The Celestial Tower's mid-section—Floors 47 to 50—was built for pressure.
Light pressure.
Heat pressure.
Enemy pressure.
Psychological pressure.
And of all the fighters climbing now—blazing prodigies, gifted anomalies, cosmic weirdos, and trained veterans—only one approached these floors as if they were… familiar.
Ordinary.
Expected.
Julian Breadstone spun over the arena, his jacket now forming an image of an enormous shield.
"VIEWERS OF THE MULTIVERSE!
Allow me to introduce a fighter who has ZERO flash, ZERO dazzle, and ZERO interest in looking cool—AND YET MAY OUTLAST HALF THIS COMPETITION!"
Jimmy leaned in, unusually excited.
"Oh, THIS guy. This guy is something else."
On the arena's projection windows, a large man trudged across the stone bridge of Floor 47—
not sprinting,
not flying,
not leaping with acrobatic flair.
Just walking.
A big, simple walk.
Broad frame.
Thick arms.
Neck like a tree trunk.
A plain steel breastplate with multiple dents.
No glowing aura, no magical symbols—just scratches and chipped edges.
A tower shield rested on his back—almost as tall as he was.
A simple short sword hung at his belt.
His name flickered above him:
Bramwell "Bram" Darron – Shield Marshal of Greyford
Grounded.
Practical.
Unmovable.
If Ronan Hale was the disciplined martial artist…
If Thalia was the field medic…
If Tessa was the hunter…
Then Bram Darron was the fortress.
Julian squealed:
"BRAM DARRON! A MAN WHOSE JOB IS 'NO.'
As in—
'NO, YOU MAY NOT PASS.'
'NO, YOU MAY NOT HURT ANYONE BEHIND ME.'
'NO, I AM NOT MOVING.'"
Jimmy chimed in, "He used to guard caravans in the wastelands. Survived ambushes from raiders, stormbeasts, even a sand titan."
Julian's eyes sparkled. "And rumor has it the sand titan apologized afterwards!"
Floor 47 was a wind gauntlet—
cyclones rotating between platforms,
blasts pushing fighters sideways,
bridges crumbling under pressure.
Most sprinted carefully.
Some flew.
Some used chi to anchor themselves.
Bram?
He took out his shield.
A rectangular slab of reinforced steel.
Heavy enough that most fighters couldn't lift it.
He braced it against the wind—
dug his boots into the stone—
and simply walked through.
Walked.
Not fast.
Not beautifully.
Just forward.
A cyclone hit him with a scream, pressure strong enough to hurl boulders.
Bram leaned.
Just leaned.
The tower's wind broke around him like waves hitting a cliff.
Julian started laughing uncontrollably.
"HE'S JUST—WALKING THROUGH A TORNADO! WHAT IS THIS LIFE? WHAT IS THIS JOY?"
Jimmy nodded. "That's a Shield Marshal for you. They don't do fancy. They don't do speed. They do one thing extremely well: not falling down."
Three fighters ahead of Bram were trapped on a thin walkway, pinned by wind blasts. Every step pushed them off balance. One started to slip.
Bram sighed, stepped between them, and raised his shield overhead.
"Stay close," he grunted.
The wind slammed into the shield—not the fighters.
Bram gritted his teeth.
His boots scraped.
His legs shook.
But he held.
The three fighters huddled beneath the shield as Bram trudged forward, absorbing every gust, every blast, every shifting pressure wave.
When they reached the next stable zone, the fighters practically collapsed in relief.
"Thank you!" one gasped.
Bram shrugged.
"Walk behind the shield and you live. Walk in front of it and you die. Simple rules."
He continued onward.
Julian threw confetti.
"I LOVE THIS MAN. I WOULD TRUST HIM WITH MY GROCERIES."
Jimmy blinked. "Why groceries?"
"BECAUSE HE PROTECTS THINGS!"
Floor 48 shifted from wind to force.
Invisible telekinetic pushes struck from unpredictable angles, knocking fighters sideways.
A spear fighter tumbled screaming toward the platform edge.
A cryomancer lost her footing.
Two rookies clung desperately to a stone pillar.
Bram calmly planted his shield.
WHAM.
A telekinetic shove hit the shield and fizzled.
WHAM.
WHAM.
WHAM.
