Chapter 164
The guild's advance slowed as Daniel turned, his dark eyes sweeping over them, and spoke with a calm authority that carried across the ruined streets. "This," he said, gesturing to the enormous hybrid crouched beside him, "is Vaenyx, my familiar." At the name, the creature rose, its colossal frame stretching six feet high on all fours, the golden gleam of its predatory eyes catching the rising sun. It let out a deep, resonant growl that rolled across the streets like thunder, and for a heartbeat, the guild froze, hearts hammering, unsure whether to flee or draw their weapons. Daniel's voice cut through the tension, low and steady: "It answers only to me. You are safe."
A collective murmur rose from the mages, amazement and fear mingling as they circled the creature, noting the impossible fusion of fur, scale, and feather, the twitching of nine serpent tails, and the power radiating from it like a living storm. Some of the younger female mages, braver than the rest, stepped forward hesitantly, fingers outstretched to touch Vaenyx's sleek black scales, their awe tempered by caution. Daniel's hand rose, and with a soft command, the creature's immense form began to shrink, its wings folding, its tail-fan retracting, its aura of latent power dampening until it was still large but no longer overwhelming, less threatening. The mages relaxed, laughter and whispered exclamations rippling through the group as Vaenyx's golden eyes softened, following Daniel's subtle gestures.
For a moment, there was a fragile calm, the kind that always comes before chaos. As the remaining guild members drew their weapons and prepared to sweep the city, Daniel watched them carefully. Their movements were deliberate now, measured, each glance toward one another filled with the unspoken understanding of past failure. He saw the realization dawn—the same clarity that had been denied them at Grisval when twelve of their own had fallen, an awareness that the Tower did not forgive weakness, and that survival demanded more than courage: it demanded unity, discipline, and obedience to the reality of this world.
Daniel's gaze shifted to Cody. "Tell the main attack force to prepare for battle," he instructed. Cody hesitated, confusion flickering across his face. "Sir… there's nothing left. The city is ash. There's no enemy" Daniel raised a hand, cutting him off before the question could form, his voice steady, unwavering. "Have you received any notification?" Cody froze. Only human players were supposed to hear the Tower's alerts, yet here, a resident Daniel, was issuing a command as the system itself did not recognized him.
Before Cody could respond, a low tremor shook the ground beneath their feet, rolling through Dravensk like a buried drumbeat of doom. Dust fell from crumbling towers, and the guild instinctively tightened their formation. "Everybody to arms! Prepare to fight!" Cody shouted, finally understanding.
From the center of the ruined city, the earth cracked and groaned. A monstrous form erupted from the ground, towering twenty feet high, its twin heads gnashing, its rotting flesh hanging in chunks as if the very soil had vomited it forth. A mountain troll of nightmare proportions, its stench thick and its presence enough to freeze hearts mid-beat, rose fully into view. Daniel's eyes narrowed, his voice cutting like a blade through the terror. "This… this is Sigma's work!"
The guild's blood ran cold, but the tremor in the air carried more than fear—it carried revelation. The city, though smoldering and ash-laden, was far from empty. The Tower was alive, the rules shifting in ways the guild had only begun to comprehend, and the battle they were about to face would test everything they thought they knew about power, loyalty, and survival. Vaenyx crouched at Daniel's side, muscles coiled and ready, wings twitching, and the guild knew in that instant that what had survived the ashes would be nothing short of a trial by fire—and only the strongest, the sharpest, and the most disciplined would endure.
The air vibrated with tension as the guild surged forward, weapons and magic ready, eyes locked on the towering, rotting mountain troll that now dominated the ruined plaza of Dravensk. Charllote Lazarus led the charge, her dual blades ablaze with fire and arcane energy, slashing through the first wave of animated debris and skeletal reinforcements that the troll inadvertently stirred. Each strike scorched flesh and stone alike, yet the creature barely flinched, its twin heads swiveling independently, eyes blazing with unnatural intelligence as it began to channel dark magic, summoning jagged bursts of necrotic energy that tore through the ground where the guild had just stood.
Vice-captain Natasha Sokolov crouched behind the broken wall of the city's once-grand cathedral, crossbow loaded with ice-infused bolts. She fired with deadly precision, freezing patches of the troll's charred skin to slow its movements, and when one head lashed toward her, she rolled and unleashed a torrent of water elemental shards, creating a slick, reflective barrier that deflected the troll's corrupt spells. Jacob Lazarus, wielding molten lava in his hands, advanced beside Charllote, sweeping the molten river in a wide arc, the heat forcing the troll back, but still it pressed forward, twisting its enormous limbs with terrifying speed.
From the flanks, Oliver Lazarus rained poison darts into the creature's joints, each hit eating slowly at tendon and sinew, while Farrah Lazarus conjured a dense wall of writhing vines, blocking both magic and physical blows, her green tendrils lashing at any minions that dared to emerge from the debris. Rainey Lazarus commanded swarms of insects, millions of stingers and fangs, to crawl across the troll's skin, forcing it to flinch and roar, yet the abomination shook them off like raindrops, each movement sending corpses flying in every direction.
Sabine, transformed into her tiger-humanoid form, leapt onto the creature's shoulders, claws rending scales and rot-laden flesh, her agility allowing her to dodge the troll's shadowy spells, while Noah Lazarus reinforced the frontline, his metallic skin gleaming as he absorbed the impact of its strikes, each blow shaking the ground beneath him. Kuzmina's own beast form mirrored Noah's ferocity, tearing at the troll's legs to destabilize its stance. Nataliya and Aleksandrova fired synchronized strikes, blade and arrow slicing and piercing, while Irinushka's magic musket sent concussive bursts of enchanted gunpowder that detonated in the troll's faces, momentarily stunning it.
Mary Kaye Lazarus crouched, shovel in hand, and slammed it into the earth, sending walls of stone and soil erupting to form barriers and channels, rerouting the creature's attention, while Bonnie manipulated gravity to slow the monster's steps, giving the others precious seconds to reposition. Cody's wide-range shockwaves erupted from his hands, staggering the troll and shattering the ground, and Maggie Lazarus danced through the air with wind blades cutting into exposed flesh.
Sophia Lazarus fired flaming arrows from the rooftops, each finding a gap in corrupted armor, while Emma Lazarus scanned relentlessly, calling out weak points with precision. Brie's telepathic guidance kept every guild member coordinated, and Zalie's healing potions restored stamina and vigor mid-fight, ensuring no one faltered.
