Chapter 32 – The Tyrant’s Mercy
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Chapter 32 – The Tyrant's Mercy
The descent ended in silence.
No alarms. No swirling glyphs. No ethereal chants echoing across unseen skies.
Just cold.
A depthless, consuming cold that crawled beneath Erevan's skin and sank into his bones—not physical, but something worse. Existential. Like stepping into a grave that had forgotten how to rot.
The 52nd Floor wasn't like the others.
It didn't begin.
It waited.
Erevan stepped forward onto a floor made of black mirror-glass, his reflection fractured into a hundred faces—some he remembered, many he didn't. Yet each one looked back with accusation. Eyes that questioned what he had become.
Eyes that once called him brother, friend, commander…
Human.
> [Welcome to Floor 52: The Chamber of Echoes.] [Challenge: Mercy. You may not kill unless shown mercy first.] [Failure Condition: Total Recall.]
He frowned.
"Mercy…?" he whispered.
The Tower never offered kindness.
It demanded proof of corruption, repentance bought with blood. This was a trap. Not a test.
> [Remembrance: 23% — Memory Fragment surfacing…]
A sharp pain lanced through his skull.
And suddenly, he wasn't alone.
She stood beside him. Not physically—she was long dead—but in memory, in echo. Wrapped in silver robes, her eyes burning with defiance and hope, the girl he'd once fought beside. The one who tried to reprogram the Tower with belief, with light.
The one he had left behind.
"You never understood what mercy meant," her voice whispered in his mind. "You feared it made you weak."
"No," he muttered, hands tightening into fists. "I feared it made me hesitate."
And hesitation got people killed.
She didn't reply. Only stared with that endless sadness that cut deeper than blades.
Then the floor shifted.
Twelve figures emerged from the darkness around him—ghostly, translucent, but armed. Their bodies were mangled, their forms twisted into what they had died as. Victims of Erevan's climb.
One of them still had his hand stretched forward—like he had tried to stop Erevan before being vaporized.
> [Subroutine Active: Echo Wardens Initiated.]
They moved in perfect silence, fanning out, eyes glowing with crimson.
Erevan didn't reach for his weapon.
Not yet.
Not because of mercy.
But because of curiosity.
These were echoes—not illusions, not projections. The Tower had pulled fragments from its own records and animated them with semi-conscious AI. Meaning… it had chosen which deaths to throw in his face.
Meaning it remembered.
As much as Erevan forgot.
One of them lunged. A thin man with burn-scarred arms and half a face melted into slag.
Erevan dodged, barely.
> [Warning: Strike registered. Counterattack unavailable—target has not shown mercy.]
Another came. Then another.
Each time, Erevan blocked or redirected. But never struck.
Not yet.
Because to attack first meant triggering the failure condition. Total Recall.
He didn't know what it meant exactly, but he could guess.
The Tower had always punished sentiment.
And mercy, twisted or not, was the one human flaw Erevan still clung to.
But the echoes weren't human anymore.
And neither was he.
One of the Wardens paused mid-swing. Her hand trembled. A flicker of recognition passed through her broken features.
"You… you didn't have to burn us…" she whispered.
It wasn't scripted.
It wasn't code.
It was pain.
Real pain.
And in that moment, Erevan remembered her name.
Talia.
The medic who'd once pulled shrapnel from his leg. The one who had begged him to delay the detonation, to give the trapped civilians five more minutes.
He hadn't waited.
They hadn't made it.
His fists tightened.
> [Remembrance: 29% — Hidden Stat Unlocked: Fragmented Guilt.]
Suddenly, the Warden knelt.
Not in surrender.
But in mercy.
"Do it," she said. "End it right this time."
He moved on instinct.
A swift strike—clean, painless.
She vanished into stardust.
And the Tower did not punish him.
> [Mercy Confirmed. Kill Authorized.]
The others watched.
Confused.
Torn between rage and yearning.
Erevan stepped toward the next. He didn't ask for their story.
He waited.
And one by one… they broke.
Not from his power.
But from memory.
A glance, a whisper, a fragment of the man they once knew shining through.
He ended each of them swiftly, but never with cruelty. No words. No apologies.
Because the dead don't need explanations.
They need closure.
> [Challenge Completed.] [Floor 52 Cleared.]
As the last echo faded, Erevan stood alone again.
No fanfare. No reward.
Just a quiet ping.
> [Remembrance: 30%] [Trait Evolved: Tyrant's Mercy – You may choose one defeated foe per floor to spare, converting them into a memory-bound ally.] [Warning: This trait may conflict with certain alignment thresholds.]
He didn't care.
Power meant options.
Even if those options came wrapped in ghosts.
Before the next floor revealed itself, Erevan turned back once.
And this time, in the glass floor, he saw only one reflection.
His.
But the eyes were softer.
Not weaker. Not innocent.
Just… aware.
He had crossed a line somewhere between cruelty and compassion.
And maybe that was the only place someone like him could stand.
In the balance between damnation and salvation.
> [Floor 53 Preparing…]
Erevan stepped forward.
And the Tower trembled once more.
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