Genetic Ascension

Sylas stood there, huffing for breath. There was a calmness in his eyes that belied the amount of effort he had put in to reach this point. Even as the final True Chosen mark fused into his body, he hardly seemed to react to it at all. He wasn’t one to celebrate victories or achievements. Sometimes he felt that the proportion of pride he felt when he did do something great was just an admission that he thought of the possibility of failure at some earlier date.

Was it only natural to account for failure? Of course it was.

But Sylas hadn’t even celebrated the complete Summoning of Earth. After everything he had been through, after all the trials and tribulations, he had always felt better just moving on to the next challenge, the next mountain to climb.

He stood as victor not only because of his blood and sweat, but because it was only natural. If there could only be one winner, then it only made sense that it was him.

The Dungeon rumbled with fury around him, its Runes whizzing about in a violent torrent that seemed to want to suppress Sylas again and again, however all such attempts fell completely on deaf ears. It was as though the Dungeon had lost its ability to exert its influence.

This was the last thing that Sylas had noticed.

If the Dungeon was purely only here for training, it was odd that it would allow five to enter. It felt that such a Dungeon was more naturally left to a one-person entry limit, that way it could tailor everything properly.

So why five?