Cason led the group toward the tower's entrance, his stride casual, like this was just another field trip.
But the moment we stepped close, a sentinel construct dropped from the ceiling like a reaper on standby. Sleek, obsidian plating. Gleaming red visor. The AI hummed as it scanned us—its gaze dragging across our bodies like a scalpel.
I stiffened.
That wasn't there last time.
The last time I came to a tower alone—off-record and off-grid—there were no sentinels, no squad protocols. Just me, some cloaking hacks, and whatever bullshit the tower threw my way.
I narrowed my eyes. This? This felt like someone put the tower on lockdown.
Cason must've noticed the flicker in my expression because he chuckled under his breath. "New protocol," he said, not bothering to lower his voice. "It's the Tower Mission Guide, a system GAIA deployed to regulate official squad entries. Only registered members pass."
He paused. "You're already logged under my squad, so relax."
Right. Relax.
Genesis, eavesdropping like she owned the air, didn't miss the moment to chime in. Her voice was cold steel wrapped in lace.
"This must be your first official tower mission," she said, arms crossed, eyes narrowing with that classic Alistair contempt. "Cason's a vet. Try not to slow him down."
Then came the venom: "If you screw this up, I'll personally make sure your life in the academy becomes a living system bug."
I rolled my eyes. Hard.
"I'm shaking," I said, voice deadpan, laced with sarcasm so dry it could choke a cactus. I didn't even bother glancing at her. I'd coded viruses with more personality than her.
The sentinel's scan ended with a mechanical chime. A holographic interface appeared above it, digits ticking down.
"Scan complete. Squad verified. Mission number 431 S Rank. Initiating floor transfer: Level 48. Countdown—10 seconds."
A glowing holographic timer lit up in front of us like a doomsday clock. The squads tensed, some vibrating with anticipation. I scanned the other teams—MODs, elites, and whatever silver-spoon squad Gaius belonged to.
I flicked my eyes toward Gaius. He met my gaze, all smug confidence and perfect white teeth. He grinned, slow and deliberate. His grin cut clean and white against his bronze skin. The guy oozed smugness like it was cologne.
God, I hated that guy.
If I wanted to hack anything, it was that smirk clean off his face.
I didn't have time to dwell. The moment the countdown hit zero, the world pixelated around us—fractured into data strings—then recompiled with a shudder.
The air hit me first—cold, sterile, mechanical.
We landed in a massive corridor of seamless silver and black alloy, lined with humming energy conduits and flickering lights that stretched endlessly forward.
The air buzzed with ozone. It felt like we had been swallowed by a starship straight out of a dystopian fever dream. Walls thrummed with hidden power. I half-expected to see stormtroopers round the corner.
I muttered, mostly to myself, "Where the hell are we?"
This wasn't the battlefield cave from the last floor I snuck into.
No, this felt like we'd just boarded an interstellar dreadnought from some deep-space warzone. Think alien mothership meets dystopian lab.
What the hell?
Even the atmosphere felt wrong. Gravity wasn't normal. The hum of ancient engines vibrated beneath my boots.
The others didn't even blink. Of course they didn't.
Cason nodded once, absorbing the terrain like a true operator. "Normal floor," he said flatly. "Expect traps. Security units. Automated defenses."
I blinked. Normal? This place looked like a raid boss factory disguised as a hallway.
"Right… normal," I muttered.
Normal floors. That clicked something in my head. According to Tower theory, every five floors housed a Guardian. The rest? Gauntlets. Set pieces. Death puzzles. So Floor 48 was one of the 'normal' ones.
Then Gaius spoke, casually equipping his obnoxiously shiny weapon. A golden spear shimmered into existence, humming with kinetic energy.
"We already read your old mission logs."
"But every floor is different," Cason replied. His tone dropped. "Don't assume anything."
"This isn't new, Cason," Gaius muttered, his voice dipped in boredom as he gave Cason a sideways glance. Without missing a beat, he gave his golden spear a casual twirl—more show than necessity.
The gesture was subtle, but I didn't miss the flicker of irritation that crossed Cason's face. His jaw clenched for half a second before smoothing out, but that moment said enough.
"Yeah, and 47 had spike pits and memory mines," Cason shot back. His tone was all business now.
Before anyone could sling another word, a thunderous voice cracked through the corridor like a whip. Instantly, red warning lights flared to life, bathing the metallic hallway in a blood-hued glow that pulsed like a heartbeat—loud, urgent, and deadly.
"Unauthorized access detected."
A shimmering avatar materialized above us—a woman-shaped construct, flickering with static and broken code. Her eyes were hollow. Her voice echoed like corrupted sound files.
"Intruders. Leave now—or die."
Gaius laughed, spear spinning. "Yeah? Make us."
"Then prepare to be terminated."
The far end of the corridor erupted open—walls folding inward like peeling metal petals. Out poured an army of drones and sentinels: sleek, deadly, and armed to the teeth.
Dozens. Hundreds.
Every single one locked onto us.
I grinned, feeling my heartbeat accelerate like an overclocked CPU.
"They seem serious. Looks like someone's pissed," I said, flexing my fingers.
Cason didn't hesitate. "Stick to the plan. Alistairs and my squad push the front. Everyone else, hang back."
I glanced left. Genesis had already ignited. No transformation sequence, no chant—just raw combustion. Her entire body was engulfed in fire as she levitated, a burning comet preparing to crash.
Phoenix bloodline, huh? Interesting.
The Alistairs were supposed to be Paladins and sword-saints. Guess someone broke the bloodline expectations.
Zane's squad was next—stoic, motionless. Their armor flowed like liquid mercury over their limbs, reflective and alive. Still not sure what kind of power they had, but it didn't feel friendly.
And then Lady Nova's squad—untouched, unreadable. They didn't even move, just stood behind the line like spectators at a game they already won.
I couldn't read them. Their presence was like a storm on pause.
Cason looked at me.
"You stay back. With Atticus and Nova's team. We'll need you for the guardian floor."
I blinked. "Seriously?"
Genesis, still aflame, didn't even look back. "Just do as you're told, 'help'."
Then she launched herself into the swarm.
A blazing meteor.
Sentinels exploded mid-air as her fire ripped through the sky like divine wrath.
Gaius followed, laughing like a gladiator. His spear was a blur of gold and death—each strike sending shockwaves through metal and armor, blasting drones into sparks.
Cason and his crew flanked them, plasma blades crackling. They moved like a unit—surgical, merciless, efficient.
It was insane. A symphony of destruction, each attack timed like choreography set to war drums and screeching alarms.
I leaned against the wall, arms crossed, trying to suppress the itch in my fingers.
I couldn't help but mutter, "Damn… why do I feel like they're having the time of their lives."
Beside me, Lady Nova finally spoke. Cool. Controlled. I wasn't even sure she was breathing.
"You'll get your turn," she said.
I glanced at her. She didn't even look at me. Her gaze stayed locked on the battlefield, unreadable.
But I saw the twitch in her hand.
She was ready too.
They all were.
And so was I.
I tapped my wrist, let my fingers curl into my palm, and silently synced with Codebreaker. The digital threads began unraveling around me—every drone, every sentry, every line of corrupted code.
They had fire. Blades. Bloodline power.
But I had something better.
I had control.
I smiled. I wouldn't just get my turn.
I'd take it.