Gordon was pretty sure he was beheaded. At least that was the assumed conclusion when the last thing he had seen was the brilliance of a magic sword swinging for his bloodied neck, his mana pool exhausted.

They had always said that death might be like being trapped in a black box, but Gordon had never paid too much mind to it before. Except he felt precisely that way now, though he did not expect the black box to have a foul stench of rotting moldy wood and rusty metal, only able to wriggle his limbs and neck a little. His wrists and ankles were bounded by tight metal shackles bolted to whatever surface he was lying on, the edges biting into his skin every time he tried to move.

A little hiss from an unseen vent sputtered air behind him as he lay stationary, his eyes trying to acclimatize to the pure darkness. Gordon’s mind raced through the various skills he had grown accustomed to. Night Vision! Luminary Orb! Spark of Dawn!

Nothing formed, not even the tell-tale swirls of smoke before a spell was cast. It was like everything that he had earned over the last twenty years was for naught. 

So… this is what true death feels like-

[Waiting for members: 19/20]

Gordon yelped, not out of fear but out of relief that the familiar system was still available to him. If I’m seeing this window, it means…

“HELL YEAH! The number went up! About time someone joined!” A muffled voice wafted in from beyond whatever kept Gordon trapped, before more voices cheered in response. 

“Finally! I’ve been in this shit for two years now!”

“Still keeping track, Hannibal? What’s 2+2?”

“4… fuck, you’re making me lose track of the seconds! The numbers!”

A wave of laughter erupted, Gordon finally grasping a sense of where he was based on where the sounds were coming from. Some voices were further than others, but his instincts told him that they were all lined up together, one after the other. 

He tried to cast a few more spells: strengthening, fire, and teleportation in a desperate bid to break free of his restraints, knowing that calling for help was dangerous. Every challenger knew that. Yet he soon realized that all of his remaining strength was far from enough to break through. Still, he kept his mouth shut, unwilling to reveal his position and predicament until he had more information.

“Hey, newcomer! I know you can hear me! No point keeping mum - this ain’t your regular hunting floor. We’re all trapped in the same coffins!” A nearby voice called out in a general direction, but Gordon still refused to respond, half thinking it was a trap.

“Shit, he still thinks we’re luring him.”

“Come on, newbie, we can’t do anything to you. Hell, the oldest of us has been trapped here for three years!”

“Don’t waste your breath, man. Give him a month or two.”

“A month or two? I can barely keep track of ten minutes in here.”

“That’s why we got a madman like Hannibal!”

The others joked and mocked each other like it was just another day while Gordon still frantically searched for a way out, unwilling to fall into any traps. Yet, being bound, blind, and unable to cast anything, he was like a normal, weak, helpless human once more. The same weakling he had been before he entered the tower.

After wearing himself out for an indeterminate amount of time, he finally succumbed, giving up on the hope of escaping with his own skill while he tuned into the conversations of the others.

It was short and intermittent, mostly gibberish jeering and jabbing at each other. Gordon surmised that if they were equally as trapped as he was and not just conjured voices planted by the tower administrators, they were using the conversations to prevent themselves from going insane. I would go insane alone too.

“How’s it going, newcomer? Found a way out yet? I can hear you scratching all the way over here!” A clear taunt aimed at him, trying to get him to speak. “Which challenger guild are you from? Crimson Tigers? Freedom Legion? What floor did you die on? I know most shitty challengers die on floor 80.”

“What are you talking about? Floor 80 is off-limits to everyone but the five guildmasters. The highest someone can go is Floor 79, but only reserved for the top of each guild…” Gordon blurted out instinctively, before realizing he had been baited.

“Looks like your theory was right, Buron!” the same voice called out in another direction. “Only top challengers get sent here!”

“Buron? Chief Buron of Olivia’s Vanguard??” Gordon exclaimed in disbelief. “But I saw you die when-”

“When I dived headfirst into the Eternal Empire’s base camp on Floor 76, yes, I remember too.” Buron’s unmistakable voice was clear as day. “Good to see you again, Gordon.”

“But, sir, if you’re here…”

“Means you died too. What’s happening in the tower now?”

Gordon wasn’t willing to divulge information like that, but knowing Buron was trapped here, too, with him gave him a strong sense of security. “Sir Buron, since you’ve died, Kiel has been appointed Chief of the guild.” 

“Good, he was indeed a worthy successor. Olivia made the right choice. What about floor 80?”

“Floor 80 is still secure. The betrayer has been stopped dead in his tracks at Floor 79, or at least… that’s what I hoped before I died to him…”

“The betrayer… a vile human. Trying to kill and steal everything from his former guild, not to mention his own sister of all people.” Buron’s voice was laced with anger, about to burst before he suddenly calmed down. “No matter. You and I will figure this out together and break free.”

“But how, sir?”

Buron’s voice lowered to a whisper, keeping it quiet to prevent the others from hearing. “There is a common trend among all of us trapped here - we died on floor 79, and only the strongest arrived here. From my two years of observation, everyone here is a top challenger.”

