Nathan felt his soul suddenly come to a stop. It was not a sensation that could be described in simple words, for the English language was not made to describe the ephemeral, which was so common after the tower descended onto Earth. His eyes were closed at the moment, and he felt that he was in a sitting position. He took a few minutes simply staying still because, once he opened his eyes, he would have to acknowledge whether the core worked or didn’t. Despite all his experience, he had rarely been so nervous in his life.

Finally, he got over himself and inspected the room he was in. It was small and cluttered, filled with days-old trash and empty bottles of booze. The one window, with grime-encrusted panes, let in a small amount of light, showing that it was somewhere between morning and noon. He took a deep breath; the air was stale, smelling slightly mouldy and of old cigarettes. A tear came to his eye as he let out a shaky laugh. After so many years, he was finally home once more.

Standing up from the rickety chair he had gotten from his grandma's attic when he first got his own apartment, he took a step toward the window and almost fell as his left leg refused to move correctly. He steadied himself on the wobbly desk, its surface littered with remnants of old paperwork and an ancient coffee stain. He could feel his muscles twitching for several seconds before his leg finally calmed down. “Fucking hell,” he muttered, having forgotten about that pain since it was cured when he first entered the tower so many years ago.

Now that he took a moment to inspect his body, he felt the pulsing headache and could taste the dryness in his mouth. “Damn, I'm fucked up,” he mumbled. “God damn booze. Should have never started drinking this cheap shit.” He shot a disdainful look toward a couple of empty vodka bottles he must have gotten from a gas station—the kind of stuff only college kids and drunks would ever buy.

Looking around the small, dingy room again, he located his crutch—a worn piece of wood with a handle wrapped in duct tape—and stumbled over to it, holding himself up on the desk. Finally able to move around, he made his way to the window, stepping over piles of dirty laundry and discarded packaging. He threw open the window and took a deep breath of fresh air. The sunlit breeze felt invigorating against his face, and immediately, his headache cleared up a little, and he could feel his thoughts becoming clearer.

Almost irreverently, he reached into the back pocket of his jeans and took out a pack of cigarettes, its cardboard worn and slightly crumpled. Nathan stood there silently for a few moments, breathing the morning air and staring at the little box in his hand, before he once again started laughing until tears streamed down his face. “That proves it. The damn core worked alright. Actual, store-bought cigarettes. Oh, how I have missed you,” he whispered to himself.

Slowly, he took one out of the box and grabbed a lighter from another pocket. With trained movements that could only stem from years of faithful repetition, he lit the cigarette before taking a deep drag and exhaling. As the smoke drifted upwards, mingling with the dust particles in the sunbeam, it seemed as if a weight had been lifted from him as his posture relaxed and the tension left his entire body.

He spent a few minutes standing there at the window, gazing up at the cloudless sky until the cigarette was gone, and he finally managed to get himself back under control.

With a determined expression, he made his way to the bathroom, where he splashed water onto his face from a sink with chipped porcelain. He looked into the mirror and spoke aloud to himself. “Okay, Nate, it’s time to get back into that hellhole. You’ll need to get supplies and pack a bag with everything you want to take with you. Get to it, big man.”

His reflection in the mirror was slightly foreign to him—his physique not quite as trained as it had been back in the army or later in the tower, his skin almost gray, and the bags under his eyes clearly visible. The scars he had gained in the intervening years were missing too, but that was something he could live with; he had enough scars even now.

He took a leisurely shower, savouring the hot water that dribbled from an ageing shower head, for he knew that was a luxury he would soon miss. He threw on his cleanest outfit—a faded black t-shirt and cargo pants—and packed another one into his backpack. The backpack was a big and sturdy one meant for hiking and would do well in the tower until he got a spatial storage item.

He crammed as many medical items into it as he could, though they would be useful for only so long. When he was satisfied with what he had, he turned to leave but noticed a ring on a necklace catching his attention.

It was his mother’s wedding ring, just about the last thing he had left of her.

He had left it on Earth the last time around because it reminded him of the bastard she had married, but there had been times when he would have given a lot for the comfort it might have offered. Not dwelling too long on it, he snatched it from its spot on the desk and put it around his neck.

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He took a look at himself—wearing baggy cargo pants for the pocket space, robust boots scuffed from use, a black t-shirt, and a leather jacket weathered by time. His backpack was filled with everything except food and water, but he would visit a store to get those.

