A tall, dark-skinned boy stood silently in a room that no longer felt human. The pale glow of the monitor flickered across his face, catching on hollowed cheeks and eyes that hadn't held light in months.
Kayden Walker, seventeen—once a prodigy who dismantled national exams with clinical precision—now looked like a ghost stitched into a hoodie. His shoulders hunched. His hair was uneven, hacked at with kitchen scissors—because no one else would do it.
The only light in the apartment came from the screen.
> TOWER OF INFINITE
Tower Stage: 13
Time Survived: 02:14:59
Two years.
Two years where the outside world faded, and the Tower became everything.
He didn't care when his friends stopped calling.
Didn't notice when the fridge went empty.
Didn't flinch when his teacher called him a "wasted genius" after his expulsion.
His offense?
Mocking a "young master" in public.
One off-hand insult—and his life collapsed.
He learned fast.
In this world, status ruled.
Wealth ruled.
Influence ruled.
And he had none of it.
So, he disappeared.
Dove inward.
Into a game.
At first, it was curiosity.
A strange email. No sender. No subject line—just one word in the body:
> PLAY.
The game didn't look special.
Ugly. Primitive. Glitchy, even.
But something felt off.
Too real.
It didn't just punish failure. It memorized it.
Each death took something.
A reflex.
A sound.
A sense of balance.
Every room in the Tower demanded more than logic or reflexes—it demanded madness. A hunger that couldn't be taught.
By the time he reached Room 13, Kayden didn't know if he was still playing the game—or if the game was playing him.
He never got past it.
Sixteen deaths.
Sixteen times he watched himself die.
Sixteen times he came back—bloodied, shaking, less human.
But he learned.
He memorized every trap.
Every monster.
Every floor tile with a twitch.
More importantly—he knew what came next.
Room 20.
The wall.
Not because of puzzles.
Not because of monsters.
Because of them.
The Twelve Representatives.
Not human.
Known as the Twelve Errors, as if their existence shattered the code of reality.
Each with a number.
Each with a name—found only in encrypted files, unlocked by those who passed Room 10.
Kayden remembered every one.
> First Error — LUX: A being of blinding light. Melted thoughts before flesh.
Second Error — SANGUIS: Red robes. No face. Manipulated living blood.
Third Error — FRACTURE: Three bodies. One mind. Different voices.
…
Seventh Error — INFINITE
His cursor hovered over Infinite for hours.
No form. No stats. No weaknesses.
Just one sentence in the file:
> "To see Infinite is to forget all you know."
In-game forums called him "the glitch that dreams."
Kayden never forgot that.
He couldn't.
Especially not now.
Because he was no longer in his apartment.
He stood in Seoul—or what used to be.
The city had changed. It was denser, impossibly fused with others—Tokyo, Busan, Chicago, New Delhi.
People gathered in plazas, on rooftops—confused, afraid, staring.
And above them all, like a second moon—
The Tower.
It pulsed once.
Kayden felt the vibration in his teeth.
DING.
A voice, everywhere and nowhere, calm and toneless:
> "The weak will fall.
The strong will rise.
Welcome to the Infinite.
Survive."
Then the world exploded.
---
Kayden blinked.
Now he stood in a vast stone chamber—the first room of the Tower.
He wasn't alone.
He was surrounded by millions.
Torn from countries, time zones, continents—shoved into this labyrinth of death.
Voices clashed in a hundred languages.
Some screamed.
Some wept.
Some stood, silent, in disbelief.
Kayden did none of those.
He knew where he was.
This wasn't a dream.
Wasn't a game anymore.
It was Room 1.
He turned, scanning the crowd.
He knew the Tower's nature.
It didn't test. It culled.
This room wasn't a tutorial.
It was a meat grinder.
A slaughter field in disguise.
The Tower wouldn't allow billions to climb. Not even millions.
Half of humanity would die here.
They just didn't know it yet.
But he did.
And then—
It happened.
Something clicked beneath his skin.
His breath slowed. His heartbeat steadied.
His thoughts sharpened into blades.
A glowing system alert appeared before him:
> "BLOODLINE OF UNKNOWN ACTIVATED."
Clarity Engaged. Processing Enhanced. Neural Calibration at 4.2x Human Maximum.
Kayden stood still.
Stunned—not by fear, but by how quiet it had become inside his mind.
His thoughts had teeth now.
Seconds stretched. Every blink felt deliberate. Every sound—crisp.
Then, another alert:
> "BLOODLINE OF SURVIVOR ACTIVATED."
Instincts Enhanced. Adrenal Cortex Stabilized. Combat Intuition Online.
He exhaled once.
The world snapped into perfect focus.
He noticed everything—the grooves in the stone floor, the faint metallic scent of blood that hadn't spilled yet, the way the air trembled before violence.
He wasn't just ready.
He was made for this.
Then—
The screen shifted again.
> CHOOSE A CLASS