Vikram Das woke up screaming.
He was lie down on road with his hands and legs spread out , rain pouring down like nothing had happened. His bike was on its side. His phone buzzed in his pocket.
No wounds.
No broken arm.
No goblin.
But his throat burned like it had been crushed.
Vikram dragged himself up, hands shaking.
That night, he didn't sleep.
Every time he closed his eyes, he felt fingers tightening around his nec
the next day
Then someone knocking at his door .
"Mr Das," the man outside said calmly, smiling without warmth. "Six months overdue. Interest has doubled."
"I'll pay," Vikram begged. "Just give me time."
The man's smile vanished. "You've already had time."
They left a warning instead of a beating.
This time.
Vikram sat on the floor of his one-room house, head in his hands. His daughter's school message blinked on his phone.
FINAL NOTICE: FEES PENDING
His eyes drifted to the corner of the room.
Three years ago, a drunk driver had jumped a signal.
His daughter had been crossing the road after tuition.
Broken leg.
Internal bleeding.
Emergency surgery.
The hospital didn't ask for consent.
They asked for money.
Vikram had signed papers he didn't understand.
Interest rates he didn't read.
Loans he thought he could manage with overtime and double shifts.
He was wrong.
The debt never shrank. It multiplied.
He looked up.
The sky burned.
[THE OLD WORLD IS OBSOLETE.] [Gold is heavy. Paper is fragile. Status is temporary.]
[THE TOWER OFFERS THE TRUTH.]
[REWARDS FOR CLIMBERS:]
ELIXIRS: Cure Cancer. Regrow Limbs. Restore Youth.
SKILLS: Wield Fire. Bend Space. Defy Gravity.
WEALTH: System Coins can purchase what Earth cannot provide.
That night, Vikram opened the system window.
His hands were steady this time.
"If I stay here," he muttered, staring at the glowing text, "they'll kill me anyway."
He pressed ENTER TOWER.
And somewhere, far above, unseen eyes took note.
The concrete room formed again.
Same size.
Same walls.
Different Vikram.
[WELCOME BACK – TUTORIAL FLOOR]
[RE-ENTRY COUNT: 1]
[Time Until Enemy Spawn: 03:30]
[Player Points Granted: 20 CP]
Vikram didn't panic this time.
He exhaled slowly.
"I already died once," he muttered. "You don't scare me anymore."
He opened the shop immediately.
No spear this time.
He remembered the mistake.
He bought fast.
Steel Crowbar – 12 CP
Biker Helmet – 8 CP
The crowbar felt perfect.
Short. Heavy. Brutal.
He crouched near the center of the room instead of the corner.
"Come to me," he whispered.
[ENEMY SPAWNED]
The Goblin dropped in.
Same muscles.
Same hunger.
It lunged.
Vikram didn't retreat.
He stepped into the attack.
The Goblin's punch scraped his shoulder—pain exploded—but Vikram swung with both hands.
CRACK.
The crowbar smashed into the Goblin's knee.
Bone snapped.
The Goblin screamed this time.
It fell.
Vikram raised the crowbar again.
CRACK.
CRACK.
CRACK.
He didn't stop until the green body stopped moving.
Silence.
Vikram stood there, chest heaving, blood dripping down his arm.
Then—
[SYSTEM MESSAGE]
[ENEMY TERMINATED]
[TUTORIAL CLEARED]
He stared at the words.
Then he laughed.
A broken, shaking laugh.
"I can do this," he whispered.
"no i have to do this"
Far above, a constellation marked Vikram Das as worth watching.
Cities snapped.
Shops were the first to fall.
In Delhi, shutters were ripped open. Rice, oil, medicine—gone in minutes. People didn't loot carefully. They grabbed like tomorrow didn't exist.
In New York, gun stores emptied before grocery stores did.
In Mumbai, medical stores were smashed open. Insulin, painkillers, antibiotics—sold on the street at ten times the price by nightfall.
Preachers climbed onto cars and buses.
"This is the Apocalypse!" one screamed, eyes wild.
"God is angry! The Tower is His judgment!"
Crowds cried.
Others laughed.
Fake prophets went live within hours.
"Donate now," a man said calmly into his phone, system window glowing beside him. "I will teach you how to survive the Tower."
Views exploded.
Money poured in.
In Seoul, a woman sold "Tower Protection Charms."
In Paris, influencers charged for "Tutorial Tips."
In Delhi, a self-proclaimed saint promised salvation—for a fee.
The end of the world was trending.
Arjun Prajapati.
AIR 1. IAS.
Mumbai was burning.
Crowds were flooding Marine Drive, rumors spreading faster than fire—"The Tower is judgment."
Someone had started a stampede many died.
Arjun didn't shout.
Didn't panic.
He stopped the local trains.
Cut mobile data.
By dawn, the city was bruised—but standing.
In his car, Arjun finally opened the window he had ignored all night.
[TUTORIAL CLEARED]
[Clear Time: 03:22]
Over the next days, Arjun managed food routes, power grids, hospital security.
Stopped three riots.
Talked down a mob outside a temple using nothing but a mic and silence.
He worked tirelessly in the emergency.
He watched the casualty numbers rise on a private screen.
"If I'd moved faster," he murmured, eyes hollow,
"less people would be dead."
And that thought stayed with him—
not pride, not fear—
but responsibility.