Reagan remained slumped against the shimmering Wall of the light cylinder, his chest heaving in a shallow, jagged rhythms.
The air inside the sanctuary was still, but outside, the atmosphere was thick with the copper tang of blood and the musk of death. He willed his shaking hands to steady as he swiped at the air, summoning the translucent emerald interface that hovered before his eyes like a ghostly judge.
[TOTAL G COINS: 300]
[ITEMS ACQUIRED: WOLF FANGS x2, WOLF HIDE x4, CRACKED ANT CARAPACE x2]
The digital timer in the corner of his vision flickered, the crimson numbers bleeding away until they finally struck zero.
The transition was instantaneous. Every monster left standing; the slavering wolves and the clicking, chitinous ants, was suddenly encased in a binding, celestial radiance. They were removed from the battlefield leaving it into a deafening, heavy silence. The only sound that remained was the guttural, distant sobbing of the few who had survived the culling.
Then, in the sky, the curator's visage reappeared on the massive holographic screen. The black leporid looked down at the blood slicked floor, his oversized ears twitching with an exaggerated, sadistic delight. He began to clap his gloved hands in a slow, mocking cadence, a wide, wicker grin stretching across his face.
"Bravo! Truly spectacular!" the curator chirped, his voice echoing with a tinny, artificial cheer that set Reagan's teeth on edge. "I expected a few more of you to make it through, but a massacre? I didn't think you'd all be this pathetic. I truly hope you put on a better show for 'Them' in the next stage."
Reagan's eyes narrowed into slits. 'Them.' The word hung in the humid air like a physical threat. Was the Tower not merely a trial of survival, but a grand, televised performance for some unseen, celestial audience? He didn't have the luxury of contemplation; the curator snapped his fingers, summoning a secondary holographic display.
A leaderboard materialized, glowing with a cold, neon prestige. It was a ledger of efficiency, listing the survivors who had navigated the sub quest with the calculated lethality of true killers.
[SUB QUEST: SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST - RANKINGS]
1. Leonard van Zyl - Time: 04:22
2. Lyra Thorne - Time: 04:54
3. Lucian Casper - Time: 05:06
....
850. Valeria Pottersmith - Time: 08:10
.....
980. Reagan Greywoods - Time: 08:50
.....
2050. Liam Kincaid - Time: 09:59
Reagan stared at his name, buried deep in the triple digits. He had survived, but he was light years away from the apex. He looked towards the front of the arena, searching for the man who sat at the throne of the list. Following the envious and fearful gazes of the crowd, he spotted him.
Leonard is a silver haired man, likely no older than twenty one, with a lithe, athletic frame that suggested years of discipline training. He stood remarkably clean admist the gore, his breathing steady and rhythmic. He looked as though he had just finished a casual morning jog rather than a desperate struggle for his life.
"Before we continue," the curator began, his voice dropping an octave into something more sinister, "let's discard those who failed to clear the penalty."
With a casual snap of his fingers, the world turned into a nightmare for the unqualified. Those who had not been enveloped by protective cylinders of light began to dissolve into shimmering pixels.
"Wait... I was just one monster away! Please, just spare me!"
"I don't want to die! Please!"
"Somebody... help me..."
The pleas were hollow, failing to elicit even a flicker of empathy from the heartless entity above. Within seconds, a thousand souls were deleted from reality, leaving the arena feeling cavernously empty.
"Since some of you did well, you shall receive additional boons," the curator continued. The top three survivors were granted massive G coin bonuses; the first getting three hundred, second - two hundred and the third, a hundred.
Reagan looked at his own hands, still stained with the purple ichor of the mutated ants. He was on the list, but out of the two thousand survivors, he wasn't even in the top five hundred. He didn't feel like a victor; he felt like a piece of carrion that had just escaped the grinder.
"Now, since you've survived the 'sorting,' it is time to taste the Tower's generosity."
A new icon flickered onto Reagan's system
[SYSTEM SHOP]
ITEM
Lesser Health Potion
Cost: 50 G coins
Effect: Restores 10% HP
Lesser Mana Potion
Cost: 25 G coins
Effect: Restores 15% MP
....
The shop had a variety of items ranging from weapons, potions, foods and a crafting option.
"Just in case you are wondering why the potions are listed," the curator explained, his grin widening, "the automatic HP and MP replenishment after each level up had been removed.
A collective gasp rippled through the survivors. The safety net had been cut. Up until now, many had assumed that leveling up would act as a reset button for their injuries. Now, the realization settled in: if they didn't earn enough to buy their health back, they would eventually succumb to the attrition of the climb.
"Just some few more explanation before you go to the next floor. Some of you may have noticed your Class Slot is empty," the curator added. "When you reach level 10, you will advance into a job of your choosing. Your state will then grow in accordance with your vocation. Do not fret over that now since you are all level 5. You have one day to rest before the first floor trial begins."
Crimson rifts manifested across the field. The players marched inside, desperate for a reprieve. On the other side lay a vast, castle like structure, a sanctuary of cold stone and flickering torches. As soon as he stepped through the rift, Reagan's eyes began to scan the vaulted hall. He needed to find Valeria. Gratitude was a rare currency in this place, but he felt he owed it to her. He finally spotted her leaning against a fluted pillar, he brow furrowed as she navigated her own system menus.
He took a deep, stabilizing breath and approached. The soft thud of his sneakers on the stone drew her gaze. She looked at him.
"Thank you for the help back then," Reagan said, his voice sincere. "If you hadn't intervened, I don't know if I'd be standing here."
Valeria stared at him before a small, weary smile touched her lips. "No need. That's what friends do."
Friends. The word struck Reagan with the force of a physical blow. He had been so consumed by the mechanics of survival that he had completely forgotten the world outside. He thought of Nathan. Since he was not selected as a player, Reagan could only stare at the stone floor and pray that he was still alive in the chaos of the "Apocalypse" outside.