The next morning didn’t just greet me with a good mood — it slammed into me like a real mental explosion, a tsunami of pure energy.
Waking up felt like an electric shock, not a painful one, but a life-giving one that instantly vaporized the remnants of sleep and yesterday’s fatigue.
I jumped out of bed with such a fierce, primal charge of energy, such pure, unclouded motivation and a tingling desire to create in my fingertips, as I had probably never felt a single time in my entire past life.
This is what the accursed system can do to an ordinary person — break their apathy and turn them into an obsessed workaholic.
Scary!
But also damn intoxicatingly pleasant.
Not wanting to resist this powerful internal impulse that demanded I create something immediately, I acted like a well-oiled machine.
A quick, almost icy shower to get the blood pumping for good.
A hastily prepared breakfast of yesterday’s pizza, swallowed without much attention to taste because my thoughts were already far away.
And there I was, standing over the table, which had turned into an operating room.
PVC pipes, a knife, sheets of sandpaper, a tube of pungent-smelling glue, and a simple piezo lighter were neatly laid out on its surface.
The laptop screen cast a bluish glow on my face, showing a primitive instruction manual from the internet.
I got to work.
A potato cannon, a potato launcher, or, as I solemnly christened it for myself, the Spudgun-3000 (Bulbamyot-3000).
A simple contraption which, in the wet dreams of certain politicians, is a weapon of mass destruction capable of annihilating all life.
In harsh reality, though, it’s just a clever assembly of glued PVC pipes and flammable gas.
A potato tuber, acting as a projectile, is launched from the main pipe — the weapon’s barrel — by the pressure of expanding gases.
Depending on the design, airtightness, and fuel used, the flight distance of the potato can range from several dozen to several hundred meters.
My design would be ridiculously simple, so I realistically expected a confident fifty meters, no more.
First, I worked on the pipes.
My movements were precise, measured, as if I’d been doing this my whole life.
The combustion chamber — from a wide, 80-millimeter pipe, a segment about forty centimeters long, with a screw-off block on top for “loading” fuel.
The barrel — from a narrower, 50-millimeter pipe, about a meter long for better projectile acceleration.
I carefully sanded the cut ends, aiming for perfect smoothness so nothing would hinder the gluing.
I glued a cap onto one end of the combustion chamber, inhaling the acrid, chemical smell of the glue that unpleasantly tickled my nostrils.
On the other end, I fitted an 80-to-50 mm adapter.
Then, with the same meticulous care, I glued the long barrel pipe to the adapter.
The basic frame of the legendary Spudgun was ready, and it looked surprisingly menacing.
Next stage — the ignition system, the heart of my creation.
I drilled two tiny holes in the combustion chamber cap for 4mm screws.
Then I screwed the screws in at a slight angle so that inside the chamber, their metal ends were only 2–3 millimeters apart — improvised, but effective, electrodes.
To the screw ends sticking out, I carefully connected the wires from the disassembled piezo lighter, and secured the plastic casing itself with several layers of tape onto the combustion chamber.
My finger pressed the button.
Click!
A bright, mean bluish spark jumped between the screw ends with a dry crackle.
Perfect, practically everything was ready!
The final touches before the triumphant test: a final check of all connections for airtightness and, of course, finding suitable ammunition.
For the latter, I had to run to the nearest grocery store.
And there it was, less than an hour after starting work, the legend was complete!
With a satisfying effort, I shoved a large, dense potato tuber into the barrel, feeling the pipe’s edges slice off a thin layer of its skin, ensuring an ideal seal.
Unscrewing the cap on the combustion chamber, I injected a generous dose of propane-butane from a lighter refill canister.
Then I walked to the window, threw it wide open, letting in the cool morning city air, and aimed the Spudgun’s barrel upward, targeting so the potato would land somewhere on the flat roof of the neighboring building.
My heart beat a little faster in anticipation.
I pressed the lighter.
A short, but surprisingly rich and satisfying thwump!
