The air was thick with silence.
Not the absence of sound, but something deeper.
Something that pressed against the mind, curling into thoughts, clawing at reason.
Asher stood motionless, his sword at his side, his shadow flickering against the smooth stone floor. The golden runes beneath his feet pulsed faintly, stretching endlessly in every direction, carving an intricate web of symbols into the prison that should not exist.
This place was wrong.
It was not a trial.
Not a battlefield.
It was a graveyard of things that refused to die.
The Executioner exhaled, his grip tightening around his greatsword. "I hoped I'd never see this place again."
Asher turned to him. "You've been here before?"
The older warrior nodded. "Not physically. But when the gods turned me into their executioner, they showed me what happens to things that cannot be erased."
His voice was low, careful.
"This is where they keep the ones even they fear."
A shift in the air.
A ripple.
Then—the whispers began.
A single voice at first.
Then two.
Then hundreds.
The golden runes on the ground flickered violently, their light struggling, weakening against something unseen. The Executioner tensed.
"They're waking up."
Asher exhaled slowly. "Who?"
The whispering stopped.
Then a voice—low, broken, filled with something old and hungry— answered.
"We are the ones who fell first."
The ground cracked open.
And the Forgotten Gods rose from the abyss.
The Gods That Were Erased
The first figure emerged slowly, rising from the darkness as if pulled from something deeper than the void itself.
It was massive, its form wrapped in decayed golden cloth, its arms elongated, too many hands, each one holding a shattered piece of something that once carried power.
A mask—smooth, featureless, but cracked—covered its face.
And then another rose beside it.
Then another.
And another.
A pantheon of broken divinity, figures wrapped in fragments of their former selves, their bodies torn apart, their power sealed.
They had once been gods.
Now, they were prisoners.
A notification flickered across Asher's vision.
[The Sixth Floor: The Unseen Prison]
[The Forgotten Pantheon Has Awakened.]
The tallest of the figures stepped forward, its movement slow, deliberate. The very air bent around it, the golden runes on the floor struggling to contain its existence.
"You are not one of them."
Its voice was layered, thousands of voices speaking as one.
"And yet, you are not one of us."
The Executioner gritted his teeth. "Do not answer them, Asher."
Asher tilted his head. "Why?"
The older warrior kept his stance firm. "Because they don't speak to mortals. They speak to things like themselves."
The Forgotten Gods stared at Asher.
And then, the tallest one—the first to fall—knelt.
The golden runes shattered.
The Tower reacted violently.
A chime thundered through the prison.
[Emergency Intervention Activated.]
[Divine Override Engaged.]
The Forgotten Gods did not flinch.
They had been erased once before.
They would not be erased again.
The kneeling figure lowered its head.
"The gods above are weak. Afraid."
Its voice was not kind. Not cruel. Just truth.
"But you… you have already taken what belongs to them."
Asher felt something stir within him.
A realization he had not yet spoken aloud.
His shadow, his power, his very existence—he had not just stolen from the Tower.
He had stolen from them.
He had taken what the gods had hidden.
And now, the Forgotten Gods recognized him as their own.
The Gods' Final Warning
Far above, in the divine realm beyond the Tower, the gods watched in silence.
For the first time in eternity, their voices were uncertain.
One of them—wrapped in endless golden light—spoke first.
"He is speaking to them."
A figure shrouded in abyssal black whispered back.
"They have recognized him."
A third voice—cold, calculating—spoke the words they all feared.
"He has taken what we buried."
A moment of silence.
Then the order was given.
"Erase the Sixth Floor."
A final chime echoed through the Tower.
And reality began to collapse.
The End of the Sixth Floor
Asher felt it instantly.
The golden runes shattered completely, their glow fading into nothingness. The air tore apart, pieces of the Sixth Floor vanishing into oblivion.
The Tower was trying to erase the entire floor.
Not just him.
Not just the prisoners.
Everything.
The Forgotten Gods turned toward the collapsing sky.
"They are afraid."
The Executioner stepped beside Asher. "They're trying to wipe this place from existence."
Asher exhaled slowly. "Not this time."
His shadow surged.
It did not expand.
It did not consume.
It held.
The collapsing reality slowed.
The Forgotten Gods turned their gaze toward him.
And the tallest one—the first to fall—smiled.
"You are not ready to fight them."
It raised its broken hand.
"But we will buy you time."
Asher's vision blurred.
The Sixth Floor collapsed.
And he was somewhere else.
The Tower's Response
When Asher's vision cleared, he was no longer in the prison.
The air was different. The sky was clear. He stood on a massive floating platform, high above the previous floors, the Tower stretching endlessly above him.
A new notification appeared.
[You have ascended to the Seventh Floor.]
He let out a slow breath.
They had saved him.
The Forgotten Gods had stopped the Tower from erasing him.
But they were gone.
And now, the gods above would do everything in their power to stop him from reaching the top.
The Executioner appeared beside him, still gripping his sword. He let out a rough laugh.
"You just keep breaking things, don't you?"
Asher smirked.
"And I'm not done yet."
He looked up at the Tower.
The gods had erased every rebellion before him.
But this time, they had failed.
And now, he was coming for them.