Bram absorbed each hit the way a mountain absorbs pebbles in a rainstorm.
Then he moved—slowly, deliberately—toward the rookies.
"Stay low."
The rookies listened instantly.
He extended his shield like a wall, pressing forward inch by inch through the invisible storm.
Telekinetic blasts struck him hard enough to echo like thunder.
One blow made him stagger.
Another put him on one knee.
Julian gasped dramatically.
"Oh no! Oh NO! The WALL is shaking!"
Jimmy leaned forward.
"Come on, Bram…"
The big man growled.
Deep.
Low.
Like an irritated ox.
He rose.
One foot.
Then the other.
Shield still high.
He advanced through the barrage.
The rookies followed, sheltered in his massive shadow. When they reached the exit gate, one cried in relief.
Bram nodded curtly.
"Good. Next time—don't leave cover."
He turned away before they could thank him.
Jimmy whispered, "That's a good man."
Julian sniffled loudly. "HE SAVES PEOPLE AND DOESN'T EVEN WANT CREDIT. MY HEART IS FULL."
Floor 49 was brutal.
Hammerfall Platforms—
stone tiles that slammed upward or downward with crushing force.
Swift had danced across this floor with agility.
Jake had powered through with raw strength.
Korvas used controlled bursts of fire.
Seren shifted frequencies.
Slidewright had simply cheated.
But Bram?
He read the rhythm.
He planted his shield.
Closed his eyes.
Listened.
Each platform's movement had a faint sound—
stone grinding,
pressure building,
air displacement.
Bram tapped the side of his shield.
"Left platform drops.
Right rises.
Two forward will slam."
He opened his eyes.
Stepped forward.
The left platform dropped.
The right rose.
The two ahead slammed upward like mountains erupting.
But Bram had moved already—
sidestepping in advance,
keeping his shield angled to redirect the air shock.
A young mage yelled from behind him:
"How do you KNOW the timing?!"
Bram answered without turning:
"I've marched across worse ground.
Earthquakes. Warzones. Collapsing bridges.
If you listen, the world tells you when it will crack."
The mage stared at him like he'd spoken poetry.
Julian wiped a tear.
"He's like—like—
like if a grandfather clock was a MAN!"
Jimmy patted him. "Keep it together, buddy."
Near the top of Floor 49, a giant platform slammed unexpectedly—
a glitch in the tower's pattern—
knocking three fighters into freefall.
Bram's shield hit the ground with a metallic boom as he threw it outward—
sliding it beneath the falling fighters like a sled.
WHUMP.
They landed on the shield and skidded safely into a stabilizing rune.
Bram retrieved the shield with a grunt.
"Don't stand near edges."
Julian cheered.
"HE CATCHES FALLING PEOPLE WITH HIS SHIELD. HE IS THE HUMAN SAFETY NET."
Finally, Floor 50.
A test of endurance.
Radiant heat poured through the chamber, baking the stone red-hot.
Fighters panted.
Some fainted.
Many were ejected for physical instability.
Bram walked through it.
Slowly.
Methodically.
Shield overhead, deflecting heat.
Sweat pouring down his face.
Breathing steady.
Pace unbroken.
A stormrider collapsed beside him.
Bram paused only long enough to haul her upright.
"Walk."
"I—I can't—"
"Yes you can."
He set a steady, doable pace.
Shoulder to shoulder, shield covering both of them.
She lived because he walked next to her.
When they reached the exit gate, she whispered:
"Thank you, Marshal."
He only grunted.
"Keep moving."
As Bram ascended into the higher floors, Julian floated upward, voice powerful and proud.
"BRAM DARRON! The WALL THAT WALKS! The SHIELD THAT DOES NOT BREAK! A MAN WHO RELIES NOT ON DESTINY, BUT ON STAMINA, BRAVERY, AND THE STRENGTH TO PROTECT ANYONE NEAR HIM!"
Jimmy added:
"He's not the fastest. Not the strongest. Not the flashiest.
But he's one of the most reliable fighters in this entire tower."
Julian nodded violently.
"And he WILL be one of the 500! MARK MY WORDS!"
Bram did not hear them.
Did not care.
He simply continued forward—
walking
breathing
enduring
through the tower's endless trials.
Because that was his role.
His oath.
His truth.
He was a wall.
And walls never fall first.