There were not many fighters on Floor 600.
There weren't supposed to be.
Of the thousands who entered the Celestial Tower's preliminary climb, only a fraction made it past Floor 200.
Past 400, only monsters, legends, and people who really needed therapy continued.
But Floor 600?
This was reserved for those who were skilled, stubborn, and absurd enough to go where no sane competitor bothered climbing.
Which was, in fairness, exactly Jade Killington's taste.
The tower read his approach before he even stepped through the archway.
Its runes pulsed, scanning the fighter profile.
Name: Jade Killington
Origin: Oxbridge Prime
Combat Style: Kinetic Chi "Rack-and-Blast"
Threat Classification: Mortal-tier, high-skill
Psychological Note: "He talks funny."
The tower braced itself.
Because the man approaching its 600th floor was a problem.
Not a cosmic calamity like Danny or a force of primal hunger like the Wolf King.
Not a shrouded ancient like Sedge Hat.
No.
Jade Killington was the worst kind of problem:
A mortal who didn't know he was supposed to stay mortal.
The door to Floor 600 opened.
Jade stepped inside, rolling his shoulders with an audible crack.
He wore the same thing he always wore—
A long dark trench coat buttoned to the collar,
A vest beneath it lined with reinforced fibers,
Pressed slacks tucked into combat-heel boots,
And, absurdly, a flat cap pulled low over blond hair.
He looked like a gangster who had gotten lost on his way to afternoon tea and ended up in a multiversal death-tower.
His accent was thick Oxbridge Prime—
a cultured, aristocratic British tone warped by the criminal underground of his homeworld.
"Well now," Jade drawled, taking in his surroundings. "This is a bit excessive, innit?"
Floor 600 illuminated fully.
It was a colossal industrial arena—
A labyrinth of iron walkways hanging over a bottomless chasm,
Rumbling pistons the size of houses,
Grinding conveyor belts carrying chunks of raw mana-metal,
And enormous mechanical hammers slamming down in intervals that shook the entire chamber.
The tower whispered its intention:
This floor tests rhythm, timing, and force resilience.
Most mortals break here.
Jade smirked.
"Yeah, yeah, lovely mess you've built yerself. Let's see what's what."
He flexed his arms.
A sharp CLACK-CLACK echoed.
Both of his forearms retracted slightly at the elbow joint—
like shotguns being racked.
A pulse of chi rippled outward.
Julian Breadstone nearly fell out of the announcer's booth.
"OHHHHHH HE'S DOING THE THING! HE'S DOING THE RACK-AND-BLAST THING! I LOVE WHEN HE DOES THE THING!"
Jimmy didn't look up.
He was reading the tower floor data like a man trying not to panic.
"…the compression load on this floor isn't designed for that level of chi detonation. If he fires too close to a piston this entire section could—"
"FANTASTIC!" Julian cheered.
Jimmy put his face in his hands.
Jade stepped forward onto the first iron walkway.
Immediately, it lurched.
Gravity tilted thirty degrees left.
Wind blasted upward from the chasm.
A massive piston slammed down inches from his side.
Jade didn't flinch.
He spoke calmly, as if ordering something in a pub.
"Let's not with the dramatics, yeah?"
The walkway tilted again—forty degrees right now.
Jade slid one boot backward, centered his weight, and—
CLACK-CLACK.
His arms snapped back into firing position.
A sphere of compressed chi detonated from his palm like the blast of a cannon.
The recoil anchored him perfectly against the shifting walkway.
The blast struck the piston column, denting it and knocking loose a rain of sparks.
He took another casual step.
The tower reconsidered its assumptions.
Further in, Jade found three fighters huddled on a separate platform.
They were panting, bruised, hands bleeding from gripping jagged steel.
One spotted Jade and yelled over the mechanical noise:
"DON'T COME THIS WAY! THE GRAVITY HINGES ARE BROKEN! IT'LL THROW YOU OFF!"
Jade raised a brow.
"Well, ain't that lovely."
He stepped forward.
The walkway snapped downward—
a violent 90° plunge.
Any normal fighter would've plummeted screaming into the abyss.
Jade's hands blurred.
CLACK-CLACK—BOOM
He fired a chi blast downward.
The recoil countered his fall, stabilizing him midair for three whole seconds—just enough time to use the momentum to grab the next ledge with his free hand.
The three battered fighters stared at him like he was a myth.
Jade straightened his coat.
"S'just physics, mate."
Then he walked on.
The fighters behind him collectively reevaluated their life choices.
Floor 600 escalated.
Massive iron cages swung overhead.
Conveyor belts reversed direction without warning.
Entire walkways retracted, forcing Jade to leap onto narrow pistons.
And every step he took, he made a sound.
CLACK.
CLACK.
Reloading his chi.
Readying another blast.
Jade didn't run.
He didn't rush.
He walked like a man confident the world would move out of his path if he told it to.
