The morning sky above Liberia Academy shimmered like liquid glass, its fractured hues rippling through the air as if reality itself were sighing. From the outer gates, the citadel of education stood like a fortress built atop the bones of the old world—its towers of ivory steel rising toward the heavens, each one pulsing faintly with aetheric veins that ran like glowing rivers across its walls.
A gentle hum filled the courtyard. The sound of mana reactors thrummed beneath the cobblestone, harmonizing with the laughter, chatter, and chaos of hundreds of new students swarming the grounds. Their uniforms glistened in shades of midnight blue trimmed with silver—woven with thin threads of metaphysical fiber, each strand capable of storing fragments of energy. Every detail of the academy spoke of power, discipline, and survival.
For this was no ordinary institution.This was Liberia Academy—the cradle of pioneers, one of the top contenders in the world's Metaphysical Tournament, where nations clashed not with armies, but with awakened souls. And beyond the battlegrounds, Liberia's reputation for academia stood equally unchallenged; it was here that both warriors and scholars learned to wield the dual edge of intellect and power.
Inside Auditorium Theta, the air buzzed with excitement and nerves. Freshmen filled every seat, their eyes bright with curiosity—or fear. The holographic insignia of Liberia floated above the stage: a burning crown surrounded by shifting runes, beneath which the academy's motto burned in ethereal gold.
"From Ruin, We Ascend."
Then came the sound that silenced all—The sharp tap of boots against the metallic floor.
Professor Argus Valen, clad in a long black coat with golden embroidery, strode to the center of the stage. His presence alone bent the room's energy. His silver hair caught the flicker of light, and his sharp gaze—like cold lightning—swept across the crowd. Rumor had it that he'd once slain an Emperor-Class Meta Beast barehanded during the Siege of Orenthall. Others whispered he was the last surviving commander of the 3rd Vanguard Division, the kind of man who carried both legend and tragedy in his shadow.
He adjusted his gloves, cleared his throat, and his voice resonated through the hall—deep, resonant, unyielding.
"Welcome, freshmen of the 147th Generation," he began."Welcome to Liberia Academy—the heart of human defiance."
A low murmur rippled through the crowd.
Argus's eyes glowed faintly blue as he extended a finger, drawing glowing symbols midair. A holographic circle burst open above the stage, displaying massive projections of otherworldly creatures—each more terrifying than the last.
"These," he said, "are Meta Beasts. The spawn of metaphysical distortion, the echoes of our nightmares made flesh. And today, you will learn what separates the living from the dead when you face them."
Gasps spread. Some students leaned forward with fascination; others stiffened in their seats.
Argus smiled faintly—sharp, dangerous.
"There are eight primary classifications of Meta Beasts. Memorize them, understand them, and perhaps you'll survive your first encounter."
With a flick of his wrist, the images shifted—each accompanied by a burst of sound and color that made the students flinch.
"First—Normal Class."
The image showed a grotesque hound with crystalline veins glowing red beneath its skin. It snarled, the sound echoing through the auditorium.
"These are the lowest rank—mere scavengers of metaphysical residue. They rely on instinct, not intellect. Perfect prey for beginners."
"Second—Leader Class."
A humanoid creature with a crown of bone and eyes like molten silver appeared.
"They command packs of lesser beasts. Their intelligence is moderate. Treat them lightly, and you'll find yourself dead before you blink."
"Third—Knight Class."
The projection warped into a towering figure clad in spectral armor, its sword dragging along the void.
"Knights are disciplined entities—manifestations of order amidst chaos. They possess structured attack patterns, capable of combat strategy."
A few students whispered in awe.
"Fourth—Paladin Class."
A golden, angelic form erupted from the air, wings outstretched, dripping radiant fire.
"Paladins are divine aberrations. They bend metaphysical energy to both destroy and heal. Encountering one unprepared is… terminal."
"Fifth—King Class."
A roar shook the room as a colossal beast appeared, its body wrapped in dark clouds, eyes burning like suns.
"These are the rulers of their domains—creatures that can distort reality. Every King Class is bound to a Dungeon of corresponding magnitude."
"Sixth—Emperor Class."
