For all the fireworks, singing blades, impossible beasts, and malfunctioning robots, the Celestial Tower still had room for something rarer:
Someone ordinary.
Not weak.
Not average.
Just… understandable.
Someone who fought with grit instead of glowing prophecy.
Julian Breadstone drifted across the panoramic view of the tower, suit calmer than usual—dark blue, with only a dozen shifting constellations stitched across it instead of his usual visual riot. Jimmy stood beside him in the cohost's perch, headset on, nursing a mug of something caffeinated and probably unsafe.
"Alright, Julian," Jimmy said, voice steady. "We've highlighted the meteors, the lightbenders, the shadow whisperers, the wolves, the chaos mages, and the glitchy robot."
Julian kicked his feet playfully in the air. "Yes! Isn't this tournament BEAUTIFUL?"
"It is," Jimmy agreed. "But there are also… the others."
"Others?" Julian echoed dramatically. "What others?"
"The fighters who didn't come with a prophecy. Or ancient lineage. Or absurd reality-warping abilities." Jimmy nodded toward one of the mid-tier floors. "The ones who just trained very, very hard."
Julian's grin softened.
"Ah. I like those ones too."
On Floor 29, the camera sigils zoomed in.
The chamber was simple compared to the dreamscapes and gravity warps on higher levels: a broken cityscape floating inside the tower. Streets made of cracked stone. Half-built walls. Floating slabs where buildings never properly formed. Cover. Angles. Shadows. Kill zones.
It looked like a ruined battlefield from any number of worlds.
And in the ruins, there was a woman moving with quiet purpose.
She didn't glow.
She didn't float.
She didn't chant.
She didn't burn.
She ran.
Medium height.
Athletic build.
Short dark hair tied back with a worn band.
Bronze-toned skin crossed with old, pale scars.
Her armor was practical. Layered plates over flexible fabric. No exposed midriff, no dramatic cape, no flaming crown. A simple battered breastplate with a faded emblem on it: a small star above a tiny house.
On her left arm, she carried a round shield.
In her right hand, a spear.
Both looked used, not polished.
The name tag hovering near her read:
Mara Feld – Rankless Soldier of Vareth
No title.
No epithet.
No "breaker of worlds" or "chosen of dragons" or "embodiment of entropy."
Just a name.
And a planet almost no one had heard of.
Julian's eyes brightened.
"There she is," he said softly, still loud enough to echo through the arena. "Mara Feld. No mystical bloodlines. No god-whispers. No cosmic mutations. Just ten years of front-line combat and a work ethic that terrifies drill sergeants."
Jimmy nodded. "She requested the lowest tier accommodations. Turns in early. Wakes up early. Always stretching. Always watching. She hasn't broken any records."
Julian smiled.
"But notice—
she also hasn't been thrown out once."
Mara sprinted across the broken street, boots skidding briefly on loose gravel before she corrected her footing. The tower wasn't throwing exotic horrors at this floor. Instead, it had filled it with ambushes, sniper lines, and choke points.
A tactical floor.
An infantry floor.
A soldier's floor.
Mara raised her shield as she approached a corner.
The shield took two glowing bolts from a tower-summoned turret with barely a flicker of energy. She dropped into a slide, spear snapping up under the barrel.
A clean strike. Straight to the core.
The turret exploded in a burst of light.
She rolled through the shrapnel, shield up, and never stopped moving.
"Textbook suppression break," Jimmy muttered. "She treats every floor like a real war zone. Recon first. Cover. Angles. Withdrawal routes."
Julian clicked his tongue. "No theatrics, though. Zero somersaults. I'm deeply hurt."
"She's not here to be famous," Jimmy said. "She's here to survive."
On the far side of the street, two fighters were pinned down behind a half-wall, ducking phantom rounds. A floating sigil turret tracked them relentlessly.
Mara saw them.
She didn't hesitate.
"Cover on my push!" she shouted, voice rough but clear.
The two fighters blinked, startled.
She moved anyway.
Shield raised. Small zigzag pattern. Not sprinting recklessly—advancing, controlled.
The turret re-angled. Bolts hammered her shield, making it glow at the seams.
She slid into cover behind a crumbled column and shouted again:
"Left side! Suppress!"
One of the pinned fighters snapped instinctively into the obeyed rhythm of command. He leaned out and fired a chi bolt toward the turret. Wild. Unfocused. But enough.
The turret shifted target for half a second.
Mara moved in that half second.
Her spear darted out, stabbing upward into the turret's targeting rune. She twisted with a grunt and ripped the core free.
The turret fizzled and died.
The other two fighters stared.
"You—uh—thanks," one muttered.
Mara just nodded. "You two injured?"
"Just tired."
"Then keep climbing," she replied. "Stay in pairs. Rotate point. Don't stop moving where you're exposed."
They nodded dumbly and followed her advice as she jogged toward the next alley.
Julian whistled.
"She doesn't even know their names. But she's giving orders anyway. Is that allowed?"
Jimmy smiled faintly. "That's called leadership."
Floor 29's final gauntlet was a wide avenue lined with hovering barriers and sniping constructs perched atop the half-formed buildings. Straight shot to the exit gate—if you liked being shredded.