His crutch would not be needed once he entered the tower, but it would do as a makeshift weapon, and he could hardly get to the store without it.

Finally satisfied, he set out for the store. The streets outside were quiet, with a few stray cats slinking about and the occasional gust of wind scattering fallen leaves. He had neither his phone nor any kind of identification, for technology would stop working in the tower, and he had no intention of paying for any of the goods he needed. He smiled at that thought; the authorities would have a blast trying to find him once he disappeared into thin air along with all his goods.

The walk to the store seemed to take an eternity for him, his body abysmally weak and slow compared to what it had been a day ago. But then again, it was also surprisingly alive compared to what it had been a day ago.

He entered the store without a problem, getting a suspicious look for carrying a backpack, though the employee’s gaze softened once she saw his crutch. The store itself was dimly lit, with aisles lined with dusty shelves. He was reminded of how much he hated the pity, though it would only be a few moments until he could leave it all behind.

As he meandered through the store, he picked up everything that seemed useful: big bottles of water, canned food, a sleeping bag, and finally, ten packs of cigarettes.

He made his way into an empty aisle before closing his eyes and calling up the picture of a pitch-black monolith in his mind. Despite only existing in his imagination, it seemed to stretch to impossible heights, violating all that humanity knew about the universe. This was the tower, the construct that had arrived on Earth just earlier today. For now, few people would know of its existence and the opportunity and danger it presented.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Nathan called out to the tower in his mind. He took the hand it offered and let himself be pulled by it.

A feeling as if he was in free-fall permeated his whole body while a pressure descended on him. Primal instincts screamed at him to move, to do anything, but he had no control over his body.

As soon as the sensation came, it ended, and Nathan opened his eyes to see that he stood in a clearing surrounded by large trees, their leaves whispering in the breeze. His whole body shuddered, and he wiped the sweat from his forehead.

“Teleportation is as awful as always,” he said with a slightly shaky voice. Just as he had oriented himself, text appeared in his vision.

Greetings Nathan Andrews

You have entered the Tower

Climb and receive glory, stagnate and wither away

To call upon your Status, merely will it so

There it was, the only explanation the tower ever gave. There was no tutorial, no introduction; the tower simply deposited you on floor one and left you to figure out what the hell was going on.

Well, this wasn’t his first time, so Nathan came to his senses quickly. He swiped away the welcoming message and tested his body. All the aches and pains that had plagued him before had simply vanished; he could move as if he had been reborn.

Using his crutch as if it were a spear, he quickly executed a few stances—stabbing, slashing, blocking imaginary enemies, and moving about the clearing with well-trained steps. Satisfied that he understood his current strength, he stopped, taking a moment to catch his slightly increased breath. “Well, I can work with this.”

“Status,” he called out in his mind, and once again, words materialized in his vision.

Name: Nathan Andrews

Title: None

Class: None [0]

Stats

Constitution: 10

Perception: 10

Regeneration: 10

Reflex: 10

Skills

Perks

Lone Wolf - The User can no longer form or join any parties, clans, or organizations. The user’s stats are reduced by 50% if not alone in combat. Upon death, the user’s soul is erased in all timelines.

“Nothing unexpected there, just the same as last time. Well, except for that perk; that is gonna be a major pain in the ass once I get past the tenth floor. Well, nothing to do about it; might as well set out and get started. Oh, and shorten the stats, that would get annoying otherwise.”

With well-controlled movements, Nathan left the clearing and entered the surrounding forest. The canopy above filtered the sunlight into a dappled pattern on the forest floor, and the air was rich with the scent of pine and damp earth.

His feet seemed to float above the ground, managing to avoid stepping on any leaves or sticks despite the thick foliage. Orienting himself by the sun that hung perpetually in the sky, not showing any signs of movement, he started hiking westward. For now, he had no idea where exactly he was, but that would change as soon as he found a landmark.

He had a carefully laid-out plan and intended to follow it. It was time for the local denizens to meet the Phantom Spear once again, though he supposed that title hardly applied to himself if he took the route of progression he had laid out.

Nathan Andrews had entered the tower once more, and this time he was far more prepared than before. He would make his way to the top of this thing no matter who or what he had to go through to reach that goal.

At that thought, a cold smile appeared on his face, and his eyes took on a cold shine that many beings—climbers and monsters alike—had seen just moments before their demise.