[WORLD MAP][Please choose your teleport destination]
"Absolute Tower of Outer Realities," came the calm, unshakable reply from Raziel.
In an instant, Raziel was torn from his position and transported.
But he was not inside the Absolute Tower of Outer Realities.
Not yet.
He found himself suspended in a vast expanse of space—not true emptiness, but an in-between realm that existed between realities, where laws weakened and certainty thinned. There was no ground, yet footing existed. No gravity, yet no one drifted. Every being stood upon an unseen foundation, as if reality itself had agreed—reluctantly—to support them.
The void was layered.
Behind the nearest veil of darkness shimmered distant strata of warped starlight, fractured nebulae, and slow-turning cosmic currents that flowed like frozen rivers. Colours bled into one another in impossible spectrums—violet dissolving into gold, gold collapsing into black—each hue carrying weight, pressure, and meaning.
Countless figures occupied the space.
Mortals clad in enchanted armour stood rigid, hands clenched around weapons humming with restrained power. Their eyes darted constantly, measuring threats, calculating survival. Nearby, robed figures hovered slightly above the unseen floor, sigils orbiting them in slow, deliberate rotations, each rune whispering spells that had not yet been cast.
Creatures of light walked without shadows, their bodies formed of radiance dense enough to bend space around them. In contrast, beings of living darkness existed as silhouettes cut from the void itself, edges rippling as though reality struggled to define where they ended.
Some entities defied form entirely.
Masses of shifting geometry pulsed rhythmically, folding and unfolding like thoughts given substance. Towering figures with too many limbs—or too few—stood silently, their presence alone causing nearby space to distort. Others appeared deceptively simple: a childlike figure with empty eyes, an old man leaning on nothing at all—yet the pressure surrounding them was suffocating, warning all to keep their distance.
Power saturated the air.
Some radiated it openly—auras blazing like miniature suns, their mere presence oppressive, domineering. Others were terrifying precisely because they showed nothing. No aura. No pressure. Only stillness so absolute it felt like standing before an abyss that had learned how to smile.
Everywhere, eyes watched.
Assessing.Judging.Choosing allies… or prey.
Despite the multitude, silence reigned beneath the murmurs. A collective awareness pressed down on them all—this was not a gathering of chance, but a selection.
And above, far beyond perception, something vast observed.
Waiting.
Before Raziel could take another step, a crystalline chime echoed directly in front of him, resonating not through air—but through existence itself.
[You are within the Tower's domain.]
[Entry authorization required.]
[No valid entry pass detected.]
A brief pause.
Reality seemed to hold its breath.
[Searching for entry pass…]
[Entry pass located.]
[Authorization: THE ACADEMY.]
[Would you like to proceed?]
"Yes," Raziel answered without hesitation.
His voice carried a sharp edge—not excitement, not fear—but intent.
He did not wish to enter the Tower.
He wished to dominate it.
[Teleportation initiated.]
Before him emerged a structure so vast that distance itself became meaningless. No measurement—physical, dimensional, or conceptual—could properly define it. The Absolute Tower was not constructed, nor was it assembled from matter or energy.
It was imposed.
Reality bent around its presence like a fragile surface forced to accept an impossible weight. Space stretched thin, then folded inward, layers of existence peeling back as though unwilling to remain intact beneath the Tower's authority.
Its form defied reason.
At once colossal and narrowing, it appeared to recede even as it advanced, shrinking toward infinity while expanding beyond comprehension. The closer one looked, the further it seemed to go—an endless contradiction embodied in structure.
Two immense voids faced one another along its central axis, perfectly symmetrical. They were not empty. They were hungry. Like mirrored singularities locked in eternal opposition, they devoured and birthed existence simultaneously, their edges rippling with collapsed timelines and unfinished realities.
The Tower resembled a titanic engine of time and causality—vast rings and layered strata rotating in directions that defied orientation. It expanded inward upon itself, collapsing outward into higher dimensions, each movement sending silent shockwaves through the outer layers of the world.
Where it pierced reality, the boundary of the universe split open like torn fabric.
Stars near its structure burned brighter—or vanished entirely—unable to withstand the strain of its presence. Laws of physics unraveled and rewrote themselves repeatedly, desperately attempting to stabilize around the Tower's intrusion.
The Absolute Tower did not simply exist in space.
Space existed because the Tower allowed it to.
It was an axis upon which worlds turned, a spine driven through the multiverse itself. A passage not merely upward, but beyond—through realms that had never known ascent.
And standing before it, Raziel understood something instinctively:
This was not a challenge designed to be conquered.
It was a verdict.
Raziel had only a fraction of a moment to register its presence.
Then—
He was pulled forward.
