Arthur's eyes snapped open.
Everything felt… alien. His body was heavy yet light, solid yet fragile. Alive. Nineteen years old again, exactly how he had been the day he died. His fingers flexed, muscles coiling and releasing, bones intact. He inhaled sharply.
A memory flashed: a ceiling he didn't recognize, a sudden flash of light, and then… nothing. Now, only this—this world that had no sky.
Above him, a tower stretched beyond the clouds, impossibly high. Each floor glimmered faintly, like the faint hum of a living being. Below him, the first floor spread like a shattered city. Buildings lay in ruin, streets cracked and uneven, shadows stretching like claws into every alley. Two billion people were here—crowded, trembling, staring upward, some screaming, others frozen in horror.
A sudden vertigo hit him. The dizzying sensation clawed at his mind as though reality itself had been torn apart. Players staggered, groaned, fell to their knees, clutching their heads. The teleportation to the tower's first floor was instantaneous and brutal, leaving everyone disoriented. Arthur pressed his glasses against his nose, bracing himself.
I'm… alive again.
A voice, calm and mechanical, filled his mind:
[Trial Interface Initialized]
Numbers appeared, glowing faintly before him:
Level: 1Strength: 5 | Agility: 5 | Endurance: 5 | Perception: 6 | Cognition: 7Available Points: 0
Arthur exhaled slowly. Numbers alone did not matter. Observation, analysis, and decisive action mattered far more.
All around, the chaos intensified. People stumbled over each other, tripping, collapsing, crying. Screams rose in waves. Mothers clutched children, pleading. Strangers sobbed into each other's shoulders. Some pounded the cracked concrete, shouting demands:
"Let us go!""We didn't sign up for this!""Please! Someone—anyone—help us!"
Many were having full-blown panic attacks. Some hyperventilated uncontrollably, curling into themselves, trembling. Others screamed in defiance, rage bubbling into hysteria. The sheer terror of being thrust into this place—the unknown, the immense, the impossible—was a tangible thing that filled the air like smoke.
Then came the first system announcement, booming and cold:
"All players will be given a Patron. Accepting a Patron grants abilities, guidance, and protection. Refusal is permitted. Patron selections are private."
Arthur felt the subtle brush of dozens of Patrons' attention, probing and testing—but he remained untouched. Their pull did not reach him. He stayed perfectly still, observing.
Then the ground shook.
From the shadows of the ruined city, they emerged. Hollows—twisted humanoid figures with jagged limbs and hollow, burning eyes. Their movements were unnatural, jerking in erratic, unpredictable patterns. They shrieked, a chorus of sound that made hearts race faster.
The panic escalated. People screamed, begged, collapsed, trampled over one another. Some tried to run, only to trip into rubble or be caught by Hollows moving with unnatural speed. Others froze entirely, unable to move, shaking violently. A few desperate voices rose above the rest:
"No! Please—don't let them take me!""I'll do anything—just stop!"
Arthur did not move unnecessarily. He didn't speak. He observed. Timing, movement, angles, weaknesses. He intercepted one Hollow lunging toward a group of panicked players, shoving them back into safety just in time.
Essence absorbed: +3 points
The Trial Interface pulsed. Stat points—not from any Patron, not from guidance—but from observation, calculation, and decisive action. Survival was not strength alone. It was perception, cognition, and understanding.
Hollows surged forward in groups, chaos multiplying. Screams, cries, pleading, hysteria—the first floor had become a nightmare. Some players lashed out blindly; many fell. The smell of sweat, blood, and fear clung to the air. Arthur took a careful step, avoiding a collapsing wall, noting the weaknesses in the monsters' movements, patterns in the fleeing crowd, and mistakes in instinct.
By Floor 15, most of the people he saw now would be dead. By Floor 25… almost all of them. The realization pressed on him like a weight heavier than the dizziness of the teleportation or the stench of the ruins. Survival was not about power. It was about observation, calculation, and humanity.
Arthur straightened, adjusting his glasses. He remained silent, unnoticed. Patrons whispered against others, but he felt nothing. He was different. An anomaly. Untouched by their attention, untouched by the tower's influence—for now.
The first floor stretched endlessly. Shadows lurked. Hollows waited. The screams echoed. Every choice mattered. Every hesitation cost lives.
Arthur exhaled, steady, controlled. Alive. Human. Observing. Calculating. Surviving.
This tower would not forgive mistakes.And neither would he.