What would you do if the world suddenly flipped on its head? If the sky itself choked with a thick miasma that drowned daylight in eternal night—and from that darkness descended silver chains that wrapped around the globe?
The sudden appearance of the chains was followed by the deaths of millions. You were among them. And yet, when you opened your eyes again, you found yourself in a vast white space, surrounded by strangers.
Before you stood an entity that called itself the Final Existence—an omnipresent, omnipotent, nearly omniscient manifestation of everything.
"Every present, every future, every timeline, every universe, every dimension governed by different rules… everything and anything that will ever exist until my own end," spoke a woman of cosmic scale, her form draped in fabric woven from stars and numerals of time.
Resting on her palm was an ever-shifting figure: one moment a little girl, then a hulking ox of a man, a shy teenager, a creature of wires and steel, a dragonkin hybrid, and back again to a mortal boy.
"And because of this," she continued, "I know you will not survive what is to come. Beings stronger than I have found me. They will attack, fight, kill me—and in turn, all of you."
"These creatures are not like me. Where I embody both chaos and order, they know only hunger. Raw. Unrefined. Uncaring. They are the Outer Gods—beings of unimaginable strength and reverence." Her voice resonated in every soul. "I am certain you have felt them before. Creatures that seeped into your dreams, trying to claim your bodies as you slept. They built temples within your minds, whispering faith into your hearts, bidding you to welcome them into your world."
As she spoke, the white void shifted. Vast oceanic temples rose around you, their stone altars slick with algae, their pillars carved with writhing tentacles. Murals depicted a colossal goat's eye glaring down from the heavens.
Cultists in crimson robes chanted, their voices raw and fevered. They sliced open their own wrists, letting black-red streams of blood spill into a stone chalice brimming with bat wings, pale marrow, and shriveled hearts. A snarling face was carved into the chalice's rim, its fangs gleaming in the torchlight, and the entire vessel was wrapped in strips of human skin.
"All hail the Blood Sovereign! Hail the Eternal Night!" they cried.
Visions followed—people paralyzed in their beds, gasping for breath as titanic shapes loomed above them. Others clawed out their own eyes, broken by the horrors that stared back.
"These Outer Gods will use you," the Final Existence said. "They will feed on your insecurities. For all they hunger for is the Highest Essence—the celestial force that birthed me. In all my glory, it was the first light of creation, the source of life itself. It alone stands at the pinnacle of the cosmic sea, beyond even my comprehension. Only it holds the power to destroy the Outer Gods."
Her gaze fell, and her voice softened. "But alas, I cannot wield it. The Highest Essence is a fickle force—untouchable more than once. I have already felt its power. I can never receive its gifts again."
She raised her hand, the shifting figure on her palm glimmering with a thousand shapes and expressions—awe, shock, grief, fear, and confusion—as humanoids faced the cosmic truths before them. "The simplest solution is to gather those who have not yet touched it… and grant them gifts. Yet the Highest Essence has grown too strong. It cannot be bestowed on just anyone. Mortal bodies and artificial vessels would shatter before it even entered them."
Her words pulsed through you like thunder.
"Through foresight, I have devised a way. You will be nurtured, tested, and tempered—until you can withstand its embrace. That is why I have gathered you here, those most compatible. You will be cast into enriched domains I have cultivated, sustained by the life force I call Lower Essence and, as you advance, Middle Essence. There you will grow, struggle, and clash against one another. Only then will I choose who is worthy to ascend, to touch the Highest Essence… and aid me in averting the future I have foreseen."
Her voice boomed one last time. "Now, my children—fight strong. Grow. Pass the first trial. Earn the right to bathe in the Highest Essence. Climb, until you reach me."
This was the path Liu Yang now faced. But unlike the others thrust into this scenario without understanding what was happening, he froze—not from shock or fear—but from a single, simple thought that seized his mind.
Hadn't he written this exact speech before?
No. It can't be… He stepped back, eyes widening. No, no, no. I must be dreaming. There's no way this world is real. His throat tightened as he swallowed hard. This can't be that draft. Please—anything but that unfinished novel. If I've really been sent into it, then I might as well be walking blind.
[The Tower welcomes you, Player 17805. May you ascend its heights, reach the pinnacle of existence, and rival even the Outer Gods.]
The white world shattered around him, unraveling into black nothingness. His body plummeted, weightless, until he slammed against something cold and solid. The scent of damp stone and water vapor filled his lungs as he sucked in a sharp breath.
A dim green light pulsed overhead. He winced, raising a hand to block it. Something pressed against his palm. "?!" He shifted, glancing down—and found a blunt-tipped arrow wrapped in soft cloth padding gripped in his hand. In the other, a bow was clenched tightly, as if his fingers were locked by instinct.
He rolled onto his side and sat up. A bundle of arrows rattled in the quiver strapped to his back.
His head throbbed. He looked around, taking in his surroundings—a vast cavern stretched out in every direction. Jagged stone walls vanished into the dark distance, and no dripping echoed, despite the massive underground lake surrounding him. The water's surface rippled as something moved beneath—a row of razor-like fins broke through briefly before sinking back below. Whatever lurked down there was as long as his arm span, if not more.
Thankfully, he hadn't spawned in the water itself. He sat on a long stone bridge that cut across the lake, bordered by thick railings. Along the bridge stood multiple racks of identical arrows, clearly meant for prolonged combat. Out in the water, several bronze gongs were half-submerged, eerily still.
CLANK.
A harsh metallic weight yanked at his leg. Liu Yang looked down.
A heavy iron ball and chain was locked around his ankle.
"…I'm really in this garbage novel," he muttered. He stared at the shackle in disbelief, then slammed his palm against it.
