The Tower Of Wishes

He stood there in shock—his whole body frozen from fear and his vision all blurry. His eyes were wide open, his breath audible from a distance... And before him stood his phone. All he could see at that moment... Was his phone.

"Ziel, I'm scared... Help m—"

"wake up!"

He gasped as he woke up, his palms drenched in sweat and his forehead burning hot. In front of him stood a beautiful young girl with long white hair and captivating blue eyes. Her pale skin contrasted with her vibrant demeanor, which now held a look of genuine worry as she reached out towards him with a concerned expression.

"Are you alright, sir?" she asked, her voice laced with concern.

Ziel blinked, his mind struggling to shake the lingering haze of his nightmare. He squinted at her—confusion tugging at his words. "Who... Who are you?"

"Semi," she said simply, her voice steady though her eyes flickered with curiosity. You suddenly collapsed, and I... Well, I couldn't just leave you there."

As Ziel replayed the scene in his mind, he could feel it all over again—the dizziness, the sudden heaviness in his limbs, the way the world tilted as if the building swallowed him whole. One step and then... Nothing.

"Sorry, I didn't get any sleep last night and must've collapsed from exhaustion. Thanks for looking after me," Ziel replied, knowing full well that it wasn't from exhaustion.

"You don't need to thank me; I didn't really do anything. Just don't push yourself too hard—I might not be here the next time you faint," Semi said as she walked away with a waving gesture.

And with that, she was gone, leaving Ziel sitting there, still trying to catch his breath—and make sense of the strange, vivid dream.

"I'm missing something... But what is it? "

Ziel rose to his feet, surveying his surroundings. He found himself in an expansive hall, where a rich red carpet stretched beneath him. Though the room was largely vacant, it was filled with a sea of over a thousand people. Gracefully shaped round pillars soared to support the high ceiling, and at the far end of the room, a grand platform loomed, commanding attention amidst the gathering.

Then, without warning, the cacophony of sound abruptly ceased, plunging the room into an unnerving silence. An icy dread spread through the crowd as faint echoes of distant footsteps grew closer.

Out of the shadows, he emerged onto the platform, a sinister grin stretching across his face as though relishing the fear he inspired. No one knew his name, but everyone instinctively understood the gravity of his presence. He was a figure clad entirely in red—coat, pants, hat, and skin, as though he had been drenched in blood. His mask, a grotesque, fixed smile, concealed his true face, while a crimson pole in his hand only added to the chilling spectacle.

His eyes gleamed with a cold, calculated intensity as he raised his arms in a dramatic sweep. "Welcome, humans... to the Tower of Wishes. I am Rutil, the tower's keeper." He chuckled softly, a sound that sent shivers down their spines. "Time is a precious thing, and I have so little to waste on you, so let’s cut to the chase, shall we?" Rutil’s voice grew more menacing as he took a step closer, his expression darkening. "As you may know, this tower is no ordinary structure. It can grant a single wish to anyone who conquers it. But that’s where your foolishness lies." He smirked, a cruel edge to his smile. "Beyond these doors, only despair awaits—despair so profound it will haunt your every breath. I will shatter your pride, grind it to dust, and carve hopelessness into the very core of your being! YOU SHALL NOT LEAVE THIS PLACE, ALIVE!" He added with a calm voice. "And with that, let the slaughter begin."

A heavy silence fell over the room, thick with the weight of Rutil’s words. The crowd stood frozen, shock rendering them mute. The stillness was shattered by a man who suddenly bolted toward the entry door, desperation in his eyes.

"SCREW THIS, I HAVE A FAMILY TO GET TO!"

He pounded on the door, his fists bruising, his shoulders heaving as he pulled and scratched at it with futile desperation. The door remained unmoved, unyielding to his frantic efforts. Defeated, the man fell to his knees, tears streaming down his face as he grappled with the crushing reality of his helplessness.

The room, once filled with hopeful anticipation, was now a tableau of terror. Faces were pale, eyes wide with fear, but no one dared to make a move. Everyone had come here knowing the risks, but the stark reality of Rutil’s threat was too much to bear. Even those who had steeled themselves felt their bodies tremble uncontrollably.

The figure of Rutil, clad in ominous red, seemed to embody death itself, a living nightmare manifest.

Amidst the rising panic, one person stood apart from the trembling crowd. Ziel, his face a mask of cold fury, showed no sign of fear. His eyes were locked on Rutil with a burning intensity, the only emotion clear on his face was a fierce, unrelenting anger.

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