Chapter Seventeen: The

The stairs had named him "The Necessary Evil." Caleb carried the Tower's title like a scar, burned into him by Floor Six's truth. It followed him to the training facilities, hidden behind an unmarked door at the far end of the rest area.

He'd found them while Ellen and Soren slept, drawn by a restlessness he couldn't name. The comfort of beds and hot food felt wrong, like wearing clothes that didn't fit.

It was clinical inside the space, white walls, padded floors, equipment that looked both futuristic and ancient. Combat dummies lined one wall. Weapon racks filled another. And in the center, behind a desk, sat an NPC.

He was tall, thin, with gray hair and eyes that seemed to actually focus. When he looked at Caleb, there was something almost human in his expression. Almost.

"Level 13 Strider" the man said without preamble.

Caleb stopped walking. "How do you—"

"Your companions are Level 9 and 8." The man's voice was flat, matter-of-fact. "You're outpacing them."

"What are you?"

"I maintain records and overlook this place." He gestured to a chair across from his desk, but Caleb remained standing. "You seem to have questions."

It was true. The changes had been subtle at first, faster reflexes. Clearer thinking, he had attributed it to his level ups, But lately, something else started happening. Thoughts that felt foreign. Whispers at the edge of hearing.

"The training constructs are through there," the man said, pointing to a door that seemed to shimmer slightly. "See what you've become."

The room beyond was different. Larger. The walls seemed to breathe, expanding and contracting almost imperceptibly. Three humanoid figures stood in the center, their faces blank, featureless.

Caleb drew his tactical knife. The blade felt warm in his hand. He was eager to test his strength.

The first construct charged. Caleb sidestepped, the knife sliding between its ribs. As it dissolved, something stirred in his chest. Not satisfaction, but hunger.

The second one was faster. It forced him to work, to think tactically. When he finally brought it down with a thrust to the throat, the warmth spread as his vision sharpened. The shadows in the corners seemed to move.

For some reason third construct didn't fight back. It just stood there, arms at its sides, waiting.

For a moment, just a split second, its blank face flickered. Became Ellen's. Wide brown eyes looking at him with trust.

.

Caleb hesitated. The construct wasn't attacking him and it was acting weird. Killing it would be-

Necessary, something whispered. Not his voice. Not his thought.

He drove the knife into its chest anyway.

The surge was immediate. Power flooded through him like liquid fire. The knife pulsed in his hand, and for just a moment, he could swear he felt it feeding.

The walls breathed deeper. The shadows moved more boldly. And somewhere, very faintly, he heard laughter.

When he looked at his hands, they seemed different. Steadier, harder and covered in a purple substance. It felt like they belonged to someone else.

"Well done."

Caleb spun. The gray-haired man stood in the doorway, watching. Had he been there the whole time?

"You felt it, didn't you?" the man continued. "The change."

"What's happening to me?"

"Your titles effects are kicking in, titles means everything here they are even more important than your class. In this world, titles are not just labels, but metaphysical truths. Unlike classes, which shape skills and combat style, titles redefine how the world itself responds to you. They're earned through actions, and their effects are profound, often irreversible."

"Like what?"

The man smiled. It was the first expression Caleb had seen from him, and it was worse than the blank stare.

Caleb left the training room, the rest area felt different. Smaller. The NPCs' movements seemed rehearsed, and artificial. The

He found Ellen and Soren at their table, picking at breakfast. They looked up when he approached.

"Where were you?" Ellen asked.

"Training."

"Found anything useful?" Soren's voice was carefully neutral.

"Maybe."

They ate in silence after that. But Caleb could feel them watching him, studying him. Maybe what happened with Marek affected them more than he previously thought.

In the corner of his vision, shadows moved without anything to cast them.

And somewhere, just at the edge of hearing, something whispered his name.

"Hey Caleb."