The Celestial Tower was not built for him.
Not for his kind.
Not for a creature whose very presence warped intent, whose hunger bent rules, whose rage turned quiet stone into trembling earth.
And yet the Wolf King climbed.
Not with grace.
Not with strategy.
Not with the patience of Danny, the balance of Swift, or the grit of Jake.
The Wolf King rose through the tower the only way he understood:
By breaking it.
Floor 900 did not fear fighters.
It feared calamities.
And the Wolf King was the closest thing the multiverse had left to a walking extinction-level event who did not care for thrones or crowns—only dominance.
He had reached this far before.
Long ago.
Before he fell to madness.
Before the black fire took his veins.
Before his rabid origins bent him into the monster he became.
This time, he climbed not because the tower challenged him.
But because he wanted Danny, Jake, Swift, Shadeclaw, everyone to see what real hunger looked like.
To see what destruction would do
if fed too long
in the dark.
The Tower Reacts
The moment the Wolf King stepped onto Floor 870, the tower's runes shrieked.
Not aloud. Not in human sound.
But deep—inside the structure's ether marrow.
ALERT.
ALERT.
PREDATOR ASCENDING.
CALIBRATION UNSTABLE.
That was the only warning.
Then the floor shattered under his step.
Not in shards—not clean fractures.
It came apart like wet paper.
The Wolf King landed on Floor 871 because Floor 870 no longer existed.
He did not even look down.
His massive feet hit the next level's stone and cracked it immediately.
His body was seven and a half feet tall in humanoid stance—
just shy of eight when he hunched forward,
more massive than Shadeclaw by half.
Black fur like soot-stained armor.
Shoulders broad enough to dent walls by brushing them.
Fangs longer than a man's fingers.
Eyes burning with ember-orange fire that pulsed with each breath.
His ribcage rose and fell with the rhythm of a beast forcing itself to remain in humanoid shape—barely.
His claws clicked against the stone as he walked.
CLICK.
CLICK.
CLICK.
The sound echoed down corridors built for challengers.
Now they felt like prey paths.
He sniffed once.
Air trembled.
And he snarled—a sound so deep it rattled the runes in the floors above and below.
"Move."
The corridor obeyed.
It widened.
The tower's geometry bent to avoid irritating him further.
He hated that.
He wanted resistance.
He wanted something to rip.
Something to tear.
Someone to break.
Floor 872: The Hall of Echoed Memories
The tower tried a psychological floor next.
The Hall of Echoed Memories—
designed to torment a fighter by forcing them to relive regret, fear, loss.
A place that had made even strong fighters crumble.
The Wolf King entered.
Mirrors lined the walls.
Thousands of them.
Each mirror shimmered with an image of his past:
The black-fire infection that had corrupted him as a pup.
The experiments that the Buddies botched on his world.
His pack dying around him.
His first rampage.
His fall into absolute chaos.
The moment he tore apart the first moon in fury.
Each image hung frozen, waiting for him to react.
The tower braced.
The Wolf King stared at them.
For exactly five seconds.
Then he grabbed the nearest mirror and crushed it.
Not because he feared it.
Because he was bored.
The rest of the mirrors shook as if frightened.
The Wolf King growled.
"Memory," he spat like a curse. "I do not look back."
He raised one hand.
Black fire coiled around his claws—dark, burning, acidic to anything it touched.
He slammed his palm into the floor.
The entire Hall of Memories evaporated in a burst of black flame—
shattering illusions, burning away psychic constructs, melting the floor's mechanisms.
Floor 873 appeared below.
He dropped into it like a meteor.
Floor 873: A Beast's Playground
The tower, now frustrated, tried to slow him with brute force.
Floor 873 manifested as a massive jungle biome—
roots thicker than buildings,
trees scraping the clouds,
predators made of living stone and mana stalked through the foliage.
Creatures of the tower—wolf-shaped, lion-shaped, drakon-shaped—charged him.
They did not survive contact.
