The walls rolled.
"Welcome to the third floor, challenger. Prepare to die or to ascend."
"Only by consuming change itself can the Chimera become eternal."
The third floor of the Chimera Tower was nothing like the first two. There were no grand arenas, no thrones of judgment, no quiet halls.
Instead, Typhon emerged into a shifting wasteland — a landscape that morphed with every step he took.
Mountains rose and fell within seconds. Forests bloomed, withered, and rotted. Rivers froze, boiled, and dried up in the span of breaths.
Chaos itself had made a battlefield.
Adapt or die, the Tower whispered into his bones.
In the distance, he saw them.
Hundreds — no, thousands — of monstrous creatures, each warped amalgamations of beasts, all wrong in shape and nature. Winged wolves, serpentine bulls, skeletal raptors with spines made of steel.
They howled and shrieked, tearing at each other, devouring and mutating, growing larger, more grotesque by the second.
