Earth, November 7, 2024

"I… I can't believe what I'm seeing. It's… it's over."

The commentator's voice wavered, struggling to contain the sheer weight of the moment. The final image remained frozen on the screen—Alonso's blade driven through the creature's skull, its towering, reptilian form slumped in place, lifeless.

For a split second, there was silence.

A charged, electrified stillness.

Then—

The world erupted.

Cheers. Shouts. Hands raised in triumph, in disbelief, in raw, unfiltered relief.

Crowds that had been holding their breath broke into chaos. Bars, homes, packed viewing centers—everywhere, people leapt to their feet. Voices overlapped in stunned excitement. Fists slammed against tables. A roar of celebration rippled across time zones, from dimly lit cafes to neon-lit city squares.

But even as the noise swelled, the footage on the screen didn't move.

Alonso stood there, blade buried deep, body trembling, chest heaving, blood still dripping from his chin.

The commentator exhaled, voice thick with adrenaline.

"They won. Even against that."

His voice cracked—something beyond awe, something raw.

"Even after all seemed lost… they won."

The image flickered, rewinding—not to replay the entire battle. There was no need. No one watching had blinked since it started.

Instead, the screen focused on that final sequence.

"I don't even know how Alonso did it. One moment—he was locked, stunned, and then—"

The slowed footage captured it—the impossible shift. The raw, unrelenting will that forced his body forward in the final strike.

"How? How?! My heart is still pounding!"

Across the globe, reactions were instantaneous.

The footage had come suddenly, a rushed announcement only minutes before it aired. No time for massive gatherings, no time for planned events—just raw reaction, wherever people happened to be.

In bars, in homes, in offices where work had been abandoned the moment the broadcast started, people erupted. Drinks were spilled, tables rattled, voices cracked from shouting. Strangers clapped each other on the back, disbelief giving way to exhilaration.

In a cramped apartment in Spain, a woman slammed her hands against the table, yelling Alonso's name. In a Kenyan village, where a small crowd had gathered around the only working screen in the town square, an elder who had been watching in silence let out a deep breath, nodding to himself.

In São Paulo, people spilled into the streets, honking, cheering, setting off fireworks meant for an entirely different celebration. In New York, Tokyo, Istanbul—

The world was watching.

But while the celebrations thundered, a new conversation was already starting.

Because what had they just witnessed?

The footage froze for a second, zooming in on the monstrous, reptilian humanoid before its death. The commentator's voice returned, lower now, more measured.

"And this… this wasn't just a beast."

The image shifted to a frame-by-frame breakdown of the fight—its speed, the calculated precision of its movements, the way it adjusted in real time, the glint in its eyes.

"Sentient. Intelligent. You could see it studying the others, finding the weak links. Enjoying the fight. You could see the anger in it… and in the end—"

A pause. The footage slowed, capturing the final moment.

"The resignation before death."

The commentator's voice was quieter now, but no less intense.

"This… this is a stark contrast to what we've seen before. Is this sentient creature one of them? A part of those behind The Tower? A lower-caste entity of their civilization? A biological weapon, perhaps?"

Silence. Then—

"Where do these creatures come from? Are they created? Or do they exist somewhere—brought here as challenges?"

The questions cut through the excitement, grounding the moment in a chilling realization.

"What awaits us further up The Tower?"

A long pause.

Then—the footage resumed.

"But even against that… even against a creature that seemed invincible, an insurmountable odd…"

The screen lingered on the team—still standing.

"Even then… they won. They remain standing. They remain climbing."

The commentator's voice cracked, barely able to keep up with the sheer weight of the moment, with the energy raging across the planet.

"And it wasn't just skill."

"It wasn't just strategy."

"It was will."

A pause. A breath.

"The will to fight."

"The will to live."

"The will to survive."

"It was something beyond that."

The footage slowed further, capturing Alonso's final gaze as the creature's own dimmed.

The commentator inhaled sharply.

"Look at them."

The screen lingered, capturing it all—bruised, bloodied, battered. Armor dented. Limbs lost. Wounds fresh, some barely closed.

But standing.

Alive.

Then, the focus shifted.

A close-up.

Alonso.

His jaw—broken. His helmet—cracked, barely holding together, the left side shattered, revealing a single eye through the jagged break.

Not dull. Not distant.

"Fierce. Unrelenting."

"A fire that refused to die."

"The look of a man who had stood at the edge of death… and stepped forward anyway."

The commentator's breath hitched.

