14. Descension

A single drop of water echoed through the cavern, its sharp plink slicing through the oppressive silence like a blade. Seiito's eyes fluttered open, drawn to the sound as if it were a lifeline in the void. His ears pricked, straining against the heavy stillness. Above him loomed a jagged ceiling of rock and ore, rough and unyielding, as though the very earth sought to crush him.

He groaned softly, every muscle in his body protesting as he pushed himself upright. The movement sent a dull ache radiating through his limbs, but it was the flood of memories that truly hurt. Images flashed through his mind—Saka shielding him with her own body, Takumi cutting down Bone Reapers with desperate valor, his classmates standing together against an overwhelming tide of enemies. And then, the Centipede. That monstrous, deathly Centipede. He remembered shoving Saka out of harm's way, the searing pain as its stinger pierced his chest, and the cold certainty that he was about to die.

Wait… His hand instinctively flew to his chest, fingers probing for the wound that should have been there. But there was nothing—no gaping hole, no blood, not even a scar. Just smooth skin beneath his tattered shirt.

"How…?" he muttered, his voice barely a whisper. "Reivain-san said the poison was fatal. I should be dead."

His mind raced, trying to piece together the impossible. He remembered the Centipede's venom, the way it had burned through his veins like liquid fire. He remembered collapsing, the world fading to black. And yet, here he was, alive and whole. It made no sense.

Seiito pushed himself to his feet, his legs trembling beneath him. His hands shook as he brushed off the dirt and grime, his eyes scanning the ground. That's when he saw it—a bed of flowers, their delicate petals stained crimson with his blood. The sight made his stomach churn.

"W-woah… that's… a lot of blood," he stammered, his voice trembling. "How am I even alive? Did these flowers…?"

He shook his head, forcing the thought aside. There was no point in dwelling on it now. Whatever had happened, he was still breathing, and that was enough.

The narrow tunnel around him was claustrophobic, its walls pressing in on all sides. The air was damp and heavy, carrying the faint scent of earth and metal. A single path stretched ahead, leading deeper into the unknown. Seiito's heart sank as he realized the truth—he had fallen far, far deeper into the World Tower than he had ever intended.

"What level is this?" he whispered, his voice swallowed by the darkness. "How far down did I go?"

He dared not hope he was only a level or two below where he had been. The oppressive atmosphere, the suffocating silence—it all screamed of a place far removed from the relative safety of the upper floors. There was no turning back now. The only way out was forward.

With a deep breath, Seiito began to walk, each step tentative and cautious. The faint glow of light spirits flitted around him, their ethereal forms casting a dim, ghostly light over the rocky passage. The walls were a monotonous expanse of stone and ore, unchanging and endless. It was easy to lose track of time in such a place, easy to let despair creep into the edges of his mind.

Just as the weight of his isolation began to crush him, a guttural roar shattered the silence.

Seiito froze, his blood turning to ice. The sound was inhuman—a mix of rage and madness that echoed through the tunnel like a death knell. The stench of rotting flesh hit him next, so thick and foul that it forced bile into his throat. He clapped a hand over his mouth, stifling a gag, his heart pounding in his chest.

The Lost. The name came to him unbidden, a term whispered in fear by those who ventured into the Tower. They were the remnants of those who had died within its depths, their bodies and souls twisted into something monstrous. And now, one of them was here.

Seiito's breath caught as the creature emerged from the shadows. Its tattered rags hung loosely from its emaciated frame, its skin a sickly, mud-like hue. Its eyes dangled grotesquely from their sockets, and its mouth hung open in a permanent, silent scream. Every instinct in Seiito's body screamed at him to run, but his legs refused to move.

This is bad. This is really bad. His mind raced, panic threatening to overwhelm him. He was a healer, not a fighter. His magic was weak, barely enough to mend a scratch, let alone fend off a monster. And his level… he was still at Level 1. In a place like this, he was nothing more than prey.

The Lost let out another roar, its head snapping toward him. Seiito's heart leapt into his throat as their eyes met—or what was left of them. He took a step back, then another, his movements slow and deliberate. He couldn't afford to make a sound, couldn't afford to draw its attention any further.

But fate, it seemed, had other plans.

His foot struck a loose rock, sending it skittering across the ground with a sharp clatter. The sound reverberated through the cavern, shattering the oppressive silence like a gunshot.

Seiito's breath hitched. No… no, no, no!

The Lost froze, its decayed head snapping toward the noise. Its hollow, dangling eyes seemed to lock onto him, and a guttural growl rumbled from its throat. Slowly, it began to lurch forward, its movements jerky but deliberate, drawn by the scent of living flesh.

Seiito's heart raced, terror flooding his veins like ice water. He was trapped, his only hope slipping away as the creature closed in. Without thinking, he turned and bolted, his legs pumping as fast as they could carry him.

"I don't want to die! I already almost died once today!" he screamed, his voice cracking under the weight of his panic.

