Prologue: The Fall of the Eighth Circle

The skies of the Eighth Circle trembled, torn apart by the clash of titanic forces. This floor of the tower had once been a place of unmatched beauty, a sprawling plain beneath an eternal, burning sun. Now, it was a shattered wasteland—a battlefield where climbers of unimaginable strength fought for dominance, each wielding powers that could reshape entire worlds.

Qi rippled through the air, thick and suffocating, as the combatants unleashed their most destructive techniques. Elemental storms surged across the battlefield—firestorms raged, freezing winds howled, and the very earth cracked under the pressure of spiritual and body-enhancing energies. Towering pillars of stone and fire reached toward the shattered horizon, only to be obliterated in an instant by the raw power of cultivation.

At the center of the chaos, the most elite climbers waged war, their bodies honed to the peak of Body Cultivation, or their spirits tempered by the art of Soul Cultivation. One warrior, his skin gleaming like forged steel, charged through the fray, unleashing the destructive force of Iron Fist Avalanche. His fists crashed into the ground, sending seismic waves of energy across the battlefield, shattering anything that stood in his path. Enemy cultivators were thrown off their feet as the shockwaves tore through their ranks.

Overhead, another figure floated serenely, her eyes glowing with ethereal light as she wielded the power of Eclipse Soul Domain, a technique designed to dominate the minds of her enemies. With a flick of her wrist, a shimmering dome of spiritual energy expanded outward, warping the perceptions of those within it. The climbers caught in its radius clutched their heads and screamed as their minds were assaulted by illusions and soul attacks, each strike piercing deep into their spirits.

The air above crackled with elemental energy as energy cultivators rained down destruction. A man clad in swirling flames unleashed the Flame Vortex Cascade, creating a whirlwind of fire that devoured everything in its path. Another figure called forth the Wind Saber Torrent, sending dozens of razor-sharp blades of air slicing through the battlefield, cutting down both beast and climber alike. The ground beneath them trembled as the weight of their techniques reshaped the landscape, turning the once-peaceful plains into a battlefield of ash and broken stone.

But amid the destruction, a figure emerged that made even these mighty warriors hesitate.

Descending from the sky, draped in crimson robes that rippled with an unnatural energy, was a climber whose aura suffocated the battlefield. His presence bent space itself—a byproduct of his mastery over Void Profound Energy. The very air around him twisted and distorted, as though reality struggled to contain his power. In his hand was a weapon no one should wield—a relic of the void, forged from the essence of nothingness itself, its edge shimmering with the absence of light.

The cultivators faltered, instinctively pulling back as the crimson-robed man raised the weapon high. The battlefield fell into a tense, eerie silence, as the swirling chaos stilled, as if the world held its breath in anticipation.

Then, with a single, effortless motion, he unleashed it.

A beam of void energy, darker than the deepest abyss, shot across the battlefield. It tore through the fabric of space, erasing everything in its path—mountains, beasts, and cultivators alike. The ground split open beneath the weight of the attack, and the sky above cracked, leaving the battlefield torn between existence and oblivion.

Screams of terror and pain filled the air as the attack obliterated entire factions in an instant. Cultivators who had mastered body, soul, and energy alike were vaporized, their years of cultivation rendered meaningless in the face of such absolute power. The earth quaked, and the very foundation of the tower groaned in protest, as if it could not withstand the sheer force being unleashed upon it.

For a brief moment, the tower seemed as if it would reject this violation of its natural laws. The ground beneath the survivors trembled, and the tower's core energy fluctuated, as though it sought to correct this cosmic imbalance. But the power of the crimson-robed climber was too great. The rules of the tower bent, stretched, and finally, the tower adapted.

When the dust settled, the battlefield was a desolate wasteland. Floating shards of rock, debris, and ash hung in the air where mighty warriors had once stood. The survivors, those fortunate enough to escape the reach of the void energy, stared in disbelief at the destruction. Above them, the crimson-robed figure floated, untouched by the devastation he had wrought, his weapon humming softly with the remnants of its power.

And below, deep within the fractured earth, something stirred.

A rift appeared, a tear in the fabric of space itself—small at first, but quickly growing, distorting the very ground beneath it. From the rift, a figure stumbled out, barely visible through the shimmering void around him. His form was weak and fragile, an anomaly in a battlefield of gods.

Rainey.

He emerged, dazed and confused, into a world he could not comprehend. His body trembled as he collapsed onto the broken ground, struggling to make sense of his surroundings. The sounds of the battle above him were distant, muffled echoes in the background of his disoriented mind.

He blinked, his vision hazy, his thoughts a jumbled mess. The sky above him, fractured and swirling with chaotic energy, made his head spin. Where was he? How had he come to this place? The answers slipped through his fingers, leaving only a sense of dread in their wake.

Unnoticed by the remaining climbers, Rainey struggled to his feet. He could feel the weight of something pressing down on him, a force far beyond his understanding.

And in that moment, the tower—ever watchful, ever present—noticed him.

But it did not know what to make of him.

For now, he remained hidden in the chaos. But the tower never missed an anomaly for long.