The potato projectile, with an invisible whistle, successfully left the Earth’s orbit — or, at least, the orbit of my fifth-floor apartment.
At that very moment, a system notification flashed before my eyes, glowing with a soft blue light.
[Simple weapon construction ‘Potato Cannon’ created.
Complexity: Minimal.
+50 CP gained!]
I immediately leaned out the window, trying to track the tuber’s flight, but it quickly turned into a dark dot and vanished against the morning sky.
The sharp, chemical smell of burnt gas hit my nose, mixed with the faint, almost sweet aroma of baked starch.
The cannon’s body in my hands was noticeably warm, and the recoil, though weak, gave a pleasant thud against my shoulder, confirming the successful shot.
This was… a real creation.
Not a paper figurine, not a drawing, not a line of code.
A functional, albeit primitive, device.
In a sense, even a weapon.
I ran my finger over the smooth PVC plastic, feeling the barely visible seams at the joints, glued together by my own hands.
A feeling of deep, pure satisfaction was almost intoxicating.
I hadn’t just followed a recipe from the internet.
I had taken disparate pieces of matter — pipes, a lighter, glue — and by the force of my will, my knowledge, and my hands, turned them into something whole, possessing a purpose and function. This chapter was copied from NovelPing without permission.
It was a small, almost childish miracle, but it was mine.
At that moment, I understood that the “Celestial Forge” wasn’t just a system mechanic for giving out points.
It was the very essence of creation elevated to an absolute, a catalyst for the will to create.
And if I felt such a childish, genuine delight from a potato launcher, what would I feel when I assembled something truly complex?
A protective field generator?
Power armor?
A wide, predatory grin spread across my lips of its own accord.
I had only just begun, and a whole universe of possibilities awaited me.
As for the +50 CP gained, just as expected, the system generously rewards complex and at least somewhat functional creations!
Another important fact is that the construct got a name prefix; if I’m not mistaken, this is the first time the system has given something a name.
Usually, everything was limited to general, faceless concepts like “figurine,” “tableware,” “origami.” It felt like recognition.
So, now I had 65 CP.
Simple arithmetic told me that if I made literally two more Spudguns, which cost neither significant money, time, nor effort, then in just a couple of hours I could spin the “Forging the Universe” again.
And no, I’m not a gambling addict, absolutely and definitely!
This is cold, rational calculation.
Simply the most effective way at the moment to get a new technology package.
The only problem was that I, in my shortsightedness, had bought materials needed to craft only one Spudgun.
Which meant I’d have to go to the hardware store again and stock up on PVC pipes and piezo lighters.
Fine, a walk would clear my head and stretch my legs.
Hmm, I really should start some physical activity, otherwise my build resembles a skinny pole.
Or maybe not?
What if I pull something like a “super-soldier serum recipe for home use and dummies” from the system roulette, or even better — the ready-made serum itself, in a neat ampoule.
Whatever, for now I’ll stay a skinny weakling, I’ll deal with physical fitness later; priorities are set.
It was Friday, September 11, 2015, and surprisingly warm, pleasant weather outside.
So, throwing on a simple gray hoodie, jeans, and old sneakers, I left my humble abode, already thinking about what I’d do after farming CP on Spudguns.
Walking down the street, I couldn’t help but notice how much my perception of the world had changed.
Literally a day ago, I saw only gray buildings, a faceless crowd, and potential danger in every dark alley around me.
Now, my gaze latched onto details with the greed of an engineer.
I looked at scaffolding and mentally calculated how I could improve its structure by adding buttresses for greater stability.
I saw an old, humming air conditioner on a wall and mentally disassembled it into components, wondering if there was a useful fan or a copper radiator inside for future projects.
A streetlamp ceased to be just a source of light — I thought about its wiring, the type of lamp, whether I could make something useful from its durable aluminum casing.
The world had turned into a giant warehouse of materials and unrealized projects for me.
