The days that followed blurred together until none of us could tell where one battle ended and the next began.
Morning and night had long since lost their meaning inside the Tower. Time was measured by cleared floors, broken weapons, emptied potion bottles, and the names that quietly disappeared from the player registry.
We kept climbing anyway.
Stopping wasn't an option anymore.
Callian's expedition had pushed all the way to Floor Seventy-Seven. Keiji, Luna, Glenda, Baroque, Harrieth, Neida, Kalispell, Mikel, Zeke, Minho, and Suyoung moved almost constantly between battlefields, escorting climbing parties while clearing monsters and driving back Oracle ambushes whenever they appeared. They leveled steadily, but every floor demanded blood in return.
The Oracle had adapted completely.
Gone were the reckless player killers who hunted alone.
