Chapter 048 - Skyscraper 08

  The voice call was still connected.

  Just moments ago, players had been cheering the destruction of the experimental machine, elated by the congratulatory message. But as soon as the announcement came—*“Return to the starting point in ten minutes”*—the celebration gave way to chaos.

  “Are you kidding me?! I’m over by North Lake—it’s at least a twenty-minute drive! What the hell am I supposed to do?”

  “Ten minutes? That’s insane. Traffic’s already backed up. I can’t even speed.”

  “Damn you, system! One of these days, I swear, I’ll tear you apart!”

  I pressed my lips into a tight line and said nothing.

  Because from where we were, it would take at least twenty minutes to reach Skytower Building A.

  Was this round really going to cull more players—just by forcing them into a race against time?

  I stood there for a long moment, unmoving, as the world around me continued to unravel. Dimension 1 was folding upwards across the skyline. Beyond the shimmering divide, buildings collapsed inward, as if being devoured by the sky.

  The lights across the divide glimmered like paper lanterns… or a galaxy’s worth of stars drifting just out of reach.

  We were at a city intersection. To our left, a winding road curved like a bridge between the east and west sectors, arcing high into the air. The streetlamps along it blazed, brighter than the midday sun—like torches lighting the path to heaven.

  No. 53 scratched the back of his head, awkwardly. “So, uh... what now? You got any bright ideas?”

  I pulled out the bloodstained plan I’d absentmindedly pocketed earlier. As I unfolded it, it tried to roll itself back up, curling like a living thing. I stared at it for a few seconds, then gave a slow nod.

  “There is a way.”

  No. 53 blinked. “Wait, seriously? I thought we were screwed.”

  “We’re not. Not yet.” I looked up. “Right now, the two dimensions are folding toward a near-right angle. Buildings near the fold line are already crashing into each other. Skytower A isn’t far from that line… and it’s the tallest structure in the city.”

  I snapped the plan shut and met his eyes. “We climb to the top of Skytower A-prime. And when the time comes—we jump.”

  No. 53 flinched, then gawked. “Jump?”

  He processed the idea for a second. Then his eyes widened.

  “Wait... that might *actually* work.”

  Elliot had already pulled out a scrap of paper and was scribbling furiously, numbers and angles flying across the page. He looked up, face tight with focus.

  “If the fold continues at the current rate, then by the eight-to-nine-minute mark, the gap between rooftops will shrink to less than ten meters. By eleven minutes, the buildings might fully collide. Too bad the system only gave us ten.”

  Around us, the human shapes grew clearer—NPCs stabilizing into solidity. The ghost-like flickering of the city’s inhabitants had stopped. They brushed past us on the sidewalk, nodding as if nothing were wrong, as if the world weren’t disintegrating around them.

  There was no time to hesitate. I turned and broke into a sprint.

  Skytower A-prime was less than two kilometers away.

  “Let’s go,” I called over my shoulder. “We’ve tried everything else—might as well bet it all on this.”

  And that’s exactly what it was.

  A gamble.

  Maybe that’s why I loved this game. Not because it was fair, or just, or even winnable—but because every moment was a high-stakes bet. I’d gambled a thousand times before. And somehow, I kept winning.

  We reached the rooftop in a frenzy, lungs burning, legs aching. The wind up there howled like a living beast, tearing at our clothes and hair. Ahead of us loomed the other dimension—rising almost vertical now, like the face of a cliff hanging in the sky.

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  It looked unreal. Alien.

  The buildings were jammed so close together they resembled toy blocks. Skytower A—our goal—hovered like a monolith, the closest structure from Dimension 1.

  But the gap? At least fifteen meters.

  No. 25 crouched at the guardrail, eyes glittering. “So pretty,” she whispered, as if enchanted. “Feels like another world.”

  She had absurd jumping power. A ten-meter gap was nothing to her.

  She flashed a grin. “Want me to go first? We’ve got, what, ninety seconds left?”

  “Wait until we’re down to a minute,” I said.

  She nodded. “You got it.”

  Thirty seconds passed. The gap between buildings shrank. Five meters lost in half a minute.

  Then, with no hesitation, No. 25 backed up a few steps and launched herself into the air.

  She didn’t fall in a normal arc.

  The second she crossed the threshold, her body twisted violently—gravity shifted. She slammed sideways into Skytower A’s glass wall, rebounding hard.

  Even with her agility, it was almost a disaster.

  She barely managed to grab the ledge, then clawed her way up. With a final surge, she smashed through the glass and vanished inside.

  From within, her voice rang out: “Careful! Gravity changes on the other side! Your body’s gonna spin—aim for the ledge or you’ll hit a wall!”

  The rest of us froze, stunned.

  No. 53 whistled, shaking his head. “Girl’s got balls, I’ll give her that.”

  Then he turned to me. “You or me?”

  “There’s only room for one jumper at a time,” I said. “You go. I’ll be last.”

  He didn’t argue. Just patted my shoulder once, then took a running leap.

  His form wasn’t graceful—but it was enough. He slammed into the wall, scrambled, and climbed up with a triumphant whoop.

  “Next! Go!” I barked, snapping the rest of the group out of their paralysis. “We’ve got forty-five seconds left!”

  They moved.

  One by one, the players launched themselves over the abyss. Some landed cleanly. Others fumbled but made it across.

  But one man—a middle-aged guy I didn’t recognize—froze at the edge.

  He shook his head, lips trembling. “I—I need a second. Don’t rush me—just one second…”

  Thirty seconds.

  I opened my mouth, ready to push him—

  But Elliot stepped in. “Let someone else go. Don’t waste time.”

  We shifted around him.

  More players jumped. The gap narrowed with each heartbeat. Finally, only three of us remained: me, Elliot, and the trembling man.

  “Lan, go!” I shouted.

  He didn’t flinch. Just ran, flipped midair, and landed with perfect precision.

  Now it was just me and the coward.

  I turned to him, one last chance. “Close your eyes. Jump. If you don’t, you’re dead. If you do, at least you’ve got a chance.”

  Ten seconds.

  The buildings were nearly kissing now—only three, maybe four meters apart.

  He still hesitated.

  Nine seconds.

  I ran.

  As I passed him, I grabbed the front of his shirt and screamed, “Close your eyes—JUMP!”

  He flailed, panicked, and leapt after me.

  But it wasn’t enough.

  Mid-jump, I felt the pull of altered gravity. Vertical twisted to horizontal. My stomach lurched. The world tilted.

  I looked over—and saw him.

  He hadn’t made it. His arms flailed in the empty space between us. His eyes were wide, his mouth open in a soundless cry.

  I reached.

  Fingers brushed air.

  Missed.

  He plummeted.

  Elliot grabbed my arm and pulled me back from the edge. “Sylas,” he said softly.

  I didn’t see the impact.

  But I heard it. A sickening *thud* that echoed like a drumbeat of finality.

  Then came the chime.

  **“Congratulations. Thirty-nine players have cleared Stage Four.”**

  — *End of Skyscraper* —