Zareth's vision cleared in a flash of white.
His boots scraped broken asphalt. The world snapped back into shape—but now the street wasn't empty.
People were everywhere.
Hundreds of them. Men. Women. Kids. All dumped into the middle of a ruined downtown like garbage from another world. Some were panicking. Others stood frozen, blinking in confusion.
Zareth's eyes locked onto Saedra beside him.
She stood tall, arms crossed, cold as ever. Alert.
They hadn't moved far—but something was off. The air felt wrong. Heavy. Contained.
"Where are we now?" Saedra muttered.
Zareth looked around.
"Same city. Different cage."
Then a man started shouting.
He shoved past others, sprinting toward a half-collapsed alleyway.
"Hell no, I didn't sign up for this! I'm out!"
He ran full speed.
Wham.
His body slammed into something invisible.
He staggered back, dazed. Then tried again—this time slower, hands first.
His palms pressed flat against thin air.
"...What the hell..." he mumbled. "There's... there's nothing here..."
He started banging on it with both fists.
"LET ME OUT! LET ME OUT!"
People flinched, turning away. Someone screamed. Another followed.
Panic spread fast. Chaos.
And then—
The sky shifted.
Like the light itself gave up.
A figure floated down through the darkening clouds.
Tall. Wrapped in a black suit without a wrinkle.
Skin bleached white like something dead.
Black eyes.
A fixed smile that didn't twitch.
It hovered above the crowd.
Silence.
The air dropped in temperature. Screams cut off. Nobody moved.
The figure hovered lower, arms spread like a puppet on strings.
"Ahhh," he said.
His voice was slick and smooth, like syrup over broken glass.
"So many little insects. All wriggling in the same pile."
He looked at the man who had tried to run.
Snapped his fingers.
Crack.
The man's chest burst open—ribcage split like wet paper. He collapsed, twitching once. Then nothing.
No one spoke.
The figure's grin didn't move.
"I hate loud bugs."
People trembled. Some cried quietly.
The floating man drifted closer, feet never touching the ground.
Zareth watched, calm but alert.
Saedra didn't even blink.
Then the voice returned—brighter now. Almost gleeful.
"This world," the man in black said, spinning slowly in place, "has caught the eye of something far more important than you."
He turned, arms wide.
"Someone... likes this world."
He gestured to the crowd like a conductor.
"And they'd love to see it fight to survive."
He leaned forward, black eyes gleaming.
"Consider this your grand audition. You will struggle. You will break. And if you're interesting enough... well..."
He chuckled.
"You just might get to climb."
Zareth narrowed his eyes.
Saedra muttered,
"Hope they scream."
"But before that—"
the floating man raised a single finger, mockingly dramatic,
"it wouldn't be fair to throw you all in without a chance, now would it?"
He smiled wider, as if enjoying a joke only he understood.
"I am bound to give you... a fighting chance. A system. A path to earn power. Isn't that exciting?"
Nobody responded.
"Of course, I didn't make the rules," he said. "The Tower did. I simply enjoy watching you squirm within."
His head tilted.
"I," he said, finally bowing mock-formal,
"am your Manager. Think of me as your sponsor. Or... executioner for this zone."
He winked.
"Whichever fits best."
From that moment on, he was the Manager.
And he was smiling again.
"There are watchers, of course," the Manager added, voice silky. "Hungry ones."
The sky above shimmered faintly. Something unseen. Watching.
"You're all being seen right now," he whispered. "And the ones watching? They're starving."
Then he turned, glancing at the corpse of the man he had killed.
With a casual motion, he raised one finger.
The body twitched—then floated up, limp, lifeless, hanging in the air beside him.
"If you're lucky," the Manager said, "when something dies... it leaves behind a gift."
He raised his hand—then slowly plunged it into the man's chest.
People gasped. Some gagged.
The Manager didn't flinch. His arm slid in too easily, like the flesh barely resisted. He twisted once. Then pulled out something glowing.
A shard. Jagged. Flickering with red light.
It pulsed like it was alive.