The Wolf King tore the first creature in half mid-leap, its stone ribs cracking like twigs.
The second pounced from behind.
He spun, jaws widening, and bit down on its head—splitting the entire monster in two.
Roots burst from the earth to bind him.
He roared, ripping them from the ground with enough force to uproot a whole tree. Then he swung the roots like a whip, smashing two tower-spawn into clouds of dust and light.
He sniffed the air again.
"Filth."
Every predator in the biome felt the intent that followed.
A massacre.
A purge.
The jungle went silent.
The Wolf King's claws shimmered with black flame.
He moved like a nightmare, flickering between shadows, ripping apart everything that dared move.
Fifty creatures died.
Then a hundred.
Then the tower stopped counting.
He slashed the air, tearing a rift in the vines.
Floor 874 opened before him, trembling.
He walked on.
No satisfaction.
Just restless hunger.
Floor 875–889: The Tower Begins to Panic
Floors blurred together for him now.
The Wolf King did not struggle.
He did not pause.
He did not take injuries worth noting.
He simply advanced.
Floor 875:
A labyrinth of mazes that bent direction and memory.
He cut through the walls themselves until the entire maze fell apart.
Floor 878:
A desert of manic heat and illusions.
He simply walked through, leaving flames in his wake that turned sand into glass.
Floor 882:
A hall of anti-magic runes meant to suppress energy attacks.
He didn't need energy.
He tore the runes off the walls with his bare claws.
Floor 886:
A titan-class guardian—a giant tower-construct of molten stone.
The Wolf King ripped off one of its legs and beat it to death with it.
Floor 889:
A mind-breaking floor that used audio hallucinations to confuse fighters.
He ripped out his own eardrums, regenerated them in seconds, and ate the floor's speakers.
Yes—ate them.
The tower stopped using auditory illusions after that.
Each time he advanced, he grew more agitated.
The climb wasn't satisfying him.
He wanted the top.
He wanted the dragons.
He wanted the stage.
He wanted—
Danny.
His claws trembled at the thought.
Not fear.
Anticipation.
His strength surged.
Black fire seeped into the cracks in the stone.
His humanoid form strained.
His ribs expanded, pushing against the limit of his current shape.
His fur slicked back.
His spine cracked.
"Soon," he whispered, voice crackling with fire.
The tower snarled back in panic and immediately triggered the guardian for Floor 890.
Floor 890: The Obsidian Monolith
Floating in a sea of ink-like void, the Obsidian Monolith was one of the tower's most feared constructs.
It was a massive humanoid shape carved from compressed reality—
obsidian armor dense enough to crush planets,
runic circuitry pulsing violet light,
a sword twice the size of the Wolf King.
Even gods paused at this floor.
The Wolf King didn't.
The Monolith swung its sword.
The swing alone would have sliced mountains.
The Wolf King caught the sword.
With one hand.
Sparks exploded.
The Monolith's arm cracked.
He snarled through gritted teeth as black fire flared around his claws.
"You are not prey worth my anger."
He pulled.
The Monolith fell forward, all several thousand tons of it.
He planted one foot on its chest and shoved downward—
—and a crater 50 meters wide opened as the Monolith slammed into the ground.
He roared, flames erupting from his throat.
The obsidian cracked.
Then shattered.
The Monolith collapsed into dust and black light that evaporated instantly.
Floor 891 welcomed him with open terror.
Floor 891–896: Rage Without End
There was no reasoning now.
No strategy.
The Wolf King's climb took on a new rhythm—
Faster.
Harder.
Ruthless.
Each floor offered new environments: tundra, steel, space, illusions, bio-horrors—
He turned them all into rubble.
Floor 892's frost guardians froze him solid.
He broke free, roaring, frost steaming from his fur, and tore their heads off.
Floor 894 swallowed him in darkness meant to erase identity.
He ripped the darkness in half.
Floor 896 deployed a thousand automated blades.
They cut him.
He liked it.
He advanced faster.
