The Celestial Tower had many kinds of floors—loud, blazing, chaotic, clever, shifting, punishing.
But the floors Shadeclaw now stalked belonged to a rarer category:
The quiet ones.
Floors that didn't roar or explode.
Floors that didn't collapse or burn.
Floors that did not scream warnings.
Instead, they listened.
Floors that watched.
Floors that hunted back.
And it was here, in the deep mid-layers of the tower, that a creature like Shadeclaw truly came alive.
The arena's projection crystals flickered as they tuned to him—just in time for the viewers to see a single sliver of pure black wind slash through a corridor, carving deep gouges into the mirror-stone.
Julian Breadstone appeared above the display, trembling with the kind of terror he expressed only when delighted.
"Ohhhh!!! Ohhhh this is BAD! This is VERY VERY BAD! Or very good, depending on whether you like your heart rate above normal! VIEWERS—BUCKLE UP—IT'S SHADECLAW TIME!"
Jimmy sighed quietly, leaning forward with a grim but fascinated expression.
"Yeah… he's here. And the tower just got a lot more dangerous."
Shadeclaw stepped into view—or rather, his silhouette stepped into view.
Tall.
Lean.
Digitigrade legs rippling with taut muscle.
Fur black as abandoned starlight, threaded with wisps of dark fog.
Claws elongated from his fingertips, silver-edged from the Wolf King's blessing.
Eyes glowing with that predatory intelligence that was too calculating to be feral, too feral to be civilized.
Shadeclaw, lieutenant of the Wolf King.
A weapon forged by werewild hunger, sharpened by cruelty, tempered by ambition.
He was not Bones—immortal, unkillable, incomprehensible.
He was not the Wolf King—devourer of worlds, born of chaotic power and darkened fire.
Shadeclaw was something else entirely:
A creature who saw everyone—beasts, humans, dragons, monsters—as prey to measure himself against.
And in the tournament, he had prey to spare.
The floor he now entered—Floor 58—resembled a dark pine forest at night.
Artificial stars flickered overhead.
The ground was soft earth.
Wind whispered faintly through the branches.
But none of that was the hazard.
The hazard was the silence.
No birds.
No insects.
No tower-spawn creatures.
Nothing alive but the fighters.
It was a floor built to push instincts to their breaking point.
A floor built for panic, for fear, for those who believed they were being hunted…
And for Shadeclaw, it was home.
He inhaled deeply.
A long, slow breath.
The forest responded with a faint tremor.
"Do you feel that?" Julian whispered dramatically to the audience. "That… that chill? That tremble in your bones? That's the floor saying 'oh no, oh no, WHY DID THEY LET HIM IN?'"
Jimmy shook his head.
"No floor is ready for him."
Shadeclaw's lips curled back slightly—not in a smile, but in hunger.
He could smell them.
Fear.
Sweat.
Blood.
Hope.
Hope, he thought, was the strangest scent.
Most fighters smelled of desperation or determination.
Very few smelled of honest expectation to succeed.
Shadeclaw stalked deeper into the forest, claws gently slicing pine needles as he passed.
He didn't hurry.
He didn't pounce.
He didn't roar.
He waited.
The quiet floors rewarded patience.
And patience, contrary to popular belief, was a predator's true strength.
The first fighter stumbled into his path—a young monk training under some minor celestial school. Light-footed, breath steady, hands glowing with soft discipline.
He froze when he saw Shadeclaw.
"You—"
Shadeclaw was already behind him.
The monk gasped, spinning, striking, missing.
Shadeclaw walked past him, almost bored.
"You cannot…" the monk whispered, swallowing, "…be that fast."
Shadeclaw's voice was like gravel dragged through shadow.
"You are too loud to hide."
He raised one claw.
The monk braced.
Then Shadeclaw… flicked him lightly in the forehead.
A tiny touch.
Barely a strike.
