Two years.
That's how long Rey had survived in this forsaken hell.
Two years of blood, dirt, and silence. Two years of studying, adapting, and evolving. What once was a college student who barely fought back against school bullies had now become something else — something carved by suffering.
He crouched beside a ridge, eyes narrowed, observing the creatures ahead.
Three lizard-like beasts were gathered near a mound, their tails twitching. They were barely the size of wolves, but moved with jerky bursts of speed. Their scales glimmered faintly — a sign they possessed elemental properties. Fire or lightning, most likely.
But Rey wasn't planning to fight them.
He was watching.
He had learned something crucial in his time here: the weak live in packs, the strong walk alone.
It was a simple truth, but one that had saved his life many times. These lizards, hissing and snarling at each other, were territorial — but also cautious. They wouldn't venture far from their pack. If separated, they panicked. Rey had used this knowledge before, luring one away to trap it in a pitfall he'd made from hardened vines and sharpened stone stakes.
He slowly backed away, leaving no prints behind. His entire body was coated in wet, clay-like soil — it stank, it itched, but it masked his scent from the monsters that hunted through smell.
Every day was a study. Every night, a calculated risk.
He never stayed in one shelter too long. After building an underground hideout using spider silk and reinforced roots, he would live in it for a month, maybe two. Then he'd erase all signs of his presence and move on.
He'd repeated this pattern dozens of times.
Always northward.
Always further.
The only way to survive here was to become a ghost.
---
Flashback: The First Lesson
Rey's gaze darkened as he recalled the first time he nearly died — caught in the web of a giant spider, thick as his torso and sticky as molten tar. He had thrashed, screamed silently, and used every ounce of strength to pull free. The creature had almost devoured him alive.
But in that near-death moment, Rey had discovered something vital: the spider thread, once dried, was incredibly strong.
He collected the web after escaping, crafted ropes and simple bindings from it. Eventually, he even figured out how to make crude clothes — stitched from thick leaves and reinforced with spider thread. It wasn't elegant, but it protected him from minor injuries and the freezing cold.
From survival came invention.
---
Now, crouched in the tall grass, Rey noticed something else.
A large feline beast prowled the far side of the field — alone.
Its body shimmered with muscle and menace. It was easily four times the size of the lizards and bore a single horn on its forehead. It walked confidently, tail swaying slowly. The lizards, sensing the predator, immediately scattered.
Rey didn't move.
He held his breath.
That thing was strong — much too strong for him. But it confirmed another piece of his understanding:
The hierarchy here wasn't random. It was structured. Ordered.
And slowly, Rey was beginning to map it.
Floor by floor, realm by realm.
And now that he knew he was on the second realm, his goal had shifted. He needed to go down — find a way to the first realm. Only there would he have a chance to breathe, to regroup, to gather strength.
But how did one descend in a world built like a nightmare tower?
That, Rey didn't know.
Yet.
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