The haft of the scythe gleamed bone-white in Jade's grip—a verdict carved into existence itself. Power coiled beneath his skin, cold and patient, whispering the quiet certainty of endings. His crimson eyes swept across the Armory one last time and found her—the silver-haired girl, Carmella.
She stood before a slender staff of pale, living wood. No jewels. No blades. Yet it pulsed with the restrained heartbeat of creation itself. Growth. Control. Life. Everything his weapon was not.
A staff for a guide, not a killer, he thought, a faint curl of interest darkening his lips. How curious.
As if drawn by the weight of his gaze, Carmella turned. Her amethyst eyes met his, sharp and knowing. The small, deliberate smile that followed was neither warm nor kind—it was a mark of recognition, of inevitability. She inclined her head once, a silent promise that they would meet again—then turned and vanished into the gold-lit haze.
For a heartbeat, Jade's world thinned. The air around her shimmered oddly, as though even light hesitated to touch her. He couldn't explain why—but a part of him knew this would not be their last crossing.
Then the air convulsed.
Reality rippled like a shattering mirror. The Armory dissolved into pure light, and in the next instant, Jade and the others were hurled back onto the obsidian plain of the Sanctuary.
The Curator awaited them. Still. Unmoving. His eyes, twin burning stars in the hollows of an age-worn face.
"The Prelude is complete," he said, voice like distant thunder. "The worthy have been filtered from the chaff."
He tapped his staff.
The world expanded.
The twilight sky tore open, revealing a vault of infinite dusk. The obsidian stretched to the horizon, humming beneath their feet as unseen forces awoke. The air grew heavy with power—ancient, unbound, and terrifying.
They arrived in waves.
From an emerald inferno strode the Dragon-Blooded, scaled and radiant, their molten eyes burning with imperial certainty. The air quivered around them, thick with primal command.
A rift of blinding white birthed the Divine Scions, perfect and cold, their beauty oppressive, their mere presence forcing weaker humans to their knees.
The ground groaned as the Titans appeared—humanoid, yet impossibly dense, their every step a tectonic rumble. Their gaze carried the patience of mountains, and the disdain of gods.
From a forest that was not there, the Elf-kin emerged, faces serene and inhuman, their movements as fluid as dreams. Their eyes shimmered with the judgment of millennia.
The shadows themselves bled into form as the Vampire Nobility arrived—pale, elegant, their smiles thin with amusement and hunger.
Then came the Wolf-kin, a low, collective growl echoing through the stillness. Muscular, feral, alive with challenge, their eyes flickered with predatory fire.
And finally, the Demi-Godlings—figures that stood between creation and its echo. Their power was not seen but felt, vibrating the marrow of every lesser being present.
The humans—Earth-Realmlings, as the others named them—stood small and fragile beneath that gathering storm. The word human felt like an insult now, a reminder of weakness.
A Dragon-Blooded exhaled smoke. A Scion didn't even deign to look their way. Contempt rolled through the ranks of the higher realms like an unspoken decree.
Jade's response was not anger. It was focus—a sharpened blade behind still eyes. His hand tightened around the scythe's cold spine. So these are the predators of the higher worlds. Good.
A chime pierced the heavy silence.
A translucent interface shimmered into the air, its words burning like scripture.
System Notification:
Floor One – Instance-Based Ascension.
Objective: Form a party of four members.
Time allotted: Twenty minutes.
Failure to comply: Automatic random assignment.
And beneath, a final line pulsed with cruel logic—
A chain is only as strong as its weakest link.
Panic bloomed.
The Sanctuary erupted into chaos. Voices clashed, egos flared. Alliances formed and crumbled in seconds.
The Dragon-Blooded clustered in shimmering circles of fire, sneering down at the mortals. "I'd sooner bind with stone than with one of you soft-skinned vermin," one spat.
The Scions ignored the scramble entirely. The Vampires bartered with charm and veiled threats. The Wolf-kin prowled, sniffing for courage. The Elf-kin observed with cold, detached calculation.
A market of desperation.
And through it all, Jade did not move.
He stood silent, watching the storm of pride and fear consume the others. The timer ticked down in his vision.
Five minutes. Three. One.
Another warning flickered before his eyes in blood-red light:
System Alert:
Thirty seconds remain. Prepare for automatic assignment.
Penalty: Failure to secure a party will result in a reduced team size and sub-optimal partner assignment.
Jade's mouth curved faintly. Sub-optimal, he mused. A blessing disguised as punishment.
The final seconds fell like a guillotine.
A sharp chime cut through the chaos. The air froze.
The next message burned across the Sanctuary:
System Alert:
Party formation failed. Penalty enacted.
Party size limited to two members.
Assigning partner… Complete.
A ripple of presence brushed his awareness. He turned.
The man who appeared beside him moved like a shadow given form—tall, lean, each motion deliberate. Hair the color of bleached bone framed a face carved with calm precision. His eyes—silver-green, like moss clinging to stone—measured Jade in a heartbeat.
He wore dark hakama and a warrior's keikogi, the fabric whispering against the wind. In his hand rested an odachi longer than most men were tall, its blade gleaming like captured moonlight.
The stranger's gaze flicked to Jade's scythe, then back. A small, wry smile.
"It seems we both failed to impress," he said quietly, his tone balanced on the edge of humor and steel. "Zero. That's what they call me. Guess we're the System's cast-offs."
Jade said nothing. But his faint nod carried weight—a mutual acknowledgment, like the meeting of two blades.
Then the Curator spoke once more, his voice echoing across eternity.
"The alliances are forged. Chains linked—iron or silk, it matters not. The Climb begins."
He lifted his staff.
The air screamed.
A maelstrom of light and chaos tore the Sanctuary open. Sapphire and emerald energies spun into a vortex, swallowing sound and sense alike. Beams of light lanced outward, impaling teams and dragging them screaming into the storm. The Dragon-Blooded vanished in fire. The Elf-kin dissolved into petals of light. The Titans crumbled like dust.
And then, it took them.
The pull was irresistible—violent, sickening. The world twisted, warped, and shattered into a thousand shards of sound and color.
Silence followed.
They stood on cracked ochre earth, beneath a bruised, dying sky. The air was hot and bitter, tasting of metal and storms. Wind howled across endless mesas, carrying the scent of dust and ozone.
A flicker of light appeared before them—words burning across the void like a commandment written in blood.
Floor One Initiated.
Objective: Annihilate all enemies.**
Instance: Locked.
Completion: Mandatory.
Failure: Termination.
The last line pulsed, fading only when Jade met its glow without flinching.
The scythe thrummed in his grasp.
So it begins.