The image blurred. Only the sound of storms and screams filled the air.
"Few have lived to describe one. They wield complete control over metaphysical laws. Their existence alone reshapes landscapes."
A cold silence fell. The freshmen shifted uncomfortably.
"Seventh—Apocalypse Class."
The room dimmed. The projection filled the hall with a swirling vortex of light and shadow—something vast, something that felt alive even through the illusion.
Argus's tone dropped lower, reverent and grim."These are enders. Entities born from the collective fear of mankind. Their presence triggers planetary calamities. Every recorded apocalypse in history traces back to one."
The students froze. Someone whispered a trembling, "That can't be real…"
"Eighth—Special Class."
Argus's eyes gleamed.The projection vanished, replaced by a void.No light. No sound.
"Uncategorized. Unfathomable. These beings defy classification. They exist outside logic—sometimes beyond even the System's understanding. Records show only four have ever been identified."
He paused. The silence was absolute.Then, almost casually, he smirked."If you ever encounter one… don't bother running. Just pray your consciousness remains intact long enough to see the end."
A nervous laugh rippled through the room—half-joking, half-desperate.
The professor waved his hand again. The holograms dissolved into a burst of light, reforming into vast landscapes and shifting labyrinths.
"Now," he said, voice smooth, "let's speak of Dungeons—the wombs that birth these monsters."
Another wave of energy swept across the auditorium, and the students watched as massive gates appeared before their eyes—runes pulsing with living fire.
"There are eight primary Dungeon types. Each holds a unique ecosystem, set of rules, and metaphysical resonance. Consider them worlds within worlds."
"First—Normal Type.""Low-level anomalies. Basic structure. Perfect training grounds. You'll begin your first field test in one of these."
"Second—Elemental Type.""These dungeons draw energy from natural elements—fire, water, earth, wind. The environment itself becomes your greatest enemy."
"Third—Ancient Type.""Their architecture predates recorded history. You'll find remnants of civilizations and relics that defy explanation."
"Fourth—Kingdom Type.""These realms possess a hierarchy—lesser beasts ruled by a singular monarch. Conquer the King, and the Dungeon collapses."
"Fifth—Empire Type.""They mimic lost empires, complete with legions of metaphysical entities and laws that differ from our world."
"Sixth—Legendary Type.""These contain historical anomalies—embodiments of myths and forgotten heroes. Extremely dangerous. Avoid unless authorized."
"Seventh—Mythical Type."Argus's tone softened into awe."These are where the boundary between existence and imagination fades. The creatures within can warp thought into substance."
"Eighth—Abyss Type."
The lights dimmed to darkness. The temperature dropped. Every student held their breath.
Argus's eyes reflected faint light as he spoke."The Abyss. The final classification. A Dungeon without end, where laws break, where time unravels. To enter one is to confront the origin of all distortion. The birthplace of Special Class Beasts… and perhaps, the source of the System itself."
The silence that followed was crushing. You could hear the faint hum of the walls, the slow inhale of magic through the vents, even the tremor in someone's breath.
Then—A whisper, cutting through the stillness.
"That's insane… there's no way anyone could survive that."
The voice came from a young man near the back, his hair unkempt, eyes wide. The students around him laughed nervously.
"Survive?" A girl beside him chuckled. "You're in Liberia, idiot. People here train for that kind of death."
"Yeah, sure," another added. "Let's see you fight an Emperor Class with your broomstick first."
The hall erupted into quiet laughter. The tension eased.
From another row, someone muttered, "Did you hear about the last tournament? Liberia almost took first."
"Almost," another said. "Valefor Academy cheated. Their representative used restricted meta-channeling."
"Still," someone whispered, "Liberia's Pioneer Division's the best. I heard one of them soloed a King-Class last semester."
"Bullshit," a boy snorted. "No one solos a King-Class. You need a full raid team and divine-tier gear for that."
"Oh really? Tell that to Instructor Lyra."
At that, even the laughter stilled. A murmur rippled. The name carried weight—Lyra, the Crimson Arbiter, one of Liberia's elite instructors and rumored to have transcended her own metaphysical limits.
Argus raised a hand, silencing the chatter.
