The Celestial Tower had no mercy for the reckless.
No patience for the impulsive.
No kindness for those who underestimated its floors.
But it had a special hatred for the healers.
Most tournaments favored combat prodigies, spellcasters, strange beasts, or spectacle-driven chaos machines like Magic Kid. The healers? Support roles. Rarely centerstage.
Today, that was about to change.
Julian Breadstone floated across the arena with a bright white coat now draped over his usual color-shifting suit. A stethoscope dangled backward around his neck for no reason at all.
"ATTENTION ALL VIEWERS ACROSS THE INTERDIMENSIONAL STREAMING NETWORK! Do you enjoy watching someone survive through sheer stubbornness, medical know-how, and total refusal to accept the idea of 'being injured'? Because YOU are about to love this next competitor!"
Jimmy leaned forward, smiling into his mic.
"This one is good. Really good. And normal. Mostly."
Julian gasped. "NO! DON'T SAY THAT WORD—NORMAL!"
"Julian, we need normal fighters."
"NO WE DO NOT!"
"We absolutely do."
Julian sighed dramatically. "Fine. Show the medic."
The arena cameras zoomed to Floor 34—a massive platform covered in spinning barriers made of translucent shielding. Fighters darted back and forth between safe pockets while recharging drones fired nonlethal blasts that still hurt quite a lot.
The camera focused on a woman kneeling beside one such fighter—a broad-shouldered beastfolk warrior with a cracked horn and a trembling arm.
She worked calmly, precisely, quickly.
Short ginger hair.
Dusky skin.
Soft, sharp eyes that carried fatigue and focus in equal measure.
A satchel filled with salves, bandages, needles, stimulant vials, and strange herbs.
Dr. Thalia Renn, combat medic of the wandering Orphean Convoy.
Her gloves glowed faintly with healing energy—
not powerful magic, but refined bioenzymatic chi, cultivated through decades of training.
Julian dabbed his eyes.
"She patched up a fighter IN THE MIDDLE of an active defensive barrage. I adore her."
Jimmy muttered, "She reminds me of our med team back home. They save lives and yell at us for getting hurt."
Thalia tightened a splint around the beastfolk warrior's arm.
"There. You'll be fine. But don't try to block energy blasts with your forearm next time."
The warrior, twice her size, nodded sheepishly.
"Yes, ma'am."
She helped him stand.
Then she said the thing only dedicated field medics say with total sincerity:
"Now go. You still have a chance to place in the top 500."
He saluted clumsily and limped back into the chaos.
Thalia exhaled, wiped sweat from her brow, and turned toward the tower's next hazard.
Floor 34's main challenge was endurance.
Rotating shields.
Energy minefields.
Repetitive shock blasts.
A fighter either powered through or got ejected.
Thalia took neither approach.
She outlasted.
Where others ran headlong into pulses of concentrated force, she studied the rhythm of the pulses. She used her shield—simple hardened steel reinforced with chi—to catch the blasts at an angle, dissipating their energy instead of absorbing the full hit.
Where others sprinted between barriers, she crouched low, letting the shield deflect the worst, moving only when necessary.
Where others collapsed from exertion, she popped stimulant capsules onto her tongue and pressed on.
Julian squealed:
"LOOK AT THAT FORM! That is PHYSICAL LITERACY! That is textbook 'don't die today' energy!"
Jimmy grinned. "She's the definition of training. Just training. Lots of it."
Halfway up the room, she found another fighter slumped against a barrier—an elderly swordsman clutching his chest.
Thalia rushed over instantly.
"Don't move," she murmured, tilting his chin upward, checking his pulse.
He shook his head. "Keep going. Don't waste time—"
"You're tachycardic," she cut in. "You move too fast, you'll be ejected for medical instability."
She slapped a ward patch onto his sternum.
A glow spread through him, heart rhythm stabilizing.
His eyes widened. "You… you carry stabilizers?"
She nodded. "I treat everyone I see. Now move carefully. Long strides. Don't bend too much at the waist."
He stood and bowed, gratitude overwhelming.
"Thank you, doctor."
