Jass, Deacon, and Esmerelda stood shoulder to shoulder at the base of the Waystone with their hands pressed against it. A ripple of energy surged from the contact, and in front of them, translucent blue windows blinked into view.
[SYSTEM NOTICE]
You are eligible to enter Floor One.
Confirm transfer?
[YES] [NO]
"Well," he said, offering a wry smile, as his eyes remained glued to the System Notice in front of him. "Good luck. I'll see you both on the other side."
"Just don't die like an idiot to some Level 1 rat, okay?" Jass said with a grin, glancing at Deacon and Esmerelda.
Esmerelda nodded, her expression solemn, a far cry from her normal expression, as she whispered something beneath her breath.
Deacon's finger pressed on: [YES]
The world warped around him.
Jass vanished first, engulfed in a pillar of pale blue light that shot skyward without warning. A second later, Esmerelda followed with her own column of soft green light flaring upward as her form dissolved into it.
Then, light surged beneath Deacon's feet, swallowing him whole in a sudden blaze of gold.
When Deacon opened his eyes, everything around him was different. Gone was the beautiful garden of the academy. It had vanished, replaced by an urban wasteland of fungus, rot, and toxin.
He stood at the edge of a rooftop that was practically decorated with cracks, shit, and pus. Above him was a barren expanse of orange-gray sky, streaked with storm clouds and the distant smear of fire, that is what replaced the beautiful blue skies of Floor Zero.
Skyscrapers were looming above him, half-destroyed, and covered in massive pus-like growths and vines. There were automobiles, or what the Academy called "automobiles" in ancient Earth history texts, on the ground below, rusted in place and in various positions and sizes.
What the hell is this? Deacon asked himself, eyes darting from shadowed alleyways to broken windows, every sense alert. "This… wasn't in any of the lectures going over potential Floor stages," he muttered aloud.
None of the illustrations in the Academy's Floor Catalogues looked like this. They had covered volcanic biomes, crystalline cave systems, endless deserts, jungle Floors filled with mana beasts, even cursed tomb realms – but not whatever the hell this was.
Not a single mention of rotted towers made of metal or rusted machines. Nothing about buildings as tall as mountains.
The architecture was bizarre, like something out of the old Earth textbooks that most people assumed were half-lies and glorified fiction anyway.
Deacon's eyes narrowed.
Is this what Earth was like?
The thought crept up his spine. No way.
He inhaled and immediately regretted that he had.
His face twisted in disgust at the thick, foul stench of mold, rust, and rotting wood all mingling into something he could only compare to the time when he got trapped in a room full of Bloated Boiler Zombies in his second week of attending the academy.
The air clung to the back of his throat like grime, each breath weighing down his lungs with the sickly heaviness of decay, as if the rot itself had seeped inside him.
His eyes grew even wider at the realization of the sudden feeling. No fucking way!
Without hesitation, both hands shot to the third pouch on his right. He pulled it open, fingers wrapping around the familiar texture of a black sponge-like mask that glinted a soft silver glow in the dark.
He slapped it over his mouth and nose, tugging the straps around his ears. The air enchantments inside flared to life, filtering the rot with a quiet hiss.
He coughed once, eyes watering, then straightened. "Note to self," he muttered behind the mask, "I forgot that some Floors don't normally have breathable air in them."
A low mechanical creak echoed somewhere below. Then, a dragging sound. Wet. Organic. Followed by the scratch of claws on asphalt.
Deacon froze.
He made his way slowly to the rooftop edge he was on, taking special care not to approach the broken stone nearest the edge. He crouched low, pushed his head in between the railing's bars, and peered down at the ruined and infested street below.
It's a seventy-three-meter drop, he noted.
Figures moved through the wreckage, some were four-legged, fur-matted beasts with grotesquely bloated muscles and glowing eyes; others were bipedal, and a few even moved on three limbs. One of them paused to tear open the side of a ruined car, wrenching twisted metal aside like paper.
Beasts, he noted before noticing a blinking System Notification in front of him.
Floor One – The Ruined City:
This city, previously known as Seattle, stands in ruin, its skyline shattered and its streets overrun with infected humans and animals. Radiation storms tear through destroyed buildings while the infected walk through wreckage.