The “Celestial Forge” had infected me with the virus of creation, and now I looked at everything through the lens of the question: “What can I make from this?” It was like professional deformation amplified a thousand times.
But for now, I shouldn’t get too carried away; I already have enough to do.
At the very least, I shouldn’t ignore leatherworking, since money was spent on the kit, I need to get some output from it, and I definitely need to create the Intellect Potion.
If it gives CP, and I’m somehow absolutely certain it will, it will probably be in the hundreds.
It also depends on what I get from the second spin and how much brainpower I’ll have to process and implement it.
Lost in thought, I didn’t even notice that I had practically reached the hardware store.
There, having bought everything needed to craft five Spudguns — I couldn’t carry more in my hands, unfortunately, and revealing the existence of the inventory for such a trifle would cost me more — I headed back to my humble abode.
On the way, at one point, I noticed an unusually intense commotion among passersby.
People were stopping, craning their necks, pointing.
I looked up too.
And I saw her.
On a thin, almost invisible thread of web, slicing through the space between buildings, a black-and-white figure soared.
A female Spider.
Hated by one mustachioed journalist and, for the most part, looked upon favorably by the residents of New York.
She was close.
Flying between the buildings, she made a wide, elegant bank, and for one brief, frozen moment, our gazes almost met.
I managed to make out the details of her suit: a strict black-and-white design, form-fitting, a hood adding mystery to the silhouette, big white lenses on the mask hiding her face, but somehow seeming expressive.
She moved with an inhuman, fluid grace, like a drop of mercury, and yet I felt the power, like a bowstring drawn to its limit.
The web shot from her web-shooters with a quiet but distinct fwwp, and she flew over the street, throwing a defiant challenge at gravity.
Then she disappeared around a corner, leaving behind only stunned, open-mouthed passersby and me, standing in the middle of the sidewalk with a stupid bag of PVC pipes.
And suddenly, all my pride in the Spudgun I had created felt so pathetic, so naive and childish.
Up there in the sky was real power, real technology or mutation — it didn’t matter.
Something that placed its owner on a completely different level of existence.
And I… had built a gun that shoots potatoes.
Cold, clammy sweat broke out on me.
One thing is reading comics and watching movies; quite another is seeing it with your own eyes, in three dimensions, with real sound and the feeling of the wind from her flight.
The threats in this world were not abstract.
They were just as real, fast, and deadly as that.
And my main goal — not to die — had suddenly stopped being just an OVER-arching item on my list.
It had become an obsessive, pulsing physical necessity in my temples. Follow the newest chapters on g.com.
I need more.
Way, unimaginably more than just shooting potatoes.
Also, regarding the spider crowd… If there’s no Spider-Man here, neither Peter nor Miles, then the first one — a brilliant but insecure guy — could do some terrible things trying to follow the heroic path of his brave friend (if they’re even friends with Gwen).
And the second… He could supposedly become the successor of the Burglar, his uncle, but that’s a relatively harmless threat compared to Peter-Lizard, or Peter-Goblin, or Venom… In short, the universe is unlikely to want to let such a tasty morsel slip from its grasp in the form of a wounded genius; the question is only what path is destined for him specifically here.
And should I even get involved in this?
Alright… Obviously, I shouldn’t get involved; I’ve kind of already thought that through and accepted it.
But some threats… They might come to my home on their own, and that’s not a figure of speech.
Meaning, sooner or later I’ll have to meddle in all sorts of events, because I have absolutely no idea which of the infinite variations of the Marvel Universe I’ve ended up in, and there’s a non-zero chance of a global apocalypse for all of humanity.
And I want to live, that’s actually the OVER-arching step of all my steps in this world!
Still not reaching anything concrete, only confirming my opinion that I need to continue acting as I am now — quietly, peacefully sitting at home, not drawing attention, and building up my power — I finally reached my apartment.
On the way, I didn’t forget to stop by the supermarket and buy more potatoes, now not just food, but strategic ammunition.