⸻
[ITEM REVEALED: ASCENSION SHARD]
[ABSORPTION: TOUCH TO INCREASE 1 STAT — WARNING: PAINFUL]
[DROP RATE: VARIABLE | SHARD TYPE: RAGE]
[WARNING: SOME SHARDS MAY BE CORRUPTED]
⸻
"It hurts," the Manager whispered, delighted. "The Tower tears you open... to grow you. How beautiful."
He held the shard up between two fingers, letting the light catch.
"This one?" he said, turning it slowly. "A rage shard. Weak, but useful. Killed in panic. Died screaming. You'd be amazed how much power comes from that."
He began humming, light and tuneless, like a child distracted while peeling wings off flies.
Then he flicked the shard toward the crowd. It zipped past heads and clattered at someone's feet.
He clapped—too fast. Too loud. Like it excited him more than it should.
"Well?" he grinned. "Someone take it. Don't be shy."
People backed away. Whispering. Staring at the glowing crystal like it would explode.
Then—
One man stepped forward. Young. Sweating. Breathing fast. But he didn't look back.
He knelt and touched the shard.
Instantly, he screamed.
The crowd flinched. His body convulsed. Eyes wide. Muscles spasming. But he didn't let go.
Then—
Ding.
⸻
[STAT CHOICE: STRENGTH]
[+1 STR APPLIED]
⸻
The screen vanished.
He straightened.
Shoulders squarer. Breathing heavier. Eyes burning with something... changed.
The Manager purred,
"Ooh! That one tingled. You felt it too, didn't you?"
Then he clapped again, slower this time.
"See?" he purred. "You'll thank me later."
The shard had vanished.
The man looked at his hands, like he didn't recognize them.
The Manager floated higher, arms outstretched like he was hosting a game show.
"Ah—but don't worry, I won't throw you into the Tower just yet," he said, voice smooth as oil. "First, a warm-up."
He spun lazily in the air, one leg crossing the other as if reclining midair.
"A tutorial, as you call it. Simple, yes? A little chaos, a little blood. Just enough to separate the screamers from the survivors."
He paused, as if listening for something only he could hear.
"Your first task," he said, eyes flicking open,
"is to cleanse."
He grinned wider.
"There are things down here with you. Infected. Twisted. Starving. They're called Strays—failed remnants of other games. Sloppy echoes of souls who didn't make the cut."
His tone dropped low, intimate.
"Some still remember what it felt like to be human."
A few people whimpered. One girl near the edge of the crowd stumbled back and fell hard over loose debris, scraping her palms. She looked too young, too thin, trembling like she hadn't slept in days.
Zareth barely glanced her way.
Saedra didn't look at all.
The Manager didn't stop speaking.
But Rae heard every word.
"Suffer loud enough to matter..."
She didn't know what that meant.
But her hands wouldn't stop shaking.
The Manager didn't slow.
"You'll fight them. Or run. Or die. That part's up to you."
Then he tilted his head sharply, like a marionette with a jerked string.
"If you want to climb—if you want to live—then bleed for it. Break for it. Suffer loud enough to matter. Most of you won't."
His grin widened, voice dropping to a whisper, like a secret.
"But that's the part I enjoy."
Then he chuckled, low and warm, like someone watching their favorite tragedy unfold.
Clap clap clap.
Too fast. Too gleeful. Too wrong.
And then—
A pulse shot through the ground.
Light began to glow beneath everyone's feet—circle patterns, jagged glyphs, shifting lines etched into the earth like the Tower had carved its intent into reality.
The sky dimmed.
Above the Manager's head, glowing system text ignited:
⸻
[INITIATING TUTORIAL CHALLENGE]
[MISSION: CLEANSE THE STRAY]
[ENEMIES APPROACHING IN: 00:10]
⸻
Zareth's fists clenched.
Saedra cracked her neck, muttering,
"Hope they scream."
No one else moved.
And then—
Screeching.
From the buildings.
From the shadows.
From the cracks in the ground.
They were coming.
The first test had begun.