Jin marched forward, the weight of countless battles behind him, his shadow army following like living echoes of war. Bellon, Todra, Kong, Basilisk, and Eian moved in perfect sync, slaying beasts that once ruled forgotten eras. With every floor he conquered, Jin felt it—an invisible tide swelling within him. His body sharpened, his mind deepened, his presence darkened.
He stood in a hollow chamber between trials, arms crossed, watching his shadows fight. The power inside him pulsed.
"I grow stronger with each trial," he thought, his eyes gleaming, "and so do they. As they evolve, I evolve. Their victories are mine. Their deaths, meaningless as long as I draw breath."
He raised his hand, letting a mist of shadows form and scatter, then summoned crimson mist, sculpting it into blades that floated midair.
"Night Devour," he muttered, watching it twist like a living storm, "this power consumes vitality, nullifies strength, devours the very concept of life."
He exhaled, calling another gift into being. Blood flowed upward from his arm, whirling into intricate spirals before exploding outward.
"Blood Demon," he said to himself, "the ability to shape blood into blades, vortexes, weapons, mists… a chaos-born tool."
He paused, the memory of Zenex flashing in his mind.
"All these powers I awaken... they aren't just random. They're pieces of him. Zenex left fragments of himself within me. I'm not just becoming powerful. I'm becoming him."
The last gate stood unguarded. No monsters, no trial beasts, only silence. It felt unnatural.
Jin walked forward, dismissing his army with a wave. He didn't need them for this. Not yet.
He opened the door and stepped into a grand throne room bathed in faded gold. At the center, a massive throne loomed. Upon it, a cloaked giant sat motionless. At first, Jin thought it was just a statue. But the air shifted.
From behind the throne, a massive shadow unraveled. A terrifying phoenix emerged—feathers darker than the void, flames flickering with red entropy. It wasn't life. It was the end of it.
Jin's God Vision activated. His eyes glowed with purple as he pierced through the illusion.
"The giant," he whispered, "is no statue. He's alive. A grandmaster level warlock. A god-king tier being."
He turned his eyes to the phoenix, his breath steady.
"And this beast… it's no ordinary phoenix. It's a dark phoenix, the embodiment of entropy, destruction, death, disorder, and chaos."
He instinctively called his army, but a voice echoed through the realm.
"You cannot use your shadows here," Tumaru's voice said, calm and absolute.
Jin clenched his fists and faced the two alone.
The dark phoenix shrieked, and flames unlike any natural fire burst toward him. It wasn't heat—it was erasure. The very fabric of his being trembled.
He dodged, flickering with Night Movement, blinking across the space. He slashed with a blood-forged dagger, but it barely scratched the creature. The phoenix retaliated, launching him against a pillar. Blood spilled from his mouth, yet his feet rose again.
"It doesn't burn," he thought, "it erases. My weapons fail not because I'm weak—but because it unravels reality."
Hours passed. Their battle turned to a storm of ruin.
Then, through his God Vision, he saw it—a rhythmic twitch, a flicker of instability with every scream.
"There," he muttered, "its weakness."
He dove under its wing, rolled beneath its shadow, and drove his blade upward into the rhythm between the beast's breaths. The phoenix let out a final scream—and disintegrated into crimson ash.
Now the giant stood. With no warning, he raised a single hand. A ripple of magic cast through the air.
Jin lunged—but his sword struck an invisible wall and rebounded. The pain struck his chest, splitting skin. The warlock had cast a reflection spell. Every strike Jin made was returned upon him tenfold.
Jin gritted his teeth and pressed on. Every blow he landed rebounded, crushing bones, spilling blood. Yet he did not retreat. He advanced.
"If I die," he whispered to himself, "I die as the man who broke fate."
Blow after blow. Wound after wound. His eyes scanned the spellwork, his mind dissecting the sigils. Then he saw it—a crack, a hairline fracture in the warlock's weaving.
He poured his entire being into a final charge.
"Break," he roared and launched a devastating attack.
The spell shattered.
His blade tore through flesh and bone.
The warlock collapsed, collapsing like an old monument.
The floor went still. Light flooded in as Tumaru's voice returned.
"You have cleared the final floor. Your spirit no longer walks toward power. It walks within it."
Jin's body surged with new strength.
Two abilities bloomed inside him.
Great Hand, a telekinetic force that could crush or rival omnikinesis.
The Nightmare, a scream from his soul that shattered the minds of any weaker than him, invoking terror and despair.
Jin stood alone within the shattered remains of the final chamber. Smoke coiled around his feet, dust falling like ashes from a burned-out dream. Blood trickled from his lips, but his eyes burned with clarity. The remains of the Dark Phoenix smoldered in the air, and the Warlock's broken body lay still, his ancient staff cracked in two.
He raised his hand, still trembling from the agony of battle. The silence was sacred.
Then he whispered, voice heavy with finality, "Emerge."
A black glyph unfolded in the air before him—spinning, weaving. The realm trembled.
From the ashes, the Dark Phoenix began to reform, feathers of black flame coalescing, wings spreading like the veil of night. Yet this time, it bowed its head. No longer a beast of chaos. It had been claimed.
Jin extended his hand, blood dripping from his fingertips.
"You are Vionka," he said. "Born of entropy, now a herald of silence. You fly for me."
The phoenix screeched once, not in rage, but in allegiance.
The ground beneath the Warlock cracked open, and arcane light poured upward. His body rose, shadows binding him in ethereal chains. The spirit trembled before Jin's will, then bent the knee.
"You… are Ainez," Jin declared, "last of the Grandmaster Warlocks, keeper of forbidden knowledge. You serve the zenith of war."
The moment sealed. A darkness greater than any god once known now served Jin.
He stood amidst the quiet.
His army—Bellon, Todra, Kong, Basilisk, Eian, and now Vionka and Ainez—stood in formation, the realm of shadows swirling behind them.
His God Vision activated, revealing their true essence. Names, classes, traits, even their moods reflected in delicate runes only he could read.
Bellon burned with fierce loyalty, Todra shimmered with cold precision, Kong glowed with berserker rage, Basilisk curled with serpentine patience, Eian drifted in serene clairvoyance, Vionka blazed with smothered chaos, and Ainez radiated the stillness of ancient death.
Jin turned to the horizon. A mirror reflected his own image. His age now read 433 years. Yet his eyes were ageless.
"I've completed 1,900 floors."
He raised his gaze.
"Each floor harder than the last. Each boss a titan. Sometimes, I spend months planning just one battle. Strategy, sacrifice, soul. But now it's end."
Then he smiled faintly.
Then a portal opened.
On the other side stood the old man—serene, timeless—the very one he had once met at the temple of the statue goddess.
He smiled.
"I told you our paths would cross again," he said, "and now, Jin Luneblood, you walk the threshold of gods."