Not teleported.
Dragged.
The acceleration surpassed velocity itself.
Light ceased to behave as light, freezing in place before breaking apart into crawling sparks that lagged behind him, hopelessly outpaced. Space screamed in silent protest as Raziel was drawn toward the Tower's core, not traveling through distance, but erasing it entirely.
Direction collapsed.Forward, backward, up, and down lost all relevance.
His surroundings compressed violently, reality folding in on itself as colors fractured into impossible spectrums—shards of crimson, violet, and void streaking past like shattered timelines. Time stuttered, skipped, and then dissolved, leaving only motion without duration.
For a brief, immeasurable instant, Raziel was nowhere.
And then—
Everything stopped.
Then—silence.
And solidity.
Raziel stood upon something vast.
Not an arena.
Not a hall.
A platform.
It stretched endlessly in every direction—flat and seamless, forged from an unknown substance that reflected neither light nor shadow as it should. The surface seemed to drink in illumination, then release it imperfectly, as if reality itself had not yet decided how this place should appear.
It felt impossibly ancient, burdened with the weight of countless eras—yet at the same time newly formed, untouched by history. Solid beneath his feet, it radiated absolute stability, while quietly suggesting that it could reshape itself at a single command.
Unmoving.
Unyielding.
And yet… infinitely mutable.
There were no seats.No walls.No ceiling.
Just an endless plane capable of holding anyone… and everyone.
Thousands—perhaps millions—of participants stood scattered across the platform. Some gathered in clusters, whispering urgently. Others formed factions instantly, instinctively aligning themselves for survival. Power clashed invisibly as auras brushed against one another.
Voices filled the space.
Speculation.Fear.Excitement.Ambition.
But Raziel did not move.
He stood alone.
Amid the countless existences, amid the rising tension and forming alliances, he remained apart—a fixed point in an infinite sea.
A singularity among the crowd.
The Tower had accepted him.
Whether it would survive him—
Remained to be seen.
[Welcome, Transcenders.]
The words did not appear—they descended, pressing into the minds of everyone present.
[Welcome to the ABSOLUTE TOWER OF OUTER REALITIES.][Floor: 1]
Instantly, the space shifted.
The figure before them was impossibly graceful, yet carried the weight of immortality. She descended slowly, each motion deliberate, as if time itself bent around her. Her form shimmered like a mirage, simultaneously tangible and intangible—flesh and light, matter and concept.
A golden blindfold covered her eyes, smooth and flawless, reflecting nothing yet holding everything. It suggested impartiality, absolute judgment, and a sense that she saw far more than any mortal could comprehend. Though her eyes were hidden, her presence commanded recognition of omniscience itself.
Her hair was as if woven from the threads of fate and outcome itself. Golden, pure and absolutely made to perfection.
Her wings extended outward in vast arcs. They were ethereal silver, but not ordinary silver—each feather appeared semi-translucent, layered with glimmering patterns that shifted subtly with each angle of observation. Some feathers seemed solid, others dissipated into shimmering particles that hung in the air, caught between existence and illusion. Light and shadow played across her wings, but neither obeyed the laws of reality. They were both real and artificial, divine constructs of form meant to impress, intimidate, and awe simultaneously.
Her body was slender, perfect in symmetry, yet not human. Limbs stretched with fluid elegance; joints curved at angles that were almost impossible, giving her a sense of supernatural grace. Her skin glimmered faintly, like polished marble veined with starlight, yet it moved and flexed with lifelike warmth.
Every aspect of her radiated paradox:
She was alive, yet felt manufactured.
She was beautiful, yet coldly distant.
She was divine, yet clearly crafted to serve a purpose.
if she spoke, her voice would resonate as if layered across multiple frequencies simultaneously: melodic, mechanical, and omnipotent all at once. Words would form in the minds of all who listened, clear and undeniable, impossible to ignore or misinterpret.
She was more than a messenger.She was one of the embodiments of the Tower itself—a living declaration of law, order, and power, hovering between reality and imagination, between the divine and the artificial.
Even the Strongest of Transcenders could not meet her presence without feeling the subtle, chilling awareness that they were already being evaluated. Every heartbeat, every hesitation, every thought might be catalogued, weighed, and judged.
She hovered above the endless platform and spoke, her voice echoing without sound.
"Greetings, Transcenders. Welcome to the Tower. I will now explain the rules."
Her gaze swept across the gathered beings.
"First Rule. Each of you has nine lives."
The words struck like a hammer.
"When you die, you will be reborn at the last point you existed before death. You will retain your memories. You will retain your skills. You may regress a total of nine times."
She paused.
"But once those lives are exhausted… your death will be absolute."
