Coop fought every single battle like it might be his last. Whether his opponent was a Hellhound, Boxing Golem, or the more advanced variants of the Demons, he put everything on the line and engaged them with all of his skills. Anything less would have been unacceptable negligence, especially inside the tower.

He was no prizefighter and he had no preconceived notions of fair play. He had never undergone the type of structured training that a professional might experience, instead fighting for survival from the start. That meant that the style he had developed was mostly raw and brutal, centered on instinct, aggression, resilience, and adaptability. He was a warrior of necessity, unencumbered by fear or honor, facing death with nothing but a will to live. If not for his Haunted title magnifying his sense of accomplishment with proper technique, he might have fought more like a caveman throughout the assimilation. His body, or really his mana, remembered what it was like with or without the system.

He was unwilling to cede even an inch of his hard won progress. It didn’t matter if he was confident he could defeat any of the monsters on an individual basis, he was also competing with their near infinite numbers, the absurd distances he had to cover, and time itself. There was no room to slack off or feel comfortable. The Ark Tower represented the most important grind he might ever face. He was advancing to new heights, both figuratively and literally, but he refused to forget his journey.

The moment to moment actions accumulated, altering the time-to-kill of each monster by fractions of a second, but collectively adding up to meaningful amounts of time. If he did something a million times with half a second delay each time, he’d burn 16 days that he could have reclaimed with more efficiency. These were the unconscious considerations that dictated his approach for the overall challenge. Ruthless practicality was the goal.

The difference between a one time break to assess the tower or discuss something with Lyriel for a few minutes was nothing compared to the amassing quantities of combat time. Of course, Coop already knew it thanks to his enthusiasm for the grind, so these were natural considerations in his mind. His experience may have been with comparatively shorter grinds than what was presented by the tower, but the desire for refinement was the same all around.

His opponents were covered in Fathomless Chains, weakening them with every portion of damage they received from his weapons, making them less deadly and slightly slower, shaving fractions of a second toward their defeats. At the same time, the Clarity of Purpose passive effect stacked up and reduced their defenses, giving his attacks an ethereal property that bypassed their protection in tiny increments that added up on the most tenacious opponents so that they would be defeated progressively sooner. Rather than be an automatic function provided by the system, it was an exhibition of his ambition, his mana applying true damage as he sincerely sought victory. Everything was through his personal mana control.

If the monsters were dangerous, he was able to be a bit more aggressive by weakening them, and if they were tough he could destroy them that much faster. Few monsters could withstand his onslaught for long and none could oppose him forever. They only had two options: kill him or try to hinder his climb. He cooperated with neither while mastering his previous skills.

The hexagonal platforms were blanketed by his Fog of War, spilling over the outer edges like misty waterfalls before dissipating as ethereal ribbons in the stagnant atmosphere. As he grew more comfortable controlling his channels without the system, the domains grew more expansive.

The monsters dragged their feet, sloshing through illusory abyssal waters when they were ensnared by the Awakened Depths effect of his domain, all while contending with the Revenant hidden in the mists. Even if they were not impacted by the ensnarement, all of the different effects stacked up, transforming the environment into a domain more fitting for a ghostly shipwrecked champion bound to a reef than a bunch of stone and fire demons, providing yet another small advantage for his intrusion.

Like a wraith on some kind of ancient haunted shoal, he danced between corporeality with Vaporform, effectively eliminating intra-platform travel times. He reappeared wherever he was least expected, proving himself to be an adequate demon hunter if he needed to be.

He darted across the arenas, flickering from one side to the other as he mercilessly cut the monsters down, hardly giving them any opportunity to react. Between his roaming presence and the dozens of phantasms that jumped in and out of the monochromatic world of mists themselves, the forces of mana would never be able to set their feet, hooves, or claws and be confident about their flanks. The primal gladiators manifested everywhere and from nothing, the only warnings present in the fluctuations hidden by alternate planes of mana, perceived only by the most advanced monsters.

Coop rotated through weapons, eventually collecting enough experience with the individual monsters to find the path of least resistance against every enemy variant. Each battle was an exercise in trial and error, iterating upon the previous until he was squeezing minor efficiencies out of his own movements and mana expenditures. Casting Retribution and swapping between half a dozen different one and two-handed swords, to his heaviest maces and hammers, then to his spear, depending on which monster demanded his attention became as natural as the tides changing. His conscious thoughts were streamlined, saving fractions of seconds of decision-making by embracing muscle memory, instinct, and adaptability. He delved into raw incalculable progress that lacked the numerical increases, but was felt in his soul.

