Chapter 2 – Something Different
The chamber erupted in a cacophony of voices, a thousand desperate shouts crashing together like waves against jagged rocks. "Soul Mark! Soul Mark!" They yelled it over and over, fists pumping, eyes wide with that fragile spark of hope the kind that hadn't been beaten out of them yet. These poor bastards, fresh from their worlds, still believed the Tower was handing out gifts. Fairies with fire in their veins, swords that could cleave mountains, eyes that saw through illusions. Whatever twisted shape the Tower decided to mold onto their souls this time, they clung to it like it was salvation.
I didn't move. Didn't shout. What was the point? I knew mine inside out, had memorized its cruel edges through thirteen thousand resets. The black letters hovered there in front of me, unyielding as always, glowing faintly against the cold air like a death sentence etched in smoke.
Soul Mark: Eternal Death
Rank: Unknown
Description: [Corrupted/Glitched]
No hope. No edges to sharpen into a weapon. Just the same void promise: die, reset, repeat. I'd relied on this shit for loops that blurred into nightmares, scraping by on wits alone while everyone else got their shiny toys. Same as the last 13,007 times. The familiarity of it was almost comforting, like an old scar that ached in the rain.
Around me, the circus unfolded. Cheers exploded from the front ranks a burly orc with tusks like scimitars roared in triumph, his arms bulging as ethereal chains wrapped around them, promising unbreakable strength. "Crush 'em all!" he bellowed, pounding his chest until the sound echoed off the marble. Nearby, a slip of an elf girl burst into golden light, her skin shimmering like she'd swallowed a star. "I'm... I'm the chosen one!" she screamed, tears streaming down her face, hands trembling as if she could already feel the crown of destiny settling on her brow. Laughter bubbled up from a cluster of humans in tattered modern clothes, one slapping another's back over a "Shadow Step" mark that let him vanish and reappear in puffs of inky mist. Same clowns, different greasepaint. Every loop, the faces changed, but the show? Identical. Desperation dressed as excitement, right before the Tower ripped the mask off.
I tuned it out, letting the noise wash over me like distant thunder. My eyes drifted up to Avilia, still suspended in that lazy hover, arms crossed beneath her chest like a queen surveying her ants. Her golden eyes gleamed with that eternal boredom, lips curled in a smirk so faint it might've been pity or just indigestion from whatever demons ate for breakfast. She always gave them this: thirty seconds of unbridled hope. Let them taste the illusion of power, feel the rush of possibility. It made the fall hit harder when the gates opened and the real meat grinder started. I'd seen her do it thirteen thousand times, each iteration etching deeper lines of apathy into her porcelain face. But today... something flickered in those predator eyes. A shadow of interest? Nah. Couldn't be.
I knew the countdown better than my own pulse.
Three... the murmurs peaked, a final wave of "What if I'm special?" rippling through the crowd.
Two... Avilia's smirk deepened, like she could smell the sweat of their dreams turning sour.
One...
The floor shuddered beneath my bare feet, a deep groan rising from the stone like the Tower itself was stretching awake. Dust sifted from the seams in the ceiling, the swirling nebulae above twisting into furious spirals of purple and black. Massive gates ten of them, carved from the same obsidian as the Tower's spine ground open on every side of the chamber. Hinges screamed like damned souls, revealing glimpses of the starter paths to Floor 1. Ten flavors of hell, tailored for the weak to break on.
One gate yawned into a verdant forest, leaves rustling with hidden fangs goblins and worse lurking in the underbrush. Another belched volcanic fury, rivers of lava snaking through ash-choked badlands where fire elementals waited to roast the unwary. A third spat out endless urban ruins, crumbling skyscrapers tangled with spectral chains, haunted by undead packs that hungered for fresh meat. The air from each portal carried its own stench: damp earth and rot from the woods, sulfur and brimstone from the inferno, decay and rust from the cities. Didn't matter which one they picked. They all funneled into the same grind: blood on your hands, betrayal at your back, and for me, another naked reset in this godforsaken hall.
The newbies charged like a stampede of blind idiots, no clue what waited beyond those thresholds. A knot of elves bolted for the forest gate, elegant bows already materializing in their grips, chattering about "nature's embrace." The orc from earlier thundered toward the volcano, laughing like it was a bar brawl. The glowing girl hesitated at the ruins, then plunged in with a sob of determination. They shoved and stumbled over each other, weapons half-formed, soul marks flickering like faulty neon signs. Hope made them fast, but fear would make them dead.
I stayed rooted, arms loose at my sides, the cold marble biting into my soles. Let them run. I'd walked every one of these paths a hundred times over knew the goblin ambushes in the woods, the lava traps in the blaze, the ghost swarms in the rubble. But this time... something itched under my skin, a prickle that had nothing to do with the chill.
My soul mark. It was still the same dead letters, sure. But underneath, faint as a whisper in a storm, a second line shimmered into existence. Tiny. Flickering. Like the Tower's code had finally glitched after all these loops.