All the while, Daniel Rothchester and Vaenyx observed from the edge of the battlefield, unscathed, almost indifferent. Vaenyx crouched, muscles coiled like a spring, golden eyes fixed on the troll, ready to strike if Daniel commanded, but Daniel's arms were crossed, gaze sharp, studying.
The monster was enormous, corrupted, and fast beyond normal comprehension, yet Daniel noted each flaw, each staggered spell, each hesitation. His mind ticked, this wasn't part of the original scenario, not in the quest logs, not in the Tower's standard directives. Sigma's influence, he realized, was here, manipulating events once again, testing responses, pushing the guild and himself into unknown territory.
The undead giant roared, each head casting twin streams of shadow fire and necrotic energy, arcs of blackened flame dancing across the ruins, yet the guild moved as one, their coordination a testament to Mary Kaye's earlier warning, to the discipline learned from their twelve lost comrades. Every step, every spell, every strike was a delicate balance of aggression and defense, a deadly dance against a foe that was both brute and sorcerer, magic and malice intertwined.
And above it all, Daniel watched, waiting, studying, knowing that to survive this trial and to prove he had become more than a player, a true resident of the Tower, he would have to see not only the monster's defeat but the guild's response to chaos and death, to fear made tangible, in a city of ash where the Tower's rules held sway over even gods and monsters alike.
The battlefield trembled with the dying groans of the two-headed mountain troll as its massive, corrupted form collapsed into the ashes and rubble of Dravensk. Smoke curled around its broken limbs, and the stench of rot mingled with the acrid scent of scorched stone. For a heartbeat, a fragile silence fell over the guild, and the soldiers exhaled as though victory had been achieved—but Daniel Rothchester did not move, did not relax. Vaenyx crouched at his side, golden eyes still scanning, muscles tensed like a drawn bow.
Daniel's gaze swept over the ruin, noting the charred terrain, the scattered bones, the silent remnants of the undead horde. Then, with a sharp step forward, he placed a hand on the handle of his blade and muttered, more to himself than anyone else, "Sigma…" The name vibrated in the air, heavy with accusation. This was no ordinary anomaly; the Administrator, the entity they had come to know as Sigma, was testing them again. The Tower's primary scenario—the sequence, the challenges, the sub quests, all were being twisted to suit a personal whim, an experiment imposed on its residents.
He called out sharply to Charlotte Lazarus, his voice cutting through the dust and smoke. "Charlotte! Did you hear it? The confirmation quest, cleared?"
Charlotte turned slowly, her eyes reflecting both awe and apprehension. "I… I was wondering about it," she admitted, voice hesitant, brow furrowed. "Why… why is there no announcement?"
Daniel's jaw tightened, his aura flaring faintly, shadows licking the ground around him.
"It's not over!" he shouted, voice carrying like steel across the battlefield.
"Clear the area! It's not dead! The sub-quest is still ongoing! Move, if you don't want to die!"
The guild froze, uncertainty flickering in their eyes, then snapped into motion at the weight of his words. Spells ignited, blades rose, arrows loosed, and magical constructs reshaped the battlefield as the soldiers understood that what lay before them could not be trusted to stay dead. The fallen troll was only the beginning. Sigma's manipulation had made the objective a living, shifting threat; every instinct, every movement, every glance could be the difference between survival and death.
Daniel's gaze swept over the guild as they moved, noting the coordination, the hesitation, the way each member recalibrated to his command. They were learning in real time: the Tower did not bend, did not forgive, and its Administrator's desires were law in practice, even if not in code. Vaenyx leapt skyward, wings fanning a storm of ash and dust, emitting a low, menacing growl that sent shivers through even the most seasoned fighters, signaling the readiness to strike again, obeying only Daniel's command.
The ground shivered beneath them, as though the city itself resented their presence. And somewhere beneath the ash and rubble, Daniel knew, something stirred. The quest was still alive, a dangerous echo of one of the administrator named Sigma's personal whim, waiting for the unwary to falter. Daniel clenched his fist, the shadows around him coiling like serpents. This was no longer about clearing a city of the dead; this was a test of awareness, of discipline, of whether the guild and he himself will live.
The air shimmered with heat and raw energy as the twisted rift pulsing from the corpse of the fallen two-headed troll tore open reality itself. From its jagged maw, three forms emerged, each dripping with darkness yet radiating a presence that defied mortal comprehension. Daniel's sharp eyes, trained to read the echoes of the Tower, immediately registered their power: mana reserves rivaling his own, a raw, volatile strength that warped the ground beneath them.
The first archdemon bore the skeletal elegance of a death god, its ebony wings folding over a form that was both humanoid and bestial. Horns curved from its skull like jagged obsidian, eyes glowing violet, a sword of condensed shadow hanging in one hand. Its mere step left scorch marks where the earth had barely touched its clawed feet.
The second was a creature of molten chaos, skin molten red and veined with cracks of searing white fire, its arms ending in jagged blades that hummed with unearthly resonance. Its mouth opened in a silent scream, fangs dripping lava, as if the world itself recoiled from its heat.
The third archdemon was fluid in form, a shifting mass of silver and black, constantly folding into and out of itself. Tentacles tipped with serrated edges writhed across its back, and a crown of floating shards orbiting its head pulsed in rhythm with its heartbeat. Its eyes, innumerable and scattered across its body, reflected the battlefield in fractured light.
Daniel's hand tightened around the grip of his gun blade. The familiar weight was reassuring, yet insufficient. This was the first enemy he had encountered since leaving the Tower where his power alone could not dominate; this was the first time he was truly outmatched. Every instinct screamed caution, every shadow whispered the truth: brute strength would fail here.
He could feel the distorted rift feeding them, twisting the sub quest scenario into something beyond a mere trial, Sigma's manipulation had gone too far, merging the rules of the Tower with raw, chaotic power.
Vaenyx's wings stretched, golden eyes locking on the molten archdemon, claws flexing as if anticipating the strike. Even the hybrid's power seemed dwarfed by the three standing before them, the sheer aura of danger pressing against the senses of every guild member behind him. The mages faltered for a heartbeat, arrows and spells hanging in midair as the intensity of the archdemons' mana threatened to burn through reality itself.