Above, Julian was vibrating.
"HE IS SO RUDELY COOL! He's like—like—like if a noir detective grew up punching spaceships!"
Jimmy let out a low whistle.
"He's got discipline. Every shot is controlled. He doesn't waste chi. That's… rare."
Halfway across a tightening corridor, the tower triggered its first major guardian.
A colossal iron automaton crawled out from beneath the walkway, its body a fusion of mechanical limbs and enchanted plating.
It was 15 feet tall.
Its chest glowed with molten rune-fire.
Its fists were hammers the size of tree trunks.
It roared.
Jade nodded politely.
"Hello."
Then the automaton lunged to punch him.
Jade—
CLACK-CLACK
—racked both arms simultaneously.
His elbows snapped back.
He thrust both palms forward.
Two blasts fired at once.
The shockwaves rocketed him backward ten feet, letting the punch crater the walkway he'd been standing on.
But the twin chi cannons also blasted the automaton's shoulder joint clean off.
The giant teetered, arm hanging by a thread.
Julian screamed.
"THAT—THAT SHOULDER JOINT COST MORE TO MANUFACTURE THAN MY ENTIRE WARDROBE!"
Jimmy sighed.
"Then it probably deserved better engineering."
The automaton roared again, now enraged, charging with both legs pistoning.
Jade held out one arm.
"Alright then. Round two."
CLACK. BOOM.
His left blast crippled the automaton's knee.
CLACK. BOOM.
His right shot tore through its chest cavity.
The automaton staggered.
Jade walked past it as it collapsed, coat fluttering from the shockwave.
He did not look back.
He touched the brim of his flat cap.
"Cheers."
Floor 600 wasn't finished.
The closer Jade got to the core of the chamber, the thicker the machinery grew—twisting scaffolds, pounding hammers, entire segments of moving walls.
This was the part of the tower that crushed even high-tier fighters.
One wrong step, one mistimed dodge, and the floor could flatten a fighter like bread dough.
Jade didn't dodge the hammers.
He didn't weave through the pistons.
He timed them.
Every approaching hazard slid into the rhythm of his stride.
A piston slammed down, missing him by inches because he paused for half a second.
A conveyor belt reversed direction, and he stepped onto the opposite side without glancing down, coat rippling.
A hammer swung overhead as he ducked, casually cracking his neck mid-limb-sweep.
He didn't just survive the floor.
He made it look choreographed.
"UNHOLY—" Julian sputtered. "HE'S IN A MECHANICAL NIGHTMARE BALLET AND HE'S DOING THE WALTZ!"
Jimmy nodded.
"That's Oxbridge Prime street upbringing. Timing is everything there."
The final chamber was quieter.
A circular platform suspended over a molten core of bright-gold tower energy.
The tower's internal voice thrummed:
MORTAL. PROVE YOURSELF.
Jade exhaled.
"Not the first time I've 'eard that."
A guardian rose from the molten light.
This one wasn't metal.
It was energy condensed into humanoid form—
A blazing construct of condensed chi flame, easily eight feet tall.
It carried no weapon.
It didn't need one.
It raised a hand.
The floor around Jade ignited with sigil-fire.
He rolled his neck.
"Aye. Now we're talkin'."
The construct charged.
Jade racked both arms—
CLACK-CLACK
Then lunged forward, fists extended.
The guardian fired a beam of raw energy at him.
Jade didn't block.
He punched through it.
His blast detonated, meeting the energy beam mid-air. The explosion threw both fighters backward, shockwaves rippling across the chamber.
The construct recovered instantly and flickered behind him.
It swung.
Jade pivoted smoothly, trench coat whipping—
He thrust his elbow backward.
BOOM
The chi shot detonated behind him without him even looking. The blast hit the construct square in the chest.
It staggered.
Jade followed up with a downward palm strike—
CLACK—BOOM
—slamming the construct into the floor so hard the platform cracked.
Its energy body flickered.
It dissipated with a sound like a candle snuffing out.
The chamber stabilized.
The path to the next floor opened.
Jade Killington dusted off his coat.
"'Right then. Tea break."
He walked through the exit as if he hadn't just fought a being made of condensed light.
The tower's core runes updated his file:
Jade Killington
Status: Very annoying for a mortal.
Threat Rating Adjusted: Do not fight him in close quarters.
Julian burst into applause.
"THAT! WAS! MAGNIFICENT!"
Jimmy pressed a button to check structural integrity data.
"This floor is going to need repairs."
Jade cracked his knuckles and moved onward, humming in his Oxbridge accent.
"Floor six-oh-one," he muttered. "Hope it's got somethin' interesting."
And so Jade Killington climbed—
Not the strongest.
Not the fastest.
Not the most mystical.
But stubborn.
Precise.
And stylish in a way that made the tower itself reconsider its life choices.
The shotgun-armed gangster of Oxbridge Prime walked into the next floor,
and the tower braced for more.