Chapter 22 – The Descent
The air trembled.
One heartbeat away from bloodshed, the battlefield froze—not from hesitation, but from something greater. Swords halted mid-swing, spells fizzled into silence, and a pressure—immense and pure—descended like a divine decree.
Even the wind stopped.
Above the shattered cliffs of Mount Everest, where Arthur's group faced down their last adversaries in a brutal contest of strength and desperation, the sky split—not with violence, but with elegance.
A vertical line of golden light opened in the heavens.
From it, she emerged.
She didn't fall, nor did she fly. She descended, slowly, regally—four magnificent wings unfurling from her back in slow motion. Two were feathered in glowing gold, the other two made of translucent crystal that shimmered with galaxies. Her hair was long, impossibly golden, like sunlight stretched into silk. A deep white robe adorned her figure, flowing with impossible smoothness, as if gravity itself obeyed her.
Her face was mostly hidden beneath a hood, casting her eyes in shadow—but from beneath, a faint, knowing smirk could be seen.
That was all it took.
The entire mountain bowed.
Arthur and his team—dirtied, bloodied, breathing heavily—could only stare. Weapons lowered. The tension evaporated.
And then, the System triggered.
A window opened in front of every Player, not just there, but across the entire Earth. A new kind of status window, rectangular and dark, with a glowing golden border. It streamed the angelic being in real time—a live projection. Her voice echoed within the minds of all, transcending language, reaching the core of understanding.
> [System Update: Messenger Arrival — Broadcast Initiated]
[All Players are granted temporary system-wide translation permissions.]
She hovered above the stone and ruins, her wings never flapping, her presence never faltering.
And then she spoke.
Her voice was soft and warm—but held the weight of law, divine and irreversible.
> "Rejoice, inhabitants of this world. Your trial has been acknowledged. Your world has crossed the Threshold."
The system windows blinked once, showing a pulse of light. Across cities, bunkers, shattered towns and forests, people stopped and stared.
> "I am the Messenger of the System, herald of transition, architect of clarity. Your world has been selected for integration into the Arena."
Arthur's lips parted, but no sound came out. Behind him, one of his comrades whispered, "What the hell is the Arena…?"
As if hearing the question, the Messenger continued:
> "The Arena is a structured convergence of dimensions—an ordered series of worlds bound together by Rift logic. Each world is placed within a hierarchical universe, positioned based on its order of arrival. Your world is among the last—thus, it shall occupy the lowest layer."
Gasps rippled across countless nations. The broadcast continued.
> "You are not alone. Other worlds—many before you—stand above, layered in complexity. Connections between dimensions shall be formed through special Gates. These Gates will remain sealed unless opened with qualified items, the details of which will be revealed in due time."
The golden projection zoomed out, revealing a vague model—a tiered system of concentric orbits, with each dimension locked in place like a ringed fortress. There were hundreds—perhaps thousands.
Then the image faded.
> "Your sole purpose… is to survive. To endure the challenges. To become the last world standing. Those who persist shall claim right, sovereignty, and power beyond comprehension."
Silence followed. Shock. Horror. Disbelief.
Then questions flooded the system.
> [Player: Unknown] asks — "Who built this Arena?"
[Answer:] "The will behind this construct belongs to those far above. Beings who do not act… but observe. Entities who have shaped existence not through creation, but through convergence. Their identities are not mine to reveal."
> [Player: Unknown] asks — "What happens to the monsters?"
The Messenger tilted her head slightly, as if amused.
> "No new creatures shall enter from the Rift. The flood has ceased. Monsters will now be contained within Dungeons and Gates, which will soon be seeded across your world. These zones will vary in danger—some trivial, others fatal. Venture… or hide. But growth will now demand risk."
One final breath of silence followed.
Then the Messenger's wings slowly folded inward.
> "This message shall not repeat. Let this be the first echo of truth.
Survive. Rise. Prove yourselves."
Her smirk widened, and her final words carried across the entire planet like the chime of a divine bell:
> "Welcome to the Arena."
The golden light collapsed inward, and she vanished.
The sky returned to normal.
So did the wind.
And across the world, millions stood in silence—trying to understand whether what they had seen… was salvation.
Or the beginning of extinction.
...…
For a few precious seconds, the world stood still.
Then came the wave.
Not of sound or fire—but emotion.
Across the globe, the Messenger's disappearance left a vacuum no one was prepared to fill. Fear bloomed in hearts that had only just stopped racing. In bunkers, on ruined streets, in hidden shelters and fractured strongholds, people stared at the sky—or their status windows—and trembled.