"Quiet, please."
He turned back toward the holographic display, now showing the academy's crest once again.
"You are here," he said, "because you carry potential. But potential is nothing without discipline. Remember this—power is the currency of survival, but knowledge is the architecture of eternity. Learn both, or die ignorant."
The words struck like an iron hammer. A few students straightened their backs unconsciously.
Then, a student raised his hand. A tall boy with narrow glasses and a measured voice."Professor Valen, sir—are the Dungeon classifications fixed? Or can a Dungeon evolve into a higher tier?"
Argus smiled faintly, pleased with the question."Excellent inquiry. Yes—Dungeons can evolve. A Normal Type may ascend to Elemental, even to Kingdom, depending on its metaphysical saturation. In rare cases, Dungeons merge, creating hybrid anomalies. Those are… unpredictable."
"Like the Abyss Type?" another student whispered.
Argus's eyes gleamed dangerously."No. The Abyss doesn't evolve. It simply exists. And it watches."
A ripple of discomfort passed through the room.
Then came the chatter again—small, electric, unstoppable.
"Did he say watches? What does that even mean?"
"Creepy as hell."
"I heard a rumor… someone from last year entered an Abyss Type by accident."
"Yeah? What happened?"
"They came back blind. Kept mumbling about eyes in the dark."
"Oh, gods—stop. That's not funny."
"Who's joking?"
Laughter again—uneasy, hollow.
Argus allowed it. He knew fear was a better teacher than comfort.
As the lecture drew toward its end, the hall dimmed slightly, signaling the approaching midday cycle. The artificial sun filtered through the glass dome above, bathing the freshmen in threads of golden light.
Argus stepped forward, his tone softer now—less commanding, more contemplative.
"You were born in a world that has already died once," he said. "And yet, you stand here—breathing, dreaming, fighting. The System didn't choose you; you chose yourselves. Remember that."
He turned, pacing slowly across the stage."Liberia will break you. It will test your mind, your body, your spirit. But if you survive its trials, you will emerge as something greater—something worthy of this world's rebirth."
He stopped, facing them one last time."Welcome to Liberia Academy. Welcome to the dawn of your reckoning."
The hall erupted into applause—hesitant at first, then thunderous.
As the students began to disperse, chatter rose once more like a storm.
"He's intense…"
"Did you see his eyes? That's pure metaphysical resonance."
"No way, that's artificial. You can buy that enhancement if you've got the creds."
"Still, can you imagine being him? Killing an Emperor Class? The guy's a walking legend."
"Legend or not, we're the ones stuck doing the homework."
A ripple of laughter followed.
But beneath the laughter lingered awe—and fear.The kind that settles deep in the bones, whispering that this academy wasn't just a school. It was a crucible.
Outside, the academy's bells rang—a low, resonant chime that echoed across the floating citadel. The sound carried through every corridor, every courtyard, even into the hearts of those listening.
And beyond the walls, far beneath the earth, something stirred—ever faint, ever watching.
The heartbeat of the world pulsed again.
Blackternal whispered.
The System listened.
And the age of pioneers continued.
A hush fell again. The holographic emblem of Liberia Academy dissolved into shimmering fragments, and in its place appeared a colossal black tower—so tall it seemed to pierce the very heavens of the projection dome. Its surface was made of dark, mirrorlike stone that reflected neither light nor shadow. Around it spiraled veins of luminous energy, twisting like serpents, vanishing into clouds of metaphysical mist.
Professor Argus raised his gloved hand toward it. His voice carried the weight of thunder."Behold, students… the Abyss Tower."
The name itself seemed to echo beyond sound, rippling through their minds like a whispered memory.
"The Tower," he continued, "is the greatest enigma of our world—an anomaly that transcends the classification of dungeons. Some call it the World's Spine. Others name it The Infinite Grave. But officially, within the records of the Academy and the Vanguard Council, it is designated as Abyss Dungeon Type Zero."
Gasps followed. Even those who had heard rumors leaned forward, their curiosity consuming their fear.
