I CLIMB (A Progression/Evolution Sci-Fi Novel)

December 14, 2024 - The Tower, Second Tier, Second Stage

Pablo blinked as he slowly pushed himself upright.

He touched his head as the blurry vision around him began to clear—and then noticed someone sitting in front of him.

He recognised him. Jeffrey.

He had a strange sense of déjà vu. No... this wasn't the first time.

"I'm sorry, I… passed out—"

"Are you okay? If so, come with me. Leonie wants to see you."

Pablo nodded and stood. He felt a bit thirsty, but nothing worth mentioning.

They walked toward Leonie's tent, but she was already waiting outside. She held a hide bag in one hand.

"We will proceed with an experiment," she said, "if you're feeling well."

An experiment?

Pablo felt a flicker of confusion but followed without question. Aside from some mild dizziness and discomfort, he was pretty much fine.

Afterward, Leonie led him to an open field. It was a beautiful spot—lush grass stretching between two hills, with a still lake at the edge of the clearing.

She reached into the bag and tossed something toward him.

Pablo caught it and glanced down—it was an orb. He then looked up at Leonie, who had stepped back.

"That orb is from a third-stage salamander. Ignosaurus, as you call them," she said. Then her expression shifted—serious, firm. The kind Pablo knew meant there was no room for debate. "I want you to focus on that orb and summon that creature."

Pablo blinked. Had he heard her correctly? Summon?

He opened his mouth to ask—but closed it again.

Leonie didn't joke. And she never spoke without purpose.

He looked back at the orb in his hand.

How was he supposed to—

And then it happened.

The orb vanished from his palm—simply gone.

And beside him… it appeared.

A third-stage Ignosaurus.

The creature stood several meters tall at the shoulder, four thick, blackened limbs planted firmly into the earth. Its body shimmered with layered scales, glowing faintly like smouldering coals. Heat pulsed off its body in slow waves, distorting the air around it.

Pablo staggered back, clutching his head.

A sharp throb hit him between the eyes—blinding, splitting. His vision doubled, blurred, collapsed.

A voice echoed faintly in the haze.

"—Calm down… focus…"

"Pablo… focus."

F–Focus.

He gasped.

His sight cleared—but it wasn't just his own. It was… something else.

He felt his consciousness pulled apart. Split.

He was still Pablo—but also not.

There was a second awareness. Heavy. Completely foreign. Radiating heat and weight.

He didn't just feel the Ignosaurus.

No… he was the Ignosaurus.

Its body was a furnace—hot blood surged through thick, mineral-lined arteries. Its lungs were vast bellows, sucking in air and releasing it in deep, rumbling exhales that shook and burned the grass beneath them. Its skin was ridged and scarred, dense enough to deflect steel. Four legs pressed against the ground—each one like a pillar. The weight distribution was strange. Heavy in the shoulders. Low, wide stance. Tail dragging behind, balancing the long, fire-veined neck.

Pablo felt the wind roll across scaled plates. Felt the heat building in his throat, coiling behind armored jaws.

It was overwhelming. Alien.

A low growl escaped the creature's throat—but Pablo felt it as if he'd made the sound himself.

His heart raced. In his chest. And… in the Ignosaurus' chest.

He was in both bodies… at once.

"Pa—Pablo!"

He felt a hand pressing against his shoulder. Pablo's shoulder.

His attention snapped.

He saw Leonie—two of her. One larger, one smaller… no—same person.

She was speaking from close by… no… from far away… no. His brain couldn't place her.

"Pablo, look at me. Are you conscious?"

Conscious?

"…"

Yes. He was. He thought he was.

"Ye—"

"Scree—"

What the—

His throat had made a noise. No—not his throat.

The Ignosaurus had responded. It had screeched—low and guttural. The vibration rippled through the scaled chest, through stone-thick lungs, through jaws he didn't control—yet somehow did.

Two minds. Two voices. One being.

A pulse of panic ran through him.

This isn't right. This isn't right. This isn't—

"Pablo."

Leonie's voice again. Calm. Even. Absolute.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

His human eyes focused. Her face came into view—sharp now. Clearer. No double.

"Breathe. Match my pace," she said, her tone soft but anchored.

She inhaled slowly.

Pablo mirrored her. So did the Ignosaurus.

His breath came in heavy, uneven pulls through two sets of lungs—but slowly began to synchronise. The tightness in his chest—both chests—started to ease.

"You are here," she said. "Steady. It's okay. You are in control."

I am here… control… I am…

He closed his eyes. His mind began to slowly centre itself.

One thought at a time. One body at a time.

The Ignosaurus stopped shifting. Its claws, which had begun to dig into the earth, relaxed. Its breathing steadied. The heat inside its core settled into a slow, pulsing rhythm.

The pain behind his eyes dulled. The pressure on his temples eased.

He opened his eyes again.

"Good," Leonie said, nodding once. "Now, I want you to try taking a single step forward… through the Ignosaurus."

Pablo managed a slow nod—his head, his human body.

Then he shifted toward the other body. His other legs.

He felt the balance. The distribution of weight over four limbs. It was awkward—yet strangely natural.

The stance was low, stable, grounded. Each limb thick and heavy, pressing into the earth with force.

He focused on it—on the heat radiating from his core, the tension in the muscles, the rough friction of clawed feet against grass and dirt.

He lifted one foot.

The ground groaned beneath the weight.

He stepped.

I open my eyes.

My body feels stiff, but I roll my legs back and get up using the momentum.

