Malik shivered, “I-I’m up.”

  His knuckles tightened around the staff as the light swallowed him. A second later, he stood in the arena. The sand had been reset, smooth as untouched parchment, no trace of Sosuke’s devastation. Every new match, the Tower wiped it clean, like it was mocking the effort of us destroying.

  Malik took a shaky breath, thrust his staff into the ground, and pointed at his clone. His lips curled into something halfway between a grin and a grimace.

  The sand boiled. From beneath the surface, five hulking orcs clawed their way out. Their skin was jet black, darker than obsidian, gleaming faintly like wet stone. They weren’t illusions—they had muscle, teeth, breath steaming from their mouths. The only thing separating them from real orcs was their color and size, just a bit smaller, as they were weaker.

  Still, their presence was suffocating. Even up in the stands, I could feel the weight of their snarls, the hunger in their eyes.

  The clone flinched, ducking under the first orc’s wide punch.

  Wait.

  Why isn’t it summoning the dead?

  I cupped my hands to my mouth and yelled down, “Malik! This is actually the easiest floor yet for you! The clone doesn’t have any of the dead you’ve acquired so far! It’s empty handed! Kill it quick!”

  Malik froze, then the realization dawned on his face. His fear twisted into glee, his eyes flashing.

  “Hehehe... I’m glad I got it so easy.”

  His clone snarled in frustration, trying to push past the orcs. But Malik only had to flick two fingers.

  The sand beneath the clone buckled, rising like a wave. A cavernous mouth split it open—rows of jagged teeth spiraled outward, dripping with black saliva. The sandworm. A monster the size of a house, its maw wide enough to swallow a car whole.

  The clone screamed, sprinting, but there was nowhere to go. The ground itself betrayed it. The worm burst through, swallowing the clone in a single, merciless gulp.

  Malik appeared next to me, the white light peeling off his shoulders like fading smoke. His staff was still trembling faintly in his hand, though his smile tried to hide it. He wiped his eye with the back of his sleeve, muttering under his breath as though admitting something he didn’t want to say aloud. “T-this Tower is as unfair as it is broken.”

  He wasn’t wrong. Watching him get handed an easy fight compared to the rest of us should’ve been a relief, but instead it just hammered the truth deeper. This Tower didn’t care about fairness. It didn’t care about balance. It didn’t even care about testing us in a way that made sense. It only wanted to break us apart piece by piece, whether by fear, exhaustion, or paranoia.

  We’re pretty far in now. It’s been me, Malik, Eli, Maya, Desmond, Sosuke, Soto, Mei, and...

  That’s it.

  Now the frontliners are me, Malik, Eli, Maya, Sosuke, Soto, Mei, and Niko.

  Niko’s the only frontliner that hasn’t been up yet. He sat a few rows down. The chances one of the support's was going to fight was high.

  Desmond was different. He wasn’t a frontliner by role, but he had thrown everything into brute strength.

  How is she going to fight?

  Mary was teleported to the arena, her body trembling the instant the light let go of her. She stood there frozen, shoulders hunched, her eyes darting like a trapped animal. Across from her, her clone smiled with a cruel sharpness that didn’t belong on Mary’s face. It tilted its head, almost savoring the sight of her fear, and then sprinted forward without hesitation.

  Mary shrieked, stumbling back, and turned to run.

  I shouted, “Mary, you have to fight! Heal and attack!”

  Her face twisted into despair. “I can’t! I just can’t!”

  Sosuke, who hadn’t spoken since his own fight, suddenly stood, his voice carrying across the stands like steel, “You have to or you’ll die!”

  The clone caught up easily. It slid low, sweeping Mary’s legs and sending her tumbling to the sand. She had no technique, no reaction. She wasn’t a fighter. Mary had never killed anything before. Isabella had blood on her hands. Desmond had killed too. Even Alex, awkward as he was, could do it if he had to. But Mary? She was still just a med student, someone who patched wounds instead of inflicting them.

  I couldn’t take it anymore. My body moved before I thought. I vaulted the railing, ready to jump in, ready to do something. Anything.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Only to slam face-first into something solid. My body bounced off like a ragdoll, crashing to the ground on the other side of the railing. Pain shot through my head. I rubbed my forehead, groaning, “W-what?”

  I reached forward with both hands, but there it was—an invisible wall, smooth and cold.

  Then came the sound. A sickening sound. Not the crack of clashing equals. Not the roar of power colliding. It was the sound of a predator toying with prey. An attack unprovoked, on someone who couldn’t fight back.

  I scrambled to my knees and looked up just in time to see Mary on her back, her clone straddling her, fists falling like hammers. Blood sprayed across the sand. Her arms flailed weakly, trying to shield herself, but each blow drove them lower.

  “Maya!” I turned back, my voice breaking, “Shoot it! Shoot the wall! We have to help her!”

  Maya was already standing, face pale with fury. She summoned an RPG, the steel tube materializing in her grip with a shimmer. She barked, “Move!”

  I rolled hard to the left, and a second later the rocket whooshed past me, slamming into the invisible wall. The explosion was deafening, the shockwave shaking the stone seats beneath us. Smoke engulfed the barrier, but when it cleared, nothing had changed. The wall stood untouched, not even a scratch.

  Invisible, untouchable—just like our Dimensional Storage.

  I whipped my head back to Mary. She was curled up now, arms limp, her face swollen and bloodied. Her clone stood over her, smiling like it had already won. Rage clawed through my chest. I slammed my fist against the wall so hard I felt bones strain.