Daniel inhaled, steadying his breath, every muscle coiled like a spring. The chaos mana within him surged, shadows crawling along his arms and melting into his armor, yet his mind remained sharp. "Cody," he barked over the growing roar of the rift, "have the main force ready, but hold position! This isn't a fight for numbers, it's precision. Every strike must count!"
Cody's shock mirrored the guild's; they had never seen Daniel like this, tense yet composed, every thought focused, every motion anticipating a world where death could come from a single misstep. Daniel stepped forward, the gun blade raised, the air around him humming with suppressed chaos energy, and met the skeletal archdemon head-on. Sparks erupted as shadow collided with shadow, a strike that should have cleaved the demon in half barely grazing its form.
"This… isn't possible," a mage whispered, voice trembling, as they watched the clash. The molten demon roared, and the shifting archdemon slithered forward, closing the circle. Daniel's aura flared violently, yet for the first time, he felt the cold bite of genuine danger. This was no longer a city of ash or a subquest to tick off—this was a test of survival, and Sigma was watching, manipulating, observing how even a Tower resident could struggle against the chaos it allowed to bleed through its rules.
Every guild member behind him tensed, realizing the weight of the scenario: Daniel was not invincible; their leader's brilliance could not erase the fundamental truth of power. They could die here, swept aside not by chance but by the cruel hand of a Tower administrator who relished subverting every expectation. And yet, even as the archdemons' power pressed in from all sides, Daniel's eyes narrowed, cold and precise, and he whispered under his breath, "Then let's see how deep Sigma wants to push this entertainment…"
The first strike of the battle, one that would echo across the decimated streets of Dravensk broken city was about to spill more blood..
The air of Dravensk twisted with a mixture of fire, ash, and mana, thick enough to choke. The three archdemons advanced, their movements unnaturally synchronized, each strike tearing the ground, sending shards of stone and molten rock into the sky. Daniel pivoted and moved holding his gun blade flashing, parrying a swing from the skeletal archdemon while Vaenyx's wings sliced through the molten demon's approach, claws raking molten fur with sparks exploding on impact. Behind them, the 288 guild members surged into the city streets, spells and arrows clashing with the chaotic aura of the three-headed nightmare, yet fear clung to them like a second skin. Charlotte Lazarus danced through the smoke, her fire blades lashing in a blur of orange and red, cutting through skeletal minions that had crawled from the rubble, while Jacob Lazarus unleashed molten streams, carving molten trenches to contain the demons' advance.
Natasha Sokolov's crossbow bolts hummed through the air, glacial tips cracking against armor and stone alike, each shot aimed to destabilize, to slow the rhythm of the archdemons. Farrah Lazarus raised her hands, summoning walls of thick, writhing vines that erupted from the cracked cobblestones, momentarily ensnaring the shifting, silver archdemon, yet it shrugged them off with a whip of serrated limbs that shredded her protective barrier. Rainey's clouds of insects swarmed, darkening the sky and biting with lethal precision, yet even the collective swarm found itself singed by the molten demon's heat, or vaporized by the skeletal one's shadow blade.
Noah Lazarus' metal-skinned frame was battered by the molten demon's claws, sparks flying as the blows dented and twisted the alloy of his body, but each hit he took was a calculated risk, forcing the beast to expend strength while holding the line for others to strike. Sabine, shifting into her tiger form, lunged at the skeletal demon, claws tearing through its chest armor, teeth sinking into shadow flesh, yet the demon's dark energy burned her in return, forcing her back with a roar of pain. Oliver's poison darts flew through the haze, some finding purchase, others dissipating against supernatural resistance, while Aleksandrova's arrows sang through the air, fire-tipped, piercing gaps in the molten creature's armor-like skin. Irinushka's musket volleys rang out with explosive magical concussions, shaking the streets as even the shifting demon seemed to hesitate, the shards orbiting its head sparking and flaring with the sudden impact.
Mary Kaye Lazarus struck with her shovel, summoning chunks of earth to rise and strike like hammers, shaping the battlefield and giving moments of cover, but each swing required perfect timing, for the molten demon's lava burst shattered her defenses, sending debris raining down. Bonnie twisted gravity around the molten demon, lightening the air beneath it to throw its balance, yet each manipulation cost her focus, leaving her open to slashes from the skeletal one. Maggie's wind blades tore through smoke and debris, clearing paths for mages to cast, while Sophia's fire arrows rained in arcs, each shot trying to exploit a weakness, but the three archdemons adapted too quickly, their immense mana regenerating and feeding off the corrupted rift energy.
Cody's shockwave blasts erupted in tandem with Emma's assessment scans, pinpointing vulnerable points, yet every hit he landed was countered with retaliatory force, his own magic shields straining under the brutal intensity. Zalie scrambled to concoct mid-level healing potions on the fly, her hands shaking as bodies fell around her, some guild members who had survived Grisval now lying broken and burning, their cries swallowed by the city's roar. Brie's telepathy tried to coordinate scattered attacks, but the demons' sheer presence warped focus, forcing mental feedback that left some members clutching their heads, staggering from disorientation.
And Daniel, Daniel, the Disciple of the Neatherborn, felt the first true sting of real danger. A molten fist collided with his torso, black ichor from his own wounds searing through the armor as Vaenyx let out a growl that shook the surrounding stone. For the first time in years, he was not dominating; he was reacting, calculating with split-second precision to survive. Every strike, every dodge, every parry was a gamble. He saw the truth: Sigma's meddling had forced the Tower's primary scenario into chaos, the sub-quest twisted into a nightmare. Even Vaenyx, now smaller, restrained, could do little more than assist with precise strikes, unable to bear the full brunt of the three archdemons' combined power.
The guild's formation faltered under the unrelenting assault. Some members fell, their screams echoing across shattered streets, twisted by the corruption of the rift. The surviving members hesitated for just a heartbeat too long, only to be reminded of the monsters' overwhelming strength. Daniel's eyes narrowed, scanning the battlefield with deadly focus, and he shouted orders like lightning, weaving the guild's attacks into a coordinated pattern that kept the demons momentarily off-balance. Yet still, the dread settled: even with every skill combined, even with their most powerful spells and abilities, the monsters were not yet broken. Sigma's manipulation had raised the stakes beyond the ordinary, and Daniel could feel the weight of every life in that city pressing down on him—their survival now dependent on strategy, instinct, and sheer unbreakable will.
