Word spread fast. Fenrir Black had returned, and with him came chaos.
Across the tower, the news traveled floor by floor—cities ablaze, guards slaughtered, generals defeated.
His name wasn't just whispered in fear anymore; it was shouted in fury, broadcasted in warning.
The Divine Council issued orders to capture or kill him, but it was already too late for that. Fenrir wasn't hiding. He was tearing through each floor with brutal efficiency.
And in the middle of it all, the humans—regular, powerless climbers—suffered.
On Floor 7, Kevin limped out of a bakery, holding a bruised arm.
The shopkeeper had accused him of "conspiring with the human destroyer" and thrown him out. It wasn't the first time today.
People glared at him in the streets, muttered curses under their breath, spat at his feet.
A week ago, he was just another mid-tier climber trying to gather resources. Now, he was a symbol of a threat—just because he was human like Fenrir.
