Asher stood at the base of the staircase leading to the next floor, his body still thrumming with the aftershocks of what had just happened. The ruins of the Forgotten City were gone, erased as if they had never existed. The golden light of the Tower's judgment had vanished, but its presence still lingered, watching, waiting.
The Tower had tried to erase him.
It had failed.
A sharp wind cut through the silence. The air was different now—heavier, colder, more aware.
Asher exhaled slowly, his hands flexing at his sides. His shadow had changed.
It no longer flickered like before. It no longer moved at random. It was still. Controlled. Waiting.
He had taken something.
Something that had not been meant for mortals.
And the gods knew it.
The staircase stretched infinitely upward, a monolithic path winding into the unseen sky. Each step pulsed with faint energy, shifting between stone and something else—something alive.
Asher took the first step.
A chime rang in his skull.
[You have entered the Fourth Floor: The Gate of Judgment.]
[All who climb must be weighed.]
[Your existence is an anomaly.]
[You will face divine intervention.]
The moment the last notification appeared, the sky split open.
A deafening crack thundered across the air as reality itself tore apart.
A massive golden gate materialized before him, blocking the top of the stairs. It pulsed with radiant energy, runes carved deep into its surface. The language was ancient, older than the Tower itself.
Asher narrowed his eyes. He recognized some of the symbols from the ruins below.
They were not meant to keep mortals out.
They were meant to keep something else inside.
The realization barely settled before the light intensified.
A new presence descended.
Not like before.
Not a whisper.
Not a memory.
This time, it was real.
A figure emerged from the gate, stepping forward in slow, deliberate movements.
Cloaked in flowing robes of radiant gold, its form was blinding, almost impossible to look at directly. Its face was hidden beneath a smooth, featureless mask—similar to the Faceless Ones, but different. Stronger. Purer. Uncompromising.
And its eyes burned through the mask, staring directly at Asher.
A voice followed.
"You are not welcome here."
It was not anger. Not hatred.
It was finality.
Asher remained still, watching. He had expected something like this.
This was not just a guardian.
This was a god.
The golden figure raised a hand, and the space around them bent. The staircase trembled beneath Asher's feet, the runes glowing violently, reacting to the presence of divine will.
"You have stolen from the Tower," the god continued. "You were meant to be erased. And yet, you remain."
A low hum vibrated through the air.
"That is unacceptable."
The golden gate behind it began to open.
Asher could feel it before he saw it—power beyond comprehension, a force meant to unmake reality itself.
The Tower was done playing games.
It was sending a god to erase him directly.
A notification appeared, flashing in deep red.
[Divine Execution has been authorized.]
[You are no longer a participant.]
[You are a threat.]
The god lifted its hand, and the light surged toward him.
Asher moved.
His shadow erupted outward, faster than before, sharper, more defined. He was no longer reacting. He was anticipating.
The moment the divine energy reached him, he did not try to block it.
He did not dodge.
He devoured it.
The light collapsed inward, spiraling into his shadow like water draining into an abyss. The air shuddered violently, the golden runes flickering, struggling against something they did not understand.
The god stopped.
For the first time, it hesitated.
"What… are you?"
Asher straightened, rolling his shoulders. He could still feel the divine energy within him, struggling, twisting, trying to escape.
But it could not.
Because it belonged to him now.
"You tell me," he said.
The god's form flickered slightly, as if adjusting, recalibrating. It had expected resistance. It had expected him to fight.
It had not expected him to consume.
Another pulse of energy erupted from the golden gate, brighter than before, flooding the sky with a radiance so intense it felt like the air itself was burning.
The Tower was reacting.
This was no longer just a trial.
This was a war.
The god exhaled slowly. Its voice was quieter now.
"Then you must be erased completely."
It raised its hand again.
This time, reality cracked.
The staircase beneath them fractured, floating pieces of stone spiraling upward as the very fabric of the Tower began to shatter.
Asher felt it.
A power unlike anything he had faced before.
Not just destruction.
Not just judgment.
This was absolute erasure.
Something inside him shifted.
He had two choices.
He could fight.
Or he could become.
His shadow pulsed violently, as if answering his thoughts.
The golden light surged forward.
And Asher embraced the void.
His vision collapsed into darkness.
For a brief moment, there was nothing.
No gods. No Tower. No reality.
Just a single truth, whispering at the edge of his mind.
"You were never meant to climb."
"You were meant to end it."
Asher's eyes snapped open.
And the Tower trembled.