Gordon’s eyes widened as he pondered a bit more. “But we’re not exactly dead… yet I have never heard of anyone reviving from the dead before. It is known that the tower has-”

“No revival system, yes. But the fact is that we are still alive now, and we have a fighting chance. As soon as we’re clear of whatever challenge the tower has given us, we will return to Olivia’s Vanguard and have our revenge on that blasted betrayer.”

“Revenge? I think our comrades would have had him killed by now! He couldn’t have broken through our defenses.” Gordon was certain.

“He’s not dead yet.”

“How do you know?”

“Because we’re still waiting.”

[Waiting for members: 20/20]

No one cheered, the formerly jovial atmosphere suddenly turning into an eerie silence, Gordon waiting with bated breath. Even the usual counting from Hannibal’s mumbling could no longer be heard, the tension as taut as a string. The information from Buron had told him only one crucial thing.

Whatever was coming next was not going to be easy. 

A loud klaxon alarm blared with static, the ‘wall’ that had been in front of Gordon all this time finally flipping open, revealing a dim light that blinded his slowly adjusting eyes. The thick metal shackles disengaged entirely, allowing Gordon to clamber out of the coffin that had trapped him for days on end. The air was filled with the same foul stench, swarms of insects hovering over decaying piles of unrecognizable flesh scattered about the grimy white floor tiles, if he could still even call them white with a rancid sludge that seeped the grooves between through like a river.

[Level reseted to 1.]

[Floor -100. Mission: Last Prisoner Standing (Mythical) - The last prisoner alive will be allowed to revive into the tower or exit it.]

Revive or exit?! Gordon had heard of a few mythical items that could do that, but they could be numbered on one hand. Exiting the tower was near impossible unless the challenger reached floor 100. 

But with how floor 80 was controlled… Gordon shook himself out of his stupor, focusing on his surroundings as the other implication was far more dangerous.

It’s a battle royale to the death.

Gordon flicked his wrist in a memorized pattern amidst the chaos as bodies clashed with one another for survival. He completed the pattern, trying to summon a weapon from his storage, only to find nothing responding. His arms and limbs still felt numb with the same weakness, but the moment he tried to raise his right arm, another prisoner lunged at him with abandon, trying to pummel him to the ground, the two of them tumbling and toppling amidst the grimy sewage sludge. He winced under each heavy blow, his attacker slamming fist after fist into Gordon’s forearm, the force reverberating through his very bones. 

Equip Shield of Justice!  

[Warning: Equipment level requirement must be met. Level 70 required.]

Shit! He grappled and struggled with the attacker, gripping anything he could get his hands on and squeezing it as tight as possible. Using his forearm to block a punch, he reached for the attacker’s face and jabbed his finger into the attacker’s eyes as hard as he could, forcing his adversary to shriek and recoil.

The adrenaline pumping fast in his veins and ears, Gordon could barely hear his thoughts over the shouts and cries of battle, prisoners who had been formerly joking with each other now trying to strangle and rip the life out of one another, all for a chance to return to their former glory in the tower as a top challenger - everyone knew what was at stake.

Before the attacker could recover, a broken fragment of a coffin door from another prisoner slammed right into his neck, crushing his windpipe. Gordon instantly pounced on the chance, charging forward and grabbing the attacker’s head. He then slammed it hard into the ground until the back of the attacker’s skull cracked open like an egg, blood spurting violently onto the tiles that were clearly no longer white. 

Another prisoner! Gordon’s instincts kicked in, grabbing a wooden splinter from the ground as a makeshift weapon before rushing at the other prisoner who helped him, only to realize that it was Buron and another prisoner he vaguely recognized as an Olivia’s Vanguard member too. “Sir..?” Gordon mumbled with a conflicted voice, especially due to the nature of the mission.

“You and I are better than this rabble - as a challenger, you should know there is always another way to clear a mission!” Buron reminded with a stern demeanor.

Gordon nodded firmly, gripping the splinter expertly like a knife. “Together till the end!” 

“Then all three of you can die together.”

It was only at this moment that Gordon realized that there were no more shouts and cries of pain coming from the rest of the room, only a single man standing amidst the lifeless corpses of mangled prisoners, limbs ruptured from their sockets soaking his meager clothes in red until it was pitch black, his face covered in grime, spittle, and blood. 

[Members remaining: 4/20]

Gordon’s heart palpitated upon seeing the man standing in front of him - the very same man that had killed him in one blow without him being able to put up a fight. Gordon’s legs began to shiver violently, the memories of his beheading flooding in as though it had just happened a minute ago, his feet shuddering while he took a fearful step back.

He wasn’t alone in his distraught, the other Olivia’s Vanguard member also backpedaling two steps, his voice wavering in complete fear: “Stay back… stay back, you monster!”

“STAND YOUR GROUND, SERGEANTS!” Buron roared, his loud voice snapping Gordon and the other member back to reality. “We’re no longer challengers but just humans! We have the same level as him on this accursed floor!”

The blood-soaked man broke out into a small smile. “Invigorating as always, Chief. But do you have the same skill?”

“You think you can kill me twi-” Buron’s words were caught in his throat as the other Olivia’s Vanguard member let out a gurgling sound, three wooden splinters drilling right through his neck and creating gaping holes.

