Floor 41 resettled itself like a living jigsaw puzzle.
Walls slid.
Platforms rotated.
Gravity pockets flickered in and out of alignment.
The entire chamber felt like the inside of a clock that didn't understand how clocks worked.
Julian Breadstone zoomed into the spotlight above the floor, his jacket shimmering with reflective triangles.
"ATTENTION, MULTIVERSE! If you enjoy unpredictability, slipperiness, minor theft, major theft, chaos, and more slipperiness—then THIS is the fighter for YOU!"
Jimmy groaned.
"Oh no… not him. Anyone but him."
Julian grinned like a goblin who'd been granted a microphone and zero supervision.
"THAT'S RIGHT! IT'S TIME TO INTRODUCE—
S L I D E W R I G H T
THE LIVING LOOPHOLE!"
The arena screens zoomed in on a small figure perched casually on a tile that was not—technically—attached to anything.
Slidewright looked unassuming at first glance: short, wiry, with bright violet eyes and a grin that seemed permanently, smugly, joyously illegal. His cloak shimmered like spilled oil, reflecting colors that shouldn't exist. He carried nothing except a pouch that jingled suspiciously.
Jimmy whispered, "I'm checking my pockets from here…"
"Wise!" Julian declared. "Slidewright is a specialist in evasive maneuvers, nonstandard mobility, and 'creative property redistribution!' A master of evasion! A connoisseur of loopholes! A nightmare for rule enforcement staff!"
Jimmy groaned.
"He once stole my coffee while standing behind me. I STILL don't know how."
Julian nodded proudly.
"He's a genius."
Slidewright tapped a tile with his boot.
The tile slid—
then rotated—
then shot him upward at an angle that defied physics and polite geometry.
Two fighters attempted to intercept him midair.
A spear-wielder lunged.
A wind-fighter dashed with a spinning kick.
Slidewright wasn't there.
He simply wasn't.
One moment he occupied that space.
The next he occupied another.
A sideways flip through a thin fold of shimmering space—
a pocket dimension the size of a napkin—
and he reappeared behind the spear-wielder.
Swipe.
The spear vanished.
"HEY—HE STOLE MY—"
Slidewright tossed the spear into a gravity pocket.
The spear began orbiting the room like a lonely moon.
Slidewright giggled.
Then danced sideways—literally danced—across a series of platforms that appeared only when he stepped on nothing at all.
He left no trace behind.
Not footprints.
Not sound.
Just faint ripples in space.
Julian narrated:
"He uses TIME SKIPS and POCKET DIMENSIONS to replace traditional movement! An absolute menace! If physics were a person, Slidewright would owe it an apology—and then steal its wallet!"
The tower reacted—
activating traps ahead of time,
closing loopholes,
adjusting the geometry
to force Slidewright into predictable paths.
It failed.
Slidewright smirked.
"Oh, don't be like that," he cooed to the ceiling.
"I LIKE you."
The tower floor beneath him opened into a void.
Slidewright dropped—
and vanished through an invisible slit in the air.
He reappeared behind two fighters climbing a ladder.
The ladder disappeared.
Both fighters yelled.
"HEY!"
Slidewright patted one on the shoulder.
"Skill issue."
They were ejected to safety sigils as Julian cackled uncontrollably.
Floor 41 hadn't even been his main challenge.
Floor 42 was.
This floor was known as The Maze of Fortified Intent—
a place where the tower itself predicted your movement
and altered the structure
to thwart any plan you formulated.
A strategist's nightmare.
A brute-force fighter's frustration.
Slidewright entered humming.
Immediately, walls shifted around him.
A door vanished.
A path folded inward.
A platform flipped upside down.
Slidewright winked.
"Oh, we're doing THAT today."
He twirled.
And suddenly there were three of him.
Not illusions.
Temporal echoes—
versions of him that existed a heartbeat ahead or behind.
The maze hesitated.
Its predictive algorithm faltered.
Slidewright 1 stepped into a corridor.