But that claw carried the Wolf King's flame—the smallest sliver of it—and the monk disintegrated into a recovery sigil mid-fall, ejected from the floor in a burst of harmless starlight.
Shadeclaw didn't even watch him vanish.
He was listening again.
Further in the forest, a team of four fighters crouched together behind a fallen log. They spoke in hushed whispers:
"He's near—"
"Don't breathe—"
"Wait—did you hear—"
Shadeclaw appeared directly behind them.
"You talk too much."
They screamed.
He vanished in a ripple of black mist.
One by one, they were plucked into the dark.
Not harmed.
Not shredded.
Not torn apart.
Just… removed.
Each time, a recovery sigil flared somewhere miles below.
Shadeclaw flicked his claws clean of pine sap.
"Boring."
Julian clapped enthusiastically.
"I'M SCARED! I'M SCARED AND I LOVE IT!"
Jimmy rubbed his temples.
"He's not here for the floor. He's here for anything that challenges him. He wants to measure the competition. He wants to see who he'll be allowed to kill."
Julian gasped. "Jimmy! No killing allowed!"
"Tell him that," Jimmy murmured.
Floor 59 was worse.
Fog.
Not normal fog.
Fog that muffled sound, distorted shadows, made lights curl and bend like ghostly ribbons.
Shadeclaw crouched low.
Fog was not a hindrance to him.
He thrived in it.
Fog meant silhouettes.
Fog meant half-heard motion.
Fog meant weaknesses painted across the air like unguarded wounds.
He inhaled again.
There.
A heartbeat.
Rapid.
Too rapid.
Someone was panicking.
A blade cut the fog—
a whip of steel lined with chi.
Shadeclaw tilted his head; the blade passed harmlessly to the right.
Another strike.
A thrown weapon.
A burst of chi.
Shadeclaw moved through them like a shadow dodging sunlight.
The fog parted just enough for him to see the attacker:
A woman covered head to toe in silver cloth, wielding twin hookblades.
Her eyes widened.
"You… dodged my Shadow Fang style?"
Shadeclaw's claws glinted.
"I don't dodge styles."
He lunged.
She spun, slicing the air behind her—and her blade struck something.
Shadeclaw's afterimage.
"Too slow," Shadeclaw whispered.
His claw traced her shoulder—not enough to injure, only enough to mark her with the Wolf King's scent.
The tower read it as elimination and removed her instantly.
Shadeclaw didn't watch her vanish either.
He was listening again.
Always listening.
Higher up, the forest faded into a ruined cityscape bathed in perpetual dusk.
Floor 60.
Cracked stone streets.
Collapsed walls.
Tattered banners of forgotten wars.
Shadeclaw prowled down a corridor lined with shattered statues.
His claws scraped stone with a slow, rhythmic scrape.
The sound echoed faintly.
It wasn't for his benefit.
It was for theirs.
In the shadows above, six fighters watched him.
Assassins.
Trained in group ambush.
Their timing flawless.
They whispered a silent count:
Three…
Two…
One—
Shadeclaw disappeared.
All six assassins fell from the ceiling—
their perch collapsing because Shadeclaw had quietly severed the support beams before they even began their plan.
They scrambled.
Shadeclaw walked through them like a dancer moving through wind.
Every strike they attempted missed.
Every movement he made was purposeful, efficient, fatal.
But he did not kill.
He simply marked each fighter with a flick of a claw.
All six vanished within seconds, ejected harmlessly.
Shadeclaw sighed.
"Nothing worth my claws…"
Julian trembled.
"He's looking for a challenge. Someone strong. Someone clever. Someone who makes him feel alive."
Jimmy nodded.
"The only ones who'll interest him are higher up. Maybe even the top floors."
Julian shivered.
"Ohhh… imagine him meeting Danny."
Jimmy shook his head.
"Danny would destroy him. Instantly."
"…imagine him meeting Jake!"
"Jake would accidentally throw him into orbit."
"…Swift?"
"Too fast for him."
Julian gasped.
