The roar of rushing water faded as Alonso’s body surged upward, the last shark's momentum pushing him toward the island in the center of the lake. His limbs felt like lead, every muscle screaming in protest, but he kicked once more, propelling himself forward just enough to crash onto the rough shore.
He rolled on the jagged rocks, feeling the sharp sting of friction and impact scratching deep into his skin. Pain shot through him, a burning sensation from the marks left by the sharks' relentless assaults.
"Ahh!" Alonso grunted, his voice catching as the lesions from the earlier hits throbbed under his weight. His skin was torn in places, the result of sliding off the rough, sandpaper-like hide of the sharks. Every inch of his body was a map of new scrapes, welts, and bruises that throbbed in painful unison.
Alonso lay on his back for a moment, his chest rising and falling in ragged breaths, eyes half-closed as he stared up at the night, starry sky. For a few moments, everything around him blurred—the cool night air brushing against his skin, the sting of water in his cuts, and the eerie silence of the small island. Yet, despite the pain that pulsed through his body, a small smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"I made it..." he whispered hoarsely, wincing as he dragged himself upright. His body screamed with every movement, but he forced himself to sit up, resting his arms on his knees as he glanced around. The island was eerily quiet. It was barely 20 meters in diameter. He stared back and noticed the huge hole in its exact center, and in the middle of the entire 777 km-radius lake, for that matter.
It was eerie, completely dark, and seemed to descend endlessly into the unknown. Truth be told, he had forgotten to ask Ayu for any detailed information about it. He had no idea how deep the tunnel went or how the spiders lurking below might attack. But that didn’t matter. Alonso was operating purely on instinct now—one step at a time.
His body was a testament to what a 68% success probability truly meant. It was terrifying.
The odds of him dying on the way here had been immense. Yet, despite the overwhelming risk, he knew he had to do it. Real rewards only came to those who embraced real danger. In this place, these sets of inhuman trials, he understood one thing: if he didn’t take risks, if he didn’t keep pushing forward, he would eventually be left behind—and that meant certain death.
He stared at his hand. It was trembling slightly, a mix of red from the scratches and purple from the bruises adorning his arm. He was wearing nothing but his trunks, having just swum through an incredibly dynamic, near-death, 5-kilometer stretch of lake. And…
"It was awesome," he muttered, then burst into laughter, leaning back and staring up at the stars.
"Well, you still have to survive the tunnel."
"Let me catch a break, Houston," Alonso said, still grinning. "The night is beautiful as always on this island, far from human intervention and artificial lights. Let me bask in the glory of the tales I’ll tell my kids, while I let my body scream from pain and suffering."
"Feeling like a poet tonight?"
"No. Just feeling like someone who survived," Alonso replied, his laughter fading into a contented sigh.
And so, Alonso remained there in silence, with nothing but trunks and some vines holding his sword and sling. In the middle of an outcrop, in the middle of a lake, that lay in the middle of an Oasis, at the center of a desert, hidden behind a jungle, on a nearly 2-million-square-kilometer island.
More than a dozen minutes passed in absolute silence, the cool night air wrapping around him, until Alonso opened his eyes again.
"What's the time?"
"8:20 p.m."
"So I have 10 hours and 40 minutes to kill 49 giant spiders in an underground tunnel if I want to take the highway back," Alonso muttered as he stood up, his body still complaining. "Let's get started, then."
He took the vines off and grabbed his sword, fastening the sling in a more comfortable position. With practiced efficiency, he chipped away at a couple of stones from the rocky outcrop, using his sword to carve them into usable ammunition. It was a shame he didn’t have a bag to store them, so he settled for carrying a couple in his hand.
After the brief preparation, he walked to the edge of the tunnel.
It was terrifying by any measure—a vertical hole descending straight down, with no visibility beyond a couple of meters. Knowing there were giant spiders lurking inside did nothing to calm his nerves.
"Reminds me of the time I went caving at Buchan Caves," he remarked, his voice tinged with a bit of forced bravado.
This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
"The time you went on an Intermediate Caving expedition, nearly got stuck in a tight squeeze called the rabbit hole, and came back questioning your life choices, promising never to do it again?"
"Exactly," Alonso replied with a chuckle.
He stood at the tunnel’s edge, peering into the dark abyss below. He wasn’t sure if it was the adrenaline or sheer stubbornness that pushed him forward, but he knew one thing—there was no turning back now.
Alonso adjusted his position, gripping the lip of the tunnel, and began his descent. His fingers quickly found a crimp—a narrow ledge barely wide enough for his fingertips to grip. He pulled his weight down carefully, his legs searching for a foothold. There—a small pocket just wide enough for the tip of his toe to rest in. He exhaled slowly, controlling his movements, and lowered himself further.