  “Fight, Mary! Fight, damn it!”

  I clawed at the barrier with my bare hands, nails splitting, blood streaking across the unseen surface. Nothing.

  Desmond’s voice boomed from behind me, sharp and commanding, “Niko! Do it!”

  My head snapped around. Niko was already moving. He jumped from the stands, landing on the opposite side of the arena wall in one smooth motion. His eyes narrowed, his hand lifting lazily as if he had done this a hundred times.

  “Teleport.”

  In the blink of an eye, he slipped through the invisible barrier like it wasn’t even there. One second he was outside, the next he was inside.

  The clone froze, its smile vanishing. Its eyes darkened, the whites swallowed by black voids. Its body convulsed, twisting unnaturally, its frame stretching taller, broader. Shadows writhed across its skin as if something else had been waiting inside, biding its time.

  Then, with inhuman strength, it seized Mary by the wrist and flung her across the arena like a doll. She slammed against the far wall with a horrifying crack, sliding down limp.

  The clone—no, the thing—turned its gaze on Niko. Its form was no longer Mary’s.

  Standing in the sand was an old man, hair short and white, beard flowing down to his chest. His torn kimono hung loosely from his wiry frame, but his presence was overwhelming.

  He squared up against Niko, voice deep and resonant, “It’s been a long time since I could let loose.”

  Aura of white burst from his body.

  We all froze. Even Sosuke.

  That Evolving Sandworm? Child’s play. Sosuke? Nothing. Compared to this.

  Mary’s body suddenly blinked out of the arena, collapsing at our feet. She was choking on blood, her breaths rattling. Isabella dropped to her knees instantly, uncorking a vial and forcing the potion between her lips. The glow of a Perfect Healing potion spread through Mary’s veins. She’d be fine.

  But what about Niko?

  The old man stroked his beard, his eyes half-lidded, “That was honorable, young one.”

  His right hand lifted, summoning a massive arm of pure force that loomed beside him. His tone shifted, low and cutting. “But foolish.”

  The arm swung.

  Niko crossed his arms in defense, but the blow hurled him across the arena, slamming him into the wall hard enough to rattle the stands. The arm vanished just as quickly as it appeared. Niko slid to one knee, coughing, spitting blood.

  “If it was honorable.” Niko rasped, “Why not help me?”

  Takemikazuchi clasped his hands together. This time, two colossal arms manifested, their fists tightening.

  “You broke this Tower’s rules.”

  The fists rocketed forward, smashing Niko into the wall again before he could even raise a guard. His groan of pain echoed through the arena, shaking something inside me. He wasn’t Sosuke. He wasn’t Soto. He wasn’t the strongest.

  But he was still standing.

  The arms reeled back for another strike.

  And this time, Niko met them. His body flared with a red aura, brighter and hotter than before. He roared and punched upward, colliding with both massive fists. The impact cracked the air itself, the shockwave slamming against the invisible barrier.

  The strength. It was a step above Soto’s, even with his buff.

  He twisted, aura sparking, and dashed straight for Takemikazuchi.

  Takemikazuchi’s eyes narrowed. He clasped his hands again, dissolving the giant arms. A single fist appeared overhead and smashed Niko flat into the ground.

  The god closed his eyes, voice mournful, “Just accept your fate. It was impressive you were able to match my power even for an instant.”

  He crossed his arms, his tone like a judge passing sentence. “I’ll finish you off personally. Those fists are unfit for a warrior such as yourself.”

  He bent his knee, looming over Niko’s battered body.

  None of us spoke. We thought our friend would die. Was it worth saving Mary if it led to this?

  “Get off him, you bastard!” I screamed, fists pounding the invisible wall.

  Even Mei, usually cold and reserved, slammed her forearms against the barrier, her voice breaking, “You were the only one who could match me! Don’t die here!”

  Takemikazuchi’s lips curved faintly. “At least your friends will live. Take solace in that.”

  The stomp came down.

  And stopped.

  Niko’s hands were braced against the god’s sandal, muscles straining, his voice a growl, “What a joke you are, Niko.”

  Takemikazuchi’s eyes flickered. “Knowing defeat is just as important as knowing victory.”

  He chambered his knee, switching legs, preparing to kick Niko’s head clean off.

  Niko caught the heel mid-swing. His bloodied lips curled into a grin. “I’ll borrow that power. It's the only thing a loser like me can do anyway.”

  The old man’s face twisted in shock. “Borrow?”

  Boom!

  Takemikazuchi was sent flying, his body flipping end over end. He caught himself against the wall, landing lightly, but his expression had changed—genuine rage now burning in his ancient eyes. He jabbed a finger at Niko, voice shaking with fury.

  “You... you dare use my own power? You think this Tower can even come close?! You—a mere mortal—using the god of conquest’s birthright?!”

  Blue lightning erupted around him, sparking like a storm given flesh. “I was going to give you a painless death, but not anymore!”

  Desmond walked up next to me, "Kill it. Kill that demon masquerading as a god, Niko. You're the only one who can."

  The day turned to night instantly. Niko rose from the sand. His wounds were nearly all gone. His body whole, except for the blood that streaked him. His aura burned a darker red, lightning dancing off him in arcs. His eyes were shut, calm, but then one snapped open, glowing red.

  “When the god of conquest is conquered, what title do I get?”