A couple moments ago.
Victor's entrance led him to a tower.
Victor stood at the threshold of floor one hundred, his blade gleaming faintly in the dim light filtering through narrow windows. Below him lay ninety-nine floors of darkness, danger, and the companions who had descended before him.
He tightened his grip on the sword—a simple steel weapon enchanted with minor reinforcement. The blade had served him well during the climb up the outer tower, cutting through harpies and stone gargoyles with relative ease. But now, as he prepared to descend, Victor understood that the true test lay below.
The first floor was empty. Whatever creatures had haunted these upper reaches had long since fled or been destroyed by previous adventurers. Victor moved quickly, his boots silent on the worn stone steps as he spiraled downward. Floor ninety-eight. Ninety-seven. Ninety-six.