Before any of them could react, the blood-soaked man had already closed the gap in three quick strides, his hand lunging forward to clasp onto the lower jaw of the member. With an iron grip, he delivered a front kick to the member’s chest and pulled at the same time, ripping out the jaw from the member’s face with tendrils of skin still attached to it. 

[Members remaining: 3/20]

Swiveling around, the blood-soaked man twirled the jaw into a reverse grip and stabbed it towards Buron, the blunt force of the jawbone smacking him right in the eyes and squashing his iris into a mushy pulp, Buron crying out in pain.

Gordon summoned his courage and charged with his wooden splinter weapon, ducking low and jabbing upwards at an opening angle, only to see the grin of the blood-soaked man as he dodged effortlessly. Gordon swung ruthlessly with precision, but none of his attacks landed, missing the man by mere centimeters. 

“BETRAYER!” Undeterred, Gordon bellowed out a battle cry, slicing and stabbing twice as hard and fast, putting every skill he had learned over the last two decades into his moves; every ounce and every fiber of his body poured into each and every lunge,  swing, thrust. Every hope and ambition all accumulating into one final valiant combo aimed at redeeming himself, aimed at seeking revenge for his own dea-

“Are we done yet?”

In a split-second, Gordon found the world around him spinning, the same dimly lit grimy ceiling dominating his view as he crashed into the ground hard while a foot stomped down onto his chest, cracking his ribs inwards, the fragments piercing through his lungs. Gordon gagged from the impact, but he still tried to raise his arm, attempting to deliver at least one stab, only for it to be unceremoniously crushed as well by the same foot.

“You had such talent, Gordon. Too bad you were blinded by my sister.” The man spoke with a tinge of sadness. 

“You fucker… You’re the one who betrayed Olivia! I won’t let you return to the tower even if it costs me my life!” Gordon spluttered as blood slowly began to well up in his chest from the multiple rib punctures, on the verge of choking on the very fluid that he needed to survive. 

Gordon could only watch as the blood-soaked man ignored him and left him to bleed out onto the floor, the man’s attention far more focused on Buron, who was still unable to cope with the loss of his eye. Another punch rang out, the smack of bone against bone as the man’s knuckles drove deep into Buron’s face, sending him sprawling onto the floor.

Buron tried to fight back but had no strength to push back against the man’s domineering force, seemingly unconquerable. Soon, his arms were limp, the blows raining freely on his face, pummeling his face into an unrecognizable pulp. Instead of punching any longer, the man bent down, squatting right next to the fallen Buron as though he wanted to talk.

Unexpectedly, a smile slowly appeared on Buron’s face before breaking out into a burst of mirthless laughter despite the pain inflicted on his body. “It’s useless, you idiot. Even if you revive, the guilds will never let you past floor 80, no matter how hard you try! Killing me will not change tha-”

Without a word, a mythical dagger materialized in the man’s hand, before it deftly sliced the surprised Buron’s neck, the blood gushing like a waterfall before his body slowly slumped over forwards, his face still locked in shock. 

[Members remaining: 2/20]

“But… but how? You shouldn’t be-” Gordon stuttered.

“Be able to summon this? A top challenger is always prepared for any scenario. Whatever the tower grants us, it can take away anytime. Didn’t I teach you that on your first day?” The man spoke nonchalantly, now moving over to the slowly dying Gordon. “I had high hopes for you, Gordon. I thought you would’ve been on my side.”

Gordon's breaths were shallow, each one a struggle. "How could I be... after what you did to Olivia and us?" he gasped, confident in his conviction.

The man twirled the dagger in his hand, the glints of metal flashing across his face. "You still don’t get it. Remember why the Vanguards were formed, Gordon? To reach the top. That’s why anyone entered the tower in the first place. I remember the day you joined us, full of hope.” 

The cold edge of the dagger stabbed into Gordon’s thigh, sending even more waves of arcing pain as Gordon let out a muffled scream.

“But look at us now. The promise of the tower means little to most top challengers, instead content to block others. We're gatekeepers, never ascending past floor 80? Why?"

"It's too dangerous, James… you know that!" Gordon wheezed, trying to reason despite his ebbing strength

James let out a mirthless laugh. "Dangerous? We made a life out of facing danger. Floor after floor, we fought to the brink of exhaustion to earn our place amongst the top challengers, pushing the limit. I myself led the charge on floor 80, believing and putting my life on the line for everything we had!"

“You… you stole everything we had. From us. From Olivia!” Gordon grunted as he felt the sharp tip of the dagger lodge itself deeper and deeper, an uncontrollable cry of pain leaving his lips.

“THAT BITCH STOLE EVERYTHING FROM ME! The treasury, armory, spellbooks - all hoarded by that backstabbing whore. Just so she could forsake our mother and cling to power like a parasite, afraid to lose what she has. And there’s only one thing left to do to save my mother.”

Gordon’s eyes widened at the realization, but at this point, he could barely speak anymore. He felt the life draining out of him, his vision ebbing as he watched the blood-soaked man, the betrayer, his former mentor and guildmaster, rise up to his full height, towering over the corpses scattered through the room.

“Kill my sister with my own fucking bare hands.”