Rats, sleek and silent as shadows, feasted on forgotten crumbs in the basement, their whiskers twitching in the air thick with the faint tang of spilled ale and damp earth. Boxes, haphazardly stacked like forgotten sentinels, lined the damp, stone walls of the cavernous space, their contents a mystery shrouded in dust and time.

  In the center, a circle of figures, cloaked in shadows as much as in their dark robes, huddled together. All wore the somber hues of midnight and charcoal, save one. The orchestrator of this clandestine gathering, stood out starkly in his crimson vestments, the rich fabric a vibrant splash of blood against the monochrome backdrop. The flickering torchlight danced across the intricate embroidery, depicting stylized ravens in flight, a subtle nod to his ambitions.

  Two years had passed since Aaron Nyl arrived in Grower, a scion of a noble family from the neighboring kingdom of Eldoria. He had known privilege, comfort, and the ennui that came with it, a hollow ache in his soul that no amount of courtly amusement could fill. Then, he discovered the scripture.

  Tucked away in the dusty archives of an ancient library, the forbidden text, bound in human skin and clasped with blackened silver, ignited a fire in him. It whispered of forgotten powers, of ascensions beyond mortal comprehension, of a class so potent it could reshape reality itself. That ancient text, the “Grimorium Veridian,” ignited a burning ambition that consumed him, leading him to this city, to this moment.

  His preparations had been meticulous, bordering on obsessive. The staging of this scene was precise, every detail, from the placement of the candles to the alignment of the runic symbols, carefully considered. Every contingency, from potential interruptions to magical backlash, had been planned for, or so he believed. This was it. The culmination of his efforts, the apex of his two-year campaign in Grower. His evasive movements from the guard. Advancement was within his grasp.

  "Brothers and Sisters," Aaron’s voice resonated in the low-ceilinged room, amplified by the dampness and echoing slightly. He channeled his mana, the life force that flowed through all living things, into the activation rune, the intricate design etched into the flagstones beneath his feet. The complex pattern, a swirling vortex of interwoven lines and glyphs, sparked to life with a pulsating, ethereal glow, casting flickering shadows that danced across the faces of the acolytes.

  The others, their faces pale and drawn in the dim light, followed suit, adding their own mana to the complex spell. A ritual of this magnitude, a gateway to such potent magic, required multiple mages to maintain its delicate balance, their combined will acting as a conduit for the immense power required.

  The catalysts, strategically placed throughout Grower – a network of enchantment hidden within the city – would do their work. They were designed to draw ambient magical energy, amplifying the ritual's power tenfold and exhausting the source.

  The plan was flawless, a masterpiece of arcane engineering, or so he believed. Remarkably, nothing had gone awry. No meddling guards, no inquisitive townsfolk, no unforeseen magical disturbances. Given the sheer scale of the ritual, the probability of failure had been astronomically high, yet everything had proceeded smoothly, almost miraculously.

  This was his final push, the key to unlocking the class, the one he desperately craved. He had meticulously fulfilled nearly all the prerequisites: the mastery of arcane theory, the accumulation of rare ingredients, the performance of perilous rites. All that remained was this final, grand ritual.

  "Darren, control your mana flow!" Aaron hissed, his eyes narrowing. The acolyte beside him, a nervous young man with trembling hands, faltered, his mana fluctuating erratically, like a flickering candle in a storm. He wasn't alone. A wave of unease rippled through the circle.

  The acolytes were draining their reserves at an alarming rate. The air crackled with uncontrolled energy, a dangerous sign. Why? The catalysts… They weren’t functioning. They should have been drawing in power, not draining it. Their concealment was impeccable; no one, not even the city’s mages, could have discovered them. He had personally overseen their placement, weaving powerful illusions and wards to mask their presence.

  What, then, was the cause? A cold dread began to creep into Aaron’s heart.

  One by one, the acolytes collapsed, their mana utterly depleted. Some gasped for breath, their bodies convulsing, others succumbed to unconsciousness, their faces ashen. Aaron, sensing the impending disaster, the magical backlash that threatened to tear them apart, severed his connection to the spell just before he too succumbed to exhaustion.