The battle raged, and Dravensk, a city once silent and burned to ash, became a crucible of fire, blood, and magic. The archdemons advanced, their every movement a test of the guild's resolve, and Daniel Rothchester, Disciple of the Neatherborn, survivor of the Gorge, and now true Tower resident, stood at the center, wounded, calculating, and more alive than ever. The city had not yet fallen, but the realization burned in every mind: Sigma was testing them, twisting their trial, and even Daniel, the legend among mortals and gods alike, could not face this alone.
Daniel's aura flared with chaotic energy, tendrils of dark power spiraling around him like living shadows, yet the first archdemon advanced with an elegance that belied its grotesque form. Its skeletal frame gleamed beneath the violet glow of its eyes, wings folding like a predator ready to strike. The horns jutting from its skull caught the fading light, jagged and cruel, and the sword of condensed shadow it wielded seemed less a weapon and more a fragment of the void itself. Every step it took scorched the cracked stone beneath its clawed feet, each movement precise, deliberate, and terrifyingly experienced.
Daniel lunged, chaos energy coiling into his blade, ready to shatter the creature's defenses—but the archdemon anticipated each strike before it landed. His attacks were met with counterblows three times the force, the impact reverberating through his chest and sending shards of black ichor across the battlefield. For the first time in years, Daniel felt raw, unfiltered pain tear through him, each strike a reminder that he was no longer simply a master of controlled destruction—here, he was mortal in a war of titans. And he relished it.
Every nerve screamed, every muscle burned, but the pain was clarity. It reminded him that survival was no longer theoretical, that power alone did not guarantee victory. He danced backward, sidestepping a slash that cleaved stone as though it were parchment, chaos energy flaring with each movement, reacting instinctively to counter the archdemon's brutal precision. Vaenyx circled above, claws raking at the molten air, wings stirring gusts that disrupted the demon's balance for a fleeting heartbeat—but it was not enough.
Daniel's mind raced, chaos energy coiling tighter around him, probing, stretching, trying to find a weakness in an enemy whose every strike had decades of unrecorded battlefield experience behind it. The skeletal archdemon moved with a predator's patience, every feint and swing calculated to teach Daniel a lesson, to test him. Pain flared again as Daniel caught a blow across his shoulder that sent him skidding backward, embedding cracks into the scorched street. He tasted blood, felt the sting of broken bone under the shadow of his chaotic form—and smiled.
For the first time, Daniel understood the exhilaration of facing an opponent that could genuinely match him, perhaps even surpass him. This was no simulated battle, no player-versus-environment skirmish: this was real, primal, and beautiful. Each strike he parried, each counter he forced, pushed both him and the archdemon to their limits. He realized, in that pulse of agony and adrenaline, that Sigma's manipulations were meant to challenge more than skill—they were meant to measure his will. Pain became a language, chaos energy a dialect, and Daniel Rothchester, Disciple of the Neatherborn, began to speak fluently.
Vaenyx swooped low, its tails fanning and venom-tipped fangs gleaming, claws raking molten ground to distract the archdemon, and Daniel leapt atop the creature's flailing arm, chaos energy cracking along his blade. The archdemon hissed, wings beating storms that tore at the air, but Daniel held on, riding the edge of danger with a grin that was almost feral. For the first time, he did not fight to survive—he fought to understand, to measure the limits of his body, mind, and soul against something that had known only carnage and experience. Pain was no longer a liability. It was a teacher.
The battlefield around them was chaos incarnate: fire, ash, magic, and debris whirling as the remaining guild members fought desperately against the other two archdemons. But here, Daniel and the first archdemon faced each other, an apex predator testing a newly crowned equal. Every strike from the demon was precise, deadly, and humiliating—but Daniel absorbed it, pushed past it, and responded with attacks that were raw, uncontrolled, yet devastating. For the first time, he truly felt alive, balanced on the razor's edge between death and mastery, laughing through the pain as the skeletal god of death itself began to acknowledge the storm of chaos energy swirling around him.
Daniel's shoulder burned like molten iron as the skeletal archdemon's shadow-forged blade tore through his defenses. The pain was sharp, unfamiliar in its intensity, a sensation that had been abstracted or muted for years under his Neathreborn resilience. For a heartbeat, he staggered, chaos energy flickering erratically around him, tendrils of darkness writhing like living snakes, lashing out without full control. He tasted blood, felt bruised ribs grind beneath his armor, and yet, instead of fear, a thrill surged through him.
The archdemon's movements were impossible to predict, each strike measured with decades of unrecorded combat experience. Daniel realized, with a mix of dread and exhilaration, that he was truly outmatched. Every block he attempted was countered, every strike he landed returned triple in force. Pain screamed through his body with a clarity that was intoxicating. And slowly, like a shadow unfurling from the depths of his being, something inside him began to respond—not the calm, calculating strategist, but something darker.
Chaos energy curled tighter, black tendrils licking outward from his form, whispering of power unrestrained, of force that needed no rules. His pupils narrowed, and his grin was feral, teeth flashing in the haze of blood and smoke. The thrill of being truly tested, of being pierced by an enemy far stronger than he had faced in years, drew out the part of him that had always lingered behind restraint: the part that hungered for dominance, for destruction, for chaos itself.
Vaenyx hovered nearby, sensing the shift, claws digging into the air, but Daniel barely noticed. Pain no longer slowed him—it sharpened him. Every wound was a word, every bruise a sentence, every gash a paragraph in the language of combat. He moved like a predator dancing along the edge of death, feeding off the sensation, letting his dark side—the part he had kept carefully caged—begin to seep into the light.
The skeletal archdemon's violet eyes widened slightly, perhaps sensing the change. Daniel's chaos energy surged, black and writhing, a living extension of his rage and fascination. He struck again, blade arcing in wide, jagged arcs, infused with the raw, intoxicating darkness now flowing from him. Pain remained, sharp and insistent, but it was no longer a warning. It was a pulse, a rhythm that quickened his movements, tuned his senses, and sharpened every strike into an instrument of near-perfect violence.
