The Tower groaned around Cain Velstra like a dying god.
Stone cracked under his boots as he ducked low, the swipe of the ogre's blade singing past his head with inches to spare. The air stank of iron and glitch-burnt mana, the remnants of the last two mobs he'd butchered.
"Is that all you've got?" Cain spat, grinning like a madman.
The ogre roared — a glitching sound, like corrupted audio files scraping metal — and charged blindly.
Cain didn't bother dodging this time.
He stepped into the charge.
Steel flashed.
The ogre's momentum died with a wet, gurgling crunch as Cain's sword plunged straight through its open throat. Blood — oily black and red — sprayed across Cain's armor, sizzling where it hit.
He wrenched his blade free, turned, and winked at the woman waiting by the broken pillar.
"Another one for the history books," he said.
Mira, the rogue, leaned lazily against the stone, twirling a knife between her fingers. Tight black armor clung to her like a second skin, designed for speed — and Cain didn't miss the way her hips shifted as she sauntered over.
"Took you long enough," she said, flashing him a sharp smile.
"Starting to think you're getting old, Velstra."
Cain sheathed his sword with a cocky flourish, blood still dripping from the blade.
"If I'm old, you're barely legal," he shot back.
Mira laughed — a low, dangerous sound — and flicked the knife toward him. It spun once, twice, and landed quivering in the stone at his feet.
"Keep talking, and next time I aim higher," she purred.
He grinned wider.
God, he loved this team.
---
The rest of the party gathered around the fallen ogre's corpse, picking over the loot.
Lucis: their armored wall, a human paladin with golden hair and a broken smile.
Arin: the dark-eyed mage who talked like he hated everyone and cast spells like he meant it.
Mira: the rogue, fast as light, sharp as a whip, terrifying in and out of combat.
Cain's crew. His killers. His dysfunctional family.
The floor trembled faintly underfoot. Far above, the next level of the Tower awaited — just one more brutal climb before they hit Floor 70, the threshold where legends were made.
And Cain?
He was going to make damn sure his name was carved into that stone.
---
"Next boss spawn's in ten minutes," Lucis said, checking his HUD.
"Good," Cain said, wiping blood from his gauntlets. "Means we have time."
"Time for what?" Arin muttered, not looking up.
Cain turned to Mira, who was already smiling.
"Time to make a bet," Cain said.
"Whoever pulls the aggro first — buys drinks when we get back to camp."
Mira winked. "Hope your wallet's fat, old man."
Arin groaned audibly.
Lucis just shook his head like a disappointed father.
Cain stretched, muscles humming, the adrenaline still singing through his veins.
The Tower stretched above them, endless. Hungry.
And Cain Velstra grinned up at it like a man who had never known fear.
---
The system chimed softly in his ear:
The ground shook harder.
Cracks spiderwebbed through the ancient stone floor.
And somewhere far above, something massive stirred.
Cain lifted his sword, resting it casually across his shoulders.
"Come on, you bastards," he whispered, half to himself, half to the Tower.
"Come see how a legend is made."