Each floor is designed in a way that every person faces different challenges than the others to avoid them from adjusting to the set challenges. It also tests their limits, forcing them to rely on precision, timing, and intelligence
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The door to the 6th floor slams shut behind him. A faint chime marks the beginning. Kael doesn't flinch. He doesn't look up at the arcane timer overhead. He knows every second counts.
6th Floor: Spatial Disarray
The hallway stretches into nonsense. The moment he steps forward, the floor spins vertically like a turning page. Gravity slips sideways. The ceiling becomes the new floor, then changes again. Distances warp—what looks like ten steps becomes fifty, then one. Illusions of chasms yawn open mid-stride.
Even minor wind adjustments threaten to send Kael hurling into false voids or smack him into shifting walls. He moves with caution, but the unpredictable shifts force him to adjust his footing every few seconds. At one point, the ceiling collapses inward—but it's not real. He confirms it by flicking a tight wind spiral upward—if it bends and rebounds unnaturally, it's an illusion. Still, he can't rely on brute force or large blasts. Any strong gust could blow him into a trap
Sweat beads under his collar. His ankles strain from repeated changes in balance. By the end, he crouches low, crawling against a sideways wall with one hand pressed against the surface, guiding his body using delicate counter-currents of air. He surprisingly gets an exit.
5th Floor: Gauntlet of Blades
Blades—horizontal, vertical, diagonal—begin spinning in sequence, filling the narrow hallway. Some are real. Others are illusions. Motion sensors emit pressure pulses across the space.
Each trap responds to the tiniest shift in air. Even breathing can trigger them. He stands at the entrance, holding his breath, scanning. One wrong footfall and the floor could launch a blade from below.He calculates the rotations. It's fast. Too fast. He lets a feather-light breeze snake along the corridor—not enough to activate the traps, but just enough to measure the space between blades. He steps forward—but one of the pressure triggers clicks. A real blade shoots toward him.He flattens instantly, wind bursting beneath his feet, cushioning his fall. The blade slices above his head, cutting a lock of his hair.Now he knows: the sensors aren't just reactionary—they adapt. With every step, he has to vary his wind output precisely. He crawls, ducks, then jumps straight into a compressed updraft that lifts him over a final rotating blade.His boots touch the ground—barely. The last sensor flashes red, but he's already through.
4th Floor: Hall of Echoing Soldiers
The room is dense with fog. Shadows shift in the mist—dozens of humanoid figures patrol with silent, measured steps. Any sound draws them in.
Kael barely takes a step before the mist muffles his vision. One illusionary soldier passes just a meter from him—too close. He freezes, heart thudding loud enough to be heard.To survive, he uses whisper currents—tiny flows of air from his fingertips, so faint they don't ripple fabric. These currents loop around each figure, registering how the air resists or moves.Real soldiers have core pressure. Illusions don't. But it takes several precious seconds to check each one. At one point, a soldier turns sharply toward him. Kael stifles the reflex to strike and instead folds a sharp wind under his boot to launch him backward into the fog.When he disables a soldier, it's with a subtle trip: he uses wind like a needle under the soldier's foot. No force. Just imbalance.By the time he escapes, the fog stings his lungs and his shoulders are tight with restraint.
-3rd Floor: Mirror Prison Time
This room is almost blinding—mirrors cover every surface. With each movement, the reflections multiply. Step wrong, and a clone emerges. The clones use the same magic as him—but without finesse.
The moment Kael steps forward, a flicker emerges behind him—his clone. It hurls a blast of slicing wind. Kael ducks, but not fast enough—a gash opens along his sleeve.He clenches his jaw. Every use of wind risks creating more clones. So he stops using visible magic entirely. Instead, he exhales controlled breaths in circular rhythm—subtle enough to fog up specific mirrors without exposing his casting.He uses condensation to "tag" mirrors he's passed. He uses soundless pulses to test pressure resonance—one mirror doesn't respond like the others. It's a hidden door.Another clone appears. This time, Kael doesn't dodge. He draws the clone in with a false stumble, then directs a reverse-draft that spins it around into another mirror—shattering both.He limps out—sleeve torn. He scans the area and sees no exit . He comes to the conclusion that one of the mirrors has to be his way out. He casts out a magic spell that enables a circular field of wind to appear on both his eyes. This is to prevent him from seeing too many illusions by the field reducing the light his eyes are able to project. Then he focuses in mana channeling and through this he is able to vision any magical abject around him. He identifies the exit and comes out.
2nd Floor: Compression Chamber
He steps in—and can barely breathe. The pressure is crushing. Every breath feels like inhaling thick syrup. The air tries to crush his lungs.
To make this worse, wind magic works against him. Any use of it increases resistance. He's sweating heavily now, his arms shaking. His body aches from earlier trials. He tries to walk—his legs move an inch at a time.He shifts tactics.Kael cups his hands slowly and begins creating a wind tunnel—not to move, but to carve a path ahead. A slow vortex drills forward, forcing the pressure to disperse. His breath is thin, his head ringing from lack of oxygen, but he doesn't stop.At one point, the tunnel wavers—and the pressure clamps around his ribs. He nearly falls. But he plants his foot into a controlled slipstream, lunging into the compressed corridor before it collapses.He crashes into the exit door, chest heaving.
1st Floor: The Silent Crowd
Twenty civilians stand motionless. Among them: three illusion soldiers disguised with suppressive auras. The moment one is harmed, the test ends—success or failure.
Kael closes his eyes.A quiet breeze flows from his chest—wide, but delicate. It curls around ankles, ears, and sleeves. He watches how the air pulls at clothing—real illusions behave too perfectly. But one woman doesn't sway at all.Then two men blink in unison.Found them.He breathes in, then exhales—a sharp inward vacuum pulls the three targets off their feet. No damage. Just temporary unconsciousness. He walks out of the building.
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[Final time: 11 minutes 33 seconds ]
Kael walks through, shoulders slumped—but not broken.Observers murmur
"Too close. Barely made it.""Cautious, very cautious... doesn't rely on brute force."
Kael doesn't respond. He steps into the light, gaze distant. He could've passed in a blink of an eye. But that's not the goal.-. He inwardly replays all the challenges he had faced in the building but if he had used his full power.
"Quite the impression I gave there, not bad. I might just love this play" Kael mused and let out a smile.