"The Tower was first discovered ninety years ago," Argus said, pacing slowly across the stage. "When the world's crust began to fracture after the Second Metaphysical Surge, a rift opened in the desert of Eredan's Hollow. Out of that wound rose the tower—a monument of black stone, taller than any mountain, its summit lost to the clouds. Its presence alone disrupted the flow of Aether across the continent. Dungeons nearby collapsed. Meta Beasts disappeared. Some even bent their knees before it."
The hologram zoomed in. The students could see the massive obsidian gates at its base, engraved with spiraling glyphs that shimmered with ghostly light.
Argus's tone darkened."Since its emergence, the Tower has defied every attempt at full exploration. The System recognizes it… Yet it refuses to reveal its structure. Every floor is a separate world. Every ascent rewrites the laws of existence. To enter the Abyss Tower is to challenge creation itself."
The murmurs began immediately—voices low, urgent, trembling with awe and disbelief.
"Is that real?""They say only the top Pioneers ever got near the higher floors…""I heard the Vanguard Expedition lost half their members after the tenth floor!""No one's even sure it has an end."
Argus raised his hand. Silence fell like a blade."Listen well," he said. "Humanity has reached only the Twentieth Floor. No further. And that milestone alone cost more lives than every Metaphysical War combined."
The hologram expanded, showing a spiral of twenty glowing circles—each one representing a floor. Faint symbols surrounded the twentieth, forming what looked like a seal.
"The Tower is infinite in potential but absolute in cruelty," Argus said. "Each floor is not merely harder—it is different. Environments shift. Concepts twist. One floor may contain oceans suspended in the sky, another an inverted city ruled by echoes of the dead. Each defies sense. Each consumes sanity."
A hand rose from the crowd. A girl with emerald hair and sharp eyes—her voice clear but cautious."Professor Valen… if the Tower is that dangerous, why do we keep exploring it?"
Argus turned toward her, his eyes glinting."Because," he said, "it is calling us."
The words struck the hall like thunder.
He continued, his tone almost reverent."Every Pioneer who has faced the Tower hears it. A whisper, a pulse, a voice beneath thought. The System itself urges humanity upward. It offers missions, rewards, and evolutions. Each cleared floor grants knowledge, technologies, and materials unseen elsewhere. The twenty floors conquered thus far have reshaped civilization itself. Mana cores, metaphysical alloys, Aether crystals—all of it, gifts from the Tower's depths."
A boy in the front row leaned forward, brow furrowed. "Then… what's on the twenty-first floor?"
Argus paused. His gaze grew distant. The lights flickered slightly, as if the question itself unsettled the air."No one knows," he said finally. "The last expedition—The Vanguard Seventy-Fourth—reached the Twentieth Floor eight years ago. They fought through the Eclipse Citadel, the fortress of a King-Class Warden known as Orr'Nath the Eternal. Only three returned. They spoke of doors that led to nowhere, stairways that looped into themselves, and a voice—" his tone faltered for a moment, "—a voice that asked them a question no human could answer."
He looked up, eyes sharp again."And after that, the Tower closed its gates for an entire year."
A chill swept the hall.Whispers followed.
"A voice…?""What did it ask?""Why would it close?""Did the System—"
Argus cut through the noise. "No one knows what the question was. Those who returned refused to speak of it. They burned their records, erased their memories using psychic seals, and vanished from public life. Whatever they heard… it was not meant for mortals."
A heavy silence followed. The students sat transfixed, their imaginations dancing between wonder and dread.
Then a boy near the middle—broad-shouldered, his tone skeptical—broke the stillness."So you're saying the Tower is alive?"
Argus turned to him. "Alive? That depends on how you define life. The Tower breathes. It changes. It reacts to our presence. In many ways, it behaves like a sentient being—but one far beyond comprehension. Some scholars believe it is the heart of the world—the nexus where metaphysical and physical reality converge. Others…" He smirked faintly. "Others believe it is the grave of a god."
The murmuring rose again."Grave of a god?""Impossible…""But if that's true…""Then what's buried on the higher floors?"
The hologram shifted once more, displaying detailed depictions of each known level—each like a myth unto itself.
Floor 1 – The Hollow Gate.An endless desert of shifting glass sand, where mirages take the form of memories. Pioneers often lose themselves to hallucinations of their past lives.
