Tier 2, First Stage - Alpha

The jungle was too quiet.

Pablo crouched low behind a thick root, gripping his sword tightly. Sweat dripped down his temple, but he didn't dare wipe it away. His heart pounded in his ears, his grip tight around the hilt.

Somewhere in the distance, a faint rustling broke the silence. It was coming.

Eric raised a hand, signaling for everyone to hold. His eyes scanned the darkness, the faint glow of bioluminescent plants barely illuminating the thick undergrowth.

"Northwest, behind the trunk. Moving low," Oscar murmured.

Eric nodded, already focused on the movement. He shifted his weight slightly, wooden buckler firm in his grip. "It's circling. Stay in position," he ordered, voice low but steady.

Oscar and Mario were crouched to his right, ready with their swords. Ethan was slightly ahead, his stance loose, patient. At the back, Pablo and Lina worked quickly, securing the last part of the trap—stakes buried under leaves, a net of jungle vines stretched between trees. If they could force it into the net, they'd finish this fast.

"Ethan," Eric said, voice barely above a whisper. "Draw it in."

The lean young man exhaled sharply, adjusting his stance. Then, without a word, he darted forward.

His footfalls were light, quick, moving with practiced ease through the undergrowth. The rustling stopped—then a deep, guttural snarl cut through the silence.

The beast lunged.

A blur of dark fur, glowing eyes, and sheer muscle. Larger than expected, its sleek body moved with terrifying speed.

Ethan twisted at the last second, avoiding the claws that lashed out where his throat had been. His sword slashed across its side—shallow, but enough to provoke it.

The creature snarled, shifting to pounce again—

Eric moved.

He stepped in, buckler raised. The panther-like beast slammed into it, claws scraping across the reinforced wood. The impact sent a sharp tremor up his arm, but he held his ground. With a sharp grunt, he shoved forward, throwing the beast off-balance.

"Now!" he barked.

Oscar and Mario struck immediately.

Oscar's sword cut deep into its flank. Mario followed up with a downward strike to its hind leg, forcing a roar of pain from the beast. It twisted violently, trying to escape—

Right into the trap.

A snapping sound. The jungle net tightened, wrapping around its body as it thrashed wildly. Leaves scattered, branches snapped, but the trap held.

"Move in!" Eric commanded.

Pablo hesitated for half a second, then rushed forward with the others. Seven fighters, one target.

The beast let out one last, furious snarl—before the blades came down.

Silence.

Then, heavy breathing.

Eric exhaled, rolling his shoulders as he prodded the body with his boot.

"Well," Eric said, smirking as he cleaned his blade. "I think that went well."

"At this pace, it's gonna take forever," Lina muttered, shaking her head. "For the seven of us, we need to hunt 343 of these to reach the Stage Progress limit. How many do we have so far? Twenty-one?"

"There's no rush," Eric replied, wiping the blood off his sword. "Safety comes first. As we discussed, it's not guaranteed that we'll be brought back if we die. As likely as it seems, that could've been a safety feature exclusive to Gen-1. So we'll play it smart. We finish with the leeches, the worms, and the panthers before moving to the desert."

Pablo looked down at the slain creature.

Its pitch-black fur made it almost invisible in the night, but now, with its blood seeping into the ground, there was something almost artistic about it—a contrast between darkness and crimson.

But he wasn't thinking about that. He was thinking about the creature itself.

Did it make sense biologically?

His mind started pulling apart details, examining the structure, the adaptations. The claws—retractable, efficient, perfect for both ambush and prolonged combat. The muscle definition—lean but powerful, built for bursts of speed. The eyes—large pupils, designed for low-light hunting. Even its fur texture, matte rather than glossy, reduced light reflection for stealth.

But then… there were inconsistencies.

The body was almost too optimized, as if designed rather than evolved. No visible signs of vestigial traits, no asymmetries, no clear indications of evolutionary trade-offs.

It felt unnatural.

The leeches had been the same way—oversized, hyper-adapted, with no signs of gradual evolution. The worms, too. Every creature was as if the Tower itself had crafted them for the sole purpose of being obstacles.

Pablo exhaled, rubbing his temples.

He knew he was overthinking again. He always did.

Still, the question gnawed at him.

What rules did this place follow?

Was it a simulation or reality? The creatures they fought—were they brought from somewhere, or were they made?

"Pablo, can you help dissecting it?"

Eric's voice snapped him back.

Pablo blinked, pushing the thoughts aside, and nodded. He was usually the one tasked with this job ever since he volunteered the first time. He wasn't squeamish about it, and frankly, he was the only one who seemed to care about the biological structures of these things.

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Crouching next to the carcass, he ran his fingers along its thick fur before pressing the blade of his sword just below the base of its skull.

With careful, deliberate movements, he made a precise incision, cutting away layers of dense muscle and connective tissue. The flesh was tough, almost unnaturally resistant to the edge of his sword.

Beneath it, the skull was smooth and reinforced with an odd, semi-translucent cartilage-like layer over the bone. He peeled it away, revealing the brain—a strange, compact organ, smaller than he expected for a predator of this size. The folds were tight, almost unnatural, lacking the familiar gyri and sulci of complex mammalian brains.

Efficient, but not built for reasoning.

These things weren't thinking. They were killing machines. Just that.

"I got it," Pablo said as the orb came into view. He didn't touch it—wasn't his turn.

