When Yun Arin descended, she thought Heaven would shield her from pain.
It didn't.
It only let her feel it differently.
The descent burned like a blade drawn backward through her soul — not cutting, but peeling. Every layer of divinity stripped away, replaced by the dull heaviness of flesh. Her body remade itself in freefall, light shattering into gravity, grace into exhaustion.
By the time her boots struck the stone of Floor 76, she could barely breathe.
The air here wasn't air at all.
It was smoke and whispers — a furnace that inhaled fear and exhaled silence. The ground pulsed underfoot, veins of red light weaving like molten roots. All around, remnants of the slain — armor, weapons, bones — jutted from the ash as though the floor itself had grown tired of burying its dead.
At the center of the ruined landscape stood a man she almost didn't recognize.
Hae-won.
But not as she remembered.
His silver hair was dulled to gray, his skin pale as frost. His eyes — once brilliant with stubborn defiance — were hollow, glowing faintly red at the edges like dying embers. Every breath he took sounded like it hurt.
And coiled around him, shimmering faintly in the gloom, were his chains — only two now, but they pulsed like living arteries, whispering to each other in a language that wasn't meant for mortals.
The System's text floated above him, stark and cruel:
[ Floor 76 Boss: "The Regression Beast" – Phase Three Active ]
[ Status: Ongoing. Fatal resonance detected. ]
[ Soul Instability: 87% ]
[ Risk of Dissolution: Immediate. ]
Arin's heart clenched.
The boss — what remained of it — was unrecognizable, a mass of shifting shadows and half-formed limbs crawling toward Hae-won like a thousand mirrors trying to reassemble themselves.
But it wasn't just a monster. It was his regression itself — the physical embodiment of every death he had endured, every failure he had rewritten, every life that the Tower had erased.
Each time it struck him, she saw glimpses of other versions of him flash through the haze:
— a boy crying into a broken desk at an academy.
— a man standing over a friend's corpse.
— a god chained to his own story.
Every fragment of his past had teeth now, and they were tearing him apart.
"Hae-won!" Arin screamed, running forward — the word tasting like blood.
He didn't turn.
He didn't even seem to hear her.
His chains lashed blindly, striking the monster, tearing through shadow — but every hit drew energy from him. His skin cracked with light where the links touched, veins of molten pain branching under his flesh.
The System's window flashed red:
[ Regression Feedback Critical. ]
[ Stabilization Required: Anchor soul or lose identity. ]
Arin skidded to her knees beside him, catching his arm just as his body shuddered.
He looked down at her, dazed — then smiled. A small, sad smile. "You shouldn't have come."
"You're dying," she said, voice shaking. "You need—"
"I need to finish this," he rasped. "If I stop now, I'll forget again."
The monster surged behind him — a blur of distorted faces screaming his name. Arin raised her hand, her new power flaring instinctively. Purification (Soul) — Heaven's last gift.
A sphere of pale light bloomed from her palm, slicing through the darkness. The monster recoiled, hissing like boiling tar.
But when the light touched Hae-won, he screamed.
"Stop—!" he gasped, pulling away. "That light— it burns what's left of me!"
Arin froze. The glow around her hand dimmed, faltering.
The realization hit her like a blow: Purification cleansed corruption. But Hae-won was corruption now — a being stitched together by regressions, by pain, by sins he had never atoned for.
Saving him might destroy him.
The System chimed again, cold and impartial:
[ Notice: Harvester of Death's spiritual cohesion below 20%. ]
[ Suggestion: Apply external anchor or prepare for final regression. ]
Arin's hands shook. "There has to be another way—"
He exhaled — a sound like wind through broken glass. "There isn't. You don't purify something like me, Arin. You either contain it… or you bury it."
"No," she whispered. "Not again."
For a heartbeat, something soft flickered in his eyes — the ghost of who he used to be.
And then the monster struck again.
The impact flung them both backward. Arin's back hit a wall of ash, her vision blurring. Through the haze, she saw him stagger — his body bleeding light now instead of blood. Each drop hit the ground and birthed a new chain, weak and fading.
But even as he fell to one knee, he raised a trembling hand and called his weapon.
