{ Zone 1 – The Fist King's Shadow }
The arena's first portal blazed open with golden light—and from it stepped a young man whose presence alone made the crowd lean forward.
"Looks like we're starting with a bang, folks!" DJ Vox's voice hit like a drumbeat across the coliseum. "This one's got fists that could break fate—and a legacy heavier than steel!"
Dante Dragunov moved with the fluid confidence of someone born to fight, his grandfather's legendary blood singing in his veins.
> "From Zone One, the grandson of the legendary Fist King—Dante Dragunov!"
Razzel's voice carried a note of genuine respect as the cameras focused on the young warrior.
> "A proud descendant of the Fist King himself—a powerhouse in training, looking to punch his way out of his grandfather's shadow and earn a name of his own!"
Dante's eyes swept the arena, taking in the massive crowd with a grin that spoke of unshakable confidence. He had lived his entire life under the weight of his grandfather's legacy, but today—today was his chance to forge something new.
He cracked his knuckles—somehow audible even over the roaring crowd—and raised his fist high.
And the arena fell silent.
Just for a moment.
A moment that belonged entirely to him.
> "THANK YOU FOR WATCHING—NOW WATCH ME TAKE THIS TOWER DOWN!"
His voice carried across the arena like a war cry. Wild energy exploded around him like visible flame, and the crowd erupted—swept away by the raw determination and untamed power that marked him as his grandfather's true heir.
---
{ Zone 2 – The Golden Facade }
The second portal opened with considerably less fanfare. DJ Vox's confident rhythm stumbled slightly as he shuffled through his magical cue cards.
> "Alright, up next... Zone Two!"
A pause.
An awkward, stretching pause that made viewers across the Tower lean forward with curiosity.
> "Now this one's… uh… wait, hold on..."
Razzel flipped through his cards again, glancing at his assistant with genuine confusion. The crowd murmured.
> "Hey—who is this guy again?"
The assistant whispered just loud enough for the magical microphones to catch:
"Lucien Arkwright. Guildmaster's kid. Media darling. Super rookie… on paper."
> "Ah—right, right! Thanks, Mic!"
Razzel's recovery was smooth, but the awkwardness lingered like a bad omen.
> "ZONE TWO, GIVE IT UP FOR... The son of the Guildmaster of Blue Star's top-ranked guild… The golden boy of the media circus..."
His voice held a note of barely concealed skepticism.
> "He's never fought a real battle, but he's been on more magazine covers than climbers have near-death experiences. Is he the real deal? Eh—who knows?! Either way—he talks big! LUCIEN ARKWRIGHT!!"
A burst of blue flame shot skyward as Lucien stepped onto the stage. Every movement was calculated for visual impact—his custom-tailored combat coat gleaming with golden trim, his hair perfectly styled despite the wind.
He threw kisses to the audience with the ease of someone who had never known real hardship.
> "...What a show-off," Razzel muttered. The crowd laughed.
Lucien raised his arms, smug and sharp as a blade.
> "Stand back, amateurs. Royalty's arrived!"
He gestured at the other contestants with theatrical condescension.
> "I don't care what zones you're from—Zone Two is already the winner. Hope they brought towels… 'cause I'm about to wipe the floor with you!"
His eyes swept the arena with practiced arrogance—
—but something flickered.
A brief crack in the perfect facade.
> "Seriously, this is it? These are the climbers I'm supposed to compete with? Tch… boring."
---
{ The Hooded Encounter }
As Lucien basked in what he assumed was adoration, a quiet figure in a dark hood walked past him.
Casual. Unremarkable.
Except for the slight brush of shoulders.
Lucien froze.
> "Hey—watch it, you cloaked peasant!"
His voice cracked—just slightly. Confidence wavered like a candle in the wind.
> "You know who I am?! I could get you disqualified with one call—"
The hooded figure paused.
Turned.
And beneath the shadow of the hood… a calm smile.
> "Ah, my bad. Didn't see you down there. You alright?"
Polite. Genuine. And somehow more cutting than any insult could be.
Lucien's composure slipped further.
> "Tch... lucky for you I'm in a good mood today. I won't waste my energy dealing with nobodies."
The stranger nodded with the same calm smile.
> "That's a relief. Thanks."
He walked on—leaving Lucien alone in the spotlight, fists trembling with barely contained fury.
Even these no-name beggars think they can brush me off?
Lucien's thoughts burned beneath his smile.
This Tower's got no respect anymore.
---
{ Zone 3 – The Sanctuary's Grace }
Alright, alright... from flame to faith, the winds shift again…"
The third portal opened like a gentle dawn—and from it stepped a figure who seemed to carry serenity itself.
