The battlefield had transformed into a whirlwind of ice, blood, and clashing ideologies. While the peripheral Rankers and monsters were locked in a desperate struggle for survival, the true eye of the storm was the duel between Jean D'Arc and the man who appeared to be the raid leader of the cultists.
"[Activating The Exclusive Skill, 'Blessings of the Stars: Sign of the Cross' Lvl 4!]"
Jean's voice rang out, clear and resonant like a cathedral bell. In an instant, multiple ethereal, cross-shaped swords materialized in the air, glowing with a searing white radiance. With a decisive thrust of her claymore, she launched the projectiles, and herself, forward like a golden comet, aiming directly for the cultist leader who sat perched atop a corrupted, massive Ice-Bear.
"[Activating 'Dark Lances' Lvl ??]"
The leader didn't flinch. He raised a hand, and the shadows beneath his mount's paws rose like liquid, solidifying into jagged lances of pure Dark Element. The two opposing forces collided with a bone-shaking boom, light and shadow devouring each other in a spectacular display of raw power.
Watching them, I felt a strange thrill. In my 104 VR accounts, I had been the sole occupant of a dying world; there were no other human players to witness or challenge. But now, the air was thick with the scent of real sweat and the heat of genuine mana. This was what the Tower truly meant: a crucible where the strongest souls clashed for the right to exist.
I remained perfectly still, my eyes tracking every movement. I was waiting for the pivot, the exact moment where the "Dangerous Situation" from the Copy Condition would manifest. I didn't have to wait long.
"[Warning: A 'Status' exceeding the limit of the Lower Floor's 'Probability' has been detected!]"
My gaze snapped to the other three masked cultists. They had retreated to the center of a blackened ritual circle, their bodies contorting as they poured every drop of their life force into the ground. A summoning.
"What are they playing at?" I muttered. Summoning a being from the higher floors down to the 2nd was a suicidal move that usually invited the Tower's immediate wrath.
"[WARNING! WARNING! The Tower's 'Restrictions' are restricting the manifestation of a higher floor being!]"
"[Notice: The Summoning Ritual 'Black Death' has been confirmed! Partial manifestation allowed!]"
The sky darkened and swirled in a violent lightning. High above the snowy basin, the firmament cracked like glass under a hammer. From the jagged, violet-black fissures, a humanoid figure began to descend. It was a nightmare carved from the abyss, its body was covered in interlocking black scales that absorbed the light, two curved horns jutted from its brow, and a pair of tattered, leathery wings unfurled behind its back.
"[Notice: Partial manifestation of a being from the Middle Floors has been completed!]"
The air in the basin became instantly toxic. The weak-willed Rankers on the sidelines fell to their knees, clutching their throats as the Demon's presence suppressed their very ability to breathe. This wasn't a monster; it was a 'Resident' of the upper tiers, a being that viewed the 2nd Floor as nothing more than an ant farm.
Jean D'Arc skidded to a halt, her golden aura flickering as she looked up at the descending horror. For the first time, I saw a flicker of genuine dread in the Saintess's eyes. The cultists had succeeded in bringing a god of death to a world of mortals.