Every wound healed in seconds.
Every kill fueled him.
The tower tried everything.
Nothing slowed him.
His rage grew.
His fire thickened.
His shape warped.
He was close now.
Floor 900 was coming.
And the tower felt him.
It prayed to its creators.
It prayed to its runes.
Predator coming.
Predator hungry.
Predator unchained.
Floor 897: The Scream of the Tower
This floor wasn't supposed to scream.
It was a desert of black obsidian, silent and infinite.
But the moment the Wolf King stepped in, the land itself wailed.
Not from injury.
From terror.
The Wolf King inhaled, smelling potential prey.
He straightened.
His back stretched.
His muscles rippled.
And he grew—
only an inch,
just a fraction of a foot,
but enough that his silhouette darkened the horizon.
His voice dropped.
"Show me the way."
A path opened instantly.
He followed.
Floor 898: A Woman Running
This was the first time someone else came into his climb.
She wasn't a challenge.
She wasn't a guardian.
She was a fighter climbing the tower—a mortal-level woman, skilled enough to reach this height, but nowhere near the Wolf King's tier.
She was running.
Breath ragged.
Leg bleeding.
Holding a broken spear.
Desperate.
She froze when she saw him.
Her eyes widened.
Her pupils shrank to pinpricks.
She should have screamed.
But she didn't.
She collapsed to her knees instead, trembling.
"…W-Wolf King."
She had heard the stories.
Everyone had.
The Wolf King's nostrils flared.
Her fear smelled… intoxicating.
Useful.
He approached her slowly—one heavy step at a time.
Not out of mercy.
Out of curiosity.
His voice was quiet thunder.
"Why run?"
She shook, choking out, "G-guardian… strong… too strong…"
He leaned in, lowering his head until his burning eyes were inches from hers.
"You reached here by killing."
She sobbed.
"You climbed because you craved power."
She nodded weakly.
"You fear dying?"
She nodded harder.
"Then rise," he commanded.
His black fire dripped from his claws.
The woman stared at it in terror.
"You wish to live?"
She nodded so violently her hair shook loose.
The Wolf King touched her forehead.
She screamed.
The flames did not burn her flesh.
They burned her humanity.
Her bones cracked as she transformed—
arms lengthening,
spine stretching,
fangs erupting,
hair turning black,
eyes turning amber.
She collapsed on all fours as her form finished shifting.
A werewolf.
One of his kind.
Born from his corruption.
She gasped, body shuddering, new instincts flooding her mind.
He placed a claw under her chin, lifting her face to meet his.
"You will do," he murmured.
The new wolf bowed.
He turned away.
"You will walk with me on the next floor."
Floor 899 responded at once.
The door opened.
The Wolf King entered.
She followed on trembling limbs.
Already loyal.
Already broken.
Already his.
Floor 899: The Calm Before the Tyrant
This floor was empty by design.
No guardians.
No puzzles.
No illusions.
Just a hall of black stone, leading to a single massive door.
The Wolf King stepped forward, his newfound follower staggering behind him, half-feral and still adjusting to her changed form.
The tower whispered:
FLOOR 900 AWAITS.
The Wolf King inhaled deeply.
He tasted power.
The scent of fighters.
The tension of destiny.
His black fire pulsed.
His claws twitched.
His rage deepened.
"Good."
He placed one hand on the massive door to Floor 900.
The tower trembled.
He pushed.
The door surrendered immediately.
Light flooded in.
Roaring.
Explosions.
The upper floors of the Celestial Tower.
The domain of monsters, gods, dragons, champions.
The Wolf King smiled—a rare, terrifying expression that showed every tooth.
"It is time."
He stepped through.
Behind him, the corrupted woman followed, trembling but loyal, already feeling the first seeds of something deeper.
Not love.
Not trust.
But devotion fed by corruption.
She would become more.
But for now—
Floor 900 howled with anticipation as the Wolf King arrived.
And chaos
lifted its head
to greet its king.