"No amount of money in the world would put me on the other side of that gaze."

A strained chuckle rippled through the broadcast—a fleeting release of tension, a breath in the aftermath of something impossible.

But the weight of the moment remained.

The battle had lasted less than two minutes, even after being replayed in slow motion.

But in those two minutes, the world had changed.

It wasn't just about victory.

It was about what comes next.

The footage zoomed out, Alonso and his team still standing, still breathing.

"If they could win that fight…" The words lingered, heavy, sinking into every watching soul.

The answer was already spreading. It was in every conversation. Every quiet realization. Every new, uneasy understanding.

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"Then maybe… just maybe… we have a chance at climbing that Tower."

Yet, while the world cheered, somewhere—hidden in the depths of a remote facility—alarms blared.

"What the…"

The woman's fingers hovered over the console as she re-checked the visuals, ensuring the data's origins were correct.

No errors. No anomalies.

It was the real deal.

Her throat tightened. A breath—sharp, uncertain. Then, with practiced precision, she picked up the phone and pressed two buttons.

The line rang. Once. Twice.

Then—

A voice. Tired. Slow. Wary.

"Yes?"

She hesitated only for a second.

"Sir… they've sent another message."

The Tower, Tier 2, Stage 1, Oasis

"English?"

"Eh… yes, sir," Eric said, mustering the courage to respond.

And Pablo didn't blame him.

What stood before them was nothing like what they had expected—nothing like what had been described in the ASCENT website about the previous Oasis.

A fortified settlement.

A wooden barricade surrounded the entire area, with watchtowers spaced evenly along its perimeter. Each one held at least three warriors, perched on lookout, armed with slings, and even bows, and arrows.

And it wasn't just the walls—several squads patrolled the surroundings, moving with clear purpose. Some drifted further into the desert, perhaps to hunt scorpions or gather supplies. Others stood watch near the entrance, their eyes sharp, movements disciplined.

This wasn't a ragtag band of survivors.

It was an organized force.

"Righto. One, two… six of ya. Sweet as."

The burly man speaking had an unmistakable Aussie bogan accent. Pablo barely held back a twitch of surprise at the familiarity of it. The man reached into a pouch and pulled out six large fangs—long, thick, serrated. Panther? No. Bigger.

Wait—were those from the sharks in the lake?

"Oi, what's the tally, Johnny?" the man asked, turning slightly to another figure standing behind him.

"4562," Johnny responded without hesitation, his voice flat, almost bored.

"Thanks, mate."

The man exhaled, grabbed another fang, and then—without explanation—began scratching the tips of the others. It took several seconds, his movements slow and deliberate. The group stood in silence, watching, but no one said a word.

When he finally finished, he handed the fangs to Eric.

"Alright, there you go. One each, no dramas."

Eric hesitated before taking them.

"Let's just say this is some sort of ID here," the man continued, his voice thick with that unmistakable Aussie bogan drawl. "Write yer name on the other side if ya wanna be proper about it. No clue why we need 'em, but hey—ain't my call, lads."

Pablo frowned as Eric passed the fangs to each of them, the smooth, polished surface feeling oddly heavy in his grip.

4565.

That was the number scratched onto his.

"Now, for the rules. You blokes know the ASCENT handbook?"

Eric nodded, a slight relief washing over his face. "Yeah, we do."

"Ah, beauty. Good. Saves me a headache. Same deal in here, yeah? You can punch on, duel, whatever, but ya wanna off someone, do it in the ring. Outside of it?" He dragged a thumb across his throat. "Express trip back to Earth. No refunds."

The gates creaked as they began to open, a heavy, reinforced timber structure pushed by two guards on either side. The inside wasn't visible yet, but from the movement beyond the walls, Pablo could tell it wasn't just some camp.

"Now, inside's a bit of a mixed bag. You got your top dogs, your scraps, the blokes who think they run the show—factions, bands, all sorts of groups. But I can tell ya, safest place on the island, bar none."

Pablo glanced at Eric. Safe wasn't the word he'd use for a place that needed watchtowers, barricades, and armed patrols, but he kept his mouth shut.

"If you're lookin' to keep climbing, best find a crew. If you lot are just here to cash in for the paycheck, same thing applies—'cept," he shrugged, "whoever you sign up with is gonna off ya before movin' on. They call it fighters and tickets. Fighters keep climbin', tickets get cashed in for the orbs. Simple as."

The gates groaned wider, revealing the Oasis for the first time.

"Anyway—welcome to the bloody madhouse."