The Chains of Judgement answered — red, black, and white — streaking across the air with a roar that shook the entire floor.
The monster howled. The Tower trembled.
Arin forced herself to stand, voice breaking as she shouted, "You can't do this alone!"
"Then don't watch," he whispered.
And the chains moved — slow, deliberate, devastating.
Every swing carved through fragments of the monster's body and his own. The two were linked now — every cut shared, every scream echoed between them. It wasn't a battle anymore. It was an exchange.
By the time the floor stabilized, only silence remained.
The monster was gone.
The Tower dimmed.
And Hae-won was on his knees, bleeding light, eyes glassy, smile faint but real.
"See?" he murmured. "Still… here."
Then his body went limp.
Arin caught him before he hit the ground. His pulse was faint, his breathing ragged. The chains around him faded into wisps of smoke, retreating into his shadow.
And above them, the Tower
wrote its verdict:
[ Floor 76 Cleared. ]
[ Harvester of Death – Critical Condition. ]
[ Divine Intervention Possible: 00:09:59 ]
[ Choose: Purify or Preserve. ]
Arin stared at the two words.
Her hands trembled over his chest.
His face — pale, peaceful — tilted toward her touch.
She closed her eyes.
"Please," she whispered, "don't make me choose again."
The flames were slow this time.
Not like the boss monster's heat — that was physical, external.
These flames burned inward, licking the edges of Hae-won's veins as regression sickness tore him apart cell by cell. His vision shimmered with red static, flickering like an old screen on the verge of breaking.
Every time he blinked, he saw another version of himself — dying differently, making the same mistake differently.
Floor 76 was merciless.
He had beaten the monster, but his mind… that was another war entirely.
"Stay still," a voice said — warm, human, immediate.
Arin's.
She was kneeling beside him, her hands coated in divine light.
Even here, in Hell's endless furnace, she carried a faint scent of wind and rain — the sky that didn't exist anymore.
"…Arin." His voice rasped. "You look worse than me."
"Shut up." She pressed a glowing hand against his chest. "You've got regression poisoning. The skill's eating you from the inside out."
"Eh. Nothing new." He grinned faintly. "I'm used to being devoured by my own mistakes."
She glared at him, biting her lip. "That's not funny."
"Didn't say it was."
His silver hair, matted with soot, clung to his face. The chains around him — black, white, and red — pulsed erratically.
They were trying to hold him together, but even they weren't sure where the real Hae-won ended and the next version began.
His breath came short.
He turned his head slightly, catching the faint shimmer of her aura. "You shouldn't be here."
"You shouldn't be dying." Her tone sharpened, but her hands trembled. "Guess we're both bad at rules."
He laughed — a hollow sound, but real enough that she flinched.
Then he looked at her again, and something in his gaze softened.
Like a man remembering a melody he'd almost forgotten how to hum.
"Hey," he whispered.
"What?"
"If I survive this…"
He paused to cough, blood flecking the edge of his lip. "I'm gonna need you to promise me something."
Arin frowned. "What promise?"
"Remind me not to die dramatically again. It's bad for the reputation."
Her expression cracked — halfway between exasperation and grief.
He smiled wider at that, eyes half-lidded.
"Guess I'll have to restart from the point I kissed you," he murmured, voice so low it might've been mistaken for delirium. "Skip the part where I bleed all over your shoes."
Arin froze. Her cheeks flushed despite the hellfire surrounding them. "H-Hae-won!"
"What?" His grin widened, lazy, teasing. "It's a solid checkpoint."
"You're impossible."
"I'm consistent," he said — then winced as another regression pulse tore through his body.
The chains screamed, metal grinding against air.
For a moment, the entire floor of Hell trembled — the System recognizing the instability of an overclocked regression host.
[ Warning: Psychological Core Fracturing ]
[ Recommended Action: Stabilize Soul Vessel ]
Arin didn't wait for the prompt.
She summoned her purification light — silver-white fire blooming from her palms — and forced it into him.
It wasn't healing.
It was alignment.
Her soul syncing with his, heartbeat to heartbeat.
The sound was deafening in silence — two heartbeats trying to find rhythm in a storm.