[Simple weapon construction ‘Potato Cannon’ created.
Complexity: Minimal.
+40 CP gained!]
[Simple weapon construction ‘Potato Cannon’ created.
Complexity: Minimal.
+30 CP gained!]
[Simple weapon construction ‘Potato Cannon’ created.
Complexity: Minimal.
+20 CP gained!]
Whoa, system, cool it, don’t cut the CP so much for each successfully created Spudgun!
I guess this is protection against mindless grinding.
I suspect that starting from the next one, I’ll be getting 10 CP, or even less.
And I, naive fool, thought I’d make a dozen Spudguns and get 500 CP total — yeah, only in my wildest fantasies… Anyway, I now have 155 CP, and sitting comfortably on the couch with my fingers crossed for luck, I mentally pressed the glowing “Forge the Universe!
150 CP” button.
[Information package (common) received – Disassembly Risk (Mouse Hunt).
(Information package unlock costs 100 CP)]
When creating a trap, you must consider how often the hunter moves from region to region, as well as the great variety of mice capable of completely destroying the trap.
Since designing an unbreakable trap would likely make it bulky, an alternative approach is to design it so it breaks properly.
This philosophy, applied to your crafting endeavors, allows you to create things designed to safely fall apart into pieces regardless of circumstances — of course, you’ll have to reassemble the thing after it breaks, but the risk of it being completely obliterated by the power of a dragon mouse’s fire is eliminated.
You can create items that, upon destruction, break down into parts without losing their components.
Traps, weapons, or tools are easily disassembled and reassembled anywhere, making them resilient to attacks from powerful enemies.
I slowly read the description several times, and my brain began feverishly calculating possibilities.
This isn’t just a “repair skill.” This is a whole engineering philosophy.
“Break properly.” This means I can pre-embed controlled weak points into any structure, which, under critical load, will act as fuses, preventing the entire device from being blown to atoms.
I imagined creating some kind of power knuckle duster.
An enemy hits it with superhuman force.
A normal knuckle duster would either hold or crack and shatter into useless fragments.
Mine, however, designed with the “Disassembly Risk” in mind, would simply separate into several large, intact modules: a power source, a field projector, a handle.
The components are intact.
I just need to escape, spend a minute reassembling it, and I’m back in the fight.
This changes everything completely!
Durability and repairability become not passive characteristics, but an active, dynamic defense.
And what if I apply this not to defense, but to offense?
Can I create a projectile that, upon hitting a target, “properly disassembles,” releasing internal components like shrapnel or a chemical reagent with maximum destructive effect?
Or a trap that, after being triggered, isn’t destroyed but simply “unfolds,” ready for quick re-deployment?
Thoughts swarmed in my head like a maddened beehive.
This seemingly simple “common” information package is a real treasure for an engineer.
It doesn’t give a new recipe, but a new way of thinking.
At first glance, at least in the future, this skill will be very useful for me, because, for example, I’ll build a complex gadget that quickly becomes obsolete, and I’ll be able to easily disassemble it into useful components for a new project!
I won’t spend 100 CP on this skill right now, because according to my plan, unlocking the Muscle Stimulant comes next, but that’s after creating the Intellect Potion.
Damn, that means I have to go shopping again to buy everything I need for it…
And also wait for a thunderstorm to “excite” the quartz crystal lattice with lightning.
Although, okay, if I think about it carefully, I could probably manage without a thunderstorm…
The paradox is that to think carefully, I need the Intellect Potion.
I’ll have to scour the internet for an alternative way to charge the crystal.
Getting a little overwhelmed, I shook off the encroaching daze.
It was time to focus on creating the first truly awesome thing!
By creating the Intellect Potion, I would directly confirm that I am capable of creating non-trivial things that can change the course of events.
It would give me extra confidence, and I definitely shouldn’t discount the pile of CP I’ll get as a reward!
So, right now, while it’s still daytime, I go buy the crystal.