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Chapter 36 – The Pale Choir Descends
The moment the door to Floor 54 creaked open, Erevan felt it.
A silence too precise.
Like reality was holding its breath.
The Tower hadn't whispered its usual threats or objectives. No fanfare. No cold system announcement.
Only a single phrase pulsed into the air like a heartbeat—
> "Sanctum breach detected. Invaders unaligned. Origin: Null."
Null?
Erevan's brows furrowed.
The Tower had names for everything—every intruder, every deviation, every threat. But Null? That was... absence. Not rebellion. Not corruption.
Absence of designation.
Of law.
Of purpose.
He stepped forward, and the world around him shifted—not a floor, not a battlefield, but a cathedral.
Endless stone arches formed from broken laws and snapped fate-runes rose into the heavens. The walls weren't brick or steel but woven timelines, looping and unraveling like hymns caught in feedback. And at the center…
A figure knelt before an altar.
Clad in bone-white robes that moved like smoke. No face. Just a golden mask—blank, with a line down the middle.
Behind them stood others.
Six.
No footsteps.
No breathing.
Only presence.
Erevan didn't summon a weapon. Not yet.
Because something in his soul recognized them—not by memory, but by instinct. Like a predator recognizing another too ancient to be prey.
Then the kneeling figure rose.
And spoke.
"We greet the One Who Forsook the Spiral," it said, voice layered—one smooth, one cracked, and one that sounded like a child's prayer being forgotten.
Erevan's eyes narrowed. "And you are?"
"We are the Pale Choir."
The name dropped like a cold weight.
> [Warning: Foreign System Detected.]
[Origin: Echoes Beyond the Song of the Tower.]
[Designation Conflict Imminent.]
The Tower was afraid again.
Good.
The robed figure's head tilted ever so slightly. "You have disrupted the Heart Engine. Mercy rewoven where control once reigned. Fascinating."
Erevan didn't flinch. "You watching me?"
"We've been listening," another voice said—one of the six behind them, speaking through a voicebox filled with static.
"To what?"
"Your remembrance."
That chilled him more than it should have.
Because that trait wasn't just his.
It was his core.
"Floor 54 is off-limits," Erevan said, letting cold steel enter his tone. "You're not part of this song."
"No," the first figure said. "We are the silence between its notes."
And then the hymns started.
Not sung.
Not spoken.
Broadcasted.
High-frequency pulses laced with corrupted will, breaking through even Erevan's mental wards. His vision shook. His skin adapted, tried to form shields—but the sound wasn't physical.
It was conceptual.
> [Liberator's Mercy: Activated]
[Attempting Soul Dissonance Dampening…]
Still, the Choir advanced.
Six of them fanned out—smooth, controlled, inevitable.
The leader stayed still.
"Why are you here?" Erevan asked, his voice strained under the harmonic assault.
"To see what walks in your shadow."
And then they attacked.
Not with weapons.
With memories.
A pulse struck Erevan's chest—and he saw it.
A version of himself. Tower-killer. Void-drunk. Laughing over broken corpses. Eyes gone black with apathy.
Another pulse. Another vision.
A chained Erevan, kneeling before the Tower, begging to forget. Pleading to be cleansed.
Then—
The third memory wasn't his.
It was hers.
The girl.
Smiling.
Bleeding.
Being erased.
And replaced.
Erevan screamed—not in pain, but in rage.
> [Remembrance Surge — 45%]
[Trait Awakened: Fractured Futures]
[You may now resist memory-based attacks with alternate reality stabilizers.]
His body convulsed once—then steadied.
He wasn't just adapting.
He was becoming.
"What do you want from me?" Erevan shouted, stepping forward, a spear of collapsed starlight forming in his palm.
"To sing your ending," the Pale Choir said.
Then they charged.
And this time, Erevan welcomed it.
The first two came fast, moving in perfect synch. Erevan ducked low, his spear exploding into light, cutting through one's mask—only to reveal nothing underneath. No blood. No flesh. Just absence.
The other tried to claw his mind again.
Too late.
Erevan remembered now.
He countered—not with raw power—but with clarity.
He forced the Choir to remember him.
The rebel.
The tyrant.
The boy who chose war because peace cost too much.
They reeled.
Even their empty forms could not hold that much grief.
Erevan turned to the leader.
"You're not here to kill me," he said. "You're here to test if I'm ready."
"Correct."
The fight stopped.
No bodies.
No debris.
Just the breath between two worlds.
"Why?" Erevan asked.
The mask cracked.
Just a sliver.
Enough to see a glimpse beneath.
And what he saw…
Was his own face.
Scarred. Worn. Older.
A version of himself.
> [Data Fragment Identified: Precursor Pattern – Echo Sovereign Variant.]
[Subject Status: Rejected Fate.]
[Potential Link: Creator?]
Erevan stepped back.
"What… are you?"
The figure's smile didn't reach his eyes. "A warning."
And then—
They vanished.
All seven.
No sound.
No effect.
Just silence.
And then, from nowhere, the Tower finally dared speak again.
> [System Update Pending.]
[Threat Level Recalibrated.]
[New Faction Identified: The Pale Choir.]
[Origin: Temporal Reversion Loop – Null Cycle.]
[Objective: ???]
Erevan stood in the aftermath.
The starlight spear faded from his hand.
He didn't speak.
Didn't move.
Because something had just shifted.
This wasn't about rebellion anymore.
Or even freedom.
It was about cycles.
And what breaks them.
He looked down at his palm where a single symbol had burned itself into his skin—
A choir of seven.
And beneath it, in Tower script: You were always the ending.
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