CHAPTER 48: INTO THE 8TH FLOOR - WAVE 1 OF ARCANE ABERRATIONS

I stood, full height now, and faced him.

"The Rift’s shifting faster than anyone expected. The seventh floor spawned a Shard Manifest. The eighth might be worse."

"You go in now, you’ll be caught in escalation events designed for Vassals leagues above the public curve."

Noel looked like he wanted to argue—but then stopped. His fingers flexed slightly, knuckles whitening.

"I can fight."

"I know," I said. "But I need you alive, not broken. I was able to heal myself thanks to my Astral Patron. You do not have that skill yet."

His jaw tightened, but after a second... he nodded.

"Fine."

"But you better not die before I catch up."

I smirked, adjusting my mask.

"I’ll leave the dying to the ones still trying to figure out who I am."

-

The hallway lights buzzed faintly as we stepped out of my apartment.

Noel walked beside me in silence, the weight of our conversation still lingering between us. We reached the stairwell, and he paused.

"I’ll start prepping routes. Gear check, re-skill. Make sure when it’s my turn, I won’t slow you down."

I gave him a nod.

"Good. Stay sharp."

He lingered for a second, then turned down toward his apartment.

"Nile," he called out as he unlocked his door. "Don’t die in there."

I didn’t respond with words—just raised a hand in acknowledgment, then kept walking.

The sky had brightened by the time I stepped outside. Davao’s coastline was quiet, but the tension in the air was unmistakable. The Crimson Rift pulsed faintly in the far distance, visible even through the haze—a jagged scar in reality, burning red against the morning.

Vassals are still gathering.

Vendors. Scanners. Reporters.

Eyes.

I kept my hood low, mask on. I didn’t need to be seen. I just needed to pass.

The crowd thickened the closer I got—people parting instinctively, either from recognition or the subtle pressure of my presence. A few tried to scan, but my passive blurred every reading, twisted every result.

All they saw was a blank silhouette.

I stopped just before the Rift gate—its swirling, blood-colored vortex humming with power.

’Eighth floor. Let’s see if there is something different on that floor.’

I took one breath, then I stepped in and the world burned away once more.

-

[You have entered the 8th Floor of the Labyrinth.]

[ Quest Type: Survival ]

[ Requirement: None ]

[ Objective: Survive 6 Waves of Arcane Aberrations. ]

[You cannot exit this floor until the objective is complete.]

-

My boots met stone—smooth, circular tiles etched with ancient leyline circuits, each one faintly glowing with shifting runes. I stood in the heart of a massive, floating arena suspended in the middle of a collapsed starfield, with broken magical constructs orbiting above like moons frozen in time. Below the arena?

Nothing. Just an endless ocean of slow-turning constellations and warped mana currents like rivers through the void.

Then I saw them—portals blooming in the sky like blooming arcane ulcers. Six of them.

Each one different. Each one bleeding mana like tears. From within, the first signs of movement stirred—creatures shaped by raw spellcraft and unstable incantation, crawling and fluttering into existence.

Some had crystalline wings and no faces. Others were serpentine, coiling like ink in water, their bodies stitched together with runes instead of flesh. Some didn’t even have consistent forms—just elemental anomalies wearing the shape of beasts.

[Time Until First Wave: 2 Minutes, 47 Seconds]

I stared at the timer, then out toward the void.

"Arcane Aberrations," I muttered. "Of course. Monsters that are literally made of spells. This is perfect."

That meant no predictable patterns. No fixed weaknesses. Just raw magical chaos given form.

I rolled my neck, tightening the straps on my armor and exhaled slowly, letting the last fatigue bleed from my limbs.

"Then I’ll survive them all."

"Let’s see whose magic breaks first—yours or mine."

The countdown neared its end.

[Time Until First Wave: 00:06]

The arena’s floating platforms began to pulse—arcane circuits activating like a ritual reaching its climax. The six portals above snapped wide open with a sound like tearing silk and cracking bone.

[Wave One: Initiating...]

Mana surged through the sky as the first creatures poured forth—Arcane Aberrations, Tier I.

Half-formed spellbeasts twisted into life. They hovered above the platform, twitching with unstable essence—some looking like broken golems of ice and fire, others more ethereal, like mana-ghosts with dozens of glaring eyes.

"...These ones."

I took a single step forward, my shadow stretching beneath me as my body lowered into stance.

"The First Aberrant Cluster: Glasswings, Ember Wisps, and a Nullmend Golem."

In my old timeline, these things slaughtered teams of five in under thirty seconds. The Ember Wisps would overload shields and bait cooldowns. The Glasswings reflected projectile magic. The Nullmend? It was slow, but absorbed healing and turned it into explosive bursts.

I knew it all.

But this time, I wasn’t part of a panicking team.

This time, I was Blank.

"Blank Protocol. Trigger: Erasure Pulse."

The space around me cracked with a deep pulse of reality backlash—magical suppression detonating outward like a silent thunderclap. Runes shattered. The Wisps’ forms destabilized instantly, flickering like dying stars.

"Emberfang Style."

The air burned red, then I moved.

One dash—straight through the Glasswings. They burst into shards mid-flight, unable to reflect a blade they couldn’t even perceive. I weaved through the flaming Wisps, each strike stacking burn, each blink of movement snuffing them out before they could charge.

I slid under the Nullmend’s first swing and dug my elbow into the exposed glyph on its chest—burn stacking ten, eleven, twelve—until it began to vibrate from instability.

Fifteen stacks. I planted my boot on its knee, vaulted upward, and brought my heel down on its face.

CRACK—SHHHHHRK!

The golem combusted, the burn stacks triggering in full, flames racing through its core, until it split down the middle with a metallic scream.

Silence followed and ash drifted gently.

[Wave One Cleared.]

[Preparing for Wave Two...]

I exhaled slowly, rolling my neck.

"No wasted movements. No surprises."

This wasn’t just power. It was memory weaponized.

And the Rift was about to remember why I survived when no one else did.