"SO HE HAS NO ONE?"
Jimmy grimaced.
"He has one.
The Wolf King."
A silence entered the air.
Even Shadeclaw paused, sensing something—
some primal truth lingering above him.
He snarled quietly.
He wanted Danny.
He wanted Swift.
He wanted Jake.
He wanted them all.
But the tournament rules meant he had to wait.
And Shadeclaw hated waiting.
Floor 61 was a maze of darkness.
Total darkness.
No visuals.
No sound.
Even breathing felt swallowed by the void.
But Shadeclaw had lived in the Wolf King's shadow for many years.
Darkness to him was comfort.
Home.
He stretched his claws, the sound as soft as silk whispering across a blade.
"Finally," he murmured.
The darkness deepened—
trying to disorient him.
He inhaled.
The darkness receded slightly around him.
Not because he forced it—
but because he understood its language.
He crouched.
A fighter stumbled nearby.
Shadeclaw heard it instantly:
A boot scuffed stone.
A heart faltered.
A breath hitched.
Shadeclaw moved.
One step.
Silence.
Another.
Silence.
Then his claw lightly tapped the fighter's back.
A flash of silver.
A sigil flare.
Shadeclaw walked on.
But then…
He stopped.
Something different.
A heartbeat.
Calm.
Measured.
Unafraid.
Shadeclaw growled softly.
"A challenge."
He moved faster—
slipping through darkness, claws extended.
The fighter ahead of him finally came into view as the darkness thinned:
A tall armored warrior with a massive tower shield—
Bram Darron.
Bram turned slowly, shield raised.
"You're Shadeclaw."
Shadeclaw bared his teeth.
"And you are in my way."
Bram did not flinch.
"I've been in the way of worse."
Shadeclaw lunged—
silent as falling ash.
Bram swung the shield.
Shadeclaw's claws met steel.
The room shook.
Julian screamed.
Jimmy's eyes widened.
Shadeclaw landed gracefully, fur bristling.
"Strong."
Bram braced himself.
"Not strong enough to beat the Wolf King," Bram said. "But strong enough to last three hits against you."
Shadeclaw's grin widened.
He blurred.
He struck.
Bram caught the blow with his shield—
boots scraping backward,
muscles groaning,
armor creaking—
but he held.
Shadeclaw struck again.
Bram grunted.
The third strike came like falling lightning—
Bram's shield bent
metal screaming
stone cracking beneath him—
He fell to one knee.
Shadeclaw raised a claw for the fourth strike.
"You lasted three," he whispered. "Not bad."
The claw flicked.
Bram vanished into a recovery sigil, breathing heavily but alive.
Shadeclaw straightened.
He was satisfied.
Finally—
finally—
a fighter who had made him feel something.
But he wanted more.
Much more.
The higher floors called to him.
Power.
Strength.
Destiny.
Blood.
Chaos.
Danny's golden fire.
Swift's silver serenity.
Jake's bronze might.
Wolf King's burning destruction.
All waiting above.
He would climb.
He would hunt.
He would carve his path through anyone who dared stand in front of him.
And when the time came—
when the tournament truly began—
Shadeclaw would unleash everything the Wolf King had ever given him.
He looked upward.
Darkness curled around his claws like affectionate smoke.
"Soon," he whispered.
He ascended.
Through fog.
Through echoes.
Through silence.
Through fear.
Every step was hunger.
Every breath was anticipation.
Every heartbeat a drum counting down to the moment he could finally clash with the dragons the tower whispered about.
The arena quaked faintly—not from Shadeclaw's strength, but from the inevitability of his presence.
Julian tugged Jimmy's sleeve nervously.
"He scares me."
Jimmy nodded.
"He should."
Shadeclaw's shadow stretched long behind him as he slipped into the next floor.
He would make it into the Top 500.
He would tear through the tower.
He would carve fear into every fighter who dared challenge him.
Because Shadeclaw was not climbing the tower.
The tower was climbing him.