Earth was normal once.
Cities buzzed with life. People chased careers, dreams, and love, blind to anything beyond the mundane. War, politics, poverty—these were our monsters.
Until the sky broke.
They came without warning—Towers.
Massive structures taller than mountains, more ancient than any civilization. They didn't land. They didn't grow. They arrived, like they had always been there, just waiting for humanity to open its eyes.
They were alive with runes, shifting stonework, and impossible geometry. No two looked the same, but they all shared one thing: doors at their base. Doors that opened the moment they appeared, spilling horror into our world.
Creatures unlike anything from myth or nightmare emerged—goblins with rusted blades, phantoms that whispered secrets that shattered minds, tricksters who wore the faces of your loved ones, demons that moved in shadows, and even dragons—towering beasts that set cities ablaze with a single roar.
Humanity wasn't ready.
We tried to fight. Tanks, jets, guns—it didn't matter. We were ants throwing stones at gods.
And then... the Markers spoke.
"You will be tested. Rise… or perish."
They weren't gods or aliens. They were something older. Observers from another universe, who sent the Towers to determine our worth. Their method? Brutal. The Towers were dungeons—game-like gauntlets of death. Each tower had 100 floors. Every fifth floor, a boss. Fail, and you die. Win, and maybe you get to see tomorrow.
But the Markers weren't entirely merciless. They gave humans gifts—Abilities. Some people woke up with powers straight out of a fantasy game. Fire mages, shadow assassins, lightning knights. For the first time, humanity could fight back.
Those of us with powers were called Raiders.
And as always, we were sorted into a hierarchy.
D-Rank:The weakest, often given powers that were impractical or entirely useless in battle
C-Rank to B-Rank:Moderate strength, useful for support, frontline work, or strategy.
A-Rank: Elite, capable of facing boss floors and returning alive
S-Rank:.The legends. Few reached this level, and fewer still could be trusted
And then… there's me.
My name is Chosa. I'm eighteen. I'm a D-Rank. And I hate this world.
Every day I wake up in the same shitty apartment in the ruins of what used to be Tokyo, strap on my cracked leather armor, grab my chipped sword, and walk straight back into Floor One of the closest Tower.
I don't do it because I'm brave. Or stupid. I do it because my sister, Yomi, needs to eat.
I've fought tooth and nail just to survive. Goblins and mutated wolves and even a banshee once. The scars on my chest? That was from a slime that melted through armor like acid. The one on my leg? Fell into a spike pit some trickster set up.
You'd think after all that, I'd be stronger by now.
But no.
Because my ability… is Copy.
Sounds cool, right? "Copy." Like I can steal other people's powers or mirror their moves like some badass mimic.
Except there's a catch.
A big one.
I can only copy a skill... if I die watching it being used.
Yeah. Die. Not "take a hit." Not "get knocked out." Actually die. Bleeding out, heart stopped, soul leaving my body type of death.
So basically, I have a power that requires me to be a corpse before I get to use it.
They call it a joke. A cursed gift.
They're not wrong.
So I fight on the first floor where it's relatively safer. Scavenging scraps. Selling goblin teeth. Surviving just enough to keep Yomi in school and keep our generator humming.
I had accepted it. This was my life. A slow crawl through blood and dust and pain.
Until the day the floor gave out beneath my feet.
I had been chasing a lone goblin into an abandoned cathedral on the edge of Floor One. The thing had a sack of mana crystals—I needed those bad. But just as I leapt over a broken pew, the stone cracked under me.
And I fell.
And fell.
And kept falling.
For a second, I thought maybe I had died. That some trap finally got me and I was tumbling into the afterlife. But then I hit the ground. Hard.
I groaned, bones aching, dust in my lungs.
The place I landed in... wasn't part of Floor One.
The walls were smooth black stone, covered in red glowing veins like they were alive. The air felt heavy, like the pressure before a thunderstorm—but thicker, heavier. I could barely breathe.
I stood, sword still in my hand, heart pounding. No map. No guidance. No idea where I was.
There was only one path ahead.
So I took it.
At the end of the corridor was a massive door. Taller than anything I'd seen. It pulsed with energy—dark, cold, hungry. Something behind it was waiting.
Part of me screamed to turn back. But the rest of me… the part that was tired of being worthless…
That part walked forward.
I reached out.
And opened it.
The room inside was lit by a single floating torch above a stone altar. Chained to the wall was a creature that defied description. Pale, porcelain skin cracked to reveal glowing red beneath. Its limbs were long, spindly, and jointed in too many places. It had no eyes. Just a gaping, jagged mouth that grinned as it sensed me.
Then… it spoke.
"You've arrived sooner than expected."
Its voice sounded like dozens of people whispering at once, like wind through bones.
I didn't move. My fingers twitched on the hilt of my sword.
"Who—what are you?" I asked.
It chuckled. A sound that chilled my blood.
"I am the one who remembers. I am the one they locked away because I knew too much. And you... you are the one with the cursed gift."
"How do you know about my ability?" I demanded, stepping back.
"Because I've seen it," it hissed. "A copy that requires death. A cruel joke from the Markers. But... what if the cost could be changed?"
That stopped me cold.
"What?"
It leaned forward, chains rattling.
"What if you didn't have to die to learn? What if your curse became your greatest weapon?"
My heart slammed in my chest.
This thing... it wasn't offering power.
It was offering hope.
And in this world? That's more dangerous than any monster.