Ascension of the Forsaken Genius

A heavy silence filled the vast chamber as the last of the survivors caught their breath. The cold, smooth stone beneath them pulsed faintly with an eerie glow, casting elongated shadows across the towering walls. The doors behind them had sealed shut, cutting them off from the outside world—and from the horrors they had barely escaped.

Yet, despite the brief respite, none could relax.

The air inside the tower was thick, almost suffocating, as though an unseen force pressed down upon them. Some instinctively reached for their weapons, others simply observed, their gazes drawn to the towering structure stretching endlessly above them. There were no windows, no visible staircases—only a vast, ominous chamber filled with an unsettling energy.

Then, the floor shifted.

A deep, resonating hum filled the air. Strange symbols carved into the walls flared to life, bathing the chamber in pulsating light.

A voice, ancient and unfeeling, echoed throughout the tower.

"You who have reached the Tower of Dominion, prove your worth."

The moment the voice faded, the chamber began to change.

The walls twisted, sections of the floor split apart, and the very space around them seemed to warp. A labyrinth of platforms and staircases emerged, shifting and realigning with every passing second. There was no fixed path—only chaos.

Then, without warning, the first trial began.

From the shifting walls, constructs of pure energy emerged. Humanoid figures, featureless yet menacing, took shape, their bodies composed of a dense, swirling essence. Their very presence exuded pressure, suffocating in its intensity.

There was no time to react before the first attack struck.

One of the figures lunged forward, its arm morphing into a blade as it cleaved through the air. A participant barely dodged, the force of the strike carving a deep gash into the stone floor. Others were not as lucky—several were instantly overwhelmed, their bodies crushed or sliced apart before they could even scream.

Panic erupted.

"They're too strong!" someone shouted, deflecting a strike only to be blasted backward by an unseen force.

"There's no escape! We have to fight!"

The survivors scattered, some choosing to face the constructs head-on, while others attempted to climb the shifting platforms in hopes of reaching safety.

The battle was brutal. Weapons clashed against pure energy, spells lit up the chamber, and bodies fell. Each time a construct was destroyed, it simply reformed, its presence growing more oppressive.

A handful of participants began to adapt. They studied the movements of the constructs, the rhythm of the shifting platforms, and found openings. The weak-willed fell, but those who persevered—those who fought smarter, not harder—began to push forward.

As the battle raged, the tower continued to change.

Higher platforms appeared, their surfaces glowing with strange markings. Those who managed to reach them felt a surge of strength, their bodies reinvigorated. The realization struck—these platforms were the key.

"Get to the top!" someone shouted. "That's the only way forward!"

With renewed determination, the strongest among them began their ascent. The constructs fought harder, faster, as if sensing their desperation. Each step was met with resistance, each victory hard-won.

One by one, participants fell. Some were cut down, others were thrown into the abyss below, never to be seen again.

The number dwindled rapidly.

By the time the last platform was reached, only a hundred remained.

Then, as the final survivor stepped onto the highest point, the constructs vanished.

The chamber settled.

A deep, mechanical click echoed, and the ceiling above them peeled open, revealing a path upward. A brilliant light shone down, its warmth almost unnatural against their weary bodies.

The survivors—bloodied, exhausted, yet victorious—stood in silence.

They had conquered the Tower of Dominion.

But as the light above beckoned them forward, they all knew one thing.

The competition was far from over.