Acid Butt.

  It would turn my bowel movements into explosive acid diarrhea that I could aim, assuming I had the courage to aim it. The acid would cling. It would eat through armor. It would melt shields. It would continue burning until I withdrew the effect or until there was nothing left worth dissolving.

  It was catastrophically powerful.

  Even at its base state, it would ruin most opponents. I could only imagine the scale. Greater pressure. Stronger corrosion. Entire sections of ground denied with a single… movement.

  It was a insanely powerful.

  It was also called Acid Butt.

  I laughed. I could not help it.

  I could see it scarring both the poor souls to be killed by weaponized IBS and the one responsible for unleashing it. It would leave damage on its way out in more ways than one.

  This was the one I would have received if my god hadn't interceded on my behalf, and I am fairly certain I would have preferred death over having to use it.

  I thanked my god and moved on.

  The first true ability that called to me was called Hotfoot.

  It was simple in description, almost deceptively so, but the more I considered it, the more it felt right. It would let me produce flames from my feet, ignite the ground beneath me, and control the fire that followed. The ability did not promise speed or agility. It promised destruction. Anything that stepped where I had stepped would burn if I wanted it to. The ground itself could be denied, turned hostile, reshaped into something lethal through heat alone.

  I could make the flames spread, die down, or burn hotter, at least as far as I understood it. That alone made it terrifying. The description did not say anything about protecting my own clothing, unlike Winnie’s ability, which explicitly mentioned that anything she wore or carried would grow with her. Hotfoot felt poorly suited for anyone who wanted to fight fully dressed.

  Luckily for me, my loincloth paired perfectly with it because of its temperature immunity. That made the whole thing feel less like a coincidence and more like something chosen. I glanced up at the god in front of me with a flicker of suspicion, then looked back down at the list.

  There was only one other ability that truly competed with it in my mind.

  Breath of Cold.

  The description spoke of drawing heat from the surrounding air, dropping temperatures violently and precisely. It was not freezing breath. It was controlled thermal theft, the ability to strip warmth from the world and weaponize the absence. I could easily imagine how that ability might scale into something far more dangerous than it appeared at first glance, locking enemies in place, shattering defenses, and turning battlefields into frozen killing grounds.

  They were both excellent options, and the choice was not immediately obvious. Either one would make me dangerous in ways that went far beyond my current rank.

  Both aligned with the only piece of equipment I knew I would carry until the day I fought the God of Magic. Both felt as though they would grow naturally with me over time, shaping how I fought, how I moved, and how others would come to see me.

  The God of Iron watched me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “I can see you eyeing those two. There’s a reason I put them together.”

  He pointed to Breath of Cold. “The original owner of your loincloth had this ability.”

  I stared at the scroll, then back up at him. “He was real?”

  “He wasn’t from here,” the god said. “But yes. There’s a reason it took you so long to find that item in the chest. Some things are not meant to be easy to stumble into.”

  He exhaled slowly, the sound heavy. “You have no idea how much capital I am spending on you. It is worth it, but it is costing me influence I do not have much of.”

  He straightened, meeting my eyes. “What I can do, I will do. That item is far more than it seems, and so are you.”

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  “Just like my master said,” I replied, “it doesn’t say anything about armor. Just clothing.”

  “Exactly,” he said. “So get armor.”

  “I ordered some from the auction,” I said, smiling up at him despite myself.

  “Good,” he said. “Have you decided which one you are going to pick?”

  “Can you tell me how it evolves?” I asked. “Even a little?”

  “No,” he said immediately. “Every upgrade is a choice. Each step shapes the next. I can tell you they will be powerful. The rest is up to you.”

  I looked back down at the list, reading the two entries again.

  Breath of Cold was probably better in the long run. Control. Slowing enemies. Fewer creatures I knew of had resistance to cold compared to fire. It was efficient, strategic, and brutally effective.

  But if the choice was between these two abilities, then the answer was simple.

  The fire in me had never gone out. It still called to something deep inside me, something older than logic or calculation. Even if I had never wanted to call myself a pyromancer, fire was where I had started in my last life. It was how I had learned to survive, to fight, to impose my will on the world.

  I did not want that bond to fade. This felt like a chance to walk alongside my oldest companion again, not as a crutch, but as an equal. I had lived with flame through my entire previous life, and if the choice was mine to make, I would do so again in this one.