For the first time in years, Daniel did not merely fight to survive—he fought to taste the edge of what he truly was. And the darker he became, the more the archdemon realized that this was no longer a mortal duel. This was chaos incarnate answering carnage with carnage, the first true battle in which Daniel Rothchester,the Neathreborn Disciple, embraced the shadows he had long feared, letting pain and darkness merge into power.
The battlefront of Dravensk became a massacre. The air, already thick with smoke and mana, split under the shrieks of the dying. From the 288 guild members that had charged into the city, nearly fifty seven were annihilated in the opening waves of the archdemons' unified assault.
Firestorms roared from the molten beast's claws, collapsing entire blocks of shattered stone, while the silver fiend lashed its serrated limbs in whips that shredded armor, bone, and spell alike. Screams were swallowed in the roar of collapsing towers, blood steaming against molten pavement. For every spell unleashed, three guild members fell. For every desperate charge, five bodies burned.
The 200 main attack force that survive fought with the desperation of cornered prey, while the remaining thirty one secured the battle wagons and all their equipment. but it was clear now—this was not a battle of equals. The archdemons had been tempered by centuries of slaughter, while the guilds were adventurers, warriors, survivors of trials but not of wars like this. Their formations broke, their screams echoed, and their corpses painted the city crimson.
Daniel's eyes snapped to Vaenyx, his companion, his anchor, just as chains of blackened sigils erupted from the ground. They coiled around the dragon-fox's wings and tails, searing its hide with demonic runes, forcing the beast to the cobblestones in a thunderous crash. Vaenyx roared, thrashing, venom and shadow spitting in every direction, but the bindings held, sinking hooks of magic deep into its flesh. Daniel felt the bond strain, Vaenyx's agony bleeding through his own veins, but he could not break away,not when the skeletal archdemon was upon him.
The demon's shadow-forged blade whistled through the air. Daniel raised his gunblade, chaos energy screaming along its edge, and the two weapons collided with a crack that shook the battlefield. The impact blasted shards of molten stone into the air. Daniel was hurled backward, ribs crunching, his armor buckling under the sheer weight of the strike. He landed hard, coughed blood, and barely rolled aside before the shadow sword cleaved the ground where he had been.
The skeletal archdemon advanced with relentless precision. Every movement was efficient, every strike lethal, as though honed by countless wars. Its violet eyes glowed with cruel recognition, it was not merely attacking, it was dissecting him.
Daniel lunged, chaos energy coiling around him like a storm, his blade shattering the air with jagged arcs. He fought with fury, but the archdemon adapted to every rhythm. His parries grew slower, his dodges more desperate. The demon's strikes were not wild—they were surgical, cutting away his confidence, carving through his stamina. Daniel's arm buckled as he caught another blow, the impact sending agony up his shoulder, tearing muscle. He stumbled, knees cracking against stone.
Pain ripped through him in waves, sharper and sharper, but instead of crippling him, it stoked something else. The darkness inside, the part he had buried beneath discipline, stirred. His grin twisted, feral, even as blood streamed down his lips. The skeletal archdemon tilted its head, sensing the change.
He surged forward, chaos flaring into wild, writhing tendrils that lashed out like serpents, hammering against the demon's defenses. Each strike was more violent than the last, raw and unrefined, the kind of power that devoured user and target alike. The battlefield quaked beneath their duel. Buildings collapsed as shockwaves tore through Dravensk's ruins, each clash a storm of black light against violet flame.
But the demon was older. Smarter. Every exchange left Daniel with another wound—slashes across his arms, deep rents across his chest, his blood hissing as it hit the scorched cobblestones. His armor was shredded, his movements slowing, chaos energy faltering with every uncontrolled burst.
The guild behind him was unraveling. The molten archdemon tore a dozen more apart with a sweep of its claws. The silver demon impaled five on its serrated limbs in one brutal arc. Their bodies fell twitching, burning, breaking the survivors' morale. Shouts turned to panicked screams. Magic faltered mid-cast. Some tried to flee, only to be cut down instantly.
And still, Daniel fought on.
His chaos energy crackled violently, boiling the air, tendrils lashing at the skeletal archdemon with unrestrained madness. He roared, blade sparking against shadow, blood spilling freely, his face twisted in equal parts agony and exhilaration. Each time he fell to a knee, he forced himself up again. Each time the shadow blade cut into his flesh, he grinned wider, savoring the pain like fuel.
The archdemon's strikes grew faster, more merciless, pushing him further into the red. Daniel's vision blurred, his breath ragged, but his instincts sharpened with the madness. He no longer fought with strategy, he fought like a beast unleashed, chaos incarnate clawing against the elegance of death itself.
And yet, for all his ferocity, the truth was undeniable. He was being overwhelmed.
The skeletal archdemon moved like inevitability itself, like a predator amused by its prey's resistance. Its violet eyes gleamed with something close to approval, even as it cut him down. Daniel's blade clashed again and again, sparks and ichor scattering like meteors, but each parry broke him a little further. His knees threatened to give. His wounds bled rivers.
He had never been more alive.
And for the first time since entering the Tower, Daniel Rothchester the Disciple of the Neatherborn, faced the truth. Against this foe, against this nightmare made flesh, survival might no longer be possible.
The archdemon raised its blade high, violet light pouring from the void-forged edge, and Daniel, battered, bloodied, and trembling, raised his chaos-coated gunblade to meet it—laughing through the pain.
The shadow blade fell, and Daniel caught it with his gunblade at the very last second. Sparks erupted like a storm of stars, the ground beneath them fracturing under the sheer pressure of two forces colliding. The skeletal archdemon leaned in, its strength endless, its violet eyes burning with cruel amusement. Daniel's knees buckled, bones grinding, the weight of the strike pressing him toward the earth.
A scream tore from his throat not of fear, but of fury and his aura exploded outward. Chaos energy surged in violent torrents, tendrils whipping like serpents of living shadow. The ground cracked in widening circles, fissures opening beneath his feet as if Dravensk itself could no longer bear the strain. His grin split bloodied lips, wild and feral, his pupils thinning to bestial slits.
Something inside him had snapped.
The careful strategist, the disciplined warrior—that Daniel was gone. What remained was the raw, unchained core of the Neatherborn Disciple. Chaos flared black and crimson, spiraling into a vortex around him, arcs of violet lightning crackling from his body as if he had stolen the archdemon's own storm. Fire burst from his wounds, not to consume him, but to weaponize his blood.