Elina Vel moved with the measured grace of one who had found peace in chaos. Her presence calmed the arena's wild energy like a quiet stream in a burning forest.
> "Zone Three brings serenity in chaos—Elina Vel!"
Razzel's voice softened. Genuine respect lingered.
> "Trained by the Sanctuary Saintess herself, she walks a path of balance… but her silence hides more than calm. She's the voice of peace in chaos—a disciple of clarity in war!"
Elina had no noble title. No grand bloodline.
Only her master's teachings.
Only her unshakable will.
Her eyes held wisdom beyond her years… and a sadness born from seeing too much.
She placed a hand on her chest and bowed.
No flair. No showmanship.
Only dignity.
> "I didn't come to shine. I came to stand where others fall… and offer what strength I can."
Her voice was gentle.
But it carried the weight of absolute conviction.
The arena fell silent—not from awe, but reverence.
A quiet bow. Folded hands.
She demanded nothing—
—but earned everything.
---
{ Zone 4 – The Crimson Duality }
"Now this next one... well, Tower watchers, brace yourselves."
The fourth portal erupted with heat, the air shimmering like desert mirage.
From it walked a girl who looked like she didn't belong.
Zayna Malik.
Timid steps. Eyes lowered. Hands folded.
The picture of gentle nobility.
> "Zone Four flares up with royal heat—Zayna Malik!"
> "Granddaughter of the Crimson Empress herself… a girl raised on battlefields and court politics!"
Razzel leaned forward, voice hushed like a whispered secret.
> "Quiet… shy… maybe even fragile… but don't let that fool you. Because when the moon shifts… so does she."
A pause.
> "Whispers say she's got another side—fierce, wild, untouchable. The kind of power even her grandmother fears."
Zayna walked slowly, every movement practiced, reserved.
She looked up at the crowd, nervous and wide-eyed.
> "I… I'll do my best…"
Barely above a whisper—yet the arena heard it.
They cheered.
Affectionately. Encouragingly.
Then—
The temperature spiked.
Her posture snapped into something new.
Shoulders squared. Eyes burning. Energy twisted.
> "SHUT UP, YOU PATHETIC HYENAS!"
The arena jolted.
Silence thundered.
The girl from before… was gone.
> "...Tch. That's better," she muttered, dark satisfaction curling in her voice.
Even DJ Razzel stammered:
> "W-well… that was… unexpected. Uh, alright folks—let's move on before she decides to roast us all! Haha, wouldn't be good for us!"
---
{ Zone 5 – Golden Tongues and Silver Smiles }
"Okay, time for something a little... slicker."
The fifth portal opened with the chime of coins, and through it stepped a figure who made commerce look like art.
Kaleon "Kale" Vass.
> "From Zone Five, the golden grin of trade—Kaleon Vass!"
> "He doesn't swing swords—he swings markets. Born into deals, raised in contracts, and armed with a tongue sharper than steel!"
> "The youngest heir of the elite Merchant Union—he's charming, greedy, and probably already selling your information."
Kale adjusted his many rings with ease—each worth more than most climbers would see in a lifetime. He winked at the camera, his grin too smooth to be trusted.
> "Need a potion? A sword? Insurance? Come to me—but nothing's free."
Half the crowd laughed.
The other half instinctively checked their wallets.
And just like that—
Zone Five was open for business.
And as he strolled to his place, voice like velvet, he whispered:
"By the way... I take Tower Credits, artifacts... and secrets."
The portal behind him faded.
But his words lingered like smoke.
___________
And so—
the first five challengers stepped forward, each bearing a different weight.
Legacy. Pressure. Faith. Secrets. Pride.
Some arrived to prove something.
Others, simply to survive.
And yet, as different as they were… the Tower did not care.
It never had.
Its gates had opened.
Its trials had begun.
And beyond each portal stood not just the promise of glory, but the harsh, unrelenting truth:
Only those who carve their name into fate itself will endure.
Dante cracked the sky with fire.
Lucien smirked through the cracks of his mask.
Elina walked with peace that hid a storm.
Zayna wore two faces—and neither blinked.
Kaleon smiled like a man who already knew the ending.
But the Tower doesn't read scripts.
It writes them.
With blood, brilliance… and broken dreams.
One not called.
One not claimed.
But one the Tower would remember.
Because while these were the stars the world cheered for…
not all legends are born in the light.
Their stories have only just begun.
And the Tower?
It watches.
It waits.
Only time will tell... who truly climbs the top.