Jamal opened his eyes. He wasn't in front of his PC. He was standing on a balcony made of red sandstone, overlooking a city that looked like someone had smashed Ancient Egypt, Timbuktu, and Jaipur together into a glorious, sun-baked collage.
He looked at his hands. They were wrinkled, dark chocolate in tone. He touched his face. A beard. A magnificent, thick white beard.
Memories that weren't his flooded his mind. Name: Odinga Senan.Title: The Great Sage of the West.Status: Broke.
"Oh no," Jamal—now Sage Senan—muttered, his voice deep and gravelly. "I'm an old man. And I'm… a brokie fraud?"
The original Senan was a philosopher who spoke in such vague riddles that everyone assumed he was a genius. In reality, he just liked smoking pipe-weed and napping. But his reputation had grown too big. The City Council had forced him to take on the three heirs of the Three Great Families as disciples.
They are coming today, the memories supplied. If I fail to teach them, the families will expose me. If I succeed, I get paid a fortune in gold cowries.
"I don't know anything about administration or leadership!" Senan panicked, pacing the room. His flowing white and gold robes fluttered around him. "I'm a nerd! I know hit-boxes, frame data, and magic systems! I don't know how to run a city!"
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The heavy cedar doors creaked open. A servant bowed low. "Sage Senan. The disciples are here."
Senan took a deep breath. He had to act. He had to lie. He would bullshit them for thirty days, take the first month's stipend, and flee to a village where nobody knew him.
"Send them in," he said, smoothing his beard.
Three young men entered. They were strikingly different, a testament to the diverse phenotypes of Aye.
First was Diallo Jomo, a giant of a boy with skin like crude oil (Silhouette), wearing blue silk. He moved with the grace of a panther. Second was Patel Zola, starkly white (Albino) against the earth tones of the room, wearing yellow. He looked frail but sharp. Third was Mensah Rameses, his skin a vibrant red clay tone fully speckled with freckles (Sanguine) matching his red dreadlocks. He looked like he wanted to punch something.
They knelt in unison. "Greetings, Great Sage."
Senan sat on his cushion, closing his eyes. "Rise."
"We are ready to learn the arts of Administration, Diplomacy, and War," Jomo said, his voice deep.
Senan scoffed. He actually scoffed. He channeled every arrogant old-head kung-fu master he had ever watched in anime.
"Rubbish," Senan said.
The three scions looked up, shocked. "Sage?"
"Administration? Diplomacy?" Senan stood up, walking to the window. "These are tools for clerks. For servants. Do you think a lion studies the tax code of the gazelle?"
"But... our fathers..." Zola started.
"Your fathers are small men thinking small thoughts," Senan interrupted, waving his hand dismissively. "Ten thousand schemes are irrelevant in the face of one slap. Absolute power renders bureaucracy obsolete."
He turned to face them, his eyes gleaming with the manic energy of a man making things up on the fly.
"I will not teach you how to rule a city. I will teach you how to become... calamities."
He saw their eyes widen. Good. The hook was set. Now for the bait.
"However," Senan said, walking around them. "To learn my Esoteric Arts, you must possess the correct Alignment. I must perform an evaluation."
He placed a hand on Jomo's shoulder. Internally, Senan was sweating. Think, Jamal, think! Worldbuilding mode on. What fits this guy? He's a tank. High durability. No, infinite durability.
"You..." Senan whispered. "Your body is too dense. You cannot flow like water. You are a rock. No... you are a black hole."
He moved to Zola. Smart guy. Mage build. "Your mind... it races too fast for your body. The flesh is weak, but the calculation is divine. You are not a warrior; you are a processor of reality."
He moved to Rameses. Angry guy. DPS. Fire. "And you. You are leaking energy. A chaotic engine. You burn too bright. We need to focus that heat."
Senan retreated to his seat. "I have three paths. Three systems of power that have been lost since the Age of Myths (which I just invented). But be warned. These paths are dangerous. Only those with the will to transcend mediocrity can walk them."
He looked at them. "Do you accept?"
The three young men, raised in a world of boring politics and farming quotas, looked at this old man offering them godhood. They nodded frantically.
"Yes, Master!"
Senan smiled. "Good. Come back tomorrow. I must... meditate on the curriculum."
As they left, Senan let out a long sigh of relief. "Okay. I bought myself 24 hours. Now I just need to scribble some nonsense on a scroll and—"
Ding!
A semi-transparent blue screen appeared in front of his eyes.
[System Initialization Complete][Welcome, Host, to the Power Scaling System.]
Senan blinked. "What?"
[You have successfully established a Master-Disciple bond with three High-Potential Targets.][The System has detected three new "Esoteric Arts" conceptualized by the Host.]
1. The Obsidian Body: Event Horizon (Target: Diallo Jomo)2. The White Sun Scripture: Photonic Soul (Target: Patel Zola)3. The Crimson Flow: Kinetic Overdrive (Target: Mensah Rameses)
[ analyzing logic...][Logic: 100% (Based on Anime Physics/Comic Book Science)][Feasibility: 0% (In this world)][System Override: Active.]
[Because the Host's logic is internally consistent within the rules of "Power Scaling," the System will enforce these laws upon reality.]
[Mission: Teach the first lesson. Reward: 10 years of Ase [Life Force.]
Senan stared at the screen. The gears in his head, rusty from the stroke, began to turn with terrifying speed.
"Wait," he whispered, a grin spreading across his face that was far too wicked for a benevolent sage. "You mean if I can explain it using nerd logic... it actually works?"
He looked at the door where the boys had exited.
"I'm going to turn these kids into monsters."