Ding! Default Skill [Structural Awareness] Activated.
Nate’s vision sharpened. Chaos snapped into focus. He didn’t just see the destruction—he understood it.
Structural Breakdown:
Concrete—cracked, blackened, crumbling.
Steel—twisted, weakened, failing.
Glass—shattered, melting.
Fire Spread:
Flames everywhere. Roaring through buildings. Crawling up walls. Leaping across streets. Smoke thick, blinding. Heat rolling in waves.
Vehicles:
Burning wrecks. Fuel leaking, igniting. A jackknifed truck spewing fire from its split tank.
Bodies:
Some moving. Others still. Silhouettes in the firelight—trapped, reaching, screaming.
Damage Report:
Impact Radius: 1.7 km
Buildings: 27 collapsed / 19 barely standing
Vehicles: 39 wrecked, most burning
Casualties: 79 confirmed
Trapped: 147 and decreasing
Nate’s mind processed it in seconds. He knew what was stable. What wasn’t. Where to step. Where not to. Where the casualties lay. Where the trapped still had a chance. Where the next collapse would hit.
A deep groan—steel buckling, seconds from giving out. Sparks rained down.
There. The next failure point.
He moved. Fast. Then blinked. Skill deactivated.
Heat slammed into him. Smoke burned his throat. His vision snapped back to normal.
“Wha… what?” He shook his head, disoriented.
Ding! Skill [Stabilization Sequencer] Activated.
Loading Optimal Stabilization Sequence…
A pause. Then—
Loaded.
His vision shifted again. Overlay markers blinked to life.
Weak points—color-coded by severity.
Heat zones—divided by intensity.
Entry routes. Exit routes.
Data scrolled fast, calculating risks, charting the most efficient path for Damage Control.
“[Structural Awareness] lets you assess any structure. [Stabilization Sequencer] builds on that, forming an action plan. Together, you maximize your probability of a successful Damage Control,” Vega said, calm and precise.
Nate covered his face from the smoke. “Great. A plan. But what about the fire, smoke, and—”
“That’s where your most important skill comes in.” Vega cut him off. “[Time Stop].”
Nate stilled. “Come again?”
“[Time Stop] lets you freeze time for up to 30 seconds—only in the areas your plan covers.” Her tone stayed even. “During that window, all your base stats increase by 500%. Strength, speed, perception… Even your skills. You'll hit far above your weight class.”
Nate’s mind raced. Thirty seconds. Supercharged everything.
That’s what it was in the tunnel.
It leveled the field. Saved his life.
Then Vega added, “But once it ends, the backlash will hurt.”
Of course. That blackout. He remembered.
Though… it wasn’t that bad. He was fine afterward. He’d be fine this time too.
He took a deep breath. The overlay markers burned bright. The survivors, they needed him.
He snapped his fingers.
[Time Stop] Activated.
All Stats Boosted by 500%.
Stabilize The Structure for Damage Control and Restoration.
Proceed with Caution!
The screen vanished.
Thump. His heart slammed once, hard.
Then came the rush.
Electricity surged through his veins—hot, alive, relentless. It didn’t spread; it ignited. Every nerve lit up. His muscles coiled like steel cables, ready to snap loose. His breathing slowed, deep and steady.
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
No hesitation. No doubt. No distractions.
The world stilled. Fire froze mid-roar. Smoke hung motionless, twisted in the air. Debris hung, suspended, seconds from falling.
His mind emptied. Nothing but the plan remained.
He looked at the wreckage. He knew exactly what to do.
He moved.
.
.
.
Severely Damaged Areas.
First failure point—a collapsed building. Three stories of concrete and steel, crumpled into the street. A tomb of debris, seconds from sealing itself shut.
Nate didn’t slow. Didn’t think.
[Magnetic Shift] Activated.
His hand shot out—connection made.
The structure wasn’t just rubble. It was angles. Weights. Stress points. He felt the pressure buried inside, the tension in the steel, the fractures waiting to snap.
A swipe of his hand—metal groaned. The wreckage trembled.
Too much weight. Too much material. Under normal circumstances, it would take cranes. Excavators. An entire crew.
But his muscles didn’t buckle. His arms didn’t shake.
Nate moved with it, guiding it like an extension of himself. Twisting rebar, dragging concrete into place, forcing the building into something stable. Not perfect. But standing.
Ding! Stabilization Point Secured.
He was already moving.
Next.
Another building—half-gone, floors caving inward. He latched onto it instantly.
Connection established.
A swipe. Loud groans. The structure began to reshape.
Nate didn’t wait. Another pile—right beside it.
Left hand—connection made. Swipe—another groan. More metal twisted, more rubble shifted. Both structures taking shape at once.
The debris lifted.
Beneath it—crushed cars. Twisted frames. Shattered glass.
Both hands occupied, Nate forced his mind to reach further. It worked.
The connection held.
Doors ripped open.
Bodies inside. Color-coded.
Red—dead. He left them.
Green—alive. He pulled them free. Seatbelts snapped, bodies dragged out, frozen mid-cries, mid-screams. He laid them down on the cracked pavement. Unmoving. Suspended in time.
Ding! Stabilization Point Secured.
Peripheral clock—five seconds gone.
No time to stop.
Next. Move. Now.
Another building—stabilized.
Second—rebuilt on the fly.
A third—torn apart, reconstructed, reinforced.
His body stretched in three—sometimes four—directions at once. Left hand tearing metal loose. Right hand reinforcing a frame. A kick sent debris flying. A sprint launched him toward the next collapse.
Strain built. His muscles burned, his head pounded, but he didn’t stop.
The road ahead? Gone. A crater swallowed the street.
