The first sensation was the cold.
Zero awoke lying on a flat stone surface, smooth but unforgiving beneath him. He could feel the faint vibration of life—or something like life—beneath the floor. His body was light, almost unreal. The first thought that flickered through his mind was sharp, calculated: Where am I?
Slowly, he opened his eyes.
Silver hair fell over his face, brushing against skin so pale it almost seemed to shimmer under the dim light. He blinked once. Twice. Then the piercing gray of his eyes took in the surroundings: a cavernous chamber, walls carved with jagged patterns, faint blue luminescence emanating from crystal-like formations in the cracks. Shadows flickered like restless spirits.
Zero sat up, muscles instinctively tensing. He noticed the faint marks along his hands and arms—lines of energy, unrecognized, but alive. A pulse thrummed beneath his skin, a rhythm that matched no human heartbeat he had known. Something deep inside told him: You are not like them.
He rose to his feet, slow and deliberate. His eyes swept the chamber, noting the patterns, the angles, the dim paths stretching beyond. Somewhere, faintly, there was a hum of energy—alive, shifting, watching.
The Tower.
The word whispered through his mind. He did not know how he knew it, but there was no doubt. The Tower's presence was palpable. It was alive, immense, unyielding—and it had claimed him.
First Steps
Zero moved, silent and measured. Each step left no sound, though the stones beneath occasionally hummed in response to his presence. He found a narrow corridor, the walls etched with the same faint runes he had noticed in the chamber. They pulsed softly, in rhythm with his heartbeat—or perhaps with something deeper.
He paused. The instincts he had honed in his previous life—a life of precision, calculation, observation—told him he was being watched. There was a faint shift of shadow ahead. A figure? Perhaps more than one?
"Show yourself," he said, his voice calm, almost cold, echoing through the corridor. No hesitation, no tremor. The words carried authority.
Nothing answered. Just the faint hum.
Zero's eyes narrowed. His body moved before his mind fully registered. A step forward, a pivot, and his hand brushed against something solid—a sword, sleek and unfamiliar. He pulled it free, examining the craftsmanship: blackened steel, runes etched along the blade, faint glimmer of energy flowing like liquid fire through the hilt.
Useful.
He slipped it into a ready stance, gray eyes scanning every flicker of shadow. A ripple of movement caught his peripheral vision—then, a figure lunged.
It was humanoid but wrong. Limbs bent at unnatural angles, skin pale, almost translucent, veins glowing faintly. Its mouth opened wider than possible, revealing jagged teeth. And then it hissed.
Zero's reaction was immediate. The sword rose, energy sparking along the edge. A flicker of something inside him—a cold, merciless instinct—took hold. He struck.
The blade met flesh, and the sound was more of a tearing scream than a cut. The figure convulsed, dissolving into shadowy mist that evaporated into the air. No hesitation, no mercy. Zero's eyes flicked to the next movement. There was always a next movement.
Analysis and Observation
Zero took a step back, breathing steady, calm. His mind cataloged every detail: the creature's speed, its shape, the glowing veins, the way it moved. He made mental notes:
Weakness: central core near the chest.
Movement pattern: jerky, predictable after first attack.
Regeneration: slow, can be interrupted.
All manageable.
He knew one thing with certainty: survival in this Tower was about observation and adaptation. Strength alone would not suffice; cunning, calculation, and patience would decide who lived.
Encounter with the Unknown
A distant rumble echoed through the corridor. The walls vibrated faintly. From the shadows ahead, several more figures emerged, malformed like the first, but faster, more coordinated. They hissed, eyes glowing in unison, moving with silent intent toward him.
Zero adjusted his grip on the sword, the black steel humming softly. He assessed:
Number of enemies: 5
Distance: 12 meters
Attack speed: variable
Potential threat: medium to high
He shifted stance slightly. Feet light, muscles coiled. He was not nervous; he never was. Cold logic dictated his next moves.
They strike first, they die first.
The first of the creatures lunged. A swift sidestep, a flick of the sword, and its head was severed before it could reach him. The others hesitated, a fraction of a second too long, and he used it: a sweeping strike, the blade moving in an arc that cut through two at once. The remaining two froze, sensing the danger.
Zero tilted his head slightly, gray eyes narrowing. "Come." His voice was a command, not a request.
Emerging Power
As the remaining two advanced, energy surged along the sword, igniting faint sparks that leapt like tiny flames. The lines along his arms glowed in tandem. He felt it now—an awakening. A power unique to him, flowing through every vein, every fiber of his being.
It was not anger, not desire—it was clarity. Precision. Control. He could feel the very space around him bending to the rhythm of his movement, enemies' momentum predictable, their weaknesses exposed.
One creature lunged. The blade met it, energy cascading in waves, cutting cleanly, evaporating shadow into harmless mist. The final foe hesitated, then vanished into the darkness, as if the Tower itself had pulled it back.
Zero stood alone in the corridor, gray eyes scanning every shadow. Calm. Cold. Unmoved.
The Tower had tested him. And he had passed.
[To be continued in Part 2]