I stretch my arms, and the smell of iron hits my lungs.

I look at the dead Xok'al. The blood is already dry. I magnetize the scimitar on the ground, grip it, and bash the skull with the pommel.

Stage 1 – 11.006%

More than 0.500%? Not bad… highest gain yet.

I feel the rather significant boost in strength and awareness, my gaze and senses sharpening naturally, like fog clearing from glass.

I tighten my fist. Feels nice.

My stomach growls.

Yes. Basic needs.

I crawl through the pipe system and drink some water, then return to the corridor and cook some of the Xok'al meat.

There are seven corpses left. Enough food for two weeks, give or take.

Luckily, their bodies decompose extremely slowly.

I also absorb the rest of the orbs.

Stage 1 – 11.093%

The difference is huge. All seven didn't even give a fifth of the three-tailed one. Guess The Tower is rather adamant about making us put in some effort for Stage Progress rather than allowing easy farming. Oh well… it is what it is.

I feel completely refreshed. Guess it's time to give that a shot. But first… I need the proper tools.

The scimitar is a decent weapon for sure—sharp, heavy enough, and conductive—but it's not my style.

I need two blades. Two swords, ideally with equal balance. Only then can I attempt it.

I don't need to think much. I know every inch of the research facility by now. While I could fashion some blades from the metal scraps, it'll take time, and honestly, I'm no smith. It'd take a lot of trial and error.

No. There's a simpler solution.

I walk to the pipe system and observe the three-tailed Xok'al. This will have to do.

I use my scimitar and hack off both its limbs. Then I take them to the crafting room, clean them, and shape the bone at the back into a proper hilt.

I wrap some cloth around the handles to improve grip.

Afterward, I give them a few swings and thrusts, feel the balance and weight. I use my pulses to check conductivity.

Feels good. Especially the EM conductivity—remarkable, even higher than the blades the Ajnal gave him. The weight also feels nice, if not a bit light, but the durability is excellent.

Truly… not bad.

I walk toward the biggest room, steady my breath, and close my eyes.

The world turns pitch black around me. No sound. Nothing at all.

Then, slowly, dim dots appear all around—dozens at first, then hundreds.

The pattern they form: my First Pillar State.

Okay. Let's get started.

I materialize a three-tailed Xok'al in front of me. I build it from memory—its arched legs, bladed limbs, three tails ending in cannon-like structures, reptilian eyes void of emotion, dark red carapace and scales. It's all there. Staring at me.

I let myself breathe twice more, and then—

We clash.

Our blades connect, again and again. There's no EM field now, no shots from its tails. Just pure, raw combat.

I accelerate my blades. I twist. I lean back. I feint. I slowly fall into the rhythm of the fight.

And when I'm ready—

I slash.

I slash toward its left shoulder, pouring in my focus, my will… my intent.

Yet my blade moves otherwise. A thrust toward its thigh.

It connects. A star sparks to life from the thrust, while a dimmer shape takes form in the shadow of its blaze—not where the blade went, but where the hidden slash thought had pointed.

Born not of action, but of withheld motion, it gathers form in silence, an echo not from sound, but from purpose unspoken, drifting just behind the strike that was seen.

It is no blaze, no roar, no triumph of flame—but a quiet companion forged by intent alone, a trace of will drawn into orbit by the force of conviction.

Where the star shines in declaration, this body whispers in denial, its shape carved by belief, its path held by the gravity of deceit made truth.

A lie so profound it gains mass, anchored by the will's precision.

A planet.

As my footing shifts, I follow the thrust with a low sweep—my left blade carving a horizontal arc aimed for its flank.

The creature twists to parry, unaware that my true motion already flowed elsewhere—a pivoting chop from my right, low and rising, aimed at its knee.

Steel kisses chitin. Another star ignites.

Above, where the first arc feinted and passed, another shape settles into place, dim and patient, spun from the motion never made.

It holds not flame, but meaning. Not force, but direction. A weightless intent drawn into form—

A second planet.

I move. The stellar map expands.

A burst of motion—both swords swing wide in unison, dual slashes aimed to overwhelm. One blade is real. The other, a question I never asked.

The creature blocks the wrong one.

Metal scrapes flesh. Light flares outward. Two more stars streak to life.

And with them, two more shadows trailing behind. Not mistakes. Not accidents. Deliberate ghosts of thought, orbiting the truth with silent loyalty.

Planets.

I duck beneath its counter, slide inward, and ram my elbow into its gut. The connection is shallow, but the motion flows—a rising knee, a pommel strike from below, a spin fueled by its stagger.

Another star. Another planet. Another rhythm.

The space around me no longer feels empty. I dance within a constellation of strikes and shades, light and silence spiraling in tandem, each true motion birthing its echo.

The celestial lattice sharpens with every move—a hidden cosmos shaped by combat, by feints that flicker and truths that burn.

I lean forward, breathe once, and thrust again—one blade forward, the other angled behind—yet neither lands where they seem.

The stars adjust. The planets gather. The pattern begins to hum.

This is no longer a fight.

It is a map. It is a system. It is a sky.

And I—

I am what holds it all in place. I am that which exists, yet is never seen.

I am the gravity itself.

One after the other, it forms. It consolidates.

The last star shines. The last planets are born.

Solar systems. Structures in perfect balance.

The Xok'al disappears, and in that blackness, my senses open. I see it.

The pattern has been formed.

I smile.

The pattern toward my Second Pillar State, given birth by intent.

I finally made it.