SSS-Rank Skill Copy: I Can Steal Every Class

The Awakening Crystal hovered in the center of the grand auditorium casting a cold blue light over the thousands of students gathered below. It was a massive jagged monolith of pure mana pulled from the depths of the first Towers thirty years ago. For the students of the Johannesburg Mega City Academy this crystal represented the absolute peak of human existence. It was the judge the jury and the executioner of their futures.

A single touch would scan their soul and assign them a Class. That Class would dictate everything. It would decide if they lived in the glittering upper spires of the city or if they rotted in the toxic slums below. It would decide if they ate synthetic nutrient paste or real meat. It would decide if they were a god or an insect.

Glen Mcdonald stood in the long line of waiting students keeping his face completely blank. He was eighteen years old but his eyes held the exhausted weight of someone much older. He wore a faded gray uniform that had been stitched back together at the seams multiple times. His worn out shoes scuffed against the polished marble floor. He did not fidget. He did not whisper to the students next to him. Growing up in Sector Nine the poorest and most dangerous district in the city had taught him the most important rule of survival. Never show anyone that you are bleeding. Never let them see your fear.

"Next. Glen Mcdonald."

The voice of the head examiner echoed through the massive vaulted ceiling of the auditorium. The murmurs of the crowd died down.

Glen stepped forward. He walked up the pristine white stairs toward the floating crystal. His heart hammered against his ribs but his expression remained a mask of quiet indifference. He raised his right hand and placed his palm flat against the freezing surface of the stone.

For a moment the world stopped. A surge of energy rushed up his arm diving straight into his chest. It felt like ice water flooding his veins searching for a spark of magic searching for his potential. Then the crystal flashed. It did not glow with the brilliant gold of an S Class or the fierce crimson of an A Rank.

It pulsed with a dull sickly gray light.

A holographic system screen materialized in the air above him projecting his results for the entire academy to see.

Name: Glen Mcdonald

Mana Affinity: Lowest Tier

Class: F Rank Mimic

Silence hung in the air for exactly two seconds. Then the laughter started. It began as a few scattered chuckles from the elite seating area and quickly erupted into a roaring wave of mockery that filled the entire auditorium.

"A Mimic?" a voice sneered from the front row.

Glen shifted his gaze. Fraser Lennox stood up leaning against the velvet railing. Fraser was the heir to a wealthy guild family. He had awakened as a B Rank Pyromancer just an hour earlier. He wore a tailored suit that cost more than Glen and his mother made in a decade. His arrogant smile was perfectly practiced.

"What are you going to do Mcdonald?" Fraser called out his voice amplified by the acoustics of the room. "Are you going to copy my fire spells and produce a warm breeze? Maybe you can mimic a shield and act as a human meat sack for the real hunters."

More laughter echoed around the room. Even the examiners offered Glen nothing but looks of profound pity. The Mimic class was universally considered the worst awakening in human history. It allowed the user to temporarily copy a skill they observed but the copied version was always a fraction of the original strength. It was a useless parlor trick. No guild would ever recruit a Mimic. No academy would offer them a scholarship.

Glen pulled his hand away from the crystal. He did not clench his fists. He did not glare at Fraser. He simply turned around and walked down the stairs. His face remained an unreadable mask. He analyzed the situation with cold detachment. The academy path was dead. The corporate sponsorships were gone. He was entirely on his own.

As he pushed through the heavy brass doors of the auditorium and stepped out into the smog filled air of the city he pulled his cracked phone from his pocket. The screen flickered before displaying a bright red notification.

Medical Bill Past Due. Final Notice. Account Sent to Collections.

Glen stared at the words until they burned into his retinas. His mother worked maintenance in the Tower infrastructure zones. It was brutal back breaking labor repairing the mana conduits that powered the glittering upper city. The constant exposure to raw unfiltered Tower energy was destroying her lungs. The synthetic medicine keeping her breathing cost a fortune. He needed money today. Not tomorrow. Not next week. Today.

He shoved the phone back into his pocket and pulled his hood over his head. He walked away from the academy leaving the laughter behind him. He had a destination in mind.

An hour later Glen stood outside the gaping black entrance of an E Rank dungeon located on the industrial outskirts of the city. The area was a chaotic mess of armored hunters shouting merchants and heavily armed guild mercenaries. The air smelled of ozone cheap alcohol and dried monster blood.