It collapsed.
Slidewright 2 walked through the collapsing pieces unharmed—
because he wasn't fully in the corridor yet.
Slidewright 3 leapt upward onto a tile that shouldn't have existed
and the tile agreed.
He clapped.
"See? Cooperation!"
The maze tried harder.
Walls folded into spikes.
Floors became liquid glass.
The ceiling dropped.
Slidewright answered with pure disrespect.
He bent backward, slipping under the ceiling.
He moonwalked across the glass.
He stepped sideways into a split-second of paused time, letting the spikes pass harmlessly through the place he had been.
Julian howled with joy.
"HE HAS NO RESPECT FOR SPATIAL INTEGRITY AND I ADORE HIM!"
Jimmy added, "He has no respect for ANY integrity."
Slidewright blew them both a kiss from inside a moment of frozen time.
Eventually, the maze exhausted its options.
Slidewright exited through the ceiling—
not by climbing,
but by slipping between the milliseconds of a trapdoor opening animation.
He popped out on Floor 43.
Julian announced:
"HE HAS ARRIVED AT FLOOR FORTY-THREE, VIEWERS! UNTOUCHED! UNSCATHED! UNBOTHERED!
A TRUE ICON OF NOT BEING WHERE HE SHOULD BE!"
Floor 43 was filled with creatures of dust and memory—
shadow beasts formed from past arenas,
taking shape only when noticed.
Slidewright did not notice them.
Therefore, to him, they did not exist.
One beast materialized behind him.
He didn't turn.
He just flicked two fingers.
A tiny tear in space opened.
The beast fell in.
The tear closed.
Julian blinked.
"Did… did he just put a monster in his pocket dimension?"
Jimmy rubbed his temples.
"He probably collects them."
Three fighters ambushed Slidewright next.
A gravity monk.
A flame dancer.
A psychic warlord.
They attacked simultaneously, coordinating an elite assault.
Slidewright wasn't there.
He was, instead, three feet behind them, leaning on an invisible wall with exaggerated boredom.
The three froze.
He smiled.
"Oh, good ambush. Really. You almost got me."
Then he folded the space between them.
Not with violence.
With geometry.
Space twisted.
Their attacks tangled.
Their footing vanished for half a second.
Enough to eject all three to safety platforms.
Slidewright dusted off his hands.
"Teamwork makes the dreamwork—and the ejectwork."
Julian nearly passed out laughing.
Floor 44 was a dream plane—
a place where the tower tested inner demons and subconscious fears.
Slidewright entered.
The dream plane filled with:
Nothing.
No nightmares.
No illusions.
No projections.
The tower hesitated.
Slidewright winked at the air.
"No access granted."
He walked straight through.
The floor didn't know how to respond.
Julian whispered, "HE REFUSED TO DREAM—HE DECLINED THE CHALLENGE!"
Jimmy muttered, "I didn't know that was an option."
"It ISN'T! BUT HE DID IT ANYWAY!"
Slidewright reached Floor 45.
Midway through the tower.
Far higher than many predicted.
He stretched.
Rolled his shoulders.
Cracked his neck.
"Fun warm-up."
He glanced upward—
toward Swift dancing with silver clarity,
toward Jake shaking the floors with bronze power,
toward Korvas blazing fiery trails,
toward Lira bending light,
toward Eira whispering through shadow,
toward Gravemane hunting through ecosystems,
toward the Wolf King tearing floors apart,
toward Danny preparing to enter.
Slidewright grinned.
"Oh, yes.
This is going to be VERY fun."
He stepped into the next dimensional fold—
a slit in reality only he could see—
and vanished upward into the tower's depths.
Julian shouted triumphantly:
"SLIDEWRIGHT, EVERYONE! MASTER OF EVASION! BREAKER OF RULES! DEFIER OF DIMENSIONAL NORMS! AND POSSIBLE THIEF OF MY WALLET!"
Jimmy checked Julian's pockets.
"You're missing three waffles."
Julian gasped.
"That monster