Shojiro paused at the foot of the next staircase, staring up at the crimson-tinged floor above. The air hummed unnaturally — thicker, heavier, almost suffocating. Kaiser's voice came suddenly, sharp and frantic, echoing in the chamber of the cradle like thunder through stone:
Kaiser: "Boy… don't enter that floor. It's a trap. Even I… won't be able to break you free if you step in. Yggdrasil… won't heal you in there. The creature — it can relocate its orb… something it shouldn't even be able to do. Stay right there!"
Shojiro's eyes widened, the gravity of Kaiser's tone finally hitting him.
Shojiro: "…Wait, what do you mean? I… I have to—"
Kaiser: "No! I'm breaking this pocket dimension to come rescue you, but you have to—"
Before Shojiro could even process the words, the staircase beneath his feet jerked violently upward. The floorboards twisted as if alive, and then vanished completely, leaving him suspended midair. The chamber's walls rippled, and the entrance sealed shut, a red glow cutting off any possibility of retreat.
Shojiro's mouth went dry, his hands scrabbling at the empty space where the stairs had been. Panic surged through him, his heartbeat racing.
The air itself seemed to pulse with impending doom.
He turned frantically, hoping the entrance might reappear, might open, might let him escape…
Shojiro: "W-what the hell?! Kaiser—?!"
But Kaiser's voice had gone silent, swallowed by the distance of the pocket dimension and the tower's cruel geometry. All that remained was the oppressive hum of the floor itself, a pulse that seemed to sync with Shojiro's own racing heartbeat.
The floor beneath him solidified into a dark, slick surface, and the shadows coalesced into a single, hulking silhouette. At the center of its exposed ribcage glowed a heart-shaped orb, crimson and pulsing like a living entity.
Shojiro froze, dread settling deep in his chest. He remembered Kaiser's warning — Yggdrasil wouldn't heal him, and this creature could move its orb at will.
He realized, far too late, that there was no retreat, no mercy, and no saving grace here. The tower had him.
Shojiro's chest tightened. Every instinct screamed to run, to jump, to fight… but the realization hit him like a hammer: there was no escape. He was trapped. Alone. On the fifth floor. And the fifth floor had begun.
And somewhere, in the crimson shadows ahead, the creature waited.
Kaiser's warning lingered faintly in his mind: "Don't… enter… Yggdrasil can't save you… this floor… the orb can move…"
Ahead, the creature waited—silent, patient, intelligent. Shojiro's instincts urged him forward, but doubt flickered in his chest.
The moment hesitation crept in, a sharp, searing pain flared in his chest. His heartbeat spasmed violently, twisting like molten iron in his ribcage. Vythra refused his command; energy that had always flowed freely now stagnated, locked away from his body.
Shojiro gritted his teeth, forcing a step forward. His muscles obeyed—but each motion carried the sting of his heart spasming. Even a simple swing of his fist felt like dragging lead through fire.
The Erekrath circled, tilting its eyeless head, sensing the flicker of weakness. Its jagged spine rattled, tail swiping lazily as if testing the limits of his resolve.
Shojiro lunged, fists swinging, legs pumping—but without Vythra, his strikes barely scratched the bone-plated surfaces. Each hesitation, each pause, sent a jolt of pain from his heart through his chest, radiating down his arms. It was impossible to fight at full power.
The creature lunged back, claws slashing, and Shojiro dodged instinctively. Every breath was labored, each movement a reminder: without Vythra, he was vulnerable—and his own body punished him for doubt.
The rules were clear now: he could move, he could fight, but hesitation was agony, and Vythra could not be accessed until he mastered his resolve.
Shojiro's mind raced. He could feel the creature probing him, testing for weakness, and the room itself seemed to amplify every heartbeat, every pulse of pain.
Shojiro gritted his teeth, forcing his resolve to push past the lingering pain in his chest. He focused, letting his life point flare, and Vythra surged into his arms, coating them in crimson energy. The aura shimmered violently, his muscles vibrating with contained power.
He launched himself at the Erekrath, fists raised, aiming for its bone-plated shoulders. The first strike landed—a solid crack resonated through the chamber as his knuckles slammed against the hardened armor. Pain flared instantly; a faint splintering in his fingers reminded him that, even with Vythra, the plates weren't just tough—they were nearly indestructible.
Undeterred, he shifted his momentum, wrapping his arms around the creature, trying to force it into a grapple. The plan was to use sheer strength and Vythra reinforcement to control its movements.
But the Erekrath was smarter than expected. Its spiked tail whipped around, and its exposed claws snapped through the air faster than his eyes could track. One strike connected—not fully, thankfully, just grazing his side—but the force was enough to tear through muscle slightly and send a jolt up his spine.
Shojiro felt the lingering sting of the wound—it didn't heal. No soothing from Yggdrasil, no rapid recovery, no magic patching his body. Just pain. Raw, unyielding, and constant.
The creature's wide, eyeless mouth opened in what could only be described as a silent laugh. Its intelligence radiated outward, reading his every motion. Every attempt to strike, to grapple, was countered before it even fully began.
Shojiro exhaled sharply, blood still at the corner of his mouth from the shallow slash, but he didn't hesitate. He retracted slightly, muscles taut, arms still shimmering with Vythra, and prepared for the next move—his mind racing, analyzing, adapting, aware now more than ever of the deadly combination of rules, armor, and the Erekrath's cunning.
Shojiro staggered back, chest heaving, Vythra pulsing unevenly in his arms. Every heartbeat throbbed like a hammer in his ribs, the "never hesitate" rule gnawing at him from the inside. His fists felt like lead, his mind screaming to move faster, strike harder—but his own body fought him, locking and spasming in protest.
The Erekrath loomed before him, wide-mouthed, clawed limbs scraping the floor with terrifying precision. Its spine jutted like jagged mountains, bone plates glinting under the dim crimson light of the floor. It wasn't just strong—it was aware, intelligent, and merciless. Every twitch of its limbs, every tilt of its head seemed to anticipate his next thought.
Shojiro's vision flickered. Sweat and blood stung his eyes, mixing with the sap-like residue of the previous floors. The knowledge that Yggdrasil could not heal him hit harder than any wound—the shallow slash from earlier still burned, every minor fracture screamed in agony, and there was no remedy.
He felt cornered. No allies, no retreat, no safety net. Even the staircase he had climbed to reach this floor had vanished, leaving only the abyssal space of the trial chamber and this monstrosity. Panic gnawed at the edges of his mind.
If I fail…
The thought crashed through him with brutal clarity. Failure here wasn't just losing a battle—it was slow, deliberate destruction. The Erekrath could relocate its orb, it could manipulate the environment, and with every rule in the floor designed to punish hesitation, even a single misstep could lock his own body against him.
Shojiro's breaths came faster. His chest burned with the effort of breathing, and every nerve felt electric. He flexed his hands, trying to force Vythra to respond—but even that energy seemed sluggish under the oppressive weight of fear. This floor wasn't just testing strength—it was eroding willpower, isolating him in a spiral of despair.
He took a trembling step forward. Pain flared in his knuckles, the previous crack still radiating, and his arm throbbed with the memory of every strike. The creature tilted its head, claws scraping, spine arching, as if mocking him, savoring his hesitation.
Shojiro's heart raced, not just from the fight, but from the relentless, suffocating knowledge that he could fail here—and there would be no second chance.
Every muscle screamed at him to run, to strike, to move, to do anything—but the rules of the floor, the consequences of hesitation, and the crushing awareness of the creature's intelligence kept him frozen in both mind and body.
For the first time since entering the trial, Shojiro felt something he hadn't in the cradle: utter, consuming despair.