Glen walked past the recruitment tents and headed straight for the logistics pavilion. He needed a job and there was only one job available for an F Rank failure. He was going to be a porter.

Duncan Carmichael the logistics manager for the local guild branch sat behind a metal desk tapping on a digital clipboard. Duncan was a D Rank Appraiser a man who used his minor status to bully anyone beneath him. He had greasy hair and a permanent sneer etched into his face.

"You are late" Duncan said without looking up. "And you look like garbage. What is your class kid?"

"F Rank Mimic" Glen said his voice flat and even.

Duncan finally looked up his eyes widening in amusement. He let out a harsh barking laugh. "A Mimic? You have got to be kidding me. You are basically a walking corpse. I should not even let you carry the bags. You will probably trip and break your neck."

"I can carry the weight" Glen said. "I need the payout."

Duncan smiled a cruel predatory smile. "Fine. But you are taking the Vanguard party. They are moving out in five minutes. If you drop their loot or get in their way they will leave you behind to rot. Sign here."

Glen signed the digital waiver signing away his right to sue the guild if he died inside the dungeon. He walked over to the supply pile and strapped a massive reinforced backpack over his shoulders. It weighed nearly fifty pounds empty.

The Vanguard party consisted of five arrogant rookies fresh out of a private training facility. They wore shining pristine armor and carried weapons humming with expensive enchantments. They looked at Glen like he was a stain on the bottom of their boots.

"Keep up trash" the party leader a swordsman with slicked back hair ordered. "You stay ten paces behind us. You do not speak. You do not touch anything until the monsters are dead. If you mess up I will break your legs myself."

Glen adjusted the heavy straps of his backpack. "Understood."

They stepped through the shimmering black portal and entered the dungeon.

The interior of the E Rank dungeon was a sprawling damp cavern system. Glowing blue moss clung to the jagged stone walls providing a dim eerie light. For the first hour everything proceeded exactly as expected. The Vanguard party encountered low level slime monsters and weak cave bats. The rookies slaughtered them with excessive flashy attacks wasting their mana to show off for each other.

Glen followed silently in the shadows. He dropped to his knees harvesting the monster cores with a rusted combat knife and tossing them into his heavy pack. His hands were covered in foul smelling slime and blood but his mind was working at a terrifying speed.

He watched the party leader swing his sword. He watched the mage cast basic elemental bolts. His Mimic class passively analyzed their movements breaking down the flow of their mana. He could feel the phantom echo of their skills in his mind but he knew if he tried to use them the output would be pathetic. He remained quiet suppressing his frustration. He just needed to finish this run collect his meager pay and buy his mother her medicine.

Then the cavern walls began to pulse.

Glen stopped walking. He tilted his head. The glowing blue moss on the walls suddenly flickered and turned a violent sickening crimson. The temperature in the cavern plummeted. The air grew incredibly heavy pressing down on his lungs like he was breathing underwater.

"What is happening?" the rookie mage yelled her voice trembling. Her glowing staff flickered and died.

A deafening grinding crash echoed through the cavern. Glen spun around. The shimmering portal that served as the dungeon exit had violently snapped shut sealing them inside the dark stone walls.

A holographic system prompt flashed in front of Glen glowing with a blood red warning.

Warning. Mana fracture detected.

E Rank dungeon mutating.

Threat level upgraded to C Rank Death Zone.

The ground shook violently. From the deep shadows of the cavern a massive figure stepped into the crimson light. It was not a slime. It was not a cave bat.

It was a Hobgoblin standing eight feet tall. Its thick muscular body was covered in jagged plates of dark iron armor fused directly into its skin. Its eyes burned with pure unadulterated malice and it dragged a massive rusted greatsword across the stone floor sending sparks flying into the dark air.

The elite rookies froze. All their arrogance all their expensive armor and flashy weapons meant absolutely nothing in the face of a true predator. The party leader dropped his sword his hands shaking uncontrollably.

"Run" the leader screamed.

The five rookies turned and sprinted in the opposite direction abandoning the heavy loot abandoning their formation and abandoning their porter without a second thought.

Glen did not run. He stood perfectly still the heavy backpack digging into his shoulders. He stared up at the towering Blood Iron Hobgoblin as it raised its massive blade. His heart pounded a frantic rhythm against his ribs but his mind was completely clear. The quiet kid from the slums stared death in the face and prepared to fight.