The skeletal archdemon tilted its head, wings unfurling with skeletal grace. It responded with elegance: shadow poured from its blade, lengthening into a crescent scythe of void. It stepped forward, and the duel resumed, not as man versus demon, but as chaos against death itself.
The first clash shook the city. Daniel's gunblade, now wreathed in crackling black fire, struck against the void blade with a shockwave that shattered every nearby wall. The ground disintegrated into dust. Guild members fighting in the distance were hurled off their feet, many consumed by falling debris or caught in the backlash.
Daniel pivoted, swinging in wide, jagged arcs, each strike fueled by a storm of fire and lightning. Bolts erupted from his blade, carving craters into the stone, his chaos energy ripping holes into reality itself. The skeletal archdemon countered with precision—every shadow strike carving through Daniel's wildness with terrifying accuracy.
Blades screamed as they collided. Sparks turned to firestorms. Daniel lunged forward, chaos tendrils lashing like whips, forcing the demon to give ground. He roared, the sound carrying like thunder, and his blade erupted in lightning. He slammed it downward, splitting the street into molten rivers.
The archdemon slipped aside at the last moment, wings folding like a scythe. Its blade flickered, striking three times in the span of a breath—first across Daniel's ribs, then his thigh, then his arm. Blood sprayed, sizzling as it hit the molten stone, but Daniel only laughed, spinning with unnatural speed, his blade a storm of fire and chaos that crashed into the demon's torso and sent it skidding backward through a collapsing tower.
The city quaked.
The archdemon emerged from the rubble, skeletal wings unfurling wide, violet light burning hotter in its eyes. It was no longer amused—it was impressed. It raised its blade high, shadows twisting into a vortex around it, condensing into a beam of annihilation.
Daniel answered with a roar, his chaos energy flaring into a spiraling storm. Fire erupted from his feet, lightning coiled around his arms, tendrils of shadow forming jagged spears. He launched forward, hurling bolts of black lightning that exploded against the demon's wings, searing bone. The archdemon retaliated with a sweep of its blade, carving through the storm and cleaving entire buildings in half.
Daniel didn't falter. He closed the gap in a blur, slamming his gunblade against the shadow sword. The impact birthed a blinding sphere of force that vaporized the surrounding street. Fire and lightning crackled in wild arcs, scorching the night sky. Daniel twisted, ducking under a counterstrike, then unleashed a wave of chaos fire from his blade, engulfing the demon in a cyclone of black flame.
For a heartbeat, the skeletal frame was lost in the inferno—until violet light split the storm in two. The archdemon burst forth, unscathed, its wings slicing through the fire like razors. Its blade cut across Daniel's chest, sending him sprawling. He hit the ground, coughed blood, and rolled aside as the blade came down again, carving a canyon into the street.
Daniel staggered to his feet, his body broken, chaos energy crackling around him like a storm barely contained. His laughter was ragged, manic, but his eyes burned with focus. Pain no longer slowed him—it sharpened him.
The skeletal archdemon surged forward again, striking with flawless elegance. Daniel met it head-on, chaos energy spiraling into his gunblade, fire and lightning erupting with every swing. Their blades collided in a storm of annihilation, every clash a symphony of violence.
Daniel's strikes were wild, brutal, devastating—but the demon's were precise, surgical, merciless. Each counter left him with a new wound, each exchange draining more of his blood across the scorched stones. And yet, he refused to fall.
The battlefield around them dissolved into chaos. Guild members died screaming as the other two archdemons carved through their ranks. Ninety bodies lay scattered, broken, burning, their blood soaking into Dravensk's already blackened streets. But at the center, Daniel and the skeletal archdemon fought as if the world itself were their arena—fire, lightning, shadow, and chaos tearing the city apart.
For every strike Daniel landed, three more cut into him. For every burst of chaos he unleashed, the demon met him with shadow storms that stripped away flesh and armor. His body was failing, his vision narrowing, but his power only grew more violent.
Daniel Rothchester was no longer fighting to win. He was fighting to embrace the darkness. To prove that chaos itself could stand against death.
And for the first time, the skeletal archdemon—the death-god in flesh—tightened its grip on its blade, acknowledging him not as prey, but as a rival.
The storm was only beginning.
The skeletal archdemon's blade pierced Daniel's side, tearing through flesh and armor with a screech of steel on bone. Blood spattered the scorched stones, hissing in the molten cracks. Daniel staggered, gasped—and then laughed. A sound that was not relief, not defiance, but something older, darker, and buried too long.
The laughter spread, deep and resonant, layered with something inhuman. The battlefield stilled for a fraction of a second. Even the skeletal archdemon hesitated, violet eyes narrowing. Daniel's aura convulsed outward, not in measured bursts but in tidal waves of unrestrained chaos.
It was not just power. It was a personality.
The careful son his parents had tried to raise, the weapon they had molded in discipline, calculation, and restraint—cracked. What emerged was the thing they had always feared he might become: a force with no chains, no limits, no morality.
Daniel straightened, the shadow blade still lodged in his torso. Black ichor poured from the wound, but it twisted upward, coiling like serpents, threading into his veins, fusing with the chaos storm erupting around him. His grin stretched, too sharp, too wide, his eyes burning with twin orbs of black fire.
The ground collapsed.
Buildings buckled outward as his aura detonated, flaying stone from steel, turning air itself into knives of pressure. Guild members—friend and stranger alike—were caught in the blast. A dozen more died instantly, their bodies shredded by tendrils of uncontrolled chaos. The battlefield became a maelstrom of fire and lightning, shadows whipping like scythes through everything that breathed.
Vaenyx roared in agony, chains searing deeper as Daniel's unleashed power shook the spell itself.
The skeletal archdemon roared back, spreading its wings wide, shattering the flames around it. Its shadow-forged blade writhed, elongating into a greatsword of annihilation. For the first time, its posture was no longer elegant—it was defensive.
Daniel tore the blade from his own body with one hand, ichor spilling freely, and hurled it aside. His gunblade screamed in his other hand, chaos energy forging it into a jagged monstrosity of black fire and crimson lightning. He lunged.
The clash was no longer a duel—it was an apocalypse.
