The effect was immediate and brutal. Seven giants slammed into the floor, bodies cracking under the multiplied weight. Their clubs shattered on impact, breaking like cheap wooden sticks.
Seven magazines, one per cyclops.
It was bloody, methodical work, and Mark did it with the same calmness someone used to clean their desk.
When the last giant turned to mist, the holographic display shimmered before him again.
[Floor 6 cleared. Proceed to Floor 7.]
A staircase unfolded once more.
Mark cracked his neck and exhaled. "If this is only Floor 6… I wonder how many more there are."
And with absolute confidence, he stepped upward.
*
By the time Mark reached the seventh staircase, he could feel the subtle fatigue in his shoulders.
It wasn't exhaustion in the normal sense; his body was far too strong for that, but his wrists and arms carried the faint vibration of firing hundreds of adamantine rounds in rapid succession.
