by Ivan Kal
THE TOWER’S PRICE
TOWER OF POWER SERIES
BY IVAN KAL
Copyright © 2020 by Ivan Kal
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
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Contents
PROLOGUE I
PROLOGUE II
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
INTERLUDE I
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
INTERLUDE II
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
INTERLUDE III
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
INTERLUDE IV
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
INTERLUDE V
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
INTERLUDE VI
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
EPILOGUE I
EPILOGUE II
PROLOGUE I
Kai Zhao Vin sat on a rock, his eyes looking at the glowing oval shape in the distance: the entrance portal to this floor. It was a rare occurrence nowadays that a group came through that portal and entered the fourth floor, at least in this Tower. But soon, he knew, a group would make the choice and enter the Battlefield floor.
His two followers stood next to him, waiting impatiently.
“They’ll be slaughtered,” the woman, Voralla Ohm, said.
“Is this really the only way?” her husband Rainor Ohm asked.
Vin glanced at them. They were two ascended who had climbed the Tower and reached the final floor, who had fought against him for a long time without success. They had been given the choice of becoming the Agents of the Tower or settling in one of the floors to live out their lives. They had chosen to work for the Tower, to work for him, in hopes of seeing their children again.
And now their children were about to finish the third floor and climb to the fourth.
“They chose to climb the Tower. They will survive or die on their own power,” Vin said. “You will not interfere.”
He felt the two shiver behind him.
“If we’d known…” Voralla started. “If we’d known what this floor was, we never would’ve climbed it. What kind of a monster thinks of something like this? It isn’t fair.”
Vin glanced at the field stretching in front of him, at the portal on one side, and another on the other. It was the shortest floor, but the one that had the highest kill count. Vin didn’t know the Great Lord’s—the Heart of the Mountain’s—mind, but he knew what he was trying to accomplish. Every floor was a test, an obstacle devised to force ascended to make one final step. To bind their souls in truth with their spirit. To achieve the greatest feat that any spirit artist could. Vin still remembered the moment when he had achieved it for the second time. When he truly understood what he had done.
The purpose of this realm, of the ascended and the Towers, was to build an army—a very specific kind of army. The Great Lord did not need people who were powerful, as power came in many different forms. The Great Lord could wave his hand and make someone powerful enough to rend moons apart with their mind, to blink across the stars and split space itself. But he did not need people who could do that; he already had many with such power following him. He needed people like Vin, spirit artists who had their souls forged with their bodies and spirits. People who could, in some ways, do what even the Great Lord could not.
The Tower was designed to be an obstacle that would force the ascended to achieve what Vin had. None had yet done it in the history of the realm that the Great Lord had created. The two behind him had come close, but even they had failed. Perhaps in the far future they still might achieve it, if they live long enough. But Vin now kept his eyes on the portal, waiting for new candidates.
Perhaps this time would be different.
PROLOGUE II
In the great darkness of space, a small dark vessel of cold metal and harsh lines slowly approached a world. Deep inside the vessel, on a throne made out of carved bone, sat a being, his pale red eyes closed as black and red light shifted around his body.
Another being approached, looking much like the one sitting on the throne. Tall, with red eyes and green scales, rather than the gray fur of the seated one, it was a member of what humans in most universes referred to as the lizard people or lizard-folk. The proper name of the newcomer was Rzan, a servant race, favored by Chaos itself.
“My Lord Herald, we are almost at our destination,” Kerek spoke and bowed. As the head warlock of the Herald’s retinue, he alone was allowed to interrupt their great leader.
The being on the throne opened its eyes, and pools of ever-shifting darkness looking upon Kerek. “We’ve not been detected?”
“No, Lord Herald. We’ve kept the stealth spells active the entire trip,” Kerek answered.
The technology that their adversary—the cursed Heart of the Mountain—used, was powerful, but he rarely bothered with magic. Their adversary believed it to be a crutch to true power, and perhaps in a way he was correct, but it still had its uses.
“Are we certain that this is the place?” the Herald spoke. “I can only do this once. If you are wrong, we will not get a second attempt with this tactic.”
“Of course, Lord Herald. We are certain that this is the universe that the adversary uses for his experiments—and we’ve detected a connection to the target on the world we are approaching. It is not its resting place, but we should be able to learn the location after we land and then follow the link to the source.”
“You’d better be certain about that. Chaos will not suffer another failure,” the Herald said, the red haze around him flaring up.
“None wish for success more than I, Lord Herald,” Kerek said with another bow.