Hae-won groaned, the edges of his consciousness flickering in and out. The regression pain blurred into heat, the heat into light, the light into her face.
When the pain subsided, his breath came steadier.
He looked up at her again, eyes unfocused but alive.
"Didn't think I'd get purified in Hell."
"Don't flatter yourself." Her voice trembled between relief and irritation. "You're heavy. You're lucky I didn't drop you into the lava."
"Would've made a good hot spring."
She smacked his shoulder lightly — not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make him blink.
"Still joking."
"Still alive," he replied.
That earned him a ghost of a smile.
From a few meters away, the ground shifted. Do-hyun's axe tore through a collapsing wall of bone and ash, followed by the panting figures of Seong-wu and the others.
The party had arrived, late but breathing.
"Found you!" Do-hyun shouted, swinging his axe to clear the debris. "You look like crap, boss!"
"Thanks," Hae-won muttered weakly. "I try."
"Try less!" Seong-wu yelled back. "We thought you died for real this time!"
Hae-won leaned his head back against the stone, eyes half-shut. "Almost did. Again."
Arin glanced between them, still focused on channeling light into him. The faint traces of smoke curled around her hands.
Her face softened slightly — relief, exhaustion, fear all tangled into one.
Do-hyun noticed it and frowned. "You holding up?"
"She's holding me up," Hae-won said. "Big difference."
Arin rolled her eyes, muttering something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like idiot.
The System flickered overhead:
[ Floor 76 Clear Condition Met: Boss Defeated ]
[ Hidden Objective Complete: Survive Regression Collapse ]
[ Bonus Skill Activated — "Transmission" (Rank S): Transfer experience and mastery across timelines. ]
The chains around Hae-won flickered, and for a second — just a second — the entire floor went quiet. The souls of the fallen seemed to hum faintly in resonance with him, like they recognized their harvester.
He exhaled slowly. "Transmission, huh? So even my pain gets saved now."
Arin's gaze softened again. "At least something good came from it."
"Yeah."
He tilted his head, smirking faintly.
"Means I can save all my best lines, too."
"Like what?"
He smiled — eyes glinting faintly silver in the hellfire.
"'Guess I'll have to restart from the point I kissed you.'"
She sighed, covering her face.
"You're impossible."
"Still consistent," he murmured, closing his eyes. "And alive."
The system message still floated in the air, a slow, shimmering halo of text above the cracked obsidian floor.
[ Skill Activated — Transmission (S-Rank) ]
[ Function: Transmit experience, techniques, and emotional memory across timelines. ]
[ Warning: Emotional bleed cannot be filtered. Every life you recall will live through you again. ]
[ Proceed? Y/N ]
For a long moment Hae-won simply stared at the prompt.
It felt too clean, too polite for what it was offering. The skill wasn't a blessing; it was a fuse.
He laughed quietly.
"Yeah. Why not. We've come this far."
He pressed Yes.
The world detonated.
Light didn't just explode — it folded.
The chains around him convulsed, colors flaring in impossible gradients: crimson, ivory, and shadow-black weaving in spirals until they carved sigils in the air. The floor beneath him fractured like glass reflecting too many suns.
Arin staggered back, eyes wide. "Hae-won—!"
He wasn't screaming.
He should have been, but the sound caught somewhere between breath and prayer. Every regression he'd lived — every suicide, every mistake, every failure — opened at once, spilling over him like a tidal wave of raw memory.
He felt the blade of the first duel that killed him.
The rope from the academy rooftop tightening around his throat.
The cold laughter of the headmaster as the laptop burned.
And the quiet voice of a little boy who had just wanted to be good enough to stay.
The ground shook.
Do-hyun and the others braced themselves as a column of energy spiraled out of Hae-won's body, ripping through the ceiling of the level and punching holes through layers of Hell above.
Then — silence.
When the light dimmed, he was standing again.
Bare-footed.
Silver hair floating slightly, as though underwater.
Eyes dull at first, then brightening with something ancient.
The System's text updated.