  He stumbled, his crimson robes now stained with sweat and grime, and joined the others on the cold stone floor, his mind racing, desperately trying to piece together the shattered remnants of his plan. What had gone wrong? Why hadn't the portal opened? The circle had consumed far more mana than it should have, an exorbitant amount, and the catalysts remained inert, stubbornly refusing to fulfill their purpose.

  Methodically, Aaron reviewed the framework of the ritual in his mind, scrutinizing each individual rune, each carefully crafted incantation. Finally, his gaze fell upon a subtle anomaly, a faint distortion in the flow of magical energy. It was almost imperceptible, a thread of dissonance in the otherwise harmonious weave of the spell.

  "Who in the hell is absorbing my death energy?" The question hung in the stale air, heavy with frustration, fear, and a hint of dawning dread. Someone, or something, was interfering with his ritual, actively siphoning off the very essence he needed to fuel it, the necromantic energy that was crucial for opening the portal.

  His perfect plan, the culmination of years of meticulous preparation, was unraveling before his eyes, and he had no idea who, or what, was responsible. The rats, undisturbed by the magical turmoil, continued their silent feast, oblivious to the drama unfolding around them.

  ???????????

  Congratulations! Tower of Death has leveled up: New features are available.

  Tower of Death - 4

  - Since the passing of the last Master, a new one has taken their place. The tower has regressed back to its original state but is slowly being rebuilt. Unlock new features by performing sacrifices and granting souls to the Tower of Death.

  Current floors: 3

  Souls: 0

  Features needed to advance: 4

  Features available: 4

  - First Floor Challenge (1 - 4)

  - Second Floor (2)

  - Summon Soul (1)

  - Customisation (1)

  That answers some of my questions about challenges. Can I see the tower's description?

  Tower of Death

  - As master of the tower it is your duty to grant blessings to those who pass your trials. Those deemed unworthy can be used to advance the tower to greater heights.

  Ok. That's still not everything I need to know, but it's a start. Maybe I'll get to choose blessings from a list? We'll see. It's a shame the Grand Master Necromancer isn't around to learn from. Although, you'd think his best friend, Solus the talking murder door, would possess more knowledge, but no. That senile old codger is about as useful as those outdated books.

  Sarah descended the stairs, still a disappointingly blank canvas. The ground floor, however, held a striking difference. A blonde woman floated behind the reception desk, her sharp blue eyes immediately locking onto Sarah.

  Stolen story; please report.

  "Greetings, Master. I am Ariel." A polite bow accompanied the greeting, followed by an incongruous thumbs-up. At least some customs are universal, Sarah thought wryly. But Ariel was translucent, a literal ghost. And her elegant red dress, more suited to a gala than an office, only deepened the mystery.

  "Are you… My Immortal receptionist?" Sarah asked, stating the obvious.

  "Yes, Master."

  "Why the… Attire? And how can you handle paperwork without a physical form?" Sarah struggled to phrase her questions delicately, avoiding the word "ghost."

  After a slightly awkward exchange, Ariel demonstrated the ability to solidify, becoming flesh and blood. She then launched into a surprisingly detailed lecture on the nature of souls in this world. Souls, Ariel explained, were essentially energy, devoid of memories. Memories resided in the brain, remaining with the body even after the soul's departure. At least, that was Ariel's understanding. She couldn't explain how Sarah's memories had survived.

  Is it because I'm from another world? The question gnawed at Sarah. She considered the irony: Ariel, so new, seemed to possess a deeper understanding than Solus, who had existed for eons. Still, Sarah appreciated the information. It seemed the soul used to create Ariel provided life, but her thoughts and emotions were her own.

  Sarah sank into one of the three identical chairs lining the wall. A massive, black bear rug—more like an elephant rug—dominated the center of the room. Opposite, Ariel's desk, crafted from what Sarah suspected was this world's equivalent to oak, was the room's most striking feature. Intricate engravings adorned its sides, and a floral pattern graced the front. An empty bookshelf stood nearby. Literature, it would seem, was not conjurable by magic.