Daniel's strikes fell like meteors, each swing detonating with explosive force. The skeletal archdemon met him blow for blow, but the precision that had once outmatched him was drowned beneath sheer violence. Daniel's blade carved through shadow, ripping chunks of bone and armor from the demon's torso. Fire erupted from his feet as he twisted upward, lightning crackling from his veins, spearing through the demon's wings and pinning it to the sky.
The archdemon retaliated with a storm of shadow blades, thousands of spectral weapons raining down, shredding buildings, obliterating the guild members still alive. Daniel screamed laughter into the storm, chaos tendrils forming a shield that devoured the blades, absorbing their essence into his own swelling storm. He returned fire—literally—his body erupting into a spiral of chaos flame that surged skyward, engulfing the demon in a hurricane of black fire and crimson lightning.
The city cracked. Entire districts collapsed into sinkholes as the duel escalated beyond mortal comprehension.
The skeletal archdemon slashed free, violet fire roaring along its blade, cleaving through the storm, carving into Daniel's chest. Blood gushed—but he didn't flinch. He grabbed the blade bare-handed, chaos energy surging down its length, corroding the void-forged weapon itself. His skin burned, his flesh seared away, but his grin only widened.
"More," Daniel snarled, his voice layered with echoes not his own. "Give me more."
He headbutted the demon, shattering part of its skull with raw force, then slammed his blade into its ribs, twisting until violet ichor sprayed in torrents. He ripped free, spun, and unleashed a cross-slash of chaos fire and lightning that split the night sky.
The skeletal archdemon staggered.
It was the first time it had bled like prey.
Around them, Dravensk was unrecognizable, the near by mountain annihilated, the air poisoned by firestorms, bodies littering the demolished streets in blackened heaps. The remaining guild members fought desperately against the molten and silver archdemons, but they were ants in the shadow of titans. another twenty had already fallen, and more burned with every passing heartbeat.
But all remaining two hundred eleven eyes, living and wounded , turned to Daniel.
He was no longer their the noble lord , their shield, their strategist. He was chaos incarnate, an unrestrained beast molded in discipline but now freed from all restraint. His laughter echoed through the decimated city like a death knell, a hymn of destruction.
The skeletal archdemon, bleeding violet fire, spread its wings again, stepping forward to resume the slaughter. Daniel's chaos storm flared higher, arcs of crimson lightning splitting the clouds, flames devouring the very air.
For just a few minutes, Daniel Rothchester was no longer man, no longer Disciple, he was the nightmare his parents had forged and tried to control , unleashed upon the world.
And the world trembled. Daniel's roar still echoed in the smoking air as the skeletal archdemon's body cracked and fell apart under his relentless assault. Bones like black iron splintered, wings snapped, and finally the creature's chest caved in beneath Daniel's strike, shattering into dust that dissolved into the storm of chaos that bled from him. But there was no time to revel in the victory—the ground itself trembled as two more titans stepped forward, each more abominable than the last.
The second archdemon strode from the molten rift with a body like a living furnace, its skin a searing red, cracked and veined with burning white fire. Lava dripped from its jagged fangs, hissing as it struck the shattered stone beneath. Its arms ended in blades that vibrated with an unearthly hum, promising to carve through steel as if it were cloth. The very air around it writhed in agony from the heat it radiated, warping reality with every step.
Behind it, the third archdemon flowed into existence, a shifting, fluid mass of silver and black. Its form twisted constantly, limbs reforming into grotesque weapons, tentacles writhing with serrated edges. A crown of hovering shards orbited its head, each pulsing with the rhythm of a distorted heartbeat, and its countless scattered eyes shimmered with fractured reflections of the battlefield. Where the molten one was heat incarnate, this one was impossible to pin down—a nightmare without shape, a predator without end.
Daniel welcomed them both. His hunger for combat had grown insatiable since his darker side had taken hold. His lips curled into a feral grin, blood dripping from his mouth, chest heaving not from exhaustion but from exhilaration. The chaos pouring from him no longer clung to restraint—it lashed wildly, lightning surging from his skin in jagged arcs while fire coiled in his palms. His body, already wounded from the skeletal archdemon's blows, burned with pain, but it was a pain he reveled in.
The molten archdemon struck first, blades shrieking as they cleaved the air. Daniel met the attack head-on, lightning clashing against white-hot steel. Sparks and embers exploded in a storm around them, the sound of impact loud enough to shake the fractured battlefield. With a surge of raw chaos, Daniel countered, unleashing a torrent of fire that roared like a living beast. But the demon's molten skin drank the flames like water, its laughter echoing as it swung again, forcing Daniel back.
From the side, the fluid archdemon struck, its tentacles lashing out like whips tipped with knives. Daniel spun, water from the air coalescing at his will, freezing in a split second and shattering into jagged shards of ice that intercepted the strike. The archdemon recoiled in confusion—how could he command more than flame and storm? With a snarl, Daniel pressed the attack, summoning earth itself to rise from the cracked ground. The soil twisted upward, hardened into spikes that launched forward like a rain of spears.
The two demons faltered for the first time. They could feel it—his presence bending the battlefield in ways it should not. Fire and lightning were his rightful domain, but the air, the stone, even the water itself moved to his command, as if the world recognized something greater in him. They could not understand it. They could not accept it. And yet, as his eyes burned with chaos and his wounds bled freely down his torn frame, Daniel stood unbroken, smiling through the carnage as though the fight was only beginning.
The molten archdemon lunged again, faster this time, its jagged arm-blades cleaving downward with the weight of mountains. Daniel twisted, but not fast enough—one edge carved across his side, splitting skin and muscle. Hot blood sprayed, hissing as it touched the demon's superheated flesh. Pain lanced through him, raw and biting, yet instead of crippling him it fed the storm within. He staggered only for an instant, then lightning erupted from the wound itself, crackling outward in violent arcs that scorched the battlefield.
The fluid archdemon seized the moment, tentacles lashing forward in a blur, serrated tips carving into his arm and shoulder. Flesh tore, bone cracked, and Daniel's body should have faltered—but his snarl deepened, his chaos answering in a way that made the air quake. He clenched his fist and the tentacles froze mid-strike, their liquid form trembling under a force they had never felt before.
"Do you think I bleed like prey?" Daniel's voice thundered, layered with something deeper, darker, as if his words carried the weight of storms themselves.
