The Spire's Glitch Takes Hold
[D-DANGER: ■ ■$#@ SURV■I■AL.CLIM■BER_SYNC...]
You are a Sur■i■al Climber
"Ah... Aaaah... Aaah...."
He collapsed in a daze, slamming his fists against his head with a thud thud.
"You fucking idiot.... Sleep there? There? Huh? Sleep like a goddamn moron right there?"
Clearing Easy difficulty granted overall physical enhancements. Not just strength and stamina, but chronic illnesses vanished dramatically, aging slowed, skin cleared up, eyesight improved—tons of benefits.
But Normal and above? Totally different. From Normal onward, you could extract items from the tower into reality. Survive, and you'd be set for life as a multimillionaire.
Of course, he hadn't aimed that high. Even just Easy would've let him live cushy as a lab rat in clinical trials....
"Ah.... Even just Easy Tower difficulty would've opened so many doors...."
Leverage the tower-exclusive climber community to land a media gig, lecture for government agencies or corporations on tower climbs.... Or become a badge-wearing secretary massaging the egos of CEOs.... Hell, even government subsidies and perks were a sweet honey pot.
But him? He got:
You have selected Survival difficulty.
'What the hell, Survival difficulty.'
Survival difficulty. Keepers of humanity's survival... or those who, upon entering the tower, scramble just to save their own skins. Interpretations abound....
One thing was certain: Only Survival climbers could clear tower floors.
And their mortality rate? 99.99%. Enter, and you die.
"So don't go in."
Why enter if it's a death sentence? Better to hunker down and hope someone else clears it.
That's how he'd ignored the government's pleas, citizens' begs, and the Defense Ministry's creepy grins to live his daily life as a Survival climber—
Time slipped away mercilessly.
A full year flowed by like water, and when just 17 days remained....
No clear announcement for Doom Tower Floor 1 yet.
And then the spire, in high spirits, spat out a notice like a cheeky dance.
The tower's curse grows stronger.
Grows stronger? No shit, asshole.
Three years since the towers appeared. All failures. 1 million... 10 million... Last year, 100 million dead.
This time? Even the densest could see it. Humanity had two years left. Precisely, one year and 17 days.
But hope? Zero, despite the screams. The tower was omnipotent, impervious to any physical force, hostile to humans.
Doomsayers and pessimists spilled out, howling.
"The apocalypse begins! The Babel of Revelation has come—only the pure 144,000 shall be saved! That tower judges sinful, greedy humanity as the Bible's wrath! Unbelievers, cursed to hell—come to church now—!"
"Don't they ever get tired?"
Religious nuts, extremists, doomsday cultists protesting outside the window again.
These three types who ignored reason always clustered in huge numbers, knowing society shunned them.
They had nothing to lose anyway—doomed by the curse themselves. Most criminals? Them.
Abroad, like India, Russia, China, "love taps" from cops rewired common sense. K-cops? No chance.
So they mocked authority, protesting in residential areas.
Illegal? Yeah, they knew. "Illegal protests? Can't touch us~." Total assholes.
Worst: Dawn protests too.
'No, at least dawn's quieter....'
Not just security—uncertainty crippled global finance.
At dawn, soju-soaked uncles wailed. Doomers, seeing true losers, slunk away—like evil crushed by greater evil.
Time ticked on, down to two days.
Time for billions more to die.
And... No Doom Tower Floor 1 clear yet.
To top it off, the named Survival climbers on Doom Tower—heavily backed, trained, humanity's best shot—were dead.
"We're fucked."
How many this time? Over 100 million for sure....
His head went numb. 100 million—what did that even mean? Too abstract to grasp.
More like: How many this time? Including... me?
His mind swirled like paints dumped in water, churning nauseating hues.
He slammed his phone shut reflexively. World in chaos, speeches urging Survival climbers forward everywhere.
'Shit, is that me?'
