Gods of Arkanis

That's a great detail! The 100 floors str

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The world of Arkanis groaned under the weight of its infinite arenas. From high above, the gods watched in their celestial thrones, their eyes fixed on the blood and chaos that churned below. Mortals clashed endlessly in the labyrinth of battles, all for the gods' twisted amusement. Arkanis was not just a world but a tower of suffering—one hundred floors, each its own arena of blood and death, and at the top, the ultimate prize: the title of *Champion of the Gods*.

No one had ever survived all 100 floors.

Far below, near the very bottom, in the dark tunnels of the lower floors, Kael crouched in the shadows. This was the first floor, the most brutal and unforgiving of them all, where the gods barely cast a glance. The only way out was to climb—floor by floor, arena by arena. But no one had ever made it to the top without the gods' blessing.

Kael knew this better than anyone. He had been training his whole life for the chance to defy that fate.

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**The Voice of Xeraniel**

"Kael…"

The voice echoed in his mind, soft yet commanding. It was a voice that had been with him for as long as he could remember, whispering guidance in the dark. *Xeraniel*—the forgotten god. Before his death, Xeraniel had entrusted Kael with a gift: his power, his knowledge, and a way to fight back. But the gods, fearing Xeraniel's compassion for mortals, had killed him and ensured he could never reincarnate. Now, Kael carried his legacy in secret.

"You are not ready yet, but soon. The time is near."

Kael stood, his eyes sharp as he listened to the distant sounds of battle echoing through the tunnels. The first floor was the hardest to survive, not because the strongest fighters were here, but because the weakest mortals were thrown into this level to die. Only those who clawed their way out could rise to the next floor, toward the gods' favor.

And Kael intended to rise.

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**The Arena's Cruelty**

In the depths of the first floor, death was constant. Blood splattered the walls of the twisting tunnels, the air heavy with the scent of metal and decay. The mortals here, *Regulars* born into this hell, had never seen the outside world. To them, there was no hope, no dream beyond survival. They fought, killed, and died for nothing more than a few more days of life.

But Kael was different. He was one of the few *Revenants*—a mortal from the outside, brought into Arkanis by the gods. Though the magic of this place clouded his memories, Kael still remembered fragments of his life outside. It was those fragments that kept him grounded, that reminded him there was more beyond these endless arenas.

Ahead, a scream pierced the silence. Kael stiffened. Two figures emerged from the shadows of the tunnels—a Regular, bloodied and barely holding a sword, and a massive man towering over him, an Outer Challenger wielding a warhammer. The Challenger grinned cruelly, raising his weapon for the kill.

Kael could have kept walking. This wasn't his fight. But something deep inside pushed him forward.

The warhammer swung down—but never connected. Kael's hand flashed out, catching the weapon mid-swing. A pulse of energy, faint but powerful, surged through Kael's body—the power of Xeraniel. The Challenger's eyes went wide in shock as his weapon was wrenched from his hands and sent clattering to the floor.

"You're finished," Kael said quietly.

The Challenger stumbled back, fear replacing his arrogance. "What are you?"

Kael didn't answer. He stepped forward, his eyes cold and unwavering. The Challenger didn't need a second warning. He turned and fled into the shadows, leaving the Regular behind.

Kael knelt beside the wounded Regular, checking his pulse. Still alive. Good.

As he stood, a soft rustle of wings filled the tunnel. Kael's heart pounded as three figures descended from above—*Seraphim Blades*, their angelic wings shining in the dim light. The gods' enforcers. Kael had seen them only once before, and now they were here, watching him.

"You've been noticed," the leader said, his voice cold and commanding. "You've earned your place. Prepare to ascend."

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**The Climb Begins**

Kael's heart raced, but he forced himself to remain calm. This was the moment he had been waiting for. The Seraphim Blades had come. They would take him from the bottom of the arena, up the tower of Arkanis, toward the higher floors where the real tournament began. Each floor held new challenges, new battles, and closer proximity to the gods' favor.

As they ascended, Kael would be given better equipment, stronger allies, and access to the gods' blessings. But that meant nothing to him. His goal wasn't to gain favor—it was to reach the 100th floor and face the gods themselves.

The *Gods' Tournament* was the only way. To reach the 99th floor, where the bloodiest battle royal awaited him, and beyond that, the 100th floor where the title of *Champion of the Gods* would be decided. No mortal had ever reached the top, but Kael wasn't like the others. He had Xeraniel's gift, a power that the gods feared—a power that had been hidden within him for so long.

"Do you understand what this means?" the Seraphim Blade asked as they began to fly toward the higher floors. "Few are chosen. Fewer still survive. You may have earned our attention, but the tournament is far deadlier than anything you've faced before."

Kael looked up, his eyes determined. "I'm ready."

The Seraphim Blade smirked. "We'll see about that."

As they flew upward, the tunnels and darkness of the lower floors faded away, giving rise to vast cities and mansions built into the arenas of the higher levels. Mortals lived here, blessed by the gods, growing stronger with each ascent. The closer they got to the top, the more luxurious their lives became. But even in their opulence, they were all just pieces on the gods' board.

Kael clenched his fists. His journey had only just begun, but he knew one thing for certain—he would climb. He would face every challenge the gods put in his path. And when he reached the top, he would end their reign.

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