Three days.
I stopped counting time properly somewhere around Floor 42.
The tower blurred together after a while. Heat. Blood. Fire. Screams. The metallic taste of mana exhaustion coating the back of my throat over and over until even breathing felt violent. Every floor looked like another layer of some giant furnace trying to melt me down into something sharper.
Or maybe it already had.
The volcanic terrain stretched endlessly beneath me as I stood at the edge of a cracked cliff on Floor 45, staring at rivers of lava glowing beneath the darkness like open wounds carved through the earth itself.
Smoke drifted through the air thick enough to choke normal players, but my body barely reacted anymore. The demonic mana circulating inside me burned hotter than the environment.
The tower wind brushed against my face.
Cold.
Strange.
I used to hate silence.
Now I wore it comfortably.