Before, he'd munch squid legs, shrugging "Someone'll clear it." But as the guy? Crushing pressure.
The world's curses and screams all aimed at him.
You are a Sur■i■al Climber
"Ah, why this again?"
First system window in a year... exactly 363 days. Text so garbled, unreadable.
'You' 'Survival'—probably "You are a Survival climber" or some shit.
Like last year, dark circles heavy, shivering in his room corner. Worried he'd die this time.
Three hours left.
Honestly? Terrifying. No guarantee he wouldn't be among the billions dead.
Enter the tower? Vanguard stories said it hurt like hell dying there.
But... no family, no friends, long alone. Dying lonely in this shithole room? Worse.
Enter the tower? Yes / No
Mind blank, he clicked Yes like hypnotized.
Entering the tower.
Good luck! :)
Sur@*%$■Error■@$#Spe■$%#
■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□
The screen shattered like glass, fragments scattering in the air, cheeky letters bouncing out amid the mess. Sweeping away the spire's usual stiff, firm text.
"Am I seeing this wrong?"
Fanfare burst—congratulations—then Super Special Very Easy difficulty? Easy is Easy, what's Super Special?
Brain-rattling noise blared, status window glitched out.
No such difficulty, tower errors, "approval denied"—all firsts. Not in gov guides. Bewildering.
Please select the tower for Floor 1 entry.
• Origin Tower
• Cycle Tower
• Doom Tower
"So that's how it works?"
Select difficulty, then one of three towers. Switch at certain floors. Distant dream for Survival climbers.
Rumor: Origin and Cycle Floor 1 cleared. Doom? Never. Effectively two choices.
Even vanguards limited if others failed.
"... Doom... gotta be?"
Cycle on Floor 2, Origin Floor 3. Doom stuck at 1.
Three-hour timer, might die anyway—why not.
Eyes squeezed shut, selected Doom Tower.
Entering Doom Tower Floor 1.
Cannot exit until first clear of Doom Tower Floor 1.
Each tower had distinct flavors, true to their names.
Origin Tower: A world with answers. Floor 1 mimicked primitive Earth—towering trees, bizarre beasts, toxic plants, ancient creatures. Survive, then a massive tsunami days later.
Towers shared trial content across difficulties. Origin cleared via humanity's collective intellect. Climbers called for help—survival experts, natives, botanists, archaeologists flocked, solved, relayed.
Analyze Easy~Hard reports to predict Survival ecology, get outside aid. Humanity's edge: civilization, knowledge. Fitting for "Origin"—built on mysterious lore.
Cycle Tower: Perfect through repeated failure. Respawn on death like a game... but tougher, trickier than Origin. Loops, repeats, accumulation key.
Unlike strict solo in others, Cycle allowed dozens to hundreds partying up. No clue what went down—avoided towers like plague.
Finally, his Doom Tower: Victory or death.
Combat, despair, survival core. Origin/Cycle had fights, hunts, bosses—avoidable. Hostiles mere obstacles.
Doom? Coliseum—monsters shoved in, fight or fail. Kill or die endlessly.
"But what's this?"
Night before, he'd researched Doom Tower Floor 1. Matched perfectly.
Picture-perfect forest, like viral travel shorts. From moldy, dusty studio to this? Lungs cleared... but no time. Monsters imminent, per infamy.
Wait. No.
Your difficulty is Super Special Very Easy Mode. No... Super Special Very Easy Mode!
"Wha-the fuck?"
Tower talking shit? And Super Special Very Easy? What?
Despite questions, lips twitched with indescribable thrill.
No idiot could miss it. Like lottery winner savoring numbers, he reread.
Crackle—system rippled, text shifted.
Defeat or survive the enemies.
Game-like quest. Never heard of such friendly text?
Flutter flutter—soft wings. Rainbow butterflies swarmed him.
Looking down: Labels above them.
"These guys?"
Words slipped out; butterflies flapped vigorously in response.