"Focus on climbing," she reminded him, "not thanking me."
Three fighters near the top attempted to fight each other while dodging shock mines.
It went badly.
One was struck by a cross-blast, tumbling through the air.
Thalia dove in without hesitation.
Her shield flared with chi, absorbing half the blast's power. The shock still knocked her backward, her feet sliding across the floor, but she held on—catching the falling fighter by the wrist.
"Easy," she said softly. "Don't panic."
She lowered him safely.
Julian screamed gleefully:
"SHE JUST SAVED A MAN'S ENTIRE FIBER OPTIC FUTURE! WHAT HEROISM! WHAT GLORIOUS PRACTICALITY!"
Jimmy nodded. "She's going to make it. No question."
Thalia retrieved her spear—a simple metal weapon with a reinforced haft—and stabbed it into the floor to read vibrations.
Then she sprinted.
Not because she wanted to.
Because she had read the timing perfectly.
Thalia dove through the final pair of barriers a half-second before they slammed shut with a sound like a stone mountain being crushed to powder.
Floor cleared.
She climbed to the next.
Floor 35 was the Hall of Illusions.
Mara Feld had ignored it. That worked for her.
Thalia couldn't ignore what she saw.
She saw faces.
Wounded ones.
Old comrades from the Convoy.
Young fighters she couldn't save.
The dying.
The lost.
Her hands trembled.
Her breath hitched.
The illusion pressed deeper.
She stumbled.
Julian placed a sympathetic hand over his heart.
"Oh no… not the illusions of the past. The hardest traps aren't the sharp ones—they're the ones inside you."
Jimmy leaned forward.
"Come on, Doc… you've handled worse."
A young boy appeared before Thalia in the illusion.
Hands small.
Eyes pleading.
"You said I'd be okay…"
Her face broke for a moment.
"I know," she whispered.
"I know."
The illusion thickened—
a heavy cloud of grief, guilt, memory—
And then Thalia clenched her jaw.
"No."
She stepped forward.
Through the boy.
Through the past.
Through the weight that tried to pin her.
"The living need me," she said.
The illusion shattered into starlight.
She ascended.
Jimmy exhaled shakily.
"That's strength. Right there."
Julian dabbed his eyes. "I'm fine. Don't look at me."
Floor 36 was the Wilderness Floor—
where Gravemane prowled earlier—
and its beasts still roamed.
Thalia crouched low, assessing.
A three-eyed wolf-beast circled her, snarling.
She did not panic.
She didn't roar.
She didn't challenge it.
She moved slowly. Steadily.
"Easy," she whispered.
She reached into her satchel.
A small dark pellet tossed lightly forward.
The wolf sniffed—
And recoiled in confusion.
A pungent herbal scent detonated into the air—
something Thalia used back in field wards to deter predators.
The wolf snarled once, but backed away.
Thalia nodded.
"Good."
She climbed past it as if passing by a barking dog in a forest trail.
Julian's eyes grew huge.
"She tamed it with MEDICAL SUPPLIES!"
Jimmy smirked. "Dr. Renn can treat anything. Even an apex predator's attitude."
Floor 37: cyclone winds.
Thalia's shield techniques shone here.
She dug herself into cracks, used low crouches, angled her shield to create slipstreams, and carefully timed each push.
She did not fight the wind.
She used it.
Every blast repositioned her nearer the exit.
By the time she reached Floor 38, even the tower seemed to respect the sheer determination radiating from her.
The exit to Floor 39 opened almost gently for her.
Julian whispered dramatically:
"She's not flashy.
She's not chosen.
She's not glowing with cosmic destiny.
She's just—unbreakably human."
Jimmy nodded.
"And she's going to earn her way into the Top 500."
Thalia reached a ledge, crouched, and checked her pulse.
Still steady.
Still controlled.
She wiped sweat from her brow, sipped water sparingly, and climbed.
Because that's what she did.
A fighter.
A healer.
A survivor.
And in a tower of gods, monsters, chosen ones, prodigies, and unpredictable disasters…
She stood her ground.
By choice.
By habit.
By heart.
And the tower made room for her.