Most fighters rushed.
Most were ejected halfway across.
Mara crouched behind a half wall, studied the avenue for three long breaths, and started calculating.
"Too much fire from high left. One heavy-lock turret mid-right. Ground drones in staggered timing," she murmured. "No clean line."
She checked her water ration. Took a measured sip.
Julian hovered closer to the camera rune. "Note, viewers! She is not charging mindlessly into certain doom like SOME people—" He pointed at a replay of Jake smashing through a reinforced barrier earlier. "—she's gathering intel."
Jimmy nodded. "She's from a planet with trenches and artillery and attrition. She doesn't like dice rolls."
Mara's eyes tracked each enemy gun.
She tested something.
She leaned her shield out, exposing only three inches of metal. Four turrets fired instantly. She pulled back.
"Fast tracking," she murmured. "Fixed arcs, no predictive learning."
She waited.
The ground drones moved in a repeating pattern, skittering over the debris.
She timed them.
"Two-second gap after the third drone. If I move on the second pulse—"
She inhaled.
Exhaled.
There.
She ran.
Not with wild speed, not with supernatural grace. Just hardened sprint discipline—small steps, shield angled exactly where the turret lines intersected.
Bolts slammed into her shield, ringing like bells.
A drone lunged at her ankle. She stepped on its chassis without breaking stride, spear flicking down to crack its sensor.
Halfway.
She slid behind a hovering barrier, breath steady.
"Left turret, three shots before cooldown. Right heavy-lock rotates slow."
She leaned out and hurled her spear—not with superhuman force, but with absolute familiarity.
She knew the weapon's weight.
The distance.
The arc.
It slammed into the heavy-lock's rotation joint, sending it grinding into misalignment.
Julian crowed, "OH HO! Disabling shots! Not flashy—but incredibly efficient. Do NOT underestimate people who practice one throw a thousand times!"
She pressed forward, now in a broken zigzag—every move chosen, not improvised.
A glancing bolt slipped past her shield, scorching her upper arm.
She hissed, but didn't stop.
Three more steps.
New cover.
New angles.
She used rubble, drone wreckage, even the leaning shadow of a toppled construct as partial cover. By the time she reached the exit gate, five turrets were disabled, and three drones deactivated.
She didn't annihilate the room.
She just… handled it.
Mara stepped through the gate to Floor 30, sweat dripping down her neck, shield scorched, spear slightly bent at the tip.
She checked her arm.
Burn. Nothing serious.
She tore a strip from the inside of her collar and bound it quickly.
Julian sighed happily.
"No glowing aura. No magical recovery. She just tapes herself back together and keeps going."
Jimmy swallowed.
"Yep. That's a soldier."
On Floor 30, the Hall of Mirrors tried to show her alternate selves.
In one mirror, she wore gleaming golden armor.
In another, she stood on a throne.
In a third, she was surrounded by cheering crowds.
She paused.
Her brow furrowed.
Then she snorted.
"Fantasy," she said simply.
She didn't smash the mirrors.
She didn't argue.
She just ignored them.
She followed the reflections not of herself, but of the environment—the slight glint off a real metal bracket, the way dust shifted on an actual solid floor panel.
Each illusion tried to pull her attention.
None of them succeeded.
She treated the entire chamber like she had the ruined street: identify threat, ignore distractions, move with intention.
By the time the Hall of Mirrors realized it couldn't get into her head, she had already reached the exit.
Julian clutched his chest.
"SHE JUST… WALKED PAST HER OWN GLORY PROJECTIONS LIKE THEY WERE BAD ADS."
Jimmy smiled. "She didn't come here to see herself. She came here to work."
As she climbed, Mara crossed briefly into a floor where she nearly collided with Swift.
He flowed past her, silver chi shimmering, staff spinning as he bounced between floating discs of light.
She caught a glimpse of him.
Golden eyes.
Moon aura.
Dragon grace.
Someone special.
He landed softly near her, breathing steady.
"You alright?" he asked.
"Fine," she answered, checking their surroundings automatically.
"You climb well," Swift added.
"You climb weird," she replied.
He laughed once, quietly.
She gave him a brief nod. "See you at the top."
"You will," he said.
Then he vaulted away again, drawn upward by destiny.
Mara continued at her own pace.
Not slow.
Not flashy.
Just relentless.
Julian narrated, more gently now:
"She won't be in the final ten, most likely. She may never face the Wolf King, or Danny, or Bones' schemes directly. But she'll push. She'll fight hard. She might save half a dozen lives on the way. And she will earn her place in the top five hundred the way she earns everything else—by showing up and doing the work."
Jimmy watched as she reached another choke point, shield lifting automatically.
"I like her," he said.
Julian nodded.
"So do I."
Mara Feld, rankless soldier of an unimportant planet, climbed steadily.
The tower did not sing for her.
It did not bow.
It did not tremble.
But it respected her.
Floor by floor.
Decision by decision.
She'd make it farther than anyone betting on her thought she could.
And when the tower counted its top 500, her name would be there.
No prophecy required.