  This room is surprisingly functional, and beautiful. Not bad for the price of two souls. Sarah’s thoughts drifted back to the mystery of her own soul, but she pushed it aside, choosing instead to examine the room more closely.

  Behind Ariel's desk sat a chair that looked almost as comfortable as the one in the Master suite. "Do you mind?" Sarah asked, pointing towards it.

  "N-not at all, Master. Please, do as you wish." Ariel’s slightly hesitant response didn’t escape Sarah’s notice. She refrained from further questioning, but the chair was too tempting to resist. She stowed her staff and settled into the plush seat. After a few moments, she thanked Ariel and retrieved her staff, resolving not to ask for the chair again.

  "I don't know why, but I really like this," she murmured, gazing at her reflection in the purple gem. The four wooden hands, so intricately carved, held it securely to the staff. "Beautiful."

  A practical frown creased her brow. "I'll have to store it before I go outside though. Most people won't appreciate the craftsmanship, and it'll probably just make me look dangerous. Safer in storage anyway." Sarah carefully stowed the staff and turned to leave.

  Deep breaths. She needed to center herself.

  "Ariel, I'm heading out. Back later. I doubt anyone will come by, but if they do, tell them we're closed. The first floor's empty, and I don't need some Hero one-shotting Solus and making me homeless, okay?" Realizing she might have overdone it, especially after her recent chats with the sentient door, Sarah started to backtrack. But Ariel responded smoothly, "Yes, Master."

  Why can't Solus be like that? she thought, the question fleeting. She immediately reminded herself that he had his reasons for his drawn-out conversations. After being alone for so long, anyone could become like that. "Okay, then. See ya." Stepping outside, she closed the door behind her and took another deep breath.

  The evening air was crisp, tinged orange by the setting sun. The once-bustling street was now deserted, save for four figures. An oversized wolf and an even larger pig were approaching a man slumped against the wall opposite her.

  The scene was bizarre on multiple levels. First, both animals were standing upright and walking on two legs like the alligator she'd seen earlier. Not in a comical, cartoonish way, but with the posture and gait of weightlifters. And they weren't just any animals. They were armored. Sarah could only identify their species because neither wore a helmet, but that small detail did little to lessen her shock.

  Even more shocking than a wolf and a pig teaming up on a passed-out drunk was the fact that they were talking. And not just grunts and squeaks. Actual, coherent words. Most shocking of all? Sarah understood every single word.

  This fucking world, she thought. It just gets weirder and weirder. Okay, time to figure out what I'm actually dealing with.

  "(Identify)," she whispered under her breath, a strange energy flickering in her eyes.

  - Guard - 18

  - Guard - ??

  - Corpse -

  They're the guards?

  Sarah was more concerned by their choice of career than the dead guy on the floor. She'd originally assumed he was drunk, but now she knew better. Using (Identify) was the right call. It gave her information she wouldn't have otherwise considered. Not much, but she assumed that would change as she leveled the skill.

  More levels, more information. The corpse, though… I wonder…

  Pulling out the Book of Souls, she opened it to a random page. A ball of green light detached from the lifeless body and floated towards her, absorbing into the book. Oh shit. Was it really that easy? Sarah’s astonishment quickly morphed into a gnawing unease. Shit! Did I just steal his soul?

  I know I did. But what did that even mean?

  Was it a bad thing?

  What if he was going to hell, and I just saved him from eternal damnation? Wouldn't that make me his savior? Plus, he can rack up brownie points with God while his soul powers the tower. There's also that clean slate thing that Ariel mentioned.

  The other side of that coin… Was something she wasn't going to think about. Nope.

  Definitely not thinking about how easily she’d slipped into the necromancer role. Stealing souls like candy.

  I'm going with it being a positive thing. Yep. A few more of these, and I won't have to sacrifice anyone. People dying on their own should be fair game after all. And it’s all magical anyway, right?

  Closing the book, Sarah tucked it away and watched the two guards drag the body off.

  “Thank you. Your sacrifice won't be in vain,” she murmured, offering a quick, silent prayer to the deceased before retreating to her tower.

