Chapter 1: The End of the Tower
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Chapter 1: The End of the Tower
The ground trembled under the weight of the battle’s aftermath.
Crimson Tower’s 100th floor — once said to be the gateway to glory — was now a shattered wasteland.
Broken spires jutted from the ruined floor like the ribs of a dying beast. Flames licked the heavens. Ash rained from the ceiling, falling like black snow.
In the center of the chaos, a lone figure lay motionless — his armor cracked, his body mangled, blood soaking into the cursed stones.
He was the last challenger.
He was supposed to be their savior.
Instead, he was prey.
Surrounding him stood seven figures — cloaked in radiant auras that twisted and shimmered like false halos.
The Seven Celestials, each representing a mighty beast from the ancient scriptures, gazed down at him with cold, pitiless eyes.
Among them, Behemoth, the titan of land, crossed his arms with disdain.
Seraphiel, flame-winged and brilliant, sneered without a trace of guilt.
Ziz, the bird of endless skies, watched silently, its wings fluttering with an unseen storm.
Others — lesser in name but great in betrayal — prepared the final ritual.
Only one name among the legends was absent.
Leviathan — the serpent of oceans — was nowhere to be seen.
The wounded man, barely breathing, lifted his head. His vision blurred with blood and dust. His once proud eyes burned now with rage and disbelief.
“...You...” he croaked, voice torn from the inside out.
He could feel it — the sacred energy gathering around him, binding his broken body. The Celestials had made their decision.
To escape the Monarch — the hidden horror that lurked beyond even the Tower’s boss — they needed a sacrifice.
Not one of them.
Him.
A living offering to a terror beyond comprehension.
“You... would throw me away... like this?” he whispered.
Seraphiel knelt, his voice a soft mockery.
“You should feel honored. Your death ensures our survival.”
The others said nothing.
There was no regret. No hesitation.
Chains of light wrapped around him, burning his skin and soul.
The ritual circle beneath him flared to life, ancient glyphs weaving an execution song.
In his final moments, the man forced himself to stand. Bones cracked, muscles screamed — but he rose, trembling, blood dripping from his fists.
He stared at them — each face he once called comrade.
His lips twisted into a smile.
“I swear,” he growled, voice filled with a hatred that shook the dying floor,
“Even if it takes all of eternity — I will hunt you down. I will tear your false thrones apart.”
The Celestials did not reply.
The ritual completed.
Light consumed him.
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The explosion shattered the 100th floor.
The Crimson Tower shook from its roots to its peak, and then — with a sound like the universe splitting — it crumbled into nothingness.
Outside, the Seven Celestials descended from the ruins.
The world cheered their return — the so-called heroes who had conquered the impossible.
Statues were promised. Songs would be written.
No one would speak of the sacrifice.
No one would remember his name.
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Somewhere beyond the living world — beyond stars, beyond thought — the man’s soul floated.
Darkness stretched infinitely in all directions.
Yet amidst the endless void, he drifted into a sea of cosmic light.
Before him were orbs — giant celestial spheres — each burning brighter than a thousand suns.
They hummed with power, rotating slowly, cradling mysteries the living mind could never grasp.
And beyond even them — a shadow moved.
A single eye opened in the endless dark —
an eye so vast it dwarfed the stars themselves.
It gazed at him.
The broken soul trembled, fear gnawing at his very essence.
And then — a voice.
Low, ancient, heavy as worlds.
> “I am Leviathan.”
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End of Chapter 1.j