He raised both arms, and the battlefield obeyed. Fire burst from the shattered ground in geysers, lightning webbed across the storm-choked sky, and the very earth groaned as jagged cliffs rose beneath his enemies' feet. Wind howled like a thousand screaming blades, carrying shards of ice and dust that cut into demon flesh. Daniel moved as though the elements were extensions of his own limbs—water swirling to blunt the molten demon's blades, stone rising to catch the fluid archdemon's lashes, fire and lightning coiling together into a spear of annihilation that he hurled straight into their midst.
The blast split the battlefield apart. The molten demon reeled back, its furnace-skin fractured, glowing white heat leaking in streams. The fluid one shrieked without sound, its crown of shards shattered, its form quivering as if tearing itself apart to stay cohesive. They had fought countless wars, shattered kingdoms, burned heroes into ash—yet never had they faced something like this. Not just chaos unleashed, but a dominion over matter itself, bending elements beyond what even the demon realm had whispered was possible.
Daniel advanced, bloodied but unyielding, every step a declaration of supremacy. His eyes glowed like twin storms, and his wounds burned with the same elemental fury he wielded. The air grew heavy, suffocating, as if the world itself was choosing sides.
And in that moment, the two archdemons knew fear.
With an unholy scream, the molten demon slammed its blades into the ground, tearing open a rift of burning magma. The fluid archdemon wrapped itself in its broken form, seeping into the rift like liquid shadow. They fled—not in defiance, not in strategy, but in panic. The molten one followed, dragging its fractured body into the abyss. Together, they forced the rift closed behind them, sealing it with desperate haste, as though fearing that if it remained open, Daniel's fury would pursue them into their own realm.
Silence fell. The battlefield, still aflame and torn by jagged scars, trembled under the echoes of what had just transpired. Daniel stood in the center, blood soaking his skin, his body trembling from pain and rage, yet his chaos still roared around him, uncontained, as if daring any force—demon, man, or god—to challenge him again. then he fell unconscious
The silence of the battlefield lasted only a heartbeat before it was broken by a low chime, then the deep, resonant voice of the Tower itself.
"Announcement: Sub-Quest [Trial of the Archdemons] — Cleared."
Across the broken ground, the surviving players stopped in their tracks, their ragged breathing caught between disbelief and relief. The glowing text of the Tower's system message filled their vision, marking the completion of a challenge none of them had truly been prepared for. Yet the message faltered, glitching slightly, flickering in and out as though the Tower itself hesitated.
"…Warning. Technical Disruption Detected. Quest parameters no longer match established frameworks… anomaly detected in combat log… Archdemon units [2] have initiated forced retreat outside of Tower jurisdiction. Standard failure condition bypassed… recalibrating objective criteria…"
"…Unregistered combatant activity confirmed. Non-Player interference has exceeded projected thresholds. Tower systems unable to categorize entity class… labeling [Unclassified Entity]. Kill credit cannot be directly allocated to player database. Adjusting reward distribution protocols…"
"…Objective altered: Sub-Quest completion marked under joint parameters of [Player Group] and [Unclassified Entity]. Achievement points scaled according to collective contribution ratio. Note: Scenario branching altered to preserve system integrity. Certain outcomes may deviate from original design…"
"…Finalizing recalibration… Reward issuance commencing. Players will receive adjusted compensation based on Tower-approved power level averages. Caution: anomaly influence remains unresolved."
A murmur rippled through the players. They had witnessed the chaos firsthand—the two archdemons fleeing back into their realm, sealing the rift in fear. The quest should have been failed; by the Tower's rules, demons that escaped typically voided the objective. And yet, here it was, announcing a clear.
But the strangest part, the one that unsettled everyone the most, was the line that followed.
"…Primary Kill: Unable to assign credit to registered Players. Source identified as [Unclassified Entity: Non-Player]. Entity designation falls outside Tower hierarchy. Logging anomaly…
…Adjusting parameters. Combat data recalibrated to reflect collective contribution of [Player Group] despite anomaly interference. Kill credit divided according to revised ratios. Players will receive reduced achievement scaling. Note: full credit withheld from system integrity to prevent destabilization.
…Reward distribution initiated. Calculating bonus points from survival metrics, secondary objectives, and environmental stabilization. Warning: anomaly presence has modified long-term progression paths. Future scenarios may diverge from original projection…
…System Advisory: Presence of [Unclassified Entity] will be monitored. Further irregularities may result in forced scenario overrides or timeline resets."
The words echoed like a curse. Every player froze, exchanging nervous glances. A non-player? They all knew who it meant. Daniel. The one who had fought—not with system-granted skills, not with measured power levels, but with something else entirely. Something the Tower itself struggled to categorize.
"…Designation Updated: [Hidden Character]. Role: Independent anomaly within Tower system. Parameters unknown. Alignment: Unregistered. This entity does not belong to any Player faction or NPC registry. Presence is confirmed as intentional sub-layer integration… yet unrevealed in original scenario design…"
"…Adjusting reward parameters. Players credited with Sub-Quest completion through collective survival metrics. Achievement Points distributed under Tower regulation. Primary Kill remains locked under [Hidden Character], inaccessible for direct Player reward."
"…System Advisory: [Hidden Character] recognition unlocked. Future scenarios may be altered to account for interference. Interaction with [Hidden Character] may yield unpredictable outcomes. Tower integrity under observation."
The reward screens began to populate, shimmering windows of achievement points, loot chests, and stat bonuses. They were generous, far more than any had expected, as though the Tower itself compensated for the altered scenario. Still, a sour taste lingered among them. These rewards weren't entirely theirs, they were shadows of Daniel's victory, diluted echoes of the destruction he had wrought.
Whispers spread through the ranks. Relief rippled through some, tears from others as they collapsed to their knees. many had fallen dead, friends, guildmates, comrades who had survived Grisval only to be erased here at Dravensk, the Dead City, that supposed to be free from any sub quest.
Names were already being read from the death logs, their absence punching holes in formations that had once felt unbreakable. Some cried openly, clutching the glowing reward screens with shaking hands, as if clinging to proof that their sacrifices hadn't been meaningless.
Others whispered with unease, eyes flicking toward Daniel. Why did the Tower call Daniel… a hidden character? The words carried like smoke, uncertainty clouding the survivors' hearts. For every voice of gratitude, he saved us, we would all be dead without him, there was another laced with suspicion: he isn't a player, he isn't registered, he shouldn't even exist.