on the back of their neck. A black barcode. Above the barcode was a digital number that fluctuated slightly.

I watched a man stumble past me. His number read: $0.04.

I watched a woman clutching a child. Her number was $0.02.

"Weird fashion trend," I thought, stepping around a puddle of unidentifiable sludge.

As I walked, the crowd parted. It wasn't because they recognized me—I had lost my halo, after all. It was instinct. Even stripped of my power, my vessel was still perfect. I was a foot taller than everyone else. My skin was flawless, unblemished by the grime of the city. My steps were silent.

They looked at me with a mix of terror and awe, scurrying out of my path like cockroaches fleeing a light.

"Excuse me," I said, stopping a man who looked like a walking skeleton.

He flinched so hard he almost dropped the bag of scrap metal he was carrying. He didn't look me in the eye. He stared at my boots.

"M-Master?" he stammered.

"Where can a man get some meat?" I asked. "And don't tell me 'the grocery store.' I want something ready to eat. Now."

The man trembled, pointing a shaking finger down the street. "The... the Stall. Old Jenk’s Stall. He has protein."

"Protein. Sounds appetizing." I brushed past him.

I followed the smell of grease. It cut through the chemical stench of the city like a beacon.

At the end of the block, a rusted metal cart sat under a flickering yellow light. Steam rose from a grill that looked like it hadn't been cleaned in three decades.

The vendor, a man with one eye and skin like leather, was flipping skewers. The meat was grey. It looked suspicious. It looked like it might have been meowing or barking in a previous life.

But my stomach roared again, silencing my standards.

I walked up to the cart. The heat from the grill felt nice against the damp chill of the air.

"Give me one," I said, leaning against the counter.

The vendor, Old Jenk, froze. He looked up at me. His single eye widened, scanning my face, my clean clothes, my height. He swallowed hard.

"That's... that's the premium skewer, sir," Jenk whispered. His voice was thick with phlegm. "Real meat. Not synthetic."

"I didn't ask for a pedigree," I said, tapping the metal counter. "I asked for the stick. I'm starving."

Jenk hesitated. He looked terrified to ask, but he had to. "The price... it’s high today, sir. The inflation... the market..."

"Just name the price, mortal."

"Four," he squeaked.

"Four?" I frowned. "Four dollars?"

Jenk looked like he was about to have a stroke. "No! No, sir! Heavens, no! Four... four micro-cents."

I blinked.

Micro-cents? Was that a currency? I did the math in my head. If a cent was a hundredth of a dollar, a micro-cent was... practically dust.

I reached into my pocket. I felt the paper bill, but I didn't want to break a ten just for a stick of mystery meat. I dug deeper and found the coins.

I pulled out a penny.

Abraham Lincoln’s copper profile glinted under the neon lights. It was dirty, sticky, and scratched. To me, it was the definition of garbage. I had planned to throw it at a bird later for amusement.

"Here," I said, flicking the penny onto the grease-stained counter.

The coin spun.

It settled heads-up.

I waited for him to give me the meat.

But he didn't move.

Jenk stared at the penny. His single eye bulged out of his head until I thought it might actually pop. His jaw unhinged.

The bustling noise of the street behind me died instantly. It was as if someone had hit the mute button on reality.

I looked around. The people who had been shuffling past were now frozen statues. Every pair of eyes was locked onto that dirty piece of copper on the counter.

"Is there a problem?" I asked, annoyed. "Is it not enough? I have a nickel, but I’m not wasting that on rat meat."

The word nickel hit the crowd like a physical blow. Someone in the back gasped, a wet, choking sound.

Jenk let out a noise that sounded like a tea kettle screaming.

"A... A WHOLE ONE!" he shrieked.

His legs gave out. He collapsed behind the cart, only his hands visible, clawing at the edge of the counter as he tried to pull himself back up.

"Sir! My Lord! Your Excellency!" Jenk sobbed from the floor. He scrambled up, his face smeared with soot and tears. He looked at the penny like it was a holy relic. He didn't touch it. He seemed afraid it would burn him.

"I... I don't have change!" Jenk cried, pulling at his hair. "I don't have enough! Take the cart! Take the meat! Take my kidney! I can’t break this! I can't!"

I stared at him, genuinely confused.

"It's just a penny," I said slowly. "Why are you crying?"

"Just a penny?" A woman next to me whispered. She fell to her knees, forehead touching the muddy pavement. "He says it’s just a penny..."

"He’s an Emperor," another man mumbled, dropping his bag of scrap and prostrating himself. "He must be from the Golden Zone. Only they carry the Copper Discs."

I looked at the penny. Then at the meat.

My patience snapped. I grabbed the skewer off the grill myself.

"Keep the change," I grunted. "Just stop screaming."

Jenk looked at me with an expression of religious ecstasy. "Keep... the change?"

"Yes. Buy yourself some soap. You smell like wet dog."

I turned around, biting into the skewer. It was dry, tough, and tasted faintly of rubber tires. It was the worst thing I had ever eaten in five thousand years of existence.

But as I chewed, I realized something.

The entire street—hundreds of people—was kneeling.

They weren't looking at me with fear anymore. They were looking at me with terrifying, desperate worship.

"Thank you, Great One!" Jenk screamed at my back. "My family... we will eat for generations! I will build a shrine! I will name my firstborn after you!"

I swallowed the dry meat and grimaced.

"Weirdos," I muttered.

I tapped my pocket where the ten-dollar bill sat.

If a penny made them lose their minds, what would happen if I showed them the paper?

"Probably explode," I decided.

I walked away into the smog, chewing on my rat stick, unaware that I had just purchased the equivalent of a small city block with pocket lint.

[SYSTEM ALERT]

A blue holographic box flickered into existence in front of my face, startling me.

[ANOMALY DETECTED.]

[TRANSACTION COMPLETE: ONE (1) PENNY.]

[LOCAL ECONOMY DESTABILIZED.]

[USER: RUSS JAVIER STONE.]

[STATUS: PENDING...]

I waved my hand through the hologram, dispersing the pixels.

"Stupid glitchy interface," I mumbled. "Can't even eat lunch in peace."

I disappeared into the shadows of the city, leaving a riot of confused, worshipping mortals in my wake.