The Herald kept silent and studied Kerek for a long moment. “Ready the rest. I will prepare to cut the world off from the adversary’s sight.”
“As you will, Lord Herald,” Kerek said and left, heading to prepare his warlocks.
The Herald watched him go, and then turned his eyes to something that only he could see. Cutting off the world from the adversary’s sight would in turn cut it off from all other influences; it would leave the Her
ald without the tether to its master, Chaos itself. That would weaken him, but Antaris Truthspeaker, Herald of Chaos, knew that even without the tether he was powerful enough to eradicate all but the most powerful of the adversary’s own Heralds. Even without the tether, he still had the seed of Chaos within himself.
Once he found the cursed adversary’s base, the world where his great beast slept, Antaris would rip space itself open—and allow his master to finish what it had started.
CHAPTER ONE
Morgan dodged to the side as the boss dropped its hammer from high above. The strike shattered the ground and the resulting shockwave picked him and the other ranged damage-dealers up and sent them flying across the arena. Shields of light and slowing spells engulfed them, protecting them from harm. Morgan hit the ground and the shield around him shattered, but it absorbed most of the damage. The boss was roaring as their tanks and other DPS attacked. Ta’elara flew high above, raining fire down on it adding her spells to the powerful strikes from the close-range DPS. The massive Nature Guardian Giant was bleeding from many wounds, green blood flowing down its limbs. It was nearly dead, but it was still dangerous.
Morgan got back to his feet and then aimed, his hand’s Whispering Spirit Bow Form glowing with power. He pulled out one of his special arrows from his quiver and pulled it back. A moment later it flew at the already bleeding boss. The arrow struck its neck, burrowing in deep, and then it blew apart. The explosion of white light covered the boss’s head, and it faltered. A beam of red fire came down from above, hitting the boss’s head and punching through to scorch the ground behind it.
The giant’s body jerked, and then fell to the ground, disappearing as it disintegrated into blue particles. The arena was silent for a moment, and then the red dome surrounding them disappeared and a notification popped up in Morgan’s vision.
CONGRATULATIONS! Floor boss—Nature Guardian Giant—defeated!
By defeating the final boss of the Valley of Nature floor, you have opened the path forward! Return to the town to leave this floor!
At that, everyone cheered. Morgan looked around and found his friends. Vestella ran over and they hugged and laughed. The others members of his team, Sky Force, came as well, all covered in dirt, sweat, and grime. Lucius placed a gauntleted hand on Morgan’s shoulder, and Vallsorim picked his sister up and spun Ves around, careful not to poke her with his now almost fully grown horns. Clara looked at them with a smile on her face as she leaned on her staff. The rest of the raid, their friends from the Last Vanguard, were celebrating nearby. Borodar’s massive barbarian-like shoulders were shaking as he laughed from relief, but there was a sadness there as well. They had lost one of their own earlier: Vrshar, a gnoll who had died on the first floor.
Morgan felt a pang of sadness as well. Vrshar had been his friend, too. But then Borodar turned and saw him, smiling as the Last Vanguard came over.
“We’ve done it,” Borodar said.
“Yes, we have,” Morgan said as the two teams mingled. He looked out at the others, the teams who had been part of the raid. Ragnor Raam, their raid leader, led the Call’s Hammers, his team. Then there was Fjordstar, the team that Morgan had first met during the Grand Tournament and with whom his team had become close friends. There were the three teams from the Erthirium Riders Guild, too, whom he had come to respect.
They had lost many people on the way up. Three on the first floor—a friend among them—another four on the second floor, and one more on this one. Out of forty that started the climb, there were thirty-two left. Still, they had done it—they had conquered the third floor.
The last floor before the unknown.
Everyone had leveled, had obtained powerful gear, had honed their powers. They could leave the Tower and be rulers on the outside. They had survived what the Tower had thrown at them and thrived. Outside the Tower, they would be some of the highest-leveled people in the World. With what wealth they had gained, Morgan could turn their Guild into a true power.
Most would be content with that much, but those in this raid group were here for something else. They were here to push further than anyone else ever had, to finish the Tower. To go beyond the third floor, from where no one had ever returned, and to conquer whatever awaited them.
Everyone had their own reasons for doing so, but they were united in that desire. Morgan looked around, seeing so many powerful people. At level 55, he counted among their number as well now. This was not the end of their climb.
This was only the beginning.