Floor 2 – The Storm of Sighs.A sea suspended in the sky. Winds carry whispers that can drive one mad if listened to too long.
Floor 3 – The Scarlet Library.A city built from books and blood, guarded by specters who demand knowledge in exchange for passage.
Floor 4 – The Garden of Roots.A forest that feeds on emotion. Those who enter it angry emerge hollow.
Floor 5 – The Pale Market.A bazaar of the dead. Meta Beasts trade in memories rather than gold.
Floor 6 – The Mirror Reaches.A labyrinth where one's reflection attacks without mercy.
Floor 7 – The Clockwork Abyss.A mechanical world powered by time loops. Death resets reality, but memory remains.
Floor 8 – The Cathedral of Silence.Sound itself is forbidden. Speak, and the world reacts with violence.
Floor 9 – The Azure Frontier.A realm of eternal twilight, where stars fall like rain and beasts of light patrol the horizon.
Floor 10 – The Warden's Labyrinth.The first true trial. Every step rearranges the path behind you.
Floor 11 – The Nameless Warfield.An infinite battlefield where echoes of ancient Pioneers fight endlessly.
Floor 12 – The Ecliptic Halls.Gravity inverts every hour. Those who fail to adapt are crushed or lost to the ceiling void.
Floor 13 – The Frozen Choir.A realm of ice where voices are weapons. Sing incorrectly, and you shatter.
Floor 14 – The Crimson Court.Ruled by a King-Class Meta Beast known as Vel'Athra, the Widow Monarch.
Floor 15 – The Spiral Prison.A structure that feeds on despair. The walls whisper your worst memories until you surrender your will.
Floor 16 – The Glass Lake.Still waters that reflect not the present, but possible futures.
Floor 17 – The Black Citadel.Home to The Pale Emissary, a Knight-Class guardian that commands entire legions of illusions.
Floor 18 – The Luminous Tomb.A graveyard of stars, said to be the resting place of extinct constellations.
Floor 19 – The Breathless Valley.No air. No sound. Only the pulse of metaphysical gravity keeps intruders alive.
Floor 20 – The Eclipse Citadel.The final explored floor. A domain of eternal shadow and light intertwined. The home of Orr'Nath the Eternal.
When the last image faded, the hall was thick with awe.A girl whispered, "It's like the Tower… contains entire universes."
Argus nodded slowly. "It may. Or perhaps we are simply too small to see its full shape."
Another student—a pale boy with silver eyes—asked quietly, "Has anyone… ever tried descending instead of ascending?"
That drew murmurs. The question was bold.
Argus's expression shifted—surprise, then something darker."Yes," he said. "Once."
He turned to the hologram again. The projection flickered, showing a massive circular platform beneath the Tower's first gate—an inverted spiral leading downward."During the Forty-Second Expedition, a team of thirty attempted to descend rather than ascend. They believed the Tower had roots as well as heights. The System registered their descent… as a new path."
He paused."They reached only one level. The records call it Floor Negative One: The Chamber of Birth. None returned."
A collective shiver ran through the room.
"Chamber of Birth…?""What could that mean?""Maybe it's where Meta Beasts originate…""Or where the world itself was born."
Argus folded his arms, gaze piercing."The Tower reveals what it wishes, when it wishes. Those who try to force understanding are swallowed whole."
He began pacing again. "The Vanguard Council has since forbidden downward expeditions. But theories persist—some believe the Tower is symmetrical. That beyond Floor Zero lies a reflection, an opposite: the Abyss Below."
The words seemed to taste of metal.A boy whispered, "The Abyss Below… like a mirror of the heavens."
Argus's faint smile did not reach his eyes. "Exactly."
Then he faced the crowd, his tone sharp again. "Now, remember this lesson, and remember it well: The Abyss Tower is not merely a dungeon. It is the measure of humanity's arrogance. Every floor conquered feeds our hunger for more. But the Tower… watches. It learns. And it punishes."
Silence.The weight of his words hung heavy.
A student near the back raised her trembling hand. "Professor… have you been inside?"
All eyes turned.