Diagrams. Numbers. Models. Images.

It slams into my mind all at once—a flood, a current so overwhelming I can't move, can't think, can't even breathe.

For a second, I'm drowning in it.

Then—it settles.

Not like random data thrown into my head. Not fragmented or chaotic. It's placed, embedded deep in my brain like knowledge I've spent years studying, drilled into me by time itself. Like muscle memory I never knew I had.

I stand there, still, feeling my body mend—jaw snapping back into place, broken tissue fusing, muscles knitting together. Relief floods through me. Strength. Clarity.

And yet…

I don't move.

What the hell was all that?

I try to filter through it, but the more I focus, the more appears.

Waves. The body. The neural pathways. The Pillar.

It's all there, interconnected, a vast system I barely understand, yet somehow, I know it belongs. Like a puzzle where every missing piece is suddenly in my hands. I shouldn't understand this, and yet, the more I dig, the clearer it all becomes.

I exhale.

"Houston?"

A pause. Then—

"I… I'm just like you. Give me a sec to filter this out."

His voice is different. Not overwhelmed. Not confused. But something else.

Excited.

"But what I can say, even from the little I saw… this knowledge? It's exactly what we need right now."

That makes me freeze.

"It's hard to explain." He pauses, probably sifting through the ocean of data. "Chiara should start talking any second now. You focus on the others. I'll handle the hard work, and we'll go through it later in VR."

I nod absently. "Okay. Oh, by the way, how much stage progress did we get? I didn't feel—"

"Zero."

I blink. "Zero?! I nearly died—"

"Don't complain. This is way better." His voice practically vibrates with something I can only describe as… reverence. "The answers, Alonso. The answers! This is what we've been waiting for. Damn… see you later."

I shake my head as his presence fades.

I should have known. Houston is feasting on this. This is his bible.

But what was that weird orb?

No Stage Progress. No new equipment.

Knowledge.

The Tower gave us knowledge.

I exhale sharply and glance at the others.

Their battered bodies are whole again, their wounds erased—but their eyes, their stunned expressions?

They're just as shaken as Chiara was.

Seconds pass in silence. No one speaks. No one moves.

And I seem to be the only one out of the trance.

Well… to be fair, I'm the only one with someone inside my head sorting through the flood of knowledge for me.

So I wait.

Patiently.

Eventually, they start blinking, shifting, looking at each other with that same unsettled expression. Changed.

I focus on Chiara.

She's the last to snap out of it.

Her eyes refocus, distant yet sharp, and then—I catch it.

A smile.

Pure, unfiltered euphoria.

She exhales, her chest rising sharply as she stares at nothing and everything at once.

"Amazing. It's simply… amazing."

Her voice is breathless, almost reverent. Like she's witnessing the divine.

I've never seen her like this before.

Lukas wastes no time. "And what can we get from it?"

Chiara barely acknowledges the question at first.

Then, she exhales sharply.

"What…? Lukas, this is knowledge humanity does not have."

Her hands clench, her whole body practically vibrating with exhilaration.

"It's knowledge tailored for us—for our current state. For the Pillar. For the waves. For our evolving bodies. It's… it's everything."

Her eyes gleam as she turns to us, face alight with something almost manic.

"This is the greatest reward we've ever gotten from The Tower."

The words hit like a pulse wave, sinking deep.

Then she exhales, steadying herself.

"But yeah, in words an engineer would like—these are blueprints."

"Blueprints for what?" Lukas asks.

She pauses for a second, still sorting through the flood of information.

"I'll need more time to process everything, but… basically, there are two paths." Her eyes flicker with something electric. "One to enhance the body. The other to enhance the mind. And by that, I mean the Pillar itself."

I frown. "You mean enhance it like your Pillar enhancement technique?"

She lets out a sharp breath, almost a laugh.

"That? That was a crude model. Something I put together while working blind, trying to fix myself—grasping at pieces of something I never truly understood."

Her fingers tighten into fists. "But this? This is it. It's all so clear now. So simple. So… beautiful."

She looks up, eyes burning.

"The Pillar isn't some abstract concept, some unreachable element we can only scratch at. It's an energy core. Our mind's core. The root of our evolution."

She shakes her head, her face beaming.

"And we can nurture it. We can train it. We can bring more out of it."

Her breath quickens.

"How?" She gestures vaguely, almost desperate with excitement. "It's all there. The steps. The training. The direction we must follow."

Then, her voice lowers.

"This knowledge… it's the future."

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