{Body Reconstruction Completed.}
{User has awakened: Neon Heart.}
{User can now wield: The God's Essence.}
Jade's eyes fluttered open to the sound of system pop-ups echoing in his mind.
He wasn't in the throne room anymore.
He was standing—barefoot—inside the white room once again.
The air was still, unnaturally so. He rose to his feet, every movement sharp, effortless.
Then he noticed the change.
His body had always been perfect—disciplined, refined—but now it looked as if the gods themselves had sculpted him from living marble. His once short, silky hair now reached his shoulders, pure white and faintly luminous. His crimson eyes glowed brighter, sharper, carrying a predatory intensity that felt almost divine. His skin was still pale, ghostly, but flawless.
"Tsk…" he muttered, glancing at his reflection in the glass-like wall. "Why do I look like a prime vampire lord now?"
He smirked but said nothing more. Then his gaze swept the room—and he realized something chilling.
Out of the hundreds who had entered this trial, only around fifty remained.
"I guess I wasn't the only one who faced hell," Jade whispered.
And then the air shifted.
A presence descended—not with radiance, but with silence.
A childlike being floated down, golden eyes gleaming with cold amusement. His bare feet touched the white floor soundlessly. When he spoke, his voice was light, melodic… and cruel.
"Congratulations, my little mayflies," he said softly. "You've passed the first and most basic test: you can bleed without dying immediately. How… admirable."
He began to pace slowly, his golden gaze drifting across the survivors like a collector inspecting insects in jars.
"You look around and see a trial. A challenge. A path to power. How very human of you. You are not the first to think this way—only the latest."
He stopped. The golden eyes darkened, heavy with centuries of disdain.
"Long ago, in an age your kind has conveniently forgotten, it was you who built this place. Not us. You—your ancestors, kings and mages with more ambition than sense—stacked stone upon stone, spell upon spell, and dared to build a ladder to the heavens. You called it Babel."
He smiled faintly.
"A monument to your arrogance."
His laughter was soft, yet it cut through the silence like glass.
"They thought they could take what was ours. So we did not destroy their little project. Why would we? We simply… repurposed it."
He spread his hands toward the endless white expanse.
"This Tower is not your salvation. It is your sentence. The crucible in which mortal ambition is melted down to see what shape it takes before it cools."
His voice grew colder.
"The godhood we offer? A chain. A glorious, gilded chain. Those who reach the summit do not join us as equals—they kneel as servants. They become… like me. Eternal wardens of the cage they once sought to escape."
A thin smile curved his lips, revealing faintly pointed teeth.
"And the most delicious irony?" he continued. "In all the millennia, through countless cycles, no one has ever truly beaten the Tower. The strongest became floor bosses. The smartest became guides. The most resilient… statues. All of them—forever part of the machine."
He leaned forward slightly, his words threading directly into every survivor's mind.
"So here is your real choice, my precious candidates: you can die on the lower floors, food for the beasts that dwell in the dark. Or you can climb—fight, bleed, and maybe, just maybe, earn the privilege of an eternity spent serving me."
He straightened, his expression once more serene and playful.
"The climb is everything. The summit is a lie. Now… shall we begin the next test? Do try to be more entertaining than the last batch."
A heavy silence fell over the survivors.
Some wept quietly. Others stood frozen, staring into the void.
Then—
A sound broke through the despair.
Not a sob. Not a scream.
A chuckle.
It started low, deep in Jade's chest—a cracked, trembling laugh that grew louder, sharper, until it became a full-blown roar of manic amusement.
"Ahahahaha! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
Heads turned. The golden-eyed being—the Proctor—narrowed his gaze as Jade doubled over, laughing until tears streamed from his crimson eyes.
"You…" Jade wheezed, still laughing. "You really just told us that the entire universe is a rigged game? That the final boss is a bored god recycling his toys?"
He wiped a tear from his eye, straightening. His grin was feral.
"And you think that's supposed to be scary?"
The Proctor's smirk faltered.
"That," Jade said softly, "is the most beautiful thing I've ever heard."
He stepped forward, his shadow stretching across the glowing floor.
"All my life," he said, voice trembling with exhilaration, "I've been bored. I sought perfection in a world with no challenge, no stakes. I was polishing a sword with no one to kill."
He tilted his head slightly, eyes blazing.
"And now you show me this?"
His voice dropped to a whisper, low and ecstatic, echoing across the hall.
"You've given me the one thing I've always wanted… a goal worthy of my perfection."
He spread his arms wide, addressing the Proctor, the Tower, and the unseen gods above.
"You think your little speech is a threat? It's an invitation."
He took a step forward, energy crackling around him.
"You built this prison to break us? I will break your prison."
"You turned ambition into a chain? I'll melt that chain and forge it into a crown."
He grinned—a terrifying, radiant thing.
"You sit up there, watching for your amusement? Then get comfortable. Because I'm not climbing your Tower to win your prize. I'm climbing it to tear the roof off."
The Proctor's golden eyes widened slightly.
"I'll reach the top, not to kneel, but to drag you from your throne… and see what color a god bleeds."
He took one final step forward, voice ringing with absolute, psychotic conviction.
"So thank you… for the perfect challenge."
He smirked, his name carrying like a prophecy.
"Remember this. My name is Jade. I am the flaw in your perfect system. The variable you failed to account for. And I will conquer everything."