Floor twenty-five felt different.

The air here was thick with accumulated malice—centuries of adventurers who had fallen, creatures who had been twisted by the tower’s influence, and something else, something ancient and aware. Victor paused on the threshold, his every instinct screaming warning.

The room beyond was vast, a cathedral of stone that dwarfed any chamber he had seen. And at its center stood a figure that made his blood freeze.

It was human-shaped, but that was where the similarity ended. The creature’s body was composed of writhing shadows that never quite settled into a stable form. Where its face should be, there was only a void—a darkness so complete it seemed to pull at the light around it. And from that void, a voice emerged, speaking words that echoed not just in the room but in Victor’s mind as well.

"**I am the End of Hope. I am the Shadow That Remains When All Light Dies. I am the Hollow King, Sovereign of the Twenty-Fifth Floor, and I have not tasted mortal flesh in three hundred years.**"

Victor drew his blade, but he could feel the inadequacy of steel against this creature. The Hollow King was beyond such mundane weapons. This was a being of pure darkness, of entropy given form, of the void that awaited all living things.

"**You are strong, little mortal. I can taste your power, your potential. But you will fall here, as all others have fallen. Your light will join the shadows that serve me.**"

Victor didn’t answer. He spread his hands and began gathering mana, feeling the air grow heavy with energy as he pulled from every available source.

The Hollow King moved with terrible speed, its shadow-form flowing across the floor like a wave of darkness. Victor barely dodged the first strike, feeling the cold that emanated from the creature’s touch. He rolled, came up firing a bolt of multiplied lightning—multiplied by twelve—but the bolts passed through the King’s form without effect.

"**Your attacks cannot harm me. I am beyond the reach of such simple magic.**"

Victor tried again: ice, multiplied by fifteen, but the cold simply sank into the creature’s shadow-body. Fire, multiplied by eighteen, but the flames were swallowed by the darkness. Every spell he cast was absorbed, negated, rendered meaningless.

The Hollow King pressed its advantage, driving Victor back against the wall. Its shadow-tendrils reached for him, and where they touched, Victor felt his strength draining away. His mana was being siphoned, his life-force fleeing his body.

He was going to die here.

But as the darkness closed around him, as the Hollow King’s void-face pressed close to his own, Victor felt something stir in the depths of his consciousness. His ability—the ability to multiply spells infinitely—it wasn’t just about amplifying magical effects. It was about amplifying *potential*.

*A number comes to mind.*

The number appeared in his mind, and for a moment, Victor couldn’t believe it. Four hundred. Four hundred was impossible—his ability had never produced such a high number. But in this moment of desperate survival, with the Hollow King’s void pulling at his very essence, the number refused to be ignored.

Four hundred. The number of chaos unleashed, of power beyond comprehension, of the impossible made real through sheer desperate will.

Victor gathered every scrap of mana he had left—every reserve, every trickle, every fragment he could find. He pulled in the energy being drained from his body and turned it against its source. He shaped his spell with the desperation of a man who has nothing left to lose.

And he cast.

The spell that erupted from his hands was not light or fire or ice. It was *clarity*—absolute, uncompromising clarity that cut through darkness like a blade through shadow. The multiplied clarity, pushed to four hundred times its natural intensity, struck the Hollow King and *revealed* it.

The creature screamed as its shadow-form was exposed to truths it could not hide from. Every secret, every darkness, every evil it had accumulated over centuries—all was laid bare. And in that moment of exposure, the Hollow King lost its coherence. It couldn’t maintain its form when all that it was stood revealed.

The shadow-body shattered like glass, fragments of darkness scattering across the cathedral floor. The void-face imploded, collapsing inward until there was nothing left but a point of absolute darkness that finally winked out of existence.

Victor fell to his knees, gasping. His mana was completely exhausted, his body trembling from the strain of channeling such power. But he had survived. Against all odds, against a creature that should have been beyond his ability to harm, he had found a way.

He lay on the cold stone for a long time, recovering his strength, before finally dragging himself to his feet. The stairs to the next floor waited, and Victor descended into them with legs that barely supported his weight.

The next several floors passed in a haze of exhaustion. Victor faced creatures that he could barely perceive, let alone fight effectively. A Wraith that tried to steal his memories—he escaped by multiplying a simple light spell just enough to drive it back. A Stone Titan that blocked the only path forward—he spent three floors finding the weak points in its joints before he could bring it down. A nest of Fire Bats that nested in lava—he used wind magic to cool the metal beneath them, creating a bridge across the molten rock.

By the time he reached floor fifteen, Victor had pushed himself to the brink. His mana reserves were recovering slowly, and the tower’s inhabitants seemed to sense his weakness. They came at him in waves, testing him, probing for weaknesses.

He started using his blade more again—not because he preferred it, but because magic was too costly when his reserves were depleted. He cut through a swarm of Giant Leeches on floor fourteen with steel and determination. He faced a Corrupted Paladin on floor twelve and drove his blade through the creature’s heart when magic failed him. He outran a pack of Maneaters on floor ten, leading them through twisting corridors until they got lost and he could escape.

Floor eight brought a moment of respite: a chamber filled with mana crystals, the tower’s natural energy having accumulated here over centuries. Victor consumed the crystals greedily, feeling his reserves refill and his strength return. For the first time in days, he felt whole again.

He pressed on with renewed vigor.

Floor five housed something unexpected: another living adventurer. The man was wounded, his armor battered, his sword broken, but he was alive. He sat against the wall of the chamber, eating from a pack of supplies, and he looked up with tired eyes as Victor entered.

"You’re the first one I’ve seen in weeks," the man said. "I’m Thomas. I came down from above, trying to find my sister. She was taken by the tower’s guardians two months ago."

Victor sat across from him, sharing some of his own supplies. "I’ve been descending from floor one hundred. Haven’t seen any other adventurers."

"The upper floors are picking," Thomas said. "They always are. But down here... down here the creatures are different. Hungrier. They know something is coming, something the tower fears."

"What do they know?" Victor asked.

Thomas shook his head. "I don’t know. But whatever it is, it waits on the bottom floor. The ones who go down there don’t come back. Not even to report what they find."

Victor absorbed this information as he rested. The tower’s ultimate guardian, whatever it was, waited below. And he would face it soon.

When he was ready, he bid Thomas farewell and continued his descent. Floor four passed without incident—whatever had resided there had fled, perhaps sensing the power that descended toward the base. Floor three was the same. Even the creatures of the tower knew fear.

On floor two, Victor paused. He could feel it now—the presence of something immense, something that shook his very being with its proximity. Whatever waited on floor one, it was aware of his approach.

Victor gathered his strength, checked his blade, confirmed his mana reserves were as full as he could make them. He stepped toward the final staircase, ready to face whatever lay in the tower’s depths.

The descent had brought him from confident certainty to desperate survival to renewed determination. He had learned that his ability had no true limits—that when pushed to the extreme, he could achieve the impossible. But he had also learned respect for the tower’s power.

Whatever awaited him below, he would meet it with everything he had.

*********

Around this time, Rean and Xander were done with the ballroom.

They had begun their descent. If Victor was going to make it.

He would have to act with haste.

Just a couple more floors remain and he would be done with this monotonous dungeon tower.

Things was relatively boring for him. The monsters had no class. This was the reason all he got were uninteresting multipliers.

He couldn’t wait till things went back to being heated.