**Hidden condition met. Evolution path unlocked.**
I blinked. Once. Hard. The words didn't fade. They pulsed, insistent, like a vein throbbing under bruised flesh.
Thirteen thousand eight times.
Thirteen thousand eight resets, and I'd stared at those two word Eternal Death until they were burned into my retinas. No evolutions. No paths. Just the endless cycle, a curse so pure it mocked improvement. And now... this? A crack in the unbreakable? My heart the traitorous lump that's stopped thirteen thousand times before actually kicked. Once. Hard enough to echo in my ribs.
I clenched my fist, hiding the glow before any straggler could glance my way. Paranoia was my oldest friend; one slip, and "regressor" whispers would start again. Guild hunts. Torture sessions. That bitch on Floor 47 peeling secrets from my screams.
Up above, Avilia's gaze swept the emptying chamber one final time, golden eyes carving through the haze like searchlights. They landed on me. Locked. For half a heartbeat long enough for the world to tilt she held there. Her head tilted, just a fraction, that bored smirk cracking into something almost... curious? Like she'd caught a whiff of something rotten in her perfect little game.
Then it was gone. She vanished in a lazy swirl of crimson smoke, embers scattering like dying stars, off to whatever perch she haunted between summons. Bored again. Always bored.
The last echoes of footsteps faded. The gates ground half-shut, leaving slivers of otherworldly light slashing across the floor. The chamber fell silent, save for the wet drip-drip of blood from the headless corpse up front. Its body lay twisted, jeans soaked dark, t-shirt riddled with bone shards. A million summoned, and the Tower always culled one for the show. Efficient.
I was alone.
I uncurled my fist. The text had sharpened, the glitch resolving into clarity. Beside the familiar Eternal Death , something new bloomed a branching icon, like roots cracking stone. No, not just a line. A whole panel unfolded in the air, translucent and humming with forbidden energy.
Soul Layer: 0Class
Unlocked: Reaper
Rank: Eternal
I barked a laugh raw, jagged, scraping my throat like broken glass. It bounced off the empty walls, too loud, too broken. A class? Me? In 13,007 regressions, I'd clawed through floors as a nobody. No class. No layer. Just endless struggle: die to goblins, reset; ally with a "friend" who sells you for a potion, reset; push to Floor 50 only to get backstabbed by the one person you let close, reset. I'd begged the Tower for anything a spark of fire, a sliver of speed, hell, even a healing tick. But a class? And Eternal rank?
No fucking way.
Eternal rank was legend. Whispers in the higher floors, the kind of power that turned climbers into demigods. I'd scavenged Eternal items before potions that knit flesh from vapor, weapons that drank souls like wine, skills that bent time around their edges. But a class? That was the Tower's crown jewel, the thing that fused your soul mark to your very essence, turning you into a walking apocalypse. Reapers... I'd heard tales in my deeper loops. Shadow-wreathed figures who harvested lives like wheat, death itself trailing in their wake. Unkillable. Unforgiving. The kind of monster that made even Avilia glance twice.
"Tell me this isn't a dream," I muttered, flexing my fingers. The panel didn't waver. Solid. Real. My pulse hammered, a traitor's drumbeat after years of numb quiet. Hope? No, not hope. This was a blade, sharp and double-edged. The Tower didn't give gifts without teeth.
"Soul Mark," I whispered again, just to feel it roll off my tongue. The panel expanded, layers peeling back like onion skin over a void.
**Soul Mark: Eternal Death**
**Description: [Evolution Active] Death is not an end, but a door. Harvest the fallen to fuel your ascent. Rank souls, claim their essence, or let the cycle claim you. Warning: Overharvest invites the Void's gaze.
Soul Layer: 0 (Awakening)
Class: Reaper (Eternal Rank)
Passive: Soul Harvest – Absorb fragments of defeated foes to bolster stats. (0/∞)
Active: Death's Grasp – [Locked until Layer 1]
Evolution Path: [13,008 Cycles Met – Threshold Breached]
The words blurred as my breath caught. Thirteen thousand deaths. That's what unlocked it? The sheer, grinding weight of my curse, looped until it cracked the system? A grim smile tugged at my lips. Fitting. The Tower's own poison, turned back on it.
"Now, now, dear," a voice purred from the shadows, silk over steel. "It's getting late. Don't you think you should move along?"
I whipped around, hand half-raised in a reflex that had saved me a thousand times. There she was Avilia, materializing from nothing, perched on the edge of the bloodied corpse like it was a throne. Her crimson smoke curled around her ankles, golden eyes locked on me with that same curious tilt. Up close, she was even more unnerving: porcelain skin flawless as carved marble, midnight hair spilling like ink over one shoulder, the faint glow of runes tracing her collarbone like veins of captured lightning. She looked twenty, played the part of the bored overseer, but I knew better. Floor 500 ranker. Tower ranking 982 overall. Sharp as a flayer's knife, and twice as likely to gut you for fun.
