The count above the gates burned like a brand into the bruised sky:
14.
Every pulse of those crimson numbers felt like the heartbeat of something monstrous and unseen. Like the Tower itself exhaled with every death, leaving the air thinner, colder, harder to breathe.
Somewhere behind walls of crumbling stone and labyrinthine corridors, someone had fallen. Another body. Another life wrenched from this cruel game.
And Rin felt every vibration of that loss echo under his ribs.
He moved in silence, each step measured and quiet, the hush of soft footfalls swallowed in the gloom. Dust spiraled in the pale shafts of sunlight filtering down from broken ceilings. The corridors were endless, twisted like the guts of a stone serpent, each turn concealing danger, or death, or both.
He wanted to stay hidden.
He wanted the others to devour each other so he didn't have to stain his hands red.
But the Tower was a place that laughed at such hopes. It was not a world where one could simply avoid the blade. Fate was a knife pressing ever closer to his throat—and hiding merely delayed the cut.
He passed a collapsed archway, rubble choking the ground. Faint rust-brown streaks marked the stones: old blood.
That was when he felt it.
An oppressive weight pressing down on his lungs, as though a thunderstorm had gathered inside the corridor. The hairs on his neck rose. Sparks flared in the shadows—a dance of silvery lights swirling around a figure that stepped forward, slow and deliberate, as though time obeyed his stride.
The man was tall, broad-shouldered, silent.
Steel-grey hair framed a pale, grim face. His eyes were the color of dying stars—a pale, glimmering light that held no warmth. His chest and arms were encased in plates of ash-colored metal, the surface crawling with faint runes that pulsed in and out of sight like living veins.
In his hands rested a massive halberd, its shaft a deep charcoal black, its blade gleaming like molten glass.
The Ash Paladin.
For a heartbeat, neither moved.
It was as if the Tower itself held its breath.
Then, without a word, the Paladin lunged forward.
The halberd screamed through the air in a deadly horizontal arc, sparks spraying from where the blade grazed the stone walls. Rin jerked backward, barely avoiding the strike. A few strands of his hair floated down, severed by the wind of the blow.
A fraction of a second slower, and his head would have been rolling on the ground.
Rin's pulse roared in his ears. He staggered a step back, heart thudding, eyes locked on the advancing knight.
The Paladin's next strike came vertical, a brutal downward slash that would cleave him from skull to sternum. Rin ducked under it and shot forward, driven by sheer instinct. His fist flashed toward the Paladin's ribs—
—and struck something as unyielding as a fortress wall.
A clang rang through the hall as Rin's knuckles slammed into the armored plates. The Paladin didn't even flinch. Instead, he grabbed Rin's shoulder and hurled him down the corridor like a rag doll. Rin smashed into a pillar, stone dust exploding around him. The shock rattled his bones. A gasp tore from his throat.
Metallic blood filled his mouth.
He wiped his lips, trembling. His eyes burned with salt and pain.
But he stood.
The Paladin advanced, footfalls ringing like bells tolling doom. His runes flared crimson as power surged through his weapon. The air around the halberd warped, shimmering with heat waves. When he finally spoke, his voice was deep as a cathedral's bell, echoing between the stones:
"Ash shall return to ash."
He swung.
The halberd descended in a gleaming arc. Time seemed to stretch, the blade impossibly bright and slow. Rin felt something loosen inside him—like a bolt snapping free. A door opened.
And suddenly, he wasn't in his body anymore.
The world froze.
Color drained away, leaving only white light and shadows. He was above himself, watching his own body move. His limbs twisted, pivoting, dancing around the blade with a speed and precision that felt utterly foreign.
Time crashed back into motion.
Rin reappeared behind the Paladin. His foot whipped out and slammed into the knight's side with such force that the armored warrior staggered sideways. Sparks scattered from the impact. The Paladin's eyes widened—not in pain, but in shock.
He wheeled around.
"…that movement. It was beyond Stage One."
His voice was low, edged with suspicion.
Rin blinked, dazed, sweat rolling down his face. His chest heaved. His fingers wouldn't stop trembling.
What did I just do…?
The Paladin didn't give him time to wonder.
He lunged again, a series of brutal jabs and sweeps with the halberd. The runes blazed, tracing arcs of red light through the gloom. Rin barely ducked and weaved, every brush of wind from the blade feeling like the whisper of death.
But the Paladin's swings began to slow.
Thin cracks spread along the metal plates covering his chest. Runes dimmed, flickering. The knight's breath came harsh and ragged, misting in the cold air.
He paused, studying Rin with unreadable eyes.
"I don't know what you are. But I'll not be the man who lets you live to become it."
He surged forward once more, halberd raised high—
—and stumbled. His armor split with a sharp crack. He fell back two paces, clutching his side. The weapon lowered.
Rin himself could barely stand. His vision spun. His muscles felt like lead, veins crawling with fire. Both had spent too much power.
They locked eyes, two wolves on the brink of collapse.
Finally, the Paladin lowered his halberd. A single nod—a silent warning, and perhaps the faintest flicker of respect.
Then he turned and vanished into the darkness, metal boots echoing away until the Tower swallowed him whole.
Rin stood alone, blood dripping onto the stones.
Above him, the crimson numbers flickered.
14.
No change. Not yet.
He exhaled a trembling breath.
This was just the beginning.