VICENTE'S POINT OF VIEW
I've always had to fend for myself to survive.
But that was fine. Ever since I was a kid, I'd learned that everything that happened in this life was our own responsibility.
My parents raised me to stand on my own two feet.
One of them was a bricklayer, and whenever he came home, he'd drink until he fucked things up.
My mother just put up with everything and kept him in line.
They were in that situation because they "wanted" to be.
Everyone had choices. They weren't just two lost souls that society had left with no other option.
The whole "the strong prevail over the weak" thing had never felt more real.
My parents were just two weak people. Two lonely people who simply did whatever their instincts told them to do.
Of course, fucking someone and drinking until you passed out felt good, but if that shit was going to screw you over and fuck up your life, what was the point?
Putting pleasure above everything else... after seeing my parents stuck in that mess, I learned that you had to balance everything.
I'd been tempted to become a drug runner and all that fucking shit, but I always stopped myself before crossing a certain line.
But later, I realized the mistake I'd made by judging my parents without knowing the whole story.
They didn't "choose" this fucking life. It was the consequence of everything piling up together. Even if they were partly to blame, it wasn't simply because they were weak, but because they were a couple of idiots.
Every day, a smart guy and an idiot walked out of their homes. That was the only certainty in this life, especially when you lived in a poor neighborhood on the outskirts of Rio de Janeiro.
If I merely "survived," sooner or later, I'd end up just like them.
I'd work until my brain was completely fucked and all I wanted was pleasure.
I'd cheat on my wife, beat my kid after getting drunk, pile up debts, and get fired over some stupid shit.
But then how do you become strong when you're born weak?
How do you outsmart the "smart ones"?
I thought about it for years, and I had to swim through the fucking sewer to learn.
I dealt with all kinds of people, from gigolos to drug dealers. I even joined a fucking charity organization and got involved with the church. I learned everything I could.
I knew I'd have to swallow a lot of shit and get fucked over again and again, but I endured it.
I accumulated experience and promised myself I wouldn't be the idiot. I'd be the smart one.
I had no money, intelligence, or connections, but I had experience.
My parents might have had some of that too, but they chose to remain idiots.
They didn't want to win.
But I did.
I wanted to crush every one of those worms who had humiliated me throughout my twenty-three years of life.
After realizing the fucked-up reality of this world, I became a con artist.
I wasn't going to rise through the ranks with an honest job, but I'd also end up in a ditch or a cell if I started robbing people or dealing drugs. So I just needed to be the one who rose above both the smart ones and the idiots.
After two years, I'd already pulled off more than two hundred scams.
I didn't get rich from it. I had my limits, and I'd stop whenever it was time to stop, but it was enough to survive.
I managed to buy a nice house in Paraty and enjoy life. I was finally several levels above my parents, and just when I thought I could consider myself the hunter rather than the prey, that shit happened.
That tower appeared, and we were sent to a chaotic world. I don't know about the others, but mine was more fucked up than Rocinha.
A world where simply being strong could already get you killed. You had to be the strongest and put up with a whole lot of shit.
Fortunately, I had plenty of experience with humiliation.
In the world I was sent to, the nobility ruled over the commoners. I was a warrior who obeyed orders above all else, killing, robbing, extorting... that part wasn't difficult. After all, it wasn't any different from real life.
The hard part was having to put up with orders, punishments for the smallest fucking mistake, having to eat with the dogs, and seeing that whoever had the money also had the power.
It didn't matter how much I leveled up. I was still a commoner.
If everyone from the nobility joined forces, I wouldn't stand a chance.
Just when I thought I'd finally earned my place in the sun, I ended up in this fucking mess.
But that nightmare didn't last long.
For me, only seven months had passed before I was sent back to the "real world," even if that world happened to be this shitty tower.
But now I had an advantage.
I was considered a Returner.
One of the rare people who had been sent to another world and gained "powers."
The whole thing felt like a psychedelic dream after dropping LSD, but I came back to reality by the third floor.