  The decision was not entirely logical, but it was honest. It was mine.

  “I choose Hotfoot,” I said.

  The God of Iron grinned. “Are you sure you don’t want the vile poop ability?”

  He laughed and waved it off. “I’m kidding. It’s the choice I expected, and I’m glad to see you didn’t disappoint.”

  He rolled the scroll up as it shrank down into nothing, folding in on itself until it vanished entirely. He pressed it into me, and it disappeared the moment it made contact with my chest.

  “That should do it,” he said. “Any other questions before you go? We have time. Not infinite time, but enough.”

  I looked up at him and hesitated before asking the question that had been bothering me for a long time. “Why do I hear my name when I say it, or when anyone else says it, but I know the meaning and the way it should be pronounced are not the same?”

  He paused, studying me. “Good question,” he said at last. “I hope you figure it out.”

  That was not the answer I had expected.

  I frowned. “You can’t tell me?”

  “No,” he said. “I could, but I’m not going to. It’s better this way if you work it out yourself. Still, it’s good that you’re thinking about it.”

  That only made it stranger. Why would he refuse to answer something so simple? I wondered if it was one of those rules about my past life, the things that had been stolen from me, but it didn't feel like that. It was a mystery I couldn't solve right now.

  “There’s something else,” I said. “Did you actually tell me to eat the three cores last year, or did I imagine that?”

  “Oh, I did,” he said easily. “It was better that you learned the consequences while you were safe instead of discovering them in the middle of real danger later.”

  I nodded slowly. “I didn’t like it,” I admitted. “But I understand why you did it.”

  “What else have you changed about my life?” I asked.

  “I hope you like your new master,” he said. “He’s a good one. He understands the gifts he was given. Follow what he tells you. It will help.”

  “I see,” I said.

  He tilted his head, then smiled faintly. “Do you want to train a bit more while you’re here? I’ve got some goats you could lift. They’re about the right size.”

  I looked around at my own body, then back at him. “Would that even help?”

  He considered it. “Your spiritual body is still small. Maybe if you were bigger. Not right now.”

  I hesitated. “Is there anything I should do while I’m here?”

  He shook his head. “Honestly, no. I could teach you techniques, give you tips about how to treat your reps, but you already have more on your plate than that. You haven’t even started your real work yet.”

  He straightened. “Let’s leave it there. I’ll see you next time. Or maybe sooner. Who knows?”

  “Oh, wait, I do,” he added, smiling as he laughed.

  He held out his massive fist. I bumped it with my much smaller one.

  The world tilted, and I fell backward into myself, my eyes snapping open as the Heaven of Iron vanished.

  The smell hit me first.

  It was worse than the last time, or maybe I just remembered it more clearly now. Either way, it was the kind of acrid, cloying stench that should have been burned into my memory forever. It coated the back of my throat and crawled into my sinuses, sharp enough that if I had anything left in me to vomit, I would have.

  Then I stood up.

  I felt incredible. Not just fine, but fantastic. I was buzzing with energy, light on my feet, every nerve awake and humming. I took a step toward the door and immediately collapsed.

  My stomach twisted violently, an empty engine screaming at full throttle with nothing left to burn. I lay there gasping, clutching my middle as my body made it very clear that whatever power I had gained came with a cost.

  When I finally looked down at myself, the shock hit harder than the hunger. Every muscle was sharply defined. Veins traced my forearms.

  I was four.

  It was terrifying.

  Greta had told me this kind of thing was normal, especially for someone my size going through an upgrade, but that didn’t make it any less unsettling. I looked like the most jacked toddler to ever exist. If I had seen myself like this in my last life, I would have run.

  I also desperately needed food.

  I forced myself upright and staggered toward the doorway, only to be intercepted by medical staff shouting for me to stop. I barely heard them.

  “I’m hungry,” I said. “I can’t wait. I am going to die if I don’t eat something.”

  They tried to argue.

  “That is not exaggeration,” I added. “That is not hyperbole. I can feel my stomach eating itself.”

  Also, on March 11th at 9 p.m. Est, I’ll be doing an interview on YouTube with PopPop’s LitRPG World. If you can, come join me. It should be fun. You’ll get to see what I’m actually working on, ask questions about the story, and hear me talk through things live.