[Floor Fifteen]
Vagabonder: a person who wanders floor to floor, earning a filthy amount of Gilds.
***
Instead of finding himself on another floor, Lodio found himself in that familiar lobby. The walls breathed life: wooden with crawling vines. Windows, windows, windows, filling each wall—reflecting the other climbers. Chairs and tables in uniformed columns and rows. But as soon as seconds passed, blood dripped on the marble floors.
Lodio clenched his fists until they turned white. Tired. His eyes felt heavy—heavier than a boulder. And still naked if not for his torn pants. Looking at the window, he saw his own reflection: matted hair, growing stubble, and the absence of a smirk. All that was left was parted, blood-stained lips and hooded eyes.
When he ran his hand through his hair? It tangled around his fingers like vines. With a rough yank, he stared at the clinging hair strands between his fingers. Jet-black.
“Hello! Hello!”
Again, again, again, that voice.
“Congratulations for passing the fourteenth floor! Now, you must be wondering, why aren’t you on the next floor? Well, there are hundreds of you still. So why not take the ten promising Vagabonders? And pit them against each other until there are five left? The rest of you will be proceeding to the next floor.”
Ten?
Lodio dissolved.
Now, standing on a decagon’s corner, Lodio’s head snapped around.
Is this the next floor—
Ding!
[
Congratulations!
You’ve been chosen as one of the ten promising fighters!
Goal: Survive until there are five of you left. In five minutes, the spiked walls will push in. Winning will teleport you to the twentieth floor!
]
His breath hitched. Him? Why him? How could he be one of the top ‘ten’? Lodio looked up, staring at the rest of the climbers: all looked tired like him. He was spaced meters apart. And behind him was a spike-covered wall, glinting under the rusted sun.
Then, one stepped forward, his lips curled into a smirk. Then another and another and another. Lodio didn’t step forward. Not yet. His sword ached and breathed. His heart thumped like a cicada. And his fingers twitched—ached to meet skin.
Coating his eyes, Lodio stepped forward with a smirk. Top ten. That’s what he’ll be. In the Tower’s will. He will reach the twentieth floor—that will be his intention. But he stopped at the sight of someone: them.
Under the sun, their leathery beak reflected.
Clenching his fists, his nails drew blood.
Once, twice, there will be no thrice.
Then, Lodio’s gaze caught someone else. Someone so calm that they didn’t bother to conceal their Anima. But he stopped and pondered, trying to recall Poppy’s word.
Masking?
He shook his head.
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
No… it has to be…
In front of them, a climber rushed, flaring string-like Anima toward the person.
Thwack!
The sound was clear as day. It halted everyone, including Lodio.
The aggressive climber’s head was bashed into the limestone floor. A webbing crack. Their head was twisted in the wrong way.
Lodio squinted at the person: their hair colored like dried blood, a passive smile, but their build? Their build wasn’t impressive… skinny, Lodio would say, even if he himself was considered ‘skinny.’
I didn’t see it…
His gaze traced the person’s motion as they crouched. Then, something he never saw before, the corpse’s flickering Anima siphoned into their hand.
Ding!
[Goal: Survive until there are five climbers (9/10)]
“Shhh… it’s okay. The struggle is almost over.” They offered a soft smile. Now, standing up, they looked around. “Anyone else?” So soft—barely audible over the wind.
A Twog stepped forward, their hair braided to their back. In their hand was a spear with a glinting head. They twirled it around before getting into a stance. But even as they attacked, their attacks failed to hit the person.
“Confidence will be your downfall. Not using Anima—“
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!
Three apple-sized holes blew through the Twog’s body. No blood. The Twog stumbled around like a drunken fool before dropping onto their knees.
Placing their hand on the Twog’s forehead, the person’s lips curled into a smile. Even as the Twog turned into a soulless husk. Even as they fell on the ground like a crumbling statue. Even as their smile hid the sadistic glee.
Lodio knew that smile. His father had one… the pleasure of fighting.
“Who are you?!”
The person tilted their head. “… call me Diosi,” he answered.
Ding!
[Goal: Survive until there are five climbers (8/10)]
Lodio ignored the screen.
A second passed.
Concealing.
Even when focusing all his aura on his eyes, he couldn’t see Valerio’s Anima. But he couldn’t focus on that. No. Instead, he focused on the beaked figure’s Anima. Same thing. No aura.
Unsheathing his sword, Lodio continued to walk forward. Finally, behind the figure, he raised his sword.
“Mmm… so raw… I know this aura,” the figure said, shivering. “…Three days? And you’re so… strong—“ the figure jumped out of the way, dodging the overhead strike.
Lodio’s lips curled into a smirk. Pink petals coated his blade. And with a grin, he sent them flying toward the figure.
“And you have a class? You’re making… so… so… ripe… not yet,” their voice muffled behind their mask. “But… you should’ve made your… intentions… a little more tighter… flexible… yes…”
Lodio’s skin shivered.
They’re also a sadistic bastard?
He gritted his teeth.
Intention? Intent? I intend the petals to be blade-sharp and linear… what does he mean?”
There was no time for pondering.
And there it was, that overwhelming pressure, but Lodio didn’t buckle. Instead, he glared at the beaked figure with a feral grin. His heart pumped.
“That glare… yes… keep glaring… not yet strong.”
Flaring.
Dashing forward, Lodio aimed for a diagonal slash. His muscles stretched like a drawn bowstring. And his gaze? His gaze landed on the figure’s mask. Slashing, he tried to recover from missing, but a fist met his face.
Thwack!
He skidded across the arena as if he were a flat stone. Landing a few meters apart, he tried to push himself up. No avail. His vision swam. Blood dripped on the floor, splattering like spilled oil. Now, looking up, he stared at the beaked figure. They weren’t looking at him. No. They were focusing on the other climbers.
Standing up, Lodio pivoted his hip, stepping his left foot back.
I’m going to…
Coating. He didn’t coat some on his petals like he usually does. No. Lodio Azhario coated almost all his Anima on his petals. The petals shook and vibrated.
Not like this.
Pointing his sword at the beaked figure, he reset his position and drove his left foot back. Then his right foot forward. He held that position until the figure was aligned with the tip.
One.
Two.
Three.
There!
Lunging forward, the petals whirled around the blade before slingshotting toward the figure. It warped the air. As the figure looked back, they stretched their hands toward it, mapping it. But that only faltered the petals a bit.
Shnick! Shnick! Shnick!
Blood sprayed into the air like a morning mist.
Ding!
[The wall will start closing in!]
A mere suggestion.
Lodio crumbled.
His sword scuttled across the floor, glinting under the sun.
A sharp pain pulsed in his temples. Electrifying. His muscles felt limp. And what escaped his mouth was blood. It spilled across the floor.
In a bloodied state, Lodio tried to crawl toward his sword. But his fingers slipped off the floor as if they were frictionless. Attempting it a few times, his fingers caught a crack, and he pulled himself forward. A bloody trail.
Ding!
He ignored it.
Ding!
Kept clawing.
Then, something poked his soles. Sharp. But it didn’t pierce his feet; it pushed him forward toward his sword. Not too fast. His skin burned from the scraping floor.
Ding!
First his head, then his fingertips.
Pure black.
What was left was his tipless, curled fingers. They gripped the sword.
Dissolved into blue mist.
