Floor 54 of the Celestial Tower resembled a vast tactical grid:
floating platforms arranged like squares on a shifting chessboard.
Some platforms rotated.
Some swapped positions.
Some disappeared and reappeared randomly.
Others emitted a blast of pressure or a pulse of energy if triggered in the wrong sequence.
It was a floor built for thinkers.
And a graveyard for the impulsive.
Julian Breadstone drifted across the overhead view wearing an oversized general's hat, binoculars, and a cape made of little paper strategy maps.
"WELCOME BACK, LOGICAL MINDS AND CHAOS GREMLINS!
It is time to witness a fighter who frightens even ME—and I fear NOTHING except taxes and large bananas!"
Jimmy sighed. "Julian… you're spiraling again."
Julian ignored him elegantly.
"Behold! A fighter whose power is… planning.
Yes!
PLANNING!
The deadliest art!"
The arena screens lit up.
A woman stood at the center of a 4x4 grid of floating stone platforms.
She was not muscular.
Not fast-looking.
Not imposing.
Lean frame.
Short dark hair tied into a small knot.
Wire-framed glasses.
Ink stains on her fingers.
A cloak with tactical diagrams embroidered on the inside.
And a small metal case at her hip containing chalk, markers, and laminated fold-out diagrams.
Her name shimmered calmly beside her:
Maris Solheim – Battlefield Analyst
She did not look at the tower with fear.
She studied it.
Julian clapped like a delighted child.
"MARIS SOLHEIM! A WOMAN WHO HAS NEVER LOST A BOARD GAME! A STRATEGIST OF TERRIFYING COMPETENCE! A PERSON WHO MAKES SPREADSHEETS FOR FUN!"
Jimmy nodded.
"She came into registration with a thirty-page document analyzing the tournament's likely structure."
Julian swooned. "Heroic."
Maris crouched low as the platforms rearranged.
Click-click-click.
The squares rotated like a puzzle resetting itself.
She tapped her chin.
"Hm. Seven-second cycle. Four-pattern repetition."
A fighter behind her yelled, "WATCH OUT!"
A platform under Maris dropped—
fast.
She stepped sideways…
…onto the platform that rose exactly at that moment.
The drop platform bottomed out into a void pulse trap.
The fighter who yelled fell directly into it, screaming as he was teleported to safety.
Maris exhaled calmly.
"Shouldn't stand on unstable squares."
Julian pumped his fists.
"YES! BLAME HIM FOR NOT KNOWING THE PATTERN! THAT'S THE SPIRIT!"
Jimmy said, "She's not guessing. She's reading the system."
And indeed—Maris pulled a piece of chalk from her case and scribbled small marks on the platform:
arrows, numbers, and tiny notations.
A gust of wind blasted across the grid.
Platforms shifted again.
Fighters scrambled.
Maris didn't.
She simply stepped in the only direction that wasn't dangerous—
because she already knew where the blast would start and stop.
A brawler landed next to her and blinked.
"How are you doing that?!"
Maris pointed upward.
"The wind tunnels here align with the glowing runes on the ceiling. It's a five-second warning. Didn't you notice?"
The brawler stared at her.
"No."
Maris shrugged sympathetically.
"Practice helps."
Three platforms ahead, a trio of fighters—the Quickstep Twins and a shield-user—became stuck in a loop, stepping onto the wrong tiles and triggering shockwaves that repeatedly sent them stumbling backward.
Maris analyzed their pattern.
"Left twin favors diagonal escapes. Right twin mirrors. Shield-user tries to anchor but lands late."
She cupped her hands and called out:
"Stop moving!"
They froze.
"Left twin—two squares back. Right twin—move exactly one square left. Shield—brace your feet and shift weight forward on three."
She raised her hand.
"One… two… three!"
All three moved.
The shockwave fired.
Their new positions pushed the blast into a harmless path.
They escaped through the next gate, cheering in relief.
Maris nodded.
"Correct. Don't fight the sequence—flow with it."
Julian wiped a tear.