The others exchanged glances before Ethan stepped forward, pressing his palm against the orb. It pulsed once before dissolving into his skin.

"I think that's good enough for now," Eric said, stepping closer, surveying the remains. "We'll cap it at 21 today, then push the numbers up tomorrow once we've steadily increased our strength." He glanced around at the others. "For now, let's focus on making some armor from what we've got."

Pablo wiped the sweat from his brow and exhaled.

Another day in The Tower.

Another set of questions without answers.

October 29, 2024 - Melbourne, Australia

Jack reclined on the chair, arms folded behind his head, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. The last five days had been a whirlwind of information—news segments, government statements, analysis videos flooding every platform. The world was still reeling from the first true glimpse inside The Tower, and he had been watching.

Everyone had.

That first fight had set the world on fire.

Alonso, drenched in blood, standing tall in front of the colossal sea monster, its grotesque form collapsing behind him, the water surging in its place. The moment was seared into the world's consciousness—his shattered mask lying in the ground, his muscular body bloodied and bruised, his swords still raised as if daring something else to come at him.

The way he had moved, the way he had reacted before anyone else even understood the danger—his instincts, his sheer defiance against that onslaught—it wasn't just skill. It was something else. Something beyond human.

The final exchange, the moment that ended the fight, had already been re-edited, slowed down, analyzed frame by frame a thousand different ways. 156 projectiles. 0.48 seconds. Even slowed ten times, his arms were a blur, a wall of steel and willpower.

It was the most televised moment of the week.

Jack couldn't even blame them.

The speed. The precision. The power.

Alonso standing before an unstoppable tide of death—and stopping it anyway.

And yet… he hadn't been in the last two fights that followed.

The next events had been good, sure. He had to admit, the giant lobster-like creature had been a spectacle—its hardened shell shrugging off hit after hit, its massive pincers, each the size of a car, slamming down with enough force to send visible shockwaves rippling through the battlefield. But in the end, it had been a straightforward fight compared to the first. The Climbers had brute-forced their way through, eventually driving their weapons straight into its eye, killing it in a gruesome, gory finish.

The second event, against that ghostly, floating jellyfish, had been trickier. Its massive tentacles cracked through the air like whips, and its final stage—turning completely invisible—seemed like an impossible hurdle. But somehow, the Climbers had handled it. Or at least one of them had.

If Jack remembered correctly, it had been Wang, the Chinese one, who tracked its movements even when unseen and landed the final blow.

Yet… while the fights were fascinating… there had been no Alonso.

Were they… too weak for him?

The thought made Jack exhale through his nose, half in amusement, half in frustration.

What the hell was he even doing in there?

ASCENT had released more information since then. Boss monsters appeared every seven days. That meant the next one was only two days away.

And this time… Alonso had to be there.

Right?

Jack sat up, swiping his fingers through the air as his personal VR display lit up. The helmet rested beside him, its sleek frame pulsing with a soft blue glow. MAI, his personal AI assistant, flickered to life on his screen.

"MAI," Jack muttered, rubbing his jaw. "Show me the breakdown of the first event again."

The screen shifted, and the fight replayed in slow motion.

Jack had watched it so many times. And still, he couldn't look away.

The flying Climbers. The sheer speed they moved at. The power behind every strike.

But above all, his best friend.

Flawless. Brutal. Untouchable.

Jealousy burned in his chest.

But it was his kind of jealousy. Not petty. Not bitter. The kind that made him want to reach for something greater.

Jack had always hated the way the world worked. The corruption, the media circus, the empty promises of people in power. Nothing ever changed. Not really. The ones at the top stayed at the top, the ones at the bottom kept getting crushed, and everything in between was just noise to keep people distracted.

And now, with Climbers rising to something beyond normal human limits, the propaganda had only gotten worse.

Governments were already twisting The Tower into whatever they needed it to be. One day, the Climbers were humanity's greatest hope, brave warriors fighting for the future of mankind. The next, they were assets—a resource to be studied, controlled, and, if necessary, sacrificed.

Right now, they were useful.

Right now, they were heroes.

But what happens when they're not needed anymore?

What happens when the world gets what it wants from them?

Jack's fingers curled into a fist as he stared at the frozen image of Alonso on his screen.

What will they do to him?

Would they call him a hero when he came back? Or would they fear him?

Alonso's power was growing. He wasn't just fast—he was faster than anything a normal human could even comprehend. He wasn't just strong—he was strong enough to defy death itself. Could they even contain someone like him if they wanted to?

Well… maybe right now.

But what if he kept climbing?

What if they all kept climbing?

Jack exhaled through his nose, rubbing his temple.

It was inevitable.

They wouldn't be able to live normal lives again. None of them. Even if The Tower disappeared tomorrow, the world wouldn't just let them walk away. They'd be monitored, studied, kept under control—if not as soldiers, then as threats.

He had heard some people calling this the era of accelerated evolution.

That mankind was on the verge of something unprecedented.

That if the abilities of Climbers were factored into scientific progress, humanity could compress centuries of development into months. Space travel, interplanetary colonization, the exploration of the universe—these were no longer distant dreams.

For the first time in history, humans had a chance to become something more.

And yet…

Jack smirked bitterly.

For all their talk about the future, all their grand ambitions, the people in charge were still the same.

Still playing their games.

Still thinking they could control everything.

But if they were wrong?

What happens when the Climbers become something they can't control?

What happens then?

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