WARNING: In 7 days, hordes of mutated humans and beasts from the surrounding ruined cities – once known by the names of Bellevue, Kirkland, and Redmond – will converge on the city. There are simply too many of them. Sole survival is by defeating the Floor Boss, whose presence fuels the swarm's aggression. The Floor One Waystone will not operate until the death of the Floor Boss.
Floor Completion Criteria:
▸ Kill the Floor Boss before the end of the 7th Night
▸ Collect 10 Elite Beastcores.
Time remaining: 167:58:47
Deacon nodded to himself slowly, steeling his nerves as he crawled back toward the edge of the rooftop. Today is the day, he repeated to himself.
He kept low and peered over the crumbling lip of the building and noticed something his eyes had glossed over.
Humanoid figures stalked the streets and buildings both below and adjacent to him. Their skin stretched too tight or melted completely, revealing red, pus-ridden flesh. Some had no faces at all, just smooth flesh where eyes and mouths should have been, while others twitched erratically.
Beasts and humans, Deacon thought grimly. If it wasn't for the System Notification telling me that humans were also infected and in here, I wouldn't have guessed that those things down there were also humans.
He exhaled through his mask and pulled back.
The roof offered a decent vantage point if he were an Archer or a Mage, but not for a Warrior like himself. And no resources either, not unless he wanted to eat moss or burn insulation for warmth.
He turned and scanned the rooftop behind him. Near the center of the building, mostly hidden behind a collapsed air conditioning unit that looked a bit too archaic, was a roof exit with a rusted steel door, and its frame was sloppily boarded up with planks.
Deacon strode up to it, testing the boards with a light push of his right foot, and the wood groaned under the pressure.
He stepped back, stabilizing himself before he then drove his foot forward with a sharp crack. The boards splintered inward, clattering against the door behind them. Then, not a moment later, he charged forward, shoulder-checking the rusted metal door.
The metallic door slammed open with a loud bang as it smacked against the inside of the roof exit, raising a cloud of dust as it awkwardly wobbled toward him, to which he pushed back open, revealing to him a dark, vine-covered stairwell, wet with damp fungi that curled over the cracked steps.
"Looks like I'm gonna be in for a treat," Deacon said, looking up at the lightning-streaked sky as the dark yellow thunderclouds rumbled above the ruined city of Seattle.
Then, with a snap of his fingers, he cast Ignis, and a small orb of flame flickered to life, hovering a foot above his head. It pulsed gently, its reddish-orange light spilling down the stairwell and peeling back the darkness like a curtain.
He caught a whiff of it next – wet concrete, rust, rot, and something acrid and fungal.
That's disgusting, he thought, grimacing beneath his mask. He took shallow breaths and slowly unsheathed both short swords that were crossed against his back.
He moved carefully, one step at a time, careful not to step on stones that looked shifty or get near the fungal flora that caked the walls of the stairwell.
The stairwell twisted down two full flights before opening into a wide, ruined office floor. Cubicles long since collapsed into splintered frames lined the far walls. Desks were overturned, chairs were shredded, and stray wires were strewn across the floor. Old, ragged posters still clung to cracked walls, some bearing words of motivation such as "Teamwork Makes the Dream Work!" and "Casual Fridays Return – 2025!"
A flicker of motion to his right caught his attention.
Midway across the room, a ripped office chair was half-submerged in the drywall. Just beside it was a grotesque-looking humanoid figure hunched over a dead corpse of a mutated hound.
Its back rose and fell in slow, erratic jerks. Long, skeletal limbs twitched with every motion, patches of flesh clung to its stretched frame like leather, and with every movement it made, it released a noise akin to clicking that echoed faintly within the room that Deacon stepped inside.
Deacon became ramrod still as he realized that he was not alone in the room. Even the flame above his head dimmed slightly, flickering low in response to his heartbeat.
He let out a slow exhale as he scanned the room again and took notice of no other movement, no noise besides the twitching clicks of the mutated humanoid in front of him that remained hunched over and the squelching noise of flesh being ripped.
It's just me and it, Deacon noted.
