William Tragile entered the tower for a simple reason: he wanted to become wealthy.
There was no other reason besides that. He was a man that had nothing, he was dirt poor and struggled to make a living even after he sold an organ, worked countless hours at a tavern, and then worked more than that lifting cinder blocks over his shoulder to build some old lady's garden wall. It was an honest living, but it wasn't one he could see himself doing forever. The job didn't pay enough for him to survive, so he took a desperate gamble and entered Aciago Tower.
He'd underestimated how petrifying the Tower was.
William received his Reward: [Daydreamer's Spotlight Beacon]. It was essential in his journey toward Middle Town, where he'd already appeared near. Crossing the valley of carnage, he narrowly avoided being devoured by the inhabitants of the Tower and remained whole. The animated blobs of flesh sought to add him to their unity, and he had no interest in becoming a part of it.
Once he arrived at Middle Town, he took to the wall. It was a good opportunity to build experience before setting out to look for a Gateway.
Only… Gateways never came.
He fought, and he fought, and he kept fighting for weeks against the terrors of the First Floor, and waited for a rift in space to open from one of their bodies to lead him to the next Floor where he'd be tested with a new challenge. His ability should have ensured every step he took was in his best interest, and they were… until they weren't. At some point, his ability encouraged him to remain stagnant. There was little for him to do, so the ability could not aid him anymore. No matter how many parties he set out with, they never found a way out, just as all the other thousands of people trapped in the Prime Settlement had said. There was no way out. He was trapped.
His ability encouraged him to settle down, study his bleak situation to see if there was the slightest chance of hope for something to happen. There was an ancient man on the First Floor—a Holy Knight from the era of Priestess Rosaria—War Reaver. He'd hunted the biggest, largest abominations throughout the First Floor and was continuously looking for a relic. It was a relic that had been returned a long time ago: The Vine of Radiance.
Nobody told the Holy Knight that the relic was found, since nobody wanted him to leave. He was a beacon of hope who kept the Tower safe.
It was awfully selfish, but eventually William realized he was equally as guilty as everyone else. He didn't want the Holy Knight to find a Gateway either. He'd opened hundreds of them during his time in the Tower, more than likely. It was easy for a man that strong to slay the strongest of abominations and return unscathed—that's what the stories others said about him told.
Sleepless nights must've worn on him overtime, one way or another. William did see a man who was unmatched in strength, but that man was by no means as invincible as he'd been portrayed in tales. His armor was chipped and worn, but it was repairing itself slowly over time. Beneath those wounds in the armor, he had scars that had not been healed whatsoever.
Still, that man set out one day and months went by before he returned again. When he returned, he was joined by a hundred Climbers, all from the Devil's Den, a settlement he'd never visited himself. Men, women, a child, and a worrying hound-like beast came through the gates of the Prime Settlement all at once.
However, there was someone who'd arrived even before them that caught the young man's eye. Edwin Reglaive, a man whose skin was worrily pale, but somehow still strikingly handsome. Maybe it was the charm people saw in the immortal vampires of folklore, who consumed human blood to sustain themselves. Whatever it was made him appear impossible to look away from. That's how it was in the beginning.
At some point, there was a dramatic shift.
His Reward, which would guide him to making the steps that were in his best interest, started to show signs of contradiction. The visions it'd give him, recommending the routes he should take, the people he should speak to, and the places he should visit were slowly overwritten as time went on.
Instead of his ordinary routine, things were slowly but surely replaced with the imagery of an unavoidable being: Edwin Redglaive.
After enough time, it was in his best interest to meet the man, and hear him speak, and offer his assistance to him, and do so without question.
Also after enough time, he stopped questioning it. He stopped pondering behind what the strangeness behind the man was. Instead, he started to wonder why the man had graced Middle Town with his presence. They were hardly worthy of sharing a space with him.
He did not question what was wrong with his mind after the first few days. After that, he humbly followed his own thoughts. Even when his Reward would occasionally direct him in other directions, through vivid and hard to remember dreams, he disregarded them. He no longer needed those visions, because he'd found a new savior to believe in.
Thus, at the Northern Wall, when he received a command in his mind, he allowed Lord Edwin to hold the reins.
The guardsmen set out and sealed the gates, so that no one could escape.
After, the devoted followers of Lord Edwin in the street took action, bringing disruption and disorder to the bustling streets. One after another, more and more people fell into the hands of his magnificent Lord. They hadn't even realized the longer they fought, the more their minds were infiltrated by the superior, higher authority. It was inevitable for all of them to fall into his hands, as once his glorious mist grew to engulf the entire city, none could resist his command when he finally graced them all with his name.
Frustratingly, the resistance among the Climbers who came with War Reaver was higher than anticipated. They were a variable that could not be removed easily, even though Lady Asterie, one of Lord Edwin's favored followers, was personally attempting to secure them.
