Ash Wastes, dust everywhere, red, gritty stuff. The wind howls like it had beef with my whole bloodline. I was knee-deep in trash from a thousand collapsed cities, digging through scrap, looking for anything sellable, wires, relics, bones with enchantments still humming in 'em. You know, normal scav stuff.
Then I found it. Not the book, not yet.
First, I found him.
The god.
He was dead. Supposedly. But no one ever really tells you what a dead god smells like. Spoiler: it's a cocktail of ozone, rotting dreams, and hot copper. Like someone melted a vending machine full of blood and neon signs.
He was slumped against a broken sky-cruiser, huge and cracked open like a dropped action figure. His body was stone and fire and something I didn't have words for. His face was... weirdly calm. Peaceful, even. Like he'd just finished a job that wrecked the world and now he could finally nap.
Then I saw the book.
It was clutched in his chest. Not his hand, his chest. Like it had replaced his heart.
I'm not proud of what I did next.
I looted him.
No prayers, no hesitation. I was hungry, broke, and tired of getting bullied by reality. So I dug into his glowing corpse, ripped that book out, and ran like hell because his ribs snapped shut like a bear trap the second it left his body.
Did I scream?
Yes.
Do I regret it?
Hell no!
Because that book was called the Doom Ledger. And it talked to me.
"One doom available for trade. Select a target."
I blinked. "Wait, like... apocalypse doom? End-of-days kind of doom?"
The page shimmered, and ink scrawled itself across the bottom.
[FLOOD DOOM] — Unleash a world-ending deluge. Current trade value: Minor Divine Trait.
You ever have your brain punch itself?
Because mine did a full backflip.
A week ago I was getting mugged by bandits for my left boot. Now I was holding a magic notebook that let me sell end-of-the-world scenarios like they were Pokémon cards.
I should've walked away.
I didn't.
Three days later, I found a map to a half-dead kingdom choking on drought. Place was a sun-bleached husk. Crops gone. Water taxed like it was gold. People drinking dirt if they were lucky.
Perfect target.
I hiked there on busted legs and worse judgment. Got past the guards by offering a jar of stale air "blessed by storm spirits." They were so thirsty they believed me.
Inside the palace, I asked for the queen.
They laughed.
Then I said, "I can end your drought in ten minutes."
They stopped laughing.
She came out herself. Queen Tharia. Skin cracked like dried paint. Crown barely hanging on her tangled hair. She looked at me like I was a scam artist, which, to be fair, wasn't totally wrong.
I held up the Doom Ledger.
"Make the trade," it whispered in my head.
I looked her in the eyes. "I give you a flood. You give me something divine. A trait. A blessing. I don't care if it's a toenail from your holy ancestors. Deal?"
She stared at me.
Then she said the five words that changed my life forever:
"Drown us, if you must."
The sky broke open ten minutes later.
Rain like you wouldn't believe. Thick. Angry. Alive.
It didn't just flood their wells. It swallowed cities. Rivers cracked mountains in half. A tsunami punched their palace out like a flicked candle.
The queen survived.
Barely.
And I got my reward.
The book shimmered.
[TRADE COMPLETE: HYDRA REGENERATION ACQUIRED]
Then my broken ankle snapped back into place like it owed me money.
I could feel it happening, my cells, waking up. My body, knitting back together like it had read too many comic books.
I grinned so hard it hurt.
That's when I heard footsteps behind me.
Not guards.
Not survivors.
A group in black masks. Rotten-symbol tattoos. Eyes like empty coin purses.
They called themselves the Rotting Cartel.
They were very interested in my little apocalypse hustle.
Okay. So...
You flood one kingdom. Just one. Drown a few sacred gardens. Maybe wipe out a city square or three. And suddenly everyone wants a piece of your spine.
I didn't even get breakfast.
They came for me at dawn. I'd just healed my fourth blister, was humming some dumb song I made up about not dying today, when I saw the shadows, long, lean, moving like they weren't even touching the ground.
Rotting Cartel.