Argus met her gaze. For a heartbeat, his composure cracked. His pupils flared blue, then dimmed."I have," he said softly.
The room froze.
He walked toward the edge of the stage, his voice low but clear."I entered with the Fifty-Third Expedition. We reached the Thirteenth Floor—the Frozen Choir. Do you know what it's like to hear your comrades scream through song, their voices freezing mid-note, their bodies turning into sculptures of ice that still hum when the wind passes through?"
The students stared, horrified.
Argus's expression was unreadable. "We lost sixteen that day. But what stayed with me was not their death—it was the sound that came after. The Tower sang back."
No one dared speak. Even the mana lamps flickered.
He inhaled slowly. "The Tower remembers every death within it. It learns from them. It shapes itself to our fears. That is why no two expeditions experience the same path."
A faint buzz filled the air—the System's ambient hum, reacting to the mention of its name. Symbols flickered briefly across the auditorium walls before fading.
Argus turned away from the students and looked up toward the ceiling, as though sensing something unseen."Even now," he murmured, "it listens."
Then, louder, he spoke again."The twentieth floor remains humanity's final frontier. No Pioneer has passed its gate in eight years. But mark my words, one of you may change that. One of you sitting here will ascend where others fell."
A nervous laugh came from somewhere."Us? We're barely freshmen!"
Argus smirked faintly. "Every legend began as a fool who dared to climb."
Another voice—sarcastic, half-panicked—rose."Yeah, and most fools die before the third floor."
The hall erupted in laughter. Argus let it linger for a moment before raising his hand again.
"Courage," he said, "is not the absence of fear. It's the decision to climb anyway."
His words settled into them, a spark amid the weight of dread.
From the first row, a calm voice spoke—a young woman with white hair tied neatly behind her, her tone sharp with intelligence."Professor Valen, if the Tower adapts to our fears, does that mean… it knows us personally?"
Argus smiled thinly. "An astute observation, Miss…?"
"Lyenne Voss."
"Miss Voss," he said, "the Tower knows you better than you know yourself. When you stand before its gate, it measures your essence—your will, your memories, your regrets. It shapes its trials accordingly. That is why no two Pioneers walk the same path. It is why courage alone is not enough. You must understand yourself to ascend."
Lyenne nodded slowly, her expression thoughtful, haunted.
Another voice—male, nervous but curious—cut in."Then, Professor… what lies beyond the top? The purpose of climbing it?"
Argus's gaze sharpened again. "The purpose? To answer the question, the Tower asked our forebears. The one that sealed its gate beyond the Twentieth Floor."
The hall went utterly still.
He descended the stage, boots echoing on the polished floor as he passed between the rows of students. His voice was low, carrying effortlessly."Some say the Tower asks the meaning of humanity. Others, the price of existence. The truth is simpler—and crueler."
He stopped beside the center aisle."It asks one thing of all who reach its summit."
He turned slowly, meeting the eyes of every trembling student."Are you ready to become what you fear?"
The lights flickered. The students could feel it—an invisible chill crawling across their skin, like unseen fingers tracing their thoughts. For a moment, it was as if the Tower itself loomed above them, vast and silent, listening through the professor's words.
Then Argus straightened, the moment gone."Class dismissed," he said, quietly but firmly. "Study your fear, freshmen. Someday, it will study you in return."
He turned and left the stage, the echo of his boots fading into the hum of the reactor vents.
The silence broke only after a long moment—then the students burst into restless, frightened chatter.
"What did he mean by that?""The Tower asks questions?""He's joking… right?""You think he's ever been beyond the Thirteenth Floor?""He didn't sound like he was lying…"
Lyenne leaned back in her seat, her gaze distant. "If it learns from fear," she murmured, "then maybe… the Tower is fear itself."
The boy beside her laughed nervously. "Great. So we're studying to fight nightmares that think."
"Not nightmares," she whispered. "Reflections."
Their voices mingled with hundreds of others as the auditorium emptied. The air carried the faint scent of ozone and burnt mana. Outside the glass dome, the fractured sky shimmered again, reflecting the black silhouette of something enormous far beyond the horizon—something that pulsed faintly, like a distant heartbeat.