Then, there was the gunslinger, Deadman Walkyr, who had been warping across the wasteland for years by this point. He was a slippery fox… or would it be more accurate to call him a slippery bull?
Several other problematic individuals existed: the swift assassin who they were failing to catch, dispatching favored followers one after another, the healer who stayed in the Holy Knight's shadow, making her the safest woman in the whole Tower, as well as a man who could create barriers that revoked the influence of abilities within it.
Yet, all of those nuisances paled in comparison to the Holy Knight War himself.
He was indomitable; a prideful man who would never come to accept Lord Edwin was the true savior of humanity. War wanted to lead an army of Climbers across an ancient sea of blood, straight into the maws of an ancient deity, where he prayed a Gateway would rest. It was a gamble that would result in the death of thousands.
Each man who stood in his way as he ran across the wall was batted away, thrown off the wall and splattering to the ground on the streets below.
At one point, he was showing restraint. Yet, as more and more things swarmed him, his patience was tested and he could no longer spare his enemies. That was not due to the pressure they were applying. Instead, it was because of a fact that the Holy Knight failed to anticipate because of how quickly everything went awry.
Lord Edwin was not alone.
The Holy Knight was clearing the wall of all of Lord Edwin's followers, and enforcing the minds of those around him to delay the deterioration of their mental fortitude. It was valiant, irritating, and nevertheless fruitless.
When the Holy Knight had no choice but to flee from the wall with his most trusted and powerful companions he could gather on such short notice, he had succeeded at clearing the wall, of course. William himself had been thrown off the wall, but ended up saved thanks to the rescue of his companion Sparrow before he could die upon impact with the ground.
Once War Reaver and his companions were gone, there was nothing to be done. The man had to pick his battle wisely, and he chose to go for the more immediate threat beyond the wall. He'd entrusted his remaining allies and the Climbers within the wall to hold their own.
For a time, they did! Each and every Climber who resisted Lord Edwin's control fought valiantly. Some died with their minds remaining their own—despite how foolish of a decision it was—while others continued fighting and proving they could resist the might of even those enhanced by Lord Edwin's favor.
Alas, it was over.
Lord Edwin's mist had consumed the entire Prime Settlement. Each and every mile of it was covered, leaving no room for escape. Unsuspecting people heard a voice enter their minds, and there was unity beneath the Lord's true name: Furfur.
Some resisted. The gunslinger, Deadman Walkyr, still managed to damage Lord Furfur's body several times before he could no longer fend from the mental assault and collapsed to the ground, frustration written all over his face that was once blossoming with arrogance.
William almost pitied the man, who even at his lowest, refused to fully accept Lord Furfur's unity and influence.
It was their victory. War Reaver and his allies were beyond the wall, and even if he could return now, he'd be incapable of reverting the control that Lord Furfur had over their minds. It was beautiful; having the mind put to sleep.
Thousands of men and women walked and spoke in unison, chanting a song from a time that was not recorded in history; or perhaps a history now lost.
It was a choir, a requiem of unity; an amalgamation.
And it continued as each man and woman marched to the northern wall to bear witness to War Reaver's fall, who would in the end fail to protect and save anyone, despite the unrealistic might he possessed.
Then, that unity was broken by a sound in the back of a thousand thrall's minds.
"W—What?!" The city spoke at once, and each shared their own unique signs of distress. Hands rose to heads, and a unified cry of agony shook the settlement. There was a disturbance in the hivemind, and it was not a minor one.
No, it was growing larger and larger each second.
The unity was disrupted and each thrall stopped. At the middle of it all, where the mist was the thickest, Furfur in the body of Edwin staggered, his composed expression warped into a grimace. He was bothered, and could do little to hide it.
"A… A futile effort…?" He did not know what the attempt even was, but he knew it was happening. Something was dragging his mind, and thus, it was tearing him from the minds of all his thralls as well.
Nobody could've anticipated where the source was. Furfur scanned hundreds of minds in seconds, and even glossed over the root of the issue a few times.
He found it though, and it was ungodly.
The child who'd escaped his enthrallment once, through means he had not fully understood. The boy's mind, which was thoroughly doused in a pink cloud of obscurity, had a vacuum inside of it. It was not just freeing the thralls that Furfur had collected. No, it was doing more than that. It was dragging him into it, and he could not escape it.
If he had not enthralled the child thoroughly, he could have simply severed his connection to him quickly. However, now it was unavoidable.
Furfur's mind, which connected to thousands, was being sucked into a black hole of some kind.
"This?! What is this, it cannot be?!" Something so ridiculous shouldn't have existed, and yet it did.
The child's mind opened a wormhole.
Furfur, the Demon of the Mind, was dragged into that wormhole, and his thousands of thralls—the ones who were still alive—were free.