Elias stumbled onto the next floor, breath ragged and body throbbing from the brutal trial he had narrowly survived.
"Fair, my ass, What the hell was that even… Damn it."
He cursed the Tower beneath his breath. That entire ordeal hadn't felt like a trial, it had felt more like a punishment.
"...Welp. No use crying about it now." He brushed dust from his coat and surveyed the surroundings. "So... this is the second floor?"
A vast, barren plain stretched endlessly before him. At the far edge loomed a jagged forest, shrouded under a pale, colorless sky. No city. No structures. Just the wind whispering across open land.
"Huh. So not every floor has a city."
He walked forward, boots crunching over brittle grass. He wasn't really searching, just hoping something, anything, would appear.
"...Hmm. Status."
—————
[StatusScreen]
Name: Elias Cross
Class: Performer
Level: 29
HP: 760/760 | MP: 260/260
StatPoints:
Strength: 38 | Agility: 45 | Intelligence: 52 |
Charisma: 78 | Endurance: 42 | Luck: 64 |
UnassignedPoints: 3
---
Skills:
Orchestra – Conduct a symphony of personas. The stage is yours, and the spotlight follows your will.
(Only start and end when the cosplay does)
---
Titles:
Unyielding Soul – Can survive a lethal blow on some occasion.
God in Human Skin – Increases stats based on the level gap between you and your opponent.
—————
Elias skimmed over the newly acquired skill.
"Hmm, not bad. The titles are a bit much but... seriously? An orchestra?"
He laughed to himself, almost bitterly. Of course. He really was just a Performer.
"I guess I should head toward the next floor…"
But as his foot moved, hesitation gripped him. The memory of the last trial still clung like frost to his spine the accursed old man, the despair and sheer terror he felt.
What if the next one was even worse?
"…Yeah. Maybe not."
His gear was battered. Supplies were low. His bullets were nearly gone. His body felt held together by sheer stubborn will.
"Guess I'll head back to Floor One and regroup—"
Thunk.
A burst of agony exploded in his chest.
An arrow.
He staggered, eyes wide as blood bloomed through his shirt.
"I Got him!" a voice cried from the bushes.
Ten figures emerged, they were bandits, grinning like hyenas, weapons at the ready.
"Damn, that was a clean hit."
"He's still standing, how the hell?"
"Doesn't matter. He'll drop in a moment. Just watch."
Elias coughed, blood spilling from his lips. He looked up, hollow-eyed… and laughed. Soft. Broken.
"Sorry, man. Nothing personal. Just trying to survive in this hellhole," one of them said.
"…Yeah. Me too."
The laughter died.
Something in his voice shifted the air. Cold. Wrong. A warning in their bones.
But it was already far too late.
"Cosplay: Jack the Ripper."
His body convulsed.
Bones cracked.
A pale coat unfurled across his shoulders like a death shroud. His skin blanched. His face sharpened, eyes gleaming with surgical hunger. In each gloved hand appeared a curved blade, elegant and cruel.
Three bandits fell before a heartbeat could pass. Their throats opened like ribbon. No screams. Only silence and blood.
"What—what the fuck?!"
The others recoiled, panic surging.
Then the voice spoke.
Smooth. Polite. And utterly terrifying.
"A pity," Jack murmured, twirling his blood-slick blades. "You had the numbers, the weapons, the advantage. And still… you chose to be rude."
He reached into his coat, withdrawing a needle and a length of black thread.
"No need for alarm," he continued, bowing with a hand to his chest. Blood dripped with decorum from his gloves. "It's merely a precaution. One must always keep oneself... together in battle."
Jack calmly stitched a shallow wound along his side. Every motion precise and surgical.
"Pain," he said thoughtfully, "reminds you you're alive. But fear... Well fear... is quite delightful."
He smiled.
A killer's smile.
"Now then... shall we resume our little social engagement?"
[Passive Skill: Fanfare – Increasing…]
They broke in a panic.
One screamed, "Split up!" as they scattered into the forest.
Jack's eyes gleamed.
"Ah… Running away? Excellent."
[Skill: Orchestra activated - Danse Macabre]
(A macabre waltz rises to accompany the carnage.)
He moved like mist, materializing beside the slowest, who fumbled with a crossbow.
"Stay still," Jack said almost tenderly. "Precision is key."
"Please—no—"
The blade slid beneath the man's chin. He twitched. Then stillness.
Jack gently closed the corpse's eyes. "A gentleman always respect the dead."
An axe-wielder charged. Jack sidestepped with grace and slipped behind him.
"My dear fellow, such brutishness lacks finesse."
He carved through the man's tendons with clean efficiency. The bandit collapsed, screaming.
"No flailing nos," Jack murmured, straddling him. "You'll ruin the symmetry."
The knife rose and fell. Again. Again. Until there was only red.
Another attacked from behind, sword drawn.
"I got you!—"
Jack spun, parried one-handed, and with the other.
"Did you know the brachial artery bleeds exquisitely when struck at the right angle?"
The arterial spray answered for him.
Two rushed him, one ahead and one from behind.
Jack dropped a smoke bomb.
There was silence for a moment, then.
Two bodies thudded to the ground.
The smoke cleared.
One had his throat neatly slit. The other knelt, arms severed.
"I left the vocal cords intact, So please… won't you scream for me."
And so the man did.
Jack closed his eyes, listening. The orchestra playing to his carnage.
One tripped, he was scrambling on his hands and knees.
Jack strolled toward him, savoring the fear.
"No, please—no!"
He crouched beside him.
"Shh... You'll wake the others."
The blade entered the lower back, then glided upward. The scream was high and long, until it wasn't.
Another threw down his weapon with his hands raised.
"Wait! I—I'm not like them—!"
Jack tilted his head, disappointed.
"Oh, my dear boy. You mustn't betray your peers like that."
He opened the man's gut with surgical grace. His entrails spilled to the ground. Jack grabbed his chin.
"One should never be a coward."
Only one remained.
Kneeling. Trembling. Begging.
"Please…" he sobbed. "I—I just wanted to live. Please…"
Jack approached.
His eyes gleaming and voice low. He felt... Intimate.
"I truly adore the sounds you all make," he whispered, placing a hand gently on the man's chest. "Please… let the final one be especially sublime."
The blade entered slowly.
The scream tore across the plain, it was raw, ragged and beautiful.
Until it stopped.
Jack stood amid the carnage, blades dripping.
He regarded his work with the calm detachment of an artist surveying a finished canvas.
Then.
[CosplayDeactivated]
[OrchestraDeactivated]
The transformation ended.
The music fell silent.
Elias remained.
Alone.
Blood on his hands. On his coat and in his hair.
Yet he felt...
Nothing.
No horror.
No remorse.
He was not even remotely grossed out of the situation.
What once made him sick now felt… nothing.
"…Fuck... I gotta stop using that bastard."
..
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[Immersion: Jack the Ripper – 14.76%]