His eyes were glazed over, anticipating his own actions two and three steps ahead, allowing him to pick up his speed. He envisioned critical strikes on adversaries all across the platforms with Presence of Mind as he made them happen. When the attacks all landed in the same second, it didn’t feel like getting ahead of himself as much as the motions were naturally flowing into each other. There was no hitch in any of his steps, the grace and confidence making it so that it was like the fog itself was contending with the monsters. He didn’t need to count them out like the Battlemaiden had demonstrated, everything occurring with a natural rush.

Waves of mists pulsed through the foggy domain, lingering even after he had transitioned to a new location. Depending on his weapon, the visualization of his attacks was different, sometimes cutting the thick vapors with sharp edges, other times smashing straight through with a heaviness that went beyond weight that dragged everything to and fro like the weapons had the same gravity as small planetary bodies. No matter the attack, they were always streaked with the ghostly aquamarine of his spectral mana and the endless darkness of the abyss. The fluctuations were revealed like shadows in the mists, adding volume and depth to the otherwise suffocating world within the domain.

In the initial stage of each fight, the after images of his weapons were the only clues toward what was causing the demons to erupt into dying flames. The fog churned, following the wild swings, precise jabs, and massive slams, bursting as Legacy of the Mists manifested depictions of ancient warriors and the Champion himself took the initiative. Massive hellfire explosions scorched the air when the more volatile variants died, but the fog inevitably rolled back into place, only temporarily revealing a window into the artificiality of the chaotic battlefield. There was no comparison between the inaugural battles and the ones that came after the momentum of the Revenant started rolling.

Like candles in a humid dawn, the flames of the weaker monsters struggled to ignite, smothered by the superior domain created by Coop’s extensive mana pool. Their hellfire flames hissed and steamed, but the light they provided couldn’t overcome the fog.

The Ark was more of a sterile warehouse than a shipwrecking sandbar, but anyone relying on their natural senses would never know once they were caught in the domain. Fog of War firmly established itself over and over, transforming a series of the largest oversized platforms into ethereal shallows that befitted the Revenant far more than the demons. Coop let his channeled skill fade long before each fight was over, only relying on the fog in the initial bouts so that his mana would be ready for the next level, but it was more than enough to set the tone for each and every battle.

Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

Salvation became the only skill that need not be recast as he journeyed through the tower. His unconscious codification of the habits and abilities of his enemies only made him more evasive, dodging even the abrupt detonations of Molten Imps as they desperately sought to contribute in even the slightest amount. His armor was afforded a break as he completely avoided most damage. Eventually, it was to the point that none except for the higher Demons had an opportunity to retaliate at all. The rest collapsed beneath the progressive pressure of the Revenant, succumbing to their exposed weaknesses even as they attempted to take the initiative or counterattack through his aggression.

The most dangerous of all were the newest Branded Demons. Where the Horned Demons and Axe Demons were strictly melee fighters, relying on brute strength and keen perception that rendered Fog of War useless, the Branded Demons were simply powerful sorcerers. They threw javelins of liquid flame whenever he reappeared, seeking not only to impale him on their magical weapons, but to burn away the vapors that so thoroughly hid his existence. Any surface struck by their special skills continuously burned with hellfire until the demon was dead, far surpassing the Hellhound manes and Golem skulls in terms of potency. The Branded Demons could easily succeed in destroying Fog of War, transforming the battlefields into their own burning domains, but only after their minions were gone, eliminated by the ghosts in the mists as they struggled to root out the Revenant.

Coop prioritized the caster Demons when he could, sinking blades through their glowing patterned stone skin while the others tried to keep him at bay. The melee demons couldn’t hold him back, but they could make it difficult to reach the casters by accurately predicting his attacks and blocking when the opportunity arose, so he chose his battles carefully. The complicated tattoos covering the Branded Demons only faded when he successfully cut their heads from their shoulders, and more often than not, that meant crushing the Horned and Axe Demons first. He accepted an increased difficulty and more danger in order to maximize his efficiency, accurately realizing the trade offs were necessary.

At some point across hundreds of tower floors, Coop had fully established himself as the aggressor. The sense that he would inevitably be overwhelmed had diminished, replaced by his obsession with speeding everything up. The physical number of enemies couldn’t keep growing forever, but the challenge escalated as the ratio of higher demons to lower demons changed, never allowing his pursuit for efficiency to settle into a consistent habit.

Pretty soon, Hellhounds were a rarity, behaving like supportive damage dealers complimenting individual Axe Demons, never in the pack formations that had dominated the lower floors. Then the various Golems were traded out for more of the perceptive and mobile Horned Demons, establishing a more balanced challenge. They positioned themselves like vanguards for the Branded Demons.