When I smelled blood and touched several corpses, I understood that this shit was more real than anything else.
It didn't matter what world I was in. A tower, a fantasy world, a favela, Paraty... nothing changed.
Being strong and rising above everyone else was what mattered.
Even if I ended up alone, if I was alone and above everyone else, then fuck it.
I joined the group of the twelve strongest people in the tower.
Even though I hadn't exactly wanted it, I had status, fame, and power.
My life seemed better than when I was in Paraty, smoking a Cuban cigar while fucking two high-class prostitutes.
But then I realized that all of that would eventually lead to my death.
In the favela or that other world, I never felt like a single wrong step could kill me.
But on the 11th floor, I saw plenty of strong people die.
Getting stronger in this world didn't change anything.
Every floor would be more fucked up than the last.
I only had one way to save myself:
Get the fuck out.
I actually liked the badass reputation we had.
Even though I didn't have a role as important as Douglas or Yumi, I was still pretty useful and people knew who I was.
But what good did that do me?
This journey would only bring me death.
There wouldn't be any fame, women, luxury, or comfort waiting for me.
Only a grave.
And even if I was famous and strong now, who the fuck was I supposed to show it off to?
There wasn't any fucking press or television anymore.
There were no social media platforms.
The banking system had gone to shit too.
So all of it was meaningless.
And even if I went outside, I wouldn't be able to live the kind of life I had before.
I'd probably end up working as some "debris" collector, serving in the army, or becoming some kind of errand boy for the Central, sucking up to the fatasses at the top.
What a fucking joke.
I had nowhere else to go.
And when I realized that, I started to panic in a way I'd never experienced before in my life.
Until now, I'd lived to rise above everyone else and gain enough social status to give myself some peace of mind.
But in this world, none of that mattered anymore.
Even if I became famous and earned gold and money, it would be worthless.
The only currency in this world was survival.
I was one of the strongest heroes in the tower.
Out there, nobody would mess with me.
I could survive and find a good place to live, even with the world completely fucked and crawling with demons.
Climbing this tower wouldn't give me anything.
I even thought I might be able to pick up a few female scouts, but not even that.
But if I left now, what would happen?
Would the Central probably try to "detain" me?
No.
I'd kill most of them.
With my powers, nobody could stop me from doing whatever the fuck I wanted.
The problem was getting down all these floors.
But I still had "that" to deal with.
That's why I'd avoided doing anything stupid until now.
After what happened at the camp and Natasha's arrival, if I left the group, it would only cause trouble.
I even tried to get those motherfuckers to take me to the crystal so we could get the hell out of here.
That way, I'd have an excuse.
But they intended to kill us.
I could smell something shitty about those scouts.
But even after they were dead, I still couldn't shake this uneasy feeling.
Something was wrong with this tower.
Ever since we arrived on the 32nd floor, I knew shit was going to hit the fan.
Especially after Raul went to the grave.
I needed to get out of here as soon as possible.
But cowardice had always killed the weak.
How could I have forgotten?
Those who hesitate get shot in the back and fall.
Ever since I started rising above the weak, I'd never hesitated.
I'd never turned my back on anyone.
I ran when the opportunity presented itself, but I always had some kind of contingency plan.
So why had I been such an idiot this time?
Why had I been afraid?
When I realized it, Karen's hands were buried deep in my stomach, piercing straight through it.
I looked at the woman I'd fucked a few hours earlier.
Her face was covered in bulging veins, her eyes were completely black, two protrusions jutted from her forehead, and her teeth had turned yellow, looking like those of a piranha.
— Did I fuck a demon?
By the time I realized it, I was already lying on the floor, my vision blurred, hearing Vick and Sally screaming somewhere in the distance.
That's when I finally understood the raw, naked truth.
The reality I couldn't accept because I'd thought I was already capable of doing anything.
Power really does go to your head, doesn't it?
In this world...
In this fucking world...
I was still weak.