The metal flickered faintly with crimson light, glowing along small engravings carved into its surface—runes? Restraint seals?
He forced himself to stand fully, the green light shifting behind him. From this height he could see more of the bridge—dozens of vantage points, defensible positions, arrow racks… a battlefield. His gaze followed it to the far end, where a colossal bronze door loomed. It towered over him, thick and brutal, yet beautifully made. Across its surface were hundreds of indentations—fist-shaped, precisely carved inward.
A trial door.
"Whose trial is this?" Liu Yang frowned. I don't remember writing anything like this. The main cast never went through a trial like this. He dragged a hand down his face. No, that's not what I should be worried about. What was the original plot again? Think. Think.
He exhaled, frustrated. I made the basic flow on a whim… then built a rough world outline around it before I got bored and moved on. His expression darkened. It was supposed to be a martial arts series—a delinquent protagonist, son of a not-so-small-time crime boss, bored of street fighting and—
He froze.
No. No way.
His heartbeat spiked. A horrible realization clawed its way into his mind—there had been another character. Someone he wrote… then cut. Someone scrapped from the story before the draft even reached chapter five.
Dragging the iron ball, he shuffled toward the water's edge. He leaned over, looking into the reflection cast by the faint green light.
Short brown hair. Blue eyes. Thin frame. Swollen cheek.
"…Fang Yuren."
A chunk of stalactite cracked loose from above and plunged into the lake beside him with a heavy splash, scattering his reflection into ripples.
Fang Yuren's backstory had been half-written at best. The only son of a struggling family who once ran a small restaurant that went bankrupt. Forced to help make ends meet, he ran a tofu street stall before school every morning. One day, he sold tofu to a girl who later claimed it made her sick—and he was beaten outside his classroom for it.
He would have died there…
…if not for the true protagonist—Liang Xiu—saving him.
And now—
Now he was Fang Yuren.
Memories crashed through his skull like a tidal wave.
A day before the Apocalyptic Eclipse.
A schoolboy jolted awake, cheek stuck to his desk. A thin line of drool smeared across his skin. The air smelled of chalk dust, detergent, and the faint scent of adolescent sweat.
Sunlight streamed through tall classroom windows. Chalk scraped against the blackboard, blending with the low murmur of students. Rows of desks stretched around him—not children, but teenagers. A classroom.
He blinked rapidly, breath catching. His hands were rough and worn from labor, his mind still hazy from sleep.
"That'll be… two yuan?" he muttered under his breath.
"Oi, he's talking in his sleep," someone snickered.
Before he could fully raise his head, rough hands yanked him upright. Two broad-shouldered boys and a pair of ponytailed girls loomed above him, sneers plastered across their faces.
"Well, well. Sleeping in class again, tofu boy?"
A girl stepped forward, pressing a hand to her stomach with dramatic disgust. She jabbed a finger at his face. "That's him. He's the one who sold me that rotten tofu this morning."
The taller boy seized his chin and forced his head toward her. "You sure, Rongyu?"
"Yes," she snapped. "That's the face."
Laughter rippled across the classroom. Desks creaked as students leaned in, eager for a show.
The boys dragged him out of his seat and hauled him toward the door.
What is going on? Wasn't I… selling tofu? When did I get to class?
The teacher never turned. Never spoke. The chalk moved across the board, steady and uncaring.
The hallway was worse—long, empty, echoing with every step. They shoved him until his back hit the wall.
The first slap cracked against his cheek. He blinked in shock. The second hit harder, bursting stars behind his eyes.
"Selling trash to my friends, huh?" Rongyu sneered, uncapping a bottle of sweet iced tea. She poured it over his head, the sticky liquid running down his hair and uniform. "Think you can scam people and just sleep it off?"
"…So you and your boyfriends bought the tea I had my eyes on."
The voice cut through the hallway like a blade.
Coins clattered across the floor. A tall boy stepped forward, fury burning in his eyes.
Liang Xiu.
"I disappear for one moment to borrow change, only to come back and find someone bought it," he said slowly. His gaze shifted from the girl to the soaked boy slumped against the wall. "…And now I see—you wasting it like this."
His jaw tightened. He untied his black bandana and wrapped it around his fist.
"Give me one reason why we shouldn't teach you all a lesson."
The crowd of students behind him parted. A girl casually filed her nails as she walked past.
"Excuse me~." She didn't even look up.
Behind her, a boy slipped on fingerless gloves. Others cracked their knuckles. Stretching. Smiling.
The two bullies holding the boy faltered, instinctively stepping away.
"Get them!" Rongyu snapped, panic twisting her voice. "Girls—show those vixens what happens when they touch other people's things!"
The gang surged forward. Screams and chaos filled the hall as the bullies fled.
"… Liang Xiu?" the boy whispered in disbelief. One of the strongest delinquents in the school—here?
His eyes widened further when he saw the girl walking beside him.
Li Meilin. The Flesh Queen of Minghua High.
Those two cousins ruled the school. Even teachers avoided offending them.
Then—the heavens trembled.
Chains unraveled above, vast silver links bursting through the blackened sky and slamming into the earth. The school shook. Light dimmed.
He staggered to the window, frozen as the world broke apart.
[The Tower has found you worthy of entry.]
[The Tower has judged you worthy.]
[The Tower has accepted you.]
[You have been chosen. The Tower awaits.]
All across the world, people clutched their chests as glowing messages appeared before their eyes. Students. Workers. Police. Office clerks. Parents. Criminals. It didn't matter who—or where you were.
When the Tower called for you… your soul answered.
[Step forth—and ascend.]
This was the day it all began.
The day the world realized it wasn't alone.
"I… I'm an extra in my own forgotten draft."