He eased his weight forward, careful to avoid the scattered debris and broken glass that littered the floor like traps.
If I use flame magic on them it would probably screw me over by screaming in pain which would potentially drag more of its kind to me, Deacon reasoned as he eased his weight forward and moved toward the mutated humanoid figure. He was careful to avoid the scattered debris and broken glass that littered the floor as he adjusted his grip on his dual short swords.
He circled around it, closing the distance between him and it. The creature was hunched low, neck bent at an unnatural angle, mouth buried in the chest cavity of what used to be a... At least I think that's a dog.
Deacon paused, adjusting his grip once more. One sword angled downward for a reverse strike, the other raised behind his back in a silent arc. He took a slow breath in through his nose.
Then, without a word, he lunged at it faster than what it could react to.
The first strike plunged into the base of the creature's neck, severing tendon and spine in a single, clean swipe. The second followed not a heartbeat later, sliding beneath its ribs on its left side at an upward angle.
The clicking noise it had been making cut off in a wet, gurgled rasp as its body jerked before collapsing atop the mangled corpse it had been feeding on.
*[Mutated Human Lv 2] has been slain – XP has been given.*
*Your Class has reached Lv 1 – Points allocated, +1 Free Point*
*Your Race has reached Lv 1 – Points allocated, +1 Free Point*
Deacon let out a deep exhale as he rose to his feet, carefully withdrawing both short swords from the twitching, now limp body. The hovering flame above him flickered slightly brighter, its dull orange hue casting a wider arc of light against the dry blood-smeared fungus-coated walls and shattered furniture.
"One down," he muttered.
His eyes swept the ruined office again, heart still thudding in his chest.
No new movement. Just the distant groan of the decaying building and the faint hum of wind pressing against shattered windows.
His gaze flicked back to the System Notifications.
… How many points does my Race give me per level? Deacon wondered to himself. He learned that in the academy, every race had different allocations of stat points whenever they leveled up their race.
Humans, whom he previously thought of himself as up until he saw his Status Page a few hours ago, would receive a plus one to all stats and a free point while being a Tier 1 per every race level gained. Skeletons like Bonehead had a similar distribution, but instead of Vitality, Endurance, and Wisdom, their stats were listed as Toughness, Tenacity, and Core Integrity.
But in all his eight years at the academy, he'd never once seen a mention of Jötunns.
Shaking himself from his thoughts, he stepped away and gave the room one final sweep.
This isn't the time nor the place to get lost in my thoughts. I can check out my race stat distribution and allocate my free points once I set up camp for the day.
Desks, scattered chairs, broken computer terminals, moldy filing cabinets—most of it worthless. He worked through the clutter methodically, checking drawers, overturned crates, and half-melted lockers.
Then, finally, in a rusted medkit lodged behind a fallen steel beam.
Score! He mentally cheered.
Scattered throughout the Tower's Floors were tonics, artifacts, and hidden items – each with the potential to grant powerful boons. Some gave skills, others enhanced attributes temporarily or even permanently.
Top rankers within the Tower all had artifacts and boons that they found while climbing the Tower. The Crimson Monk, infamous for extending his life by grafting the organs of others into his own body, had only managed to be able to do so due to an artifact he found while climbing the Tower.
Finding one this early was rare and incredibly lucky.
Three slender glass tubes, still sealed and unbroken, glowed faintly with a dull, cobalt hue.
"Lesser Beastblood Tonic," he read from the scratched label. "Temporary strength boost. Lasts ten minutes."
Giving one of the Lesser Beastblood Tonics an Identify, a screen appeared in front of him.
Item Name: Lesser Beastblood Tonic
Type: Consumable
Effect: Grants a temporary boost to the drinker's Strength stat.
Duration: 10 minutes
Rarity: Uncommon
Description: A murky vial of cobalt colored fluid, reeking faintly of iron and musk. Upon consumption, the user's muscles swell with unnatural vigor, increasing physical power and melee damage output. Side effects may include heightened aggression and slight disorientation for two hours after consumption.
"Nice," he muttered as the vial System Panel disappeared into thin air just as he placed all three of the Lesser Beastblood Tonics into his potion pouch and stepped toward the hallway on his left side.