She dangled one leg, her obsidian robe parting just enough to flash the curve of her thigh distracting, deliberate. "Most climbers are already knee-deep in their first regrets. And you... lingering like a ghost who forgot to haunt." Her smirk deepened, eyes flicking to my clenched fist. "Something *interesting* this loop, regressor?"
My gut twisted. She knew. Of course she did overseers like her had eyes in the ether, threads woven into every summon. Deny it? Useless. Play it off? Maybe buy time. "Just savoring the quiet, Avilia. You know how it is. The screams get old after a while."
She laughed a low, throaty sound that echoed like breaking glass. "Oh, I do. But you... you're different this time. The air tastes of change around you." She slid off the corpse, landing soundless as a shadow, circling me slow. Her wings rustled faintly, crimson feathers brushing the air. "Eternal Death, hmm? Such a waste on someone so... persistent. But now?" She leaned in, breath cool against my ear, voice dropping to a whisper. "I smell evolution. Careful, little reaper. The Tower doesn't like its toys upgrading without permission."
I held still, every nerve screaming to bolt. But running from her? Suicide. "Advice from a 500-floorer? I'm touched. What's the catch?"
Her eyes sparkled, amused. "The catch is always the same, dear. Power like that? It hungers. Feed it... or it feeds on you." She straightened, waving a lazy hand. The gates groaned wider, as if at her command. "Now go. Play your game. And Lumine?" She paused at the threshold of smoke, half-gone already. "Don't die *too* quickly. I'd hate to miss the show."
Then she was gone. Again.
I exhaled, shaky. Reaper. Eternal. The word thrummed in my veins like stolen fire. No time to unpack it. The gates wouldn't stay open forever stragglers got culled with the rest.
I scanned the portals, muscle memory kicking in. Forest for stealth, volcano for brute force, ruins for traps. But easiest? Always the goblin gate. Green haze shimmering like poisoned emeralds, promising "simple" kills for noobs. I'd cleared it blindfolded in past loops ambush points, weak spots, even the hidden loot caches. Perfect for testing this... whatever the hell I'd become.
I walked to it, bare feet silent on the slick marble, the drip of blood marking my trail like breadcrumbs. The air from the gate hit me first: thick, humid, laced with the tang of wet leaves and unwashed hides. No turning back. I stepped through.
The world inverted.
Gravity yanked me like a hook through the gut. I was falling skyward? No, plummeting from an endless canopy of gnarled branches, wind howling in my ears, stomach lurching as the forest rushed up. This was the "welcome" mechanic, same every time: a freefall drop to disorient, cull the clumsy. Branches whipped past, leaves stinging like needles. My arms pinwheeled on instinct, but I knew the trick wait for the shift.
It came at fifty feet: a subtle hum in the air, gravity inverting like a sigh. The fall slowed to a drift, body light as ash, until my boots kissed mossy earth with barely a crunch. I landed crouched, knees flexing, breath steady. Around me, the forest sprawled towering oaks draped in vines, underbrush thick with ferns and thorns, shafts of dappled sunlight piercing the gloom like accusatory fingers. Birdsong? No. The distant chitter of goblins, sharp and mocking.
I wasn't alone. Scattered impacts echoed newbies hitting dirt nearby, some graceful, most sprawling in heaps of curses and bruises. An elf girl tumbled into a bush ten yards off, bow snapping as she flailed. The orc from earlier crashed like a felled tree, bellowing as he rolled to his feet. Eyes darted, alliances forming in frantic whispers: "You got fire? I'll tank!" Hope, still clinging.
Then it hit. The announcement.
A massive panel materialized in the air, golden-edged and unignorable, hovering like a guillotine blade for all to see.
Floor 1 – Goblin Hollows
Mission: Slay 150 Goblins (Group Total). Collect 10 Goblin Chieftain Tusks for Bonus Clearance.
Time Limit: 24 Hours.
Rewards: Base Stats +1 (All), Floor Clearance Token, Random Soul Fragment.
Failure Penalty: Instant Death. No Mercy.
The words hung there, stark and final. Gasps rippled through the group thirty, maybe forty of us who'd picked this path. "One-fifty? That's... doable, right?" someone stammered. The orc grinned, cracking knuckles. "Easy meat." But I saw the cracks: the elf's hands shaking on her broken bow, the humans clustering too tight, already eyeing each other like threats.
Goblins. Weak singly, deadly in packs. Green-skinned vermin with rusty blades and a knack for swarming. I'd died to them my first hundred loops overwhelmed, undergeared, betrayed by "allies" who bolted at the first scream. But now? With this?
I flexed my hand. The Reaper panel flickered to life unbidden, a shadow overlay on the world: faint auras around the trees, like veins pulsing with hidden life. One goblin scout, skulking fifty paces east. Soul Layer 0 hummed, hungry.
For the first time in thirteen thousand deaths, I smiled. Real. Sharp.
Let the harvest begin.