***
The raid returned to the town, in the center of the valley that was the third floor. The town was small, but it was occupied. Morgan wasn’t yet sure what exactly the people living here were. Everyone else just took it in stride that there were people living on this floor; apparently every floor was a separate world, and those people living on them served the Great Lord, Oxylus—Morgan’s dad, father, old man. Not that he had done much for Morgan while he was growing up to warrant being called as much. Still, Morgan did give him points for saving him from death, even if his idea of saving meant that Morgan was dropped on a world filled with monsters that wanted to eat his face.
The people living in the town were strange, humanoid in appearance, but they were obviously not. They were taller than an average human, more like a Shara Daim, like Ragnor Raam. Except that their skin was a strange shade of orange, their heads slightly elongated at the back. And then there was their strange way of speaking, of interacting with people.
At first Morgan had thought that they might be NPCs of some kind—robots or holograms or something. He had seen that Oxylus’s world ran on some very advanced technology. But in the end, he had to conclude that they were in fact living, breathing beings, ones who were extremely loyal to their Great Lord. They venerated him, worshiped him as their God. The rest of the raid group took it in stride, but it weirded Morgan out. That was in part because the being they venerated was his father, but it was also due to his discomfort with religion in general. There was also the fact that they were incredibly strong, far stronger than anyone in their raid group. At least that is what Ragnor Raam and Ta’elara told the others. They had climbed to this floor before, and had seen what happens when people tried to attack them. Apparently it was a very bad idea.
Morgan knew very little about these people, only that they called themselves the Children of the Mountain. Even after more than a year of being around them, Morgan still didn’t feel comfortable with them. To Morgan they looked like zealots, or cult members. They didn’t speak about anything other than things that concerned the quests on this floor. It was disconcerting to say the least.
As the raid group reached the town, they noticed a feast, and the Children of the Mountain waiting to great them.
“Hail, ascended!” the town chief yelled. “May you climb ever higher and pass the Great Lord’s test!”
Ragnor Raam bowed and thanked them.
“Come,” the chief said. “You accomplished something that not many do, come and enjoy this small feast in your honor!”
The raid didn’t need much encouragement, and soon enough Morgan found himself sitting at a table with his team, the Last Vanguard, and Ta’elara.
“I can’t believe that we’ve done it. The third floor…” Gravough, the dwarf who had somehow become one of Morgan’s favorite people, said.
“I know,” Borodar agreed.
Ta’elara smiled and then spoke. “And you know what this means, right?”
“What?” Morgan asked.
“By finishing the third floor, you are all rated as a scarletite-ranked teams!” She grinned.
Morgan blinked at that—it almost didn’t seem real. They had spent years in the Tower, though, and he knew that they had out leveled almost everyone on the outside. It was almost impossible to believe, but Morgan knew just how much they had all advanced, how they had fought without stopping for all that time.
All of them were above level 50 now, with Morgan, Lucius and V
estella being level 55, and the others only one level behind. He didn’t know the exact levels of the Last Vanguard, but they were in the same range. Ta’elara was over level 60, and Morgan knew that she had leveled at least once on their climb. But for their raid leaders—the ones who were over level 60 like the Grand Mage, Ragnor Raam, and Evermou—the climb hadn’t been as profitable. They didn’t get the same amount of experience, since they had already conquered the first three floors. They could leave the Tower and rule, or work as a high-ranked team. They could have wealth and power on the outside… But they were there to climb the Tower.
Quickly, the two teams began their usual banter. They had all gotten incredibly close, enough so that Morgan would consider everyone at the table a part of his family. He was close with the other teams, with Fjordstar and the Call’s Hammers, if not as much with the others, but they were all at least friendly with one another nonetheless.
And as his table relaxed into friendly conversation, Vestella pulled her chair just next to Morgan’s and leaned on him. Morgan glanced at her as she put her head on his shoulder and smiled at her content expression. She was his partner, an equivalent to what on Earth would be a spouse. He really felt lucky that he had found her. Things with them had happened fast, but they felt right, and he didn’t regret it.
He looked around at his family. Vallsorim and Lucius were arguing about who had done better during the last boss fight. Clara and Jelara were discussing what they could’ve done better as supporters. Hexna was brooding next to Borodar, and Gravough was drunkenly making rude advances at Ta’elara. Beyond them other teams sat at different tables, but the scene was the same. They were celebrating their victory. It was the first time in years that they could relax, but all of them knew that this would not last. They had spent a long time fighting and living in the Tower. They had all been changed by it, had all become powerful. But soon, they would climb to the next floor, stepping into a place from where no one had ever returned.