Climbing had always been a test of patience and strength for him. He remembered his earlier days, back on Earth, scaling outdoor cliffs with a harness strapped to him and the reassuring weight of a rope held by a belayer below. Back then, it had been all about safety—routes meticulously planned, every hold carefully chosen, the belayer offering advice and protection from the ground. The sound of the rope slipping through the carabiner was as comforting as it was essential.
Now? This was a whole different world—literally. No harness, no belayer to catch him if he slipped. Yet, for obvious reasons, he found it easier.
His fingers searched for the next hold, finding another narrow crimp. Back on Earth, that kind of grip would have had him clenching his teeth, relying heavily on his forearms to prevent himself from slipping. But here, with the subtle EM pulses guiding him, each movement was calculated, his muscles reacting perfectly without wasting energy.
He almost felt like he was cheating—and, in essence, he was. The EM Domain gave him an edge that most climbers could only dream of. Every hold, every shift of his weight was done with precision, following literally the best route. But as much as he wanted to turn the EM Domain off and rely purely on his own skills, the thought of a spider attacking out of nowhere stopped him.
There was no room for that kind of enjoyment here. Not when his life was on the line.
Alonso kept climbing down, his movements smooth and controlled as he descended deeper into the dark tunnel. The rock face was unyielding, but each hold—whether a pinch, a crimp, or a jug—was easily within his reach, guided by the constant feedback from his EM Domain. Every now and then, his feet found purchase on small ledges, but most of the time, his bare toes clung to the wall, sensitive to every texture and shift in the rock beneath them.
The tunnel seemed endless. He had expected it to be deep, but now, having descended for over 70 meters, he began to wonder if it ever ended. The cool night air had long since vanished, replaced by the still, musty warmth of the earth around him. His muscles, while not taxed by the climb, were still tense with the anticipation of an attack. The thought of spiders lurking below—waiting for the perfect moment—kept him on edge.
But the further he climbed, the more that tension turned into a different kind of dread. The tunnel was dark, silent, and seemingly devoid of life. His heart pounded, not from exertion, but from the eerie sensation that something was waiting for him at the bottom.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, his feet brushed against something solid. Alonso paused, his breath caught in his throat as he felt the unmistakable texture of flat rock beneath his bare feet. The descent was over. He had reached the bottom.
He exhaled slowly, allowing himself a brief moment of relief before his senses heightened once again. The air here was thick, almost stifling. The only sound was the faint echo of his own breathing, reverberating off the walls of the tunnel.
“Here we go,” he whispered to himself, gripping his sword tightly.
image [https://i.imgur.com/EPU265m.png]
September 3, 2024 - Kerala, India
Abhijit was back in Kerala, but nothing felt the same. The warm monsoon air brushed his skin as he stepped out of the train station, the scent of wet earth and the hum of life around him was as familiar as ever. Yet, everything seemed slower now—too slow.
His reflexes, honed in The Tower, caught the smallest details: the subtle rustling of leaves, the distant sound of a motorcycle engine revving, a crow cawing somewhere beyond the line of coconut trees. His mind processed these inputs faster than he could blink, faster than anyone else would even notice. The EM waves he emitted, a barely noticeable hum, allowed him to sense the electric signals of phones in the pockets of people walking by or the quiet hum of electrical wires overhead.
It was both a gift and a burden.
As he crossed the street, dodging vehicles effortlessly, it struck him how out of place he was in this ordinary world. He'd only been back for a couple of weeks, yet every moment felt like a test. Could he keep pretending to be normal? Could society accept people like him, or worse, people like Alonso?
He shuddered at the thought. Alonso—one of the top 70 still in The Tower, surviving the impossible. If Abhijit had trouble adapting to a normal life, Alonso would be on a different level entirely. He’d always been a step ahead, even when they first climbed together. Abhijit was faster, stronger, more perceptive than any ordinary human now, but Alonso had a mind that was beyond human limits.
A monster in the making.
How does someone like that come back to this world? Abhijit wondered, watching as people moved about their lives, oblivious to the potential dangers The Tower had unleashed. Could the world even handle a man like Alonso? Could it handle the rising number of climbers who would return, all with abilities that defied explanation?
A group of young men ran by, playing football in the nearby field. He glanced over, his mind calculating the trajectory of the ball even before they kicked it. Reflexively, his body tensed as though preparing for combat. He had to remind himself—this wasn’t The Tower. Here, there were no monsters, no deadly challenges lurking around every corner. This was Kerala, his home, yet he couldn’t shake the unease.
The question gnawed at him as he walked down the familiar streets, but he knew one thing for sure: society wasn't ready for what was coming.