"I am moved by her calm dominance."
Jimmy snorted.
"You cry every chapter."
"AND I'LL DO IT AGAIN!"
As Maris advanced, the floor introduced hidden traps—
tiles that glowed only for a fraction of a second before emitting bursts of kinetic force.
Most fighters missed them entirely.
Maris did not.
She tracked the faintest flicker with her peripheral vision, adjusting her steps perfectly.
A martial artist behind her attempted to copy her movements—
—and instantly triggered a pulse that blasted him off the grid.
Maris looked back sympathetically.
"Your stride length is different from mine."
Julian screamed with laughter.
"EVEN HER WALKING IS OPTIMIZED!"
The next hazard began:
Two massive pillars emerged, emitting continuous rotating beams of light—
touching one meant instant ejection from the floor.
Maris inhaled slowly.
"Predictable. Good."
She stepped into the pattern.
Where most fighters panicked and dodged desperately, Maris weaved between beams with serene certainty.
Left step.
Half-step backward.
Pivot.
Pause.
She moved like someone following sheet music—
not guessing, but reading precise timing.
Julian zoomed the camera in close.
"NOTICE HER BREATHING! She inhales on the approach, holds on the pivot, exhales on the exit. PERFECT rhythm!"
Jimmy added, "She's making this look like dance rehearsal."
Maris reached the end and climbed onto a stable platform—
only for a tower guardian to activate in front of her.
A stone knight, twice her size, sword glowing with kinetic energy.
Maris sighed softly.
"Of course."
It swung.
Maris stepped back exactly one foot.
The blade sliced the air where she had been.
It swung from the left.
She sidestepped.
It thrust.
She leaned.
No magic.
No enhancements.
Just reading the angle of the knight's joints, the rotation speed, and the micro-delays between its movements.
"Four-step pattern," she murmured.
"Left sweep. Vertical cut. Thrust. Reset."
On the reset, she stepped forward—
and flicked her folded fan against a kneecap joint.
Click.
The guardian's rotation locked.
"Joint weakness. Poor design."
She nudged it.
The guardian toppled sideways—
straight off the platform into a dissolving sigil.
Julian exploded.
"SHE DEFEATED A KNIGHT BY CRITICIZING ITS STRUCTURAL INTEGRITY!"
Jimmy grinned.
"Effective."
Near the summit of Floor 54, six fighters were trapped on unstable tiles. Every time they tried to move, tiles disappeared under them.
Maris approached.
"What are your movement patterns?" she asked simply.
They blinked.
"Movement… what?"
Maris sighed.
"Never mind. I'll calculate."
She observed them for five seconds.
Then she began issuing instructions like a seasoned commander.
"You—step right now.
You—kneel.
You two—rotate counterclockwise.
Shield-user—drop to the lower platform on my count."
They obeyed.
The floor shifted.
No one fell.
Maris exhaled.
"Good. Follow me."
She guided them through the remainder of the tactical maze.
Julian pressed both hands lovingly against the projection.
"SHE IS A STRATEGY ANGEL SENT TO SAVE FOOLISH PEOPLE LIKE ME!"
Jimmy nodded with genuine admiration.
"She'll be one of the 500. No doubt."
At the final platform, Maris paused.
She took out her small notebook and jotted down several lines of observations.
"Rotation speed increasing every cycle…
beam intervals tightening…
trap sequences random on early passes but follow algorithmic decay after threshold…"
She closed the book.
"Useful."
Then she stepped into the exit gate to Floor 55, calm as ever.
No celebration.
No dramatic flourish.
Just a quiet smile of satisfaction.
Julian clasped his hands.
"MARIS SOLHEIM! The strategist with the fan! The chess grandmaster of combat! The unstoppable force of rational thought!"
Jimmy added:
"And probably the reason half the people on that floor survived."
Maris adjusted her glasses and continued upward.
Showing the tower that brilliance didn't always require sparkles, destiny, dragon blood, or cosmic power.
Sometimes, intelligence alone was enough.