  "Welcome back, Master." Ariel rose from her chair.

  Sarah deliberately paused before replying, expecting her receptionist to add more.

  She didn’t.

  I shouldn't keep comparing her to Solus. She's nothing like him. Him? Whatever, it's easier than it.

  "Thanks, Ariel. I'm just back for a moment. I had an idea after the tower upgraded, but I was out of souls to experiment with. It was convenient that I wound up with one so fast. I'll be real quick and then head back out." Sarah found herself over-explaining, just happy to talk to someone. Solus counted, but his out-of-sync conversations and sheer size made it different. Even if Ariel was a tower-created being, it was nice to have company.

  Heading upstairs, she found Solus shortly after. "Hey, bud."

  "Master. You're back." The door pulsed with a happy light.

  Wait for it…

  "You weren't gone that long either." Solus’s statement made Sarah smile. She was growing fond of the needy guardian. He was like a puppy when its owner returned, excited and happy. With that in mind, Sarah opened the tower menu and selected (Summon Soul).

  "If this works how I hope it should, this one's for you, buddy." A small light was drawn from the Book of Souls inside Sarah's ring. Solus watched as the soul coalesced into the form of a man in his late thirties. He looked wise beyond his years, with slicked-back blue hair and eyes. Like Ariel, he wore the elegant clothes of high society. His tailored suit suggested a butler. As soon as he was summoned, he turned and knelt eloquently towards Sarah.

  "Greetings, Master. My name is Sebastian. Thank you for granting this soul life."

  The whole "Master" thing was a tad cringeworthy, but a flicker of pride ignited within Sarah. She had, in a way, granted Sebastian life. Not that this necromancy business was something she was particularly enjoying. Solus, her animated door, had been unusually quiet since Sebastian’s arrival.

  "No problem, Seb. Seb okay with you? Anyway, I summoned you because my friend Solus here is feeling a bit blue."

  "You may address me as you wish, Master. However, I am unfamiliar with the expression. Solus appears to be primarily brown and gold in coloration." Sebastian tilted his head, genuinely confused by the metaphor.

  "Master!" Solus, despite his confusion, seemed to understand the underlying sentiment.

  "Right. So, he needs someone to chat with while I'm out. That's your primary job, along with some light duties around the tower."

  "I will endeavor to fulfill your wishes, Master. Greetings, Solus. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance." Sebastian extended a hand towards the door, a gesture that underscored the strangeness of the situation. Sarah, sensing the impending awkwardness, discreetly slipped out.

  They’ll be best friends in no time, she thought wryly.

  After a quick sip from the Water of Sin, she descended the two flights of stairs to the ground floor. I need four souls to level up the tower again. Eight at most. That seems excessive, though, and I doubt they’ll all be as easy as that last guy. Poor bastard. At least his soul is keeping Solus company.

  "I'm off out again, Ariel. See ya."

  "Safe travels, Master."

  Sarah stepped out of the tower and into the deserted street. The last vestiges of daylight had faded, the moon now reigning supreme. Up the street, the familiar flicker of torches pierced the darkness. A sliver of hesitation crept in. Even though she’d died countless times within the Tower of Death, it still felt like the safest place she knew.

  Get a grip, shithead, she mentally chastised herself. This is a new world, full of magic and animal people. Yes, it’s scary. It’s also cool as fuck. Stop being a child and get those feet moving, soldier.

  As Sarah moved beyond the tower’s protective aura, she glanced back. The entrance had vanished. A jolt of panic seized her. She rushed back to the spot where she’d stood moments before. The door was still there. Relief washed over her as she exhaled.

  So, it’s like optical camouflage?

  Stepping away again, Sarah watched the entrance dissolve into nothingness. This time, she didn’t panic. She correctly surmised that this was the tower’s way of protecting itself. She committed the image of the small white cottage, sandwiched between two larger buildings, to memory.

  I better not wander too far. Don’t want to get lost right out of the gate.

  Taking a deep breath, Sarah ventured into the night, drawn towards the near-by light.