The sensation of life was a betrayal far crueler than any death. Zeke lay shivering in the muck of the 1st Floor Slums, his soul, that of the legendary Hexa-Saint Warrior, struggling to manage the systemic agony that radiated from every nerve ending of this new, emaciated vessel. Dying again? he thought, his awareness fighting the black tide of pain. I won't allow it.
The physical trauma was a searing flame: fractured ribs, internal bleeding, and the catastrophic void where his left eye should have been. Yet, this was a dull ache compared to the cold, cosmic wound of his past. He remembered the crisp, clean air of the high floors, a sharp contrast to this humid filth. Ten years ago, after securing the powerful Chronos Eye on the 35th Floor, the betrayal began. He saw their faces, sharp and cold, circling him on the 34th Floor.
Emma's poison, subtle and insidious, had already withered his mighty Warrior body. He collapsed, his greatsword scraping uselessly across the stone.
"Why?" Zeke had choked out.
Luke, the Knight, stood over him, his face devoid of camaraderie. "The Hexa—" Luke started, the slip of the tongue momentary, before he smoothed it over with cold steel. "—the Penta-Saints will guide humanity, not a reckless Warrior."
John loosed binding arrows, pinning his limbs. Mike shattered his armor and ribs with a mace. Finally, Hinata, the Samurai, moved with surgical cruelty, delivering the final thrusts of her katana.
With his last breath, Zeke smiled, blood thick on his lips. "Jokes on you. It's soul-bound. You get nothing."
The final thrust killed the Warrior, but the Chronos Eye, channeling raw temporal energy, violently ripped his soul free, hurling it ten years forward into this broken husk, forever denying his traitors their prize.
This current vessel, also named Zeke, met a pathetic end. He tried to defend a woman from Kael, Guildmaster of the Red Hand Enforcers. The memory of the savage beating flooded Zeke's mind, ending with the swift, vicious gouging out of the boy's left eye.
Now, the resurrected Zeke lay here, critically low on inner vitality. He heard the scraping sounds of scavengers. No time. I need sight.
With a guttural grunt, Zeke tore off the necklace, snapped the chains, and plunged the obsidian artifact, the Eye of Chronos, directly into the bloody, empty cavity of his left eye socket.
The fusion was a violation so profound it nearly annihilated him. The obsidian relic vanished, replacing the void with a cold, pulsating golden light. His inner vitality plummeted to the absolute brink, but the world instantly transformed. His senses were forcibly opened to Precognition—a half-second glimpse of the future—and Divine Trace Vision. He didn't need to focus; the vision was simply there, overlaying the world in gold, painting the Tower's ambient Mana flow in glowing threads that were impossible to ignore.
He used the half-second warning provided by Precognition to evade the first clumsy strike, then drove his salvaged dagger into the bandit's throat. The effort consumed his entire, pitifully small energy pool. He was left weak and trembling.
Survival first. Vengeance comes after.
His inner vitality demanded resources. He stalked the nearby hunting grounds, targeting Marsh Goblins, the weakest, Common-rank creatures. Their Cores—magical ore—would be traded for Copper Coins, the universal currency (100 Copper = 1 Silver). He would wait agonizingly for his energy to refill, spend it all on a single moment of Precognition to ensure a clean kill, and then wait again. After hours of desperate survival, he secured just enough Cores to buy a minor salve and marginally stabilize himself.
Time bought, the next priority began. The involuntary Divine Trace Vision pulled his gaze constantly toward a cluster of thick, golden threads—divine traces. Beneath a crumbling, abandoned fountain, the traces converged on a distinct, chaotic signature. This forbidden power was separate from the Chronos Eye, but the Eye acted like a beacon, drawn to it. He followed the traces, digging through the debris to reveal a concealed stone tomb.
Inside, he found the petrified heart fragment and a heavy, leather-bound journal. The moment Zeke's hand closed on the fragment, the chaotic energy roared.
The petrified heart fragment pulsed violently in Zeke's grip, its jagged edges biting into his palm. Cold seeped from the stone into his bones, carrying whispers of ancient rage.
He stared at the journal's inscription—The Unbound Will Devours All Chains—when the world fractured. As he read, the fragment pulsed violently, and a crushing spiritual force slammed into his mind.
The physical world dissolved, the stone tomb, the journal, and his damaged body replaced by a desolate, churning space of raw Mana.
He was violently sucked into the mental realm. This was the trial. Failure meant soul annihilation.