[ Transmission Sync Complete. ]
[ Regression Memories Integrated: 501 / 503 ]
[ Cognitive Stability: 47% ]
[ Combat Proficiency: Variable — Adaptive Pattern Enabled. ]
[ Warning: Subject now carries multiple emotional cores. Interaction may cause instability in nearby entities. ]
Arin took a cautious step forward. "Hae-won…?"
He turned toward her slowly, and for an instant she saw every version of him overlaying the present one — a thousand Hae-wons, laughing, bleeding, cursing, weeping.
It lasted only a blink, but it was enough to make her heart tighten.
"Arin," he said.
The tone was his — but quieter, smoother, like several voices agreeing to speak in unison.
"You're back?" she asked.
"I think so." He smiled faintly. "Or all of me is."
Do-hyun exhaled. "That's… somehow more terrifying."
"You have no idea," Seong-wu muttered. "The floor is literally vibrating."
And it was.
The floor pulsed under their boots as if alive — as if Hell itself recognized the intruder that didn't belong to one timeline anymore.
Hae-won glanced down at his hands. His palms glowed faintly, every line on them rewritten into threads of faint runes.
The chains moved differently now — smoother, almost graceful.
The Chains of Judgment and Chains of Regression no longer clashed; they braided themselves, merging into an orbit around him.
He looked… calm.
Too calm.
"System," he said softly. "Status on transmission link."
[ Active. Shared experience available for party members within 10m radius. ]
He raised a brow, glancing at the others.
"You want to see what I've seen?"
Do-hyun blanched. "Hard pass."
Seong-wu shook his head immediately. "No thanks. I enjoy sleeping."
Arin hesitated. Her gaze softened. "If it helps you carry it—"
"Don't." His voice cut through the air, quiet but sharp. "No one needs to live that twice."
The silence that followed wasn't awkward — it was reverent.
They had seen him fight, bleed, break before.
But this — this was different.
This was a man standing in front of his own trauma and making it kneel.
He stepped toward the shattered altar that had spawned the boss monster. Its corpse still steamed nearby, half-dissolved in light.
With a gesture, he summoned the chains — and the ground answered.
Black metal sprouted upward, wrapping around the remains like roots through soil.
[ Sub-Skill Manifested — Chain of the Void ]
[ Function: Bind echoes of the dead; recall memory at the moment of death. ]
Hae-won watched as the remains took shape — a phantom outline of the monster it once was. But instead of roaring, it knelt.
He closed his eyes.
The Chain pulsed once, and the phantom began to speak — a whisper, barely audible, of pain and surrender.
"Even monsters remember what dying feels like," Hae-won murmured. "Now I can make that memory mine."
Arin stepped closer. "That's… horrifying."
"It's balance." His voice was steady now. "The Tower wants harvesters? I'll show it one."
Do-hyun let out a low whistle. "Harvester of Death indeed."
The System responded to the title as if it had been waiting.
[ Modifier Updated: The Harvester of Death ]
[ Trait: Can summon those judged by his chains at their peak state; loyalty unbreakable; individuality preserved. ]
[ Warning: Each summon consumes fragments of sanity. ]
The chains shimmered, tightening around his arms.
A new presence flickered behind him — the faint silhouette of someone familiar, a warrior from an early regression, his face resolute and ready.
Arin's eyes widened. "That's—"
"One of me," Hae-won finished softly. "From another life."
The phantom nodded to him once before fading again.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then Hae-won exhaled and turned to the group, expression unreadable.
"Let's move. Floor 77 won't wait."
Arin opened her mouth to protest, but he added quietly, "Every time I stop, I remember more. So I keep moving."
They fell into step behind him — silent, uneasy, but unwilling to let him walk that path alone.
The Tower's air changed as they advanced, the scent of metal and sulfur thinning into something almost clean. Above, the next staircase coiled upward like a serpent swallowing its tail.
Hae-won looked up at it, faint humor creeping into his voice again.
"Hundred floors up, hundred down. At this rate, I'll die of repetition before the monsters kill me."
Do-hyun grinned. "You? Boredom'll quit first."
"Maybe," Hae-won said. "Or maybe it'll just learn how to bleed."
He started climbing again, each step echoing like a heartbeat through the Tower's bones — a rhythm half-divine, half-damned.