Heard of 'em before. Backroom whispers in crumbling taverns. They're the kind of people who sell curses in bulk and tax you for sneezing. Trade in dark stuff. Real bottom-feeder energy. Profiteers of panic. They don't cause disasters. They just follow them like crows after a battle.
And I? I'd just served them a five-star buffet.
"Hey there, Ledger Boy," said the first one who stepped out. She had blood-red coins for eyes and a tattoo of a rotting goat skull on her cheek. "Heard you're slinging premium-grade doom. Got a minute?"
"Nope," I said, and I ran.
Look, I'm not a hero. I'm not even a fast runner. But adrenaline's a hell of a performance booster when you know a death cult wants to turn you into soup.
They chased me through broken markets, over collapsed roofs, past screaming beggars and priests trying to baptize the rain. The flood hadn't ended, by the way. It was still happening. I mean, the Ledger didn't say how long a doom lasts. I assumed a day. Maybe a few hours.
Nah.
This one was committed.
I turned a corner, tripped over a wet dog (sorry, buddy), and ducked into an alley so narrow I scraped off part of my dignity squeezing through.
That's when the Ledger whispered again.
"New doom unlocked: [PLAGUE OF MIRRORS]. Trade available."
"Now's not the time," I hissed. "Do I look like I have a trade partner right now?!"
The book pulsed. Glowed a little. It was eager. Hungry.
I realized... it wasn't just a tool.
It wanted me to use it.
Desperately.
I cracked it open, thumbing past the Flood page, which now looked faded, like an old receipt, and tapped the glowing one.
Plague of Mirrors.
The description read:
"Infects all reflective surfaces in the area. Targets see twisted versions of themselves. Causes madness, dread, and sometimes enlightenment. Duration: Unknown."
"No value listed," I muttered. "What's the trade?"
"One heartbeat."
...what?
Then I got it. It didn't have to be a divine blessing or some ancient relic.
Sometimes the Ledger wanted pieces of me.
It was testing me.
I bit my lip, hard, drew blood, and I whispered, "Take it."
The world shattered.
Not literally, more like... reality glitched. Windows, puddles, metal, polished stone, every surface flickered, warped. Reflections twisted. I saw versions of myself with antlers, hollow eyes, laughing mouths on my stomach. I saw my mother blaming me. I saw myself smiling while the world burned.
Behind me, I heard the Cartel scream.
They weren't ready.
I turned. One was trying to rip her own mask off, sobbing. Another was frozen, staring into a puddle that showed her being devoured by rats wearing her face. One guy just straight-up clawed out his own eyes.
I backed away, Ledger clutched to my chest, heart pounding like a faulty drum.
[Trade accepted: +1 Reflex Tier, +25 Terror Resistance]
My mind buzzed. I felt faster. Sharper. Like someone had poured espresso directly into my spinal cord.
Then, from the mirror-world sludge of a shattered window, a hand reached out.
Not human.
Not mine.
It pulled itself out like it was climbing through water. Pale skin, too many fingers, and eyes where its ribs should be.
It looked at me.
Smiled.
Then whispered, "I like your style, merchant."
And just like that, it was gone.
The reflections returned to normal.
The screams faded.
The Cartel?
Gone.
Dead, maybe. Fled. I didn't wait to check.
I just ran again, Ledger humming against my ribs like a ticking time bomb.
Hours later, I camped in a cave. Lit a small fire. Watched my hands shake.
The book lay beside me. Quiet. Sleeping, maybe.
I looked at it and said aloud, "What are you?!"
No answer.
Of course.
I should've slept. Should've eaten. But I couldn't. Not yet.
Because deep down, I knew:
That hand? That voice?
It hadn't been part of the doom.
It was something else.
Something watching.
Something interested.
I lay down and whispered, "Okay... what's next?"
The Ledger fluttered open.
A new doom was waiting.
And far away, in a cathedral made of teeth and glass, a masked figure lit a candle and muttered:
"Find him. Before he learns to fuse them."