Some dropped to their knees. Others wept.
A few—very few—smiled.
They were the ambitious ones. The hungry ones. The thrill-seekers who had already tasted battle and now hungered for more. The Arena was terrifying—but it was also a ladder.
And they intended to climb.
---
High above the ruined sanctuary where Clara had made her stand, the winds stirred again.
She stood frozen beneath a cracked stone archway, bathed in the dying afterglow of the Messenger's presence. The status window still flickered beside her, dimming, waiting.
She didn't move until a presence approached behind her.
Bootsteps. Quiet. Familiar.
Clara turned slowly.
And there he was.
Andrew.
One arm torn and still stained from the battle, his face partially shadowed by fading fog. His eyes, always calm, always unreadable… were now uncertain.
Just like hers.
She stepped forward without a word, her fingers twitching slightly at her side. Andrew did the same.
They stopped a breath apart.
Neither said anything for a while. Just stared.
There were too many things to say. And neither knew where to start.
And then—
Andrew's heart stirred.
Not metaphorically.
It was a feeling. A pulse. Something deep—buried beyond even his darkest thoughts—awoke. It didn't roar or scream. It simply opened its eyes. It was vast. Cold. Watching.
Andrew flinched.
And across the skies of Earth—
The Rifts shifted.
Massive black scars, once pouring with monsters and chaos, rippled and twisted like paper being folded. They turned sideways—bent in ways the eye couldn't follow—and vanished.
A worldwide earthquake erupted in the same moment.
From deserts to oceans, mountains to megacities—everything shook.
But it lasted only a breath.
Then it was over.
And in the next blink, the sky was… normal.
Blue. Serene. Clouds drifting like nothing had happened.
As if the last few months had been a bad dream.
---
> [SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]
Congratulations. Your world has officially joined the Arena.
The first Event will begin in: [ 24:00:00 ]
Prepare accordingly.
---
The silence that followed was fragile.
No horns blew. No flags were raised. The battlefield that had moments ago been drenched in fury… now faded into confusion.
Both sides—the resistance, the military remnants, the rogue factions—slowly, cautiously began to pull back. Retreating. Unsure. Unwilling to spill blood with the future so unclear.
The conflict had ended, not with a victor, but with a question none of them could answer.
---
Clara reached for Andrew's wounded arm—only to stop halfway.
Her eyes widened.
The torn flesh and scorched muscle were restoring themselves. The veins reknit. The bone clicked back into place. The skin sealed like nothing had happened. He didn't even wince.
And as it healed, a message appeared in his status.
> [Skill Acquired: Regeneration – Level 1]
Passive regeneration of physical injuries at accelerated rate.
Andrew looked down at his hand, flexing it slowly. Then met Clara's gaze.
"…Guess we both have things to explain," he murmured.
Clara nodded.
They sat at the edge of a collapsed garden—alone, just for a moment. Surrounded by moss-covered stone, they finally talked.
Clara spoke first.
About the energy inside her. The pulsing chaos. The uncontrollable surges during battle. The whispering in the void. The terrifying ecstasy she felt when letting go. How sometimes… she didn't recognize herself.
Andrew listened in silence.
Then he shared.
About the dark. About the glitch in his Awakening. The presence that watched him in the void. His shadow-bound powers, the unnatural instincts. The coldness in his heart he couldn't explain.
Neither judged the other.
They just sat there.
Two anomalies. Two blades sharpened by something not of this world.
"We're close to thirty," Clara finally whispered. "I checked. The system says the requirements are double of what it should be."
Andrew nodded. "A little more hunting. That's all it'll take."
---
The next day, after rest and quiet meals beneath an overgrown roof, they met with the surviving military and resistance leaders.
There were no speeches. No shouting.
Just cautious words, shared glances, and the decision to call the battle… done.
A standstill.
No one wanted to risk everything when the world itself had just been upended.
As Andrew turned to leave with Clara, someone stopped him.
Selena.
Her eyes locked on his fully healed arm.
She blinked. "You… You lost that arm. I saw it."
Andrew didn't smile. "Got it back."
She didn't press further. Just stared as they walked away—Clara falling into pace beside him.
Moments later, black wings of shadow unfurled from Andrew's back—Umbra Constructs—lifting them gently into the sky. Clara summoned a gale, and the two rose, wind and shadow weaving together.
Their destination: A dungeon.
A land still crawling with monsters.
A land filled with EXP.
A land where Level 30 waited.
---
Twenty four hours remained.
The Arena had begun.