No resurrection.No regression.No exception.
"You will be erased."
Gasps rippled through the platform. Whispers erupted as fear, excitement, and calculation mixed in equal measure. Some Transcenders stiffened. Others smiled—eyes gleaming with madness. A few remained silent, observing, already planning ten steps ahead.
"Second Rule. Killing is permitted."
A subtle shift occurred.
Bloodlust bloomed.
Some smirked openly, scanning the crowd for weakness, for prey. Others tightened their fists, expressions darkening as reality set in.
"Third Rule. Freedom within the Tower is absolute."
Her wings flared faintly.
"You may kill NPCs. You may manipulate, deceive, rule, or destroy. You may act as you wish."
A pause.
"But every action carries consequence. The Tower remembers."
No one reacted outwardly. Every Transcender here understood that freedom without restriction was far more dangerous than any cage.
"Fourth Rule. Each floor contains multiple servers."
The space rippled.
"This server is #234 out of 500."
Before anyone could respond, figures vanished—no screams, no resistance. Not death. Relocation.
When the distortion settled, only twelve remained.
"Twelve residents per server," the angel continued calmly. "Isolation is intentional."
Then she raised her hand.
"Now—before Floor One begins—you must choose a side."
Two symbols ignited in the air.
[ORCS] / [GOBLINS]
"No additional information will be provided. This decision rests solely on your discretion."
Almost instantly, choices were made.
Six Transcenders selected the Orcs without hesitation. Stories, legends, games—Orcs were strong. Warriors. Conquerors. Survival was obvious.
The remaining six hesitated.
Choosing Goblins meant choosing weakness. Lower odds. A higher chance of death.
Interfaces flared before their eyes, ancient runes crawling across translucent panels.
[Floor: 1][Difficulty: 7/10][Type: War · Large-Scale · Politics · Mystery] [Rank: S]
The difficulty was expected.
But where was the objective?
Then—new windows appeared, differing based on allegiance.
For the Orc faction, the message read:
[Objective:]
[The Orcs had once been a peaceful race. Their lands were vast, their people proud yet just, living in relative harmony with the other races. But harmony is fragile. A single spark can ignite fury that centuries of calm cannot contain.
The spark came in the form of the Chief's only son—the heir, the future of their lineage. While wandering near the borderlands, he was killed. Not in battle, not in self-defense, but at the hands of the Goblins. The act was cruel, sudden, and senseless. Rage swept through the Orcs like wildfire. They took up arms—not for conquest, but for justice.
War followed, brutal and relentless. The Orcs fought with the fury of a people who had lost their future in a single moment, and they emerged victorious. The Goblins were defeated, subdued, and forced into servitude. Order was restored, but at a cost: mercy had been abandoned, and the echoes of vengeance lingered in the air.
Now, the Goblins stir again, whispering rebellion in the shadows. The Orcs demand loyalty, obedience, and vigilance. The choice lies before each Transcender: Will you fight for the Orcs-will you fight for Justice?]
Sympathy bloomed. Rage followed. The image of a murdered heir ignited righteous fury. Justice must be served.
For the Goblin faction, the truth was… different.
[Objective:]
[The Goblins had lived for thousands of years in peace, their culture humble but vibrant, their settlements small yet harmonious and greedy. They farmed and sold for unfair prices, stole, and protected themselves quietly, never seeking war since they were weak *******. For centuries, they endured alongside stronger races, careful to avoid provocation. (weak***)
Yet peace alone cannot shield the defenceless. When the Orcs demanded submission, the Goblins resisted—not from rebellion, but from the instinct to survive. Their resistance was labelled treachery, and they were swiftly enslaved. Generations were forced into servitude, their lives bound to labour and fear, their voices silenced beneath the weight of domination. (their secrets will be revealed kekeke)
Now, whispers of rebellion echo across their settlements. Ancestors long dead seem to call out, imploring aid from forces beyond their reach. The Tower has answered.
The choice for the Transcenders is clear in its moral complexity: will you rise with the Goblins to fight for freedom, justice, and the right to exist? Or will you allow the weight of conquest to persist, crushing innocence beneath the guise of order?]
Shock rippled through those who read it.
How could defending oneself justify enslavement?
Outrage ignited. Beliefs cracked. Moral lines blurred.
The two sides turned toward one another.
Bloodlust rose.
War was inevitable.
Only Raziel remained still.
His gaze was calm, unreadable.
He understood something the others did not.
This was not the full story.
The Tower never revealed the truth so easily.
And then—
[You have read the objectives.]
[If one side fails, the other race will be erased, and so will you.]
[Begin?]
(AN: they wont be erased, just that one life will be taken away.)