Darkness swallowed him whole.
Jericho tumbled through weightless void, his scream ripped from his lungs, his arms flailing at nothing. Cold air tore past his skin, and for a terrible heartbeat he thought this was death—that freedom had ended as quickly as it began.
Then the fall stopped.
He crashed hard against stone, pain exploding across his body. The impact rattled his bones and drove the air from his chest. Jericho lay there gasping, cheek pressed against cold rubble, until his lungs finally dragged in air.
The silence was oppressive. Not silence of peace—silence that pressed down like a heavy shroud, broken only by the faint crackle of… lightning?
Jericho pushed himself upright, groaning. His head throbbed. His eyes blinked against the dim red glow filtering through a sky that wasn't a sky. It stretched endlessly above, jagged cracks of crimson lightning flashing across swirling black clouds.
He staggered to his feet, heart hammering. Broken stone walls surrounded him, ruins of what must have once been a city. Towers lay collapsed, their spires snapped like bones. Streets were choked with rubble, doorways gaping like empty eyes.
Then, his Status Panel flared across his vision:
[Hidden Portal Identified: Dungeon Tower (50 Floors).]
[Escape Conditions: Clear all floors.]
Jericho's stomach dropped.
A Dungeon Tower.
His mind scrambled. Even as a slave, he had overheard whispers—terrifying tales spoken by guards around fires. Dungeon Towers weren't like normal portals. They were traps, prisons disguised as opportunities. Once inside, you couldn't leave until you cleared them.
And fifty floors…
"No…" he whispered, stumbling back. "No, no, no…"
The System had lied. It hadn't told him where he was going. Just a vague promise of "opportunity." And now he was trapped in one of the deadliest portal types known.
A sound broke the silence—a low growl, guttural and sharp.
Jericho froze. His head snapped toward the shadows between broken buildings. Two faintly glowing eyes peered out, reflecting the red lightning above.
Another growl answered behind him. His chest tightened. He turned slowly, dread filling his veins.
A skeletal figure lurched forward from a collapsed archway. Its bones were brittle and yellowed, joints grinding with each step. Empty sockets burned with faint blue fire, and its jaw opened in a hollow hiss.
Jericho's throat closed. He was trapped—wolves at one side, a skeleton at the other. His legs shook, his back pressed against cold stone.
The System whispered coldly:
[Quest Issued: Kill or be killed. Slay one portal beast.]
[Reward: Basic Void Affinity (Lv.1).]
[Failure: Death.]
Jericho's stomach churned. "You're… you're forcing me…"
The silence gave no answer.
The shadow wolf prowled closer, lips peeled back over gleaming fangs. The skeleton's bony fingers curled, claws scraping stone as it stepped nearer.
Jericho grabbed the nearest thing his hand touched—a jagged piece of rubble. His fingers trembled as he raised it, heart pounding so loudly he could barely hear.
"This is insane," he whispered. "I can't—"
The wolf lunged. Jericho hurled the rock with a cry. It struck the beast's flank, making it yelp and stumble. But another wolf growled deeper in the shadows, waiting.
The skeleton hissed, rushing forward, its bony hand swiping for his throat. Jericho screamed, ducking, grabbing a broken stick from the ground. He swung wildly, cracking the stick against its skull. The brittle wood snapped in two.
The skeleton staggered, then straightened, empty sockets burning brighter.
Jericho stumbled back, tripping over rubble. His lungs burned. Panic screamed in his head. He wasn't a fighter. He had never fought in his life. He was a slave, a scrubber of floors, a bearer of chains.
And yet—something stirred.
His vision sharpened suddenly, focusing on the skeleton's joints, the faint fracture lines in its skull. His hand steadied despite trembling.
A voice in his head whispered—not the System, not words, but instinct. The Cowboy class.
Jericho gritted his teeth, raised the jagged shard of wood still in his grip, and thrust with all his might.
The shard drove into the skeleton's eye socket.
A sharp crack rang out as its skull shattered, blue fire flickering out. The creature collapsed into a pile of bones.
The silence after was deafening. Jericho's chest heaved, sweat dripping down his face. He stared at the broken bones at his feet, his hands trembling so hard he nearly dropped the wood.
Then the Status Panel flared:
[You have slain: Skeletal Husk.]
[EXP gained.]
[Level Up: Lv. 2.]
[Reward Unlocked: Basic Void Affinity (Lv.1).]
Jericho froze as warmth spread through his chest. A strange energy surged through his veins—not fire, not lightning, not earth, but something deeper. Dark. Endless.
He gasped, staring at his hands. They faintly glowed with threads of black-purple energy, like smoke that coiled and vanished before it could be grasped.
"This…" he whispered, awe and fear mixing in his tone. "This is… void?"
He had heard the stories. Void Affinity—one of the rarest, most dangerous affinities in existence. Nobles would kill and wage wars to claim it. Entire kingdoms were built on the foundation of rare affinities.
And he, Jericho Black, the slave who had been mocked and discarded, now felt it pulsing in his veins.
His hands trembled—not with weakness this time, but with possibility.
"This is… what I needed," he breathed. For the first time in years, hope stirred in his chest.
The moment shattered with a sound that froze his blood.
A wolf's howl split the air, sharp and hungry.
From the shadows, more eyes glowed. One pair. Then another. Then five.
Growls rose all around him, low and rumbling. The bones at his feet rattled as another skeleton stirred nearby, crawling free of rubble.
Jericho's breath caught. His body ached, blood trickled from cuts on his arms, and exhaustion weighed on him—but now more monsters were coming.
Dozens of them.
His faint void energy crackled at his fingertips, whispering promises of strength he didn't yet understand. He clenched his fists, forcing the energy to circulate through his body. His eyes narrowed for the first time not with fear, but with grim resolve.
The slave was gone.
The survivor remained.
The swarm closed in.