The silence that followed was unbearable.
No growl, no movement — only the faint dripping of blood onto the stone floor.
Shojiro's chest rose and fell in broken rhythm, each breath a battle. The Erekrath's tail still jutted through his torso, pinning him to the ground like a crucified beast. His vision was dimming, the crimson glow of his Vythra flickering out like a dying ember.
The crushed fragments of the orb in his hand pulsed faintly, then dissolved into dust that scattered into the air. The moment it vanished, Erekrath's corpse began to collapse — bones shattering inward, the exposed spine curling like a dying serpent, its final roar trapped inside its throat.
Shojiro exhaled, trembling.
He tried to stand — his legs refused.
Shojiro (hoarse whisper):
"Still not… done yet…"
He reached for the creature's tail impaling him. His fingers slipped on his own blood. The pain was so sharp it almost silenced him — almost.
With a guttural snarl, he wrapped his trembling hands around the bone spear and ripped it out.
The moment it slid free, a geyser of blood erupted from the wound. Shojiro fell to his knees, choking on his own breath.
He pressed a palm to the gaping hole, but there was no Yggdrasil to heal him now. No light. No warmth. Only a dull, cold emptiness spreading through his chest.
For a brief second, he wondered if this was what death really felt like — not fear, not darkness, but… silence.
His one good eye drifted upward. The ceiling of the tower rippled faintly, the cracked stone glowing with soft white veins.
Something — or someone — was responding.
Then he heard it.
A faint echo of his father's voice.
"That's my boy… Still standing, huh?"
Shojiro blinked. His father's tone wasn't from memory — it came from deep within his own heartbeat.
Each pulse now thudded stronger, steadier. Not just his. It was Tetsuro's. The one his father had given him.
The bleeding slowed. The crimson Vythra began to shimmer weakly around the wound, not healing it, but holding it shut.
Shojiro smirked weakly.
Shojiro: "Guess… I'm too stubborn to die, huh, old man?"
His hand fell away, his arm heavy.
He slumped forward onto the stone floor, breathing shallow but alive — barely.
The fifth floor was silent once more.
Erekrath was gone. The crimson mist that had hung in the air slowly dispersed, revealing the faint glimmer of a door — the exit to the surface.
But Shojiro didn't move toward it. He was too broken to even crawl.
So he stayed there — surrounded by the ashes of his victory, bleeding, breathing, staring up at nothing — until the faint hum of Yggdrasil's power finally seeped back into the world above.
A single thread of green light descended from the ceiling, coiling around his body.
[System Restoration: Partial Connection to Yggdrasil Restored.]
The light sank into his wounds, not to heal, but to keep him alive. Barely.
And as his consciousness began to fade, Shojiro's final thought was a whisper in his mind:
"If that was the fifth floor… what the hell waits above?"
The moment Shojiro's blood hit the cracked stone, the entire floor began to tremble.
The ground pulsed like a heartbeat gone berserk — thud-thud-thud — before splitting open with violent cracks of crimson light. The air turned molten, bending and warping as the fifth floor's space began to fold in on itself.
The Erekrath's remains disintegrated into dust, its last echo a screech swallowed by the collapsing void.
Shojiro tried to lift his head, vision fading in and out.
He could feel it — the pocket dimension was dying.
Then Kaiser's voice boomed from nowhere and everywhere at once:
"Boy! Hold on! The dimension's destabilizing — that thing was the anchor!"
The world twisted violently — stone floors rippling into liquid light, reality folding in jagged spirals. Shojiro's body was dragged upward, his broken limbs flailing in the distortion.
Kaiser's voice cut through again, fierce but proud:
"You did it, brat! You broke it apart! Now come back!"
Everything went white.
When Shojiro opened his eye, he was kneeling on cold marble — back in the trial chamber within the Cradle of Echoes.
The crimson fog of the tower was gone, replaced by the ethereal silver glow of Yggdrasil's chamber.
Kaiser stood before him, arms folded, the aura of a god burning faintly around him. His expression was unreadable — half disbelief, half pride.
Then the healing began.
Shojiro's body flared with pure white Vythra. The shredded muscles reknit. Bones slid back into place with wet cracks. His fingers regenerated, flesh wrapping back over them. His ruined left eye reformed — iris first, then the sclera, glowing crimson for a heartbeat before returning to normal.
Shojiro gasped and clenched his fists, testing them.
No pain. No cracks. No weakness.
Kaiser chuckled — deep and thunderous.
"Hah! I told you not to go in there, boy… but damn, you came back alive."
Shojiro exhaled hard, standing straight despite the lingering tremors in his muscles.
Shojiro: "Barely… felt like dying five times."
Kaiser smirked.
"You did. But you didn't stay dead — and that's what makes you worthy."
Behind him, the air shimmered. The Shard of the Fifth Fragment floated into view, glowing like crystallized blood and starlight. It pulsed in rhythm with Shojiro's heart.
Kaiser gestured toward it.
"Go on, boy. You've earned it. Touch that shard."
"Let it recognize your struggle."
Shojiro stepped forward, the shard's light reflecting in his restored eye. He reached out, hesitating only for a heartbeat—then gripped it.
The shard flared violently, unleashing a beam of red light that struck Shojiro's chest.
His life point — the swirling core of his being — tore open like an eye awakening. The shard liquefied into pure energy and shot inside, embedding itself deep within the crimson core.
Shojiro screamed — not in pain, but from the overwhelming rush of power. His veins glowed red, his heart pulsing like an engine ready to explode.
Kaiser's voice echoed above the roar:
"You've taken the Fifth Fragment into your life point. From this point on — you're not just surviving, Shojiro."
"You're evolving."
The light faded.
Shojiro fell to one knee, panting — alive, renewed, and stronger than ever.