[Magnetic Shift]
Steel beams—ripped from wreckage. Concrete slabs—dragged from shattered buildings. He jammed them into place, piece by piece, sealing the rupture.
Ding! Stabilization Point Secured.
Next.
A half-standing office tower—ready to take the block with it.
Nate sprinted. Foot on a car hood, launched high. Grabbed the exposed frame, power surging through his grip.
Metal groaned. Concrete set. Walls locked.
Ding! Stabilization Point Secured.
No break.
A row of cars—flipped, crushed, wedged into storefronts. Some pinning down supports, others clogging the way.
No time for precision.
Nate grabbed the nearest wreck and threw. One hand, next car. Then another. Kicked loose a van, ripped a truck free with both hands. Reinforced the supports in the same motion.
Next.
A bus—split open, half over a ruined bridge.
Nate lunged. Caught it mid-drop. Pulled hard. Metal screamed. The bridge shook. His arms burned. His grip nearly slipped.
Didn’t matter. He locked it down. Stabilized. Secured.
Next.
And next.
And next.
He moved—steady, brutal, unstoppable.
Buildings. Cars. Buses. Bridges. Canals. Nothing untouched.
Steel twisted under his grip. Concrete set under his will. He reinforced, secured, held everything together as time remained frozen.
Breath sharp. Pulse pounding. Head splitting.
His body screamed, but he didn’t stop.
Peripheral clock—five seconds.
“Come on!” Nate roared. Pushed harder.
Final failure point—Ward 13’s central overpass.
A hundred tons of broken steel and shattered concrete. A spine for the entire district. If it collapsed, everything would follow.
Nate sprinted. Vaulted off a wreck, hit the broken edge.
[Magnetic Shift]
Every muscle tore. Every nerve burned.
Steel—yanked from rubble. Concrete—wrenched into place. Chunks of asphalt caught midair, forced back, fused together.
Arms locking beams. Legs bracing slabs. Back arching, supporting tons of weight.
Time—ticking down.
Three seconds.
Two.
A final push—his entire body in motion, locking the structure down.
Ding! Stabilization Point Secured.
One second.
He collapsed to his knees.
[Time Stop] Deactivated.
The world slammed back into motion.
The groans of the wreckage came back—deafening, violent. But… it held.
Nate hit his knees. Hard.
The energy bled out of him—ripped from his body. His chest burned, seized, refused to work. His heart slammed against his ribs, a hammer trying to break free. His head? Worse. Pain didn’t just hit—it exploded. A raw, tearing agony that sent his vision spinning.
He gasped, a choked, ragged sound. Nothing. His lungs wouldn’t fill. His muscles locked, every nerve firing at once.
Then—the backlash hit.
A shockwave of agony shot through him. His veins felt like they were boiling, his bones vibrating from the inside out. Every cell screamed.
“Fuck!” He coughed, hard. Blood spilled from his lips in thick, wet splatters. His body convulsed. His vision swam.
No strength left. Arms gave out. He collapsed, face-first into the dust. Blood pooling beneath him, dark and warm.
His ears rang. His fingers twitched, useless.
Move.
He couldn’t.
Speak.
Nothing came out.
Ding! The screen flickered back to life.
Structure Stabilized. Damage Control: Success.
Now Restoring Damage.
The world shifted. Deep, unnatural. Like reality itself was being rewritten.
Nate barely lifted his head, vision blurred, body dead weight. But he saw it.
The road beneath shuddered. Gaping cracks pulled together, sealed shut. Asphalt reformed, smooth and unbroken.
Buildings trembled. Walls straightened. Shattered windows mended, the shards rising, reattaching seamlessly. Scorch marks faded. Bent steel snapped back into place with sharp, metallic groans.
A half-collapsed tower lifted itself upright. Beams slid back into their original positions. Wreckage reversed, floors rebuilding as if time had spun backward.
Fallen streetlights rose. Mangled cars uncrushed themselves, dents smoothing out, shattered glass reforming like liquid rewinding.
Even the dust lifted off the ground, scattered, vanished.
When it was over, Ward 13 stood pristine. No wreckage. No scars.
Like nothing had ever happened.
So, this is Damage Control, he thought, a faint, pained chuckle escaping. I did it all.
His body gave out. He collapsed back onto the road.
Ding!
Rewards Unlocked:
+1 Level up
+1 All Stats
+8 Strength
+6 Endurance
+7 Perception
+4 Mana
New Skill: Structural Reconstruction
Nate blinked at the screen. The edges of his vision darkened, heavy. He exhaled, shut his eyes.
Any second now. Blackout. Like before.
Except—it didn’t come.
The pain? It was fading.
Nate frowned. His arms, dead weight a second ago, weren’t. His chest, burning like a furnace, cooled. He could breathe. Move.
He pinned his hands to the ground, pushed up. Wobbled. Managed. Then—
Honk!
A bus. Tires screeched as it climbed onto the overpass. The same bus. The one that had been split open. Hanging over the edge. The one with the driver impaled through the chest.
Nate flinched, jumped back.
His eyes snapped to the man behind the wheel. Alive. Whole. Driving off like nothing happened.
Like he hadn’t been dead a moment ago.
Nate’s breath hitched. He turned, scanning the street.
And froze.
People walked past—talking, laughing, going about their day. Cars weaved through the roads. Shops were open. Vendors worked. Kids ran across the sidewalk.
Life. Normal.
Like nothing. Had. Happened.
His stomach twisted. His pulse pounded.
“What the—” His voice caught. His head snapped around, taking in the impossible.
Then—it hit.
His gut sank. His heart slammed against his ribs.
“Fuck!”