But the Lost was faster—far faster. The gap between them closed with terrifying speed. Seiito's agility was no match for the creature's unnatural strength. With a brutal swipe, its corroded nails raked across his shoulder, digging deep into his flesh.

"Ghhh—!" Seiito stumbled forward, clutching the wound. Blood seeped through his fingers as he whispered, "H-Heal…"

A faint glow emanated from his hand, but the wound only partially closed. The pain remained, burning like a third-degree burn. His stats were too low, his magic too weak to fully mend the damage.

The Lost paused, its grotesque form hunched over as it savored the blood on its claws. Its long, cracked tongue slithered out, lapping at the crimson stains with sickening delight. The sight made Seiito's stomach churn.

This is bad… I'm screwed. Is this it? Is it over already?

His heart pounded against his ribcage, each beat echoing like a death knell. A cold shiver ran down his spine, and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. He clenched his fists, his breath ragged, the bitter taste of fear crawling up his throat.

It wasn't supposed to end like this—not in some godforsaken pit, reduced to prey for these twisted monsters. Gritting his teeth, he forced his trembling legs to move. His body screamed in protest, exhaustion gnawing at every muscle, but sheer instinct drove him forward.

Run. Just keep running.

He wasn't going to die here. He refused to die. Not yet—not while he still had a future waiting somewhere beyond the suffocating darkness of the Tower. There had to be a way out, some shred of hope buried in the nightmare around him. He just had to find it before death caught up.

The Lost let out a guttural snarl behind him, the sound vibrating through the cavern walls. Seiito could feel it—closer now, hunting him like a wolf chasing down a wounded deer.

As he turned a corner, he spotted a narrow crevice in the wall. It was small, barely wide enough to squeeze into, but it was his only chance. Without hesitation, he dove inside, his heart pounding as he pressed himself against the cold stone.

But then—

"Buaaaah!?" Seiito's eyes widened as a sword suddenly pierced his chest. The sharp, cold steel sliced through his flesh, sending waves of agony rippling through his body. He gasped, blood bubbling up his throat, as a boot slammed into his back, sending him sprawling to the ground.

A puddle of blood formed beneath him, his vision swimming as he struggled to comprehend what had just happened. The blade flashed again, this time aimed at his face. Seiito's breath hitched, fear tightening around his heart like a vice.

He tensed, bracing for the inevitable, but suddenly, the ground beneath him trembled violently. The ore around him began to shake, melting into a strange, viscous mush. The earth swallowed him without warning, dragging him down into a dark pit.

For a brief moment, relief washed over him. But it was short-lived.

The moment he hit the bottom, a hulking figure emerged from the shadows. This Lost was different—it resembled a knight, its armor fused grotesquely to its flesh. Instead of a blade, its arms ended in massive iron fists. The creature moved with terrifying speed, lunging at Seiito with a devastating blow.

"[Iron Strike!]"

The punch collided with Seiito's chest, a shockwave of unbearable pain ripping through him. He let out a scream, feeling his ribs crack under the force. His vision blurred as the agony overwhelmed him. Desperately, he whispered, "[Heal…]" but there was no time to recover. The Lost wasn't done.

With unnatural grace, it spun and unleashed an acrobatic kick, its iron heel smashing into Seiito and sending him flying across the chamber. His body crashed through a wall, shattering stone, and he collapsed to the ground, utterly broken.

Blood spilled from his lips as he coughed, struggling to pull in even the faintest breath. His lungs burned, his limbs were numb, and death seemed moments away. He was on the verge of losing consciousness, but through the haze of pain, he saw the Lost approaching. It moved slowly now, savoring his fear, its grotesque grin widening as it relished the kill.

Seiito's heart pounded in terror. He had never been so close to death, crawling pathetically, dragging his broken body across the ground as the creature loomed over him. His vision wavered, and the world seemed to grow darker. Was this how it would end?

But then, something impossible happened.

A sudden grinding sound echoed through the chamber, and Seiito's eyes flicked toward it. A spike—no, a shard of rock—elongated from the wall and shot forward like a spear. It pierced the Lost's head with lethal precision, the point erupting through its helmeted skull. The creature froze, its twisted grin still etched on its face, before collapsing lifelessly to the ground.

Seiito stared, utterly baffled. He didn't understand what had just happened—who, or what, had killed the Lost? His mind was too frazzled to process the events unfolding before him, but he didn't care. All he could think about was survival.

He forced himself to keep crawling, every breath labored, every movement tortured. His gaze flicked nervously to the walls around him, terrified that the same force that saved him would now turn against him.

Finally, he found a small hole in the crevice. Without hesitation, he squeezed inside, collapsing into a tiny, hidden space. It was cramped and dark, but it was safe—for now. Gasping for air, he began to heal himself, his trembling hands glowing faintly as he whispered the spell.

"Heal…"