Coop leaned heavily on his major abilities when it came to dealing with the higher demons, trading mana for seconds of time. He was applying Depth Charge even without Sunken Grasp, kicking the targeted opponents deeper into their established formations instead of applying it on the weaker enemies that no longer appeared as a majority of his enemies.

The explosions of churning abyssal waters were meant to disrupt as much as deal damage, opening windows for himself and the phantasms from Legacy of the Mist to fight more directly. Shield walls of phantasms charging through the geysers to initiate battles became a common sight, just as Coop stomping through flaming debris became a harbinger of the final bouts.

He did his best to keep the Inheritance of the Mists for emergencies, but it wasn’t long before he was calling upon various apparitions for individual cataclysmic attacks on every other platform. They massacred entire groups of higher demons, saving precious seconds or even minutes of combat.

He never maintained a possession for longer than a single strike, but it wasn’t uncommon for another deity or fictional character to take its time bestowing some archaic wisdom just to try and prove their superiority with an overwhelming skill. None could imagine humanity failing to rise to the occasion when imperiled by such an existential threat, regardless of whether or not they came from stories filled with doubt, suffering, and hopelessness. They all demanded that Coop live up to expectations, reminding him that he was representing more than just himself as he fought, despite the completely individualistic style he had developed.

Even without the system, he could sense that he was stacking up Delusion debuffs over time. The buffs and debuffs were simply numerical explanations for the afflictions on his mana pool as it was stretched beyond the limits of its vessel. He could feel it even without a user interface to remind him. Maybe it was his soul being pushed to the brink, but whenever he revealed another apparition, it felt like he was teetering on the edge of existence. Sometimes it felt like the only thing keeping his body together was his personal willpower. Lyriel was equally concerned and impressed as he drew upon enigmatic powers that even she failed to identify.

Luckily, Coop was able to supplement the stacking restrictions with his burgeoning expertise with his aura. The Lucid Dream filled the gaps created by fatigue and strain. It had given him access to yet another transcendental power that had been gatekept by the system, revealing more precise ways to manipulate his mana pool without following the specific routes created by skills. It was almost like he could physically wield his mana without actually expending or dispersing it. If there was one stat Coop was unparalleled in, even when compared to the rest of the galactic community, it had to be his total mana pool. By turning it into a weapon, he might elevate himself to yet another echelon.

The restrictions preventing him from conducting such experiments might have been for his own good, but that didn’t stop him from developing new abilities when necessity called. He deliberately dragged his Calm forward and risked his life to narrowly avoid deadly attacks to build a crystalline aura with counter strikes, carefully analyzing how it felt. He used Spite to collapse defenders as they desperately held him off, letting the energy that engulfed his swords bleed across his arms and throughout his body like he was dipping in baths of unknown substances. The runner highs that he experienced in combat were higher than ever, but the lows had his mind sinking into foggy depths that he only resisted with more action.

Rage was the easiest Principle to push to the next level, feeling like he was delving into the ultimate temper tantrum, but he sacrificed too much reason when embracing the fury. While he was capable of overwhelming even the higher demons when he was fully enraged, he didn’t need to go that far when coordinated attacks with phantasms were equally effective and significantly safer. Still, it didn’t stop him from experimenting with his newly coalesced aura skills to try and save additional seconds on each platform, carving through his opponents with raw spectral and abyssal mana. He wanted to effectively develop his aura power, so he kept practicing.

After a thousand floors had come and gone, the despair lingering in the back of his mind had solidified into something else. It fed his determination, his inability to surrender driving him to keep climbing in spite of the end still remaining far beyond sight. In fact, a thousand floors was hardly scratching the surface. It seemed like they would be fighting forever, but that just meant he had an infinite number of seconds to save with incremental improvements. He turned his concerns inward and focused on the satisfaction of personal progression, the type that anyone could experience in or out of combat by improving a routine or developing new healthy habits.

A change of pace came abruptly as he and Lyriel both settled into a general routine. All of a sudden, the occupants of the next platform shifted and Coop dove into swarms of parasites instead of the expected demons. There wasn’t a moment’s hesitation before he was in combat, but that meant his assessments came in the midst of the massive melees rather than through a more controlled duel. The introductions to new formidable opponents were less than ideal.

It was a painful surprise that nearly ceased their progress altogether, leaving Coop bloodied as the entire dynamic of the fights suddenly changed. The wave of monsters that chased them from below started to catch up, growing nearly five times as large as the total enemies they defeated as they skipped platforms, but together, he and Lyriel kept their momentum from completely disappearing.

His exclusive demon hunting days might have already been behind him, but all of that experience pushed him further forward.