My Charity System made me too OP

The marrow chains pulsed, no longer dragging, no longer binding, but singing. The Tower's groan deepened into a new rhythm, neither silence nor decree, but heartbeat.

Above, the cracks in the dominion sky did not close—they changed. The rivers of raw law, memory, and silence bent into constellations, refracted through Roselia's stars, echoed through Liliana's hymn, bound by Naval's flame, defied by Milim's fire, endured by Roman's grit, and conducted by Leon's marrow.

The Tower was not restored. It was reborn.

Naval lowered his blade, eyes glinting with something like pride. "So that's your answer, Leon. Not one Throne, not none… but all together."

Roselia's stars dimmed into a calm orbit. "Resonance instead of dominion. Dangerous… but true."

Liliana whispered, voice frayed but resolute. "The marrow will never be silent again."

Milim cackled, throwing her head back. "Hah! Finally, a Tower that's fun."

Roman staggered, coughing blood, but managed a crooked smile. "…Worth surviving. Yeah. You did it, Leon."

The Tower's marrow quieted at last, not in stillness but in song, its new rhythm echoing outward. Far below, climbers who had thought themselves erased felt their voices return. Far above, the Upper Thrones cracked further, not in collapse, but in acknowledgment.

The Throne War had claimed its first verdict.

But in the marrow's deep, beyond even resonance, something stirred—watching, listening, waiting to test this fragile rebirth.

From the marrow's abyss came a vibration unlike the others—a counter-beat, sharp and surgical, threading between the new resonance like a knife through cloth.

Leon's flame faltered for a heartbeat. His allies felt it too—Naval's jaw tightened, Roselia's stars dimmed, Liliana's threads hissed, Milim's grin sharpened, and even Roman stopped coughing long enough to glance into the deep.

It wasn't silence.

It wasn't decree.

It was judgment.

The marrow chains shivered as a voice rolled upward, deep as iron, cold as stone:

"Verdict delivered without sanction. Harmony forged without trial. Resonance… is not order. It is heresy."

From the marrow's shadows, a figure rose. It was no fragment of the broken Council—it bore no cracks, no chains. It was tall, armored in plates of blackened law, its face hidden behind a helm that bore no eyes, only a single unblinking scale balanced at its crest. Each step it took bent the marrow chains downward, as though they feared its weight.

Liliana gasped faintly, her threads recoiling. "No… not a Throne. This is deeper. Older."

The figure raised its hand, and in its palm gleamed a shard of eternity, half flame, half void. It pulsed in rhythm with Leon's marrow flame—an opposite heart.

"I am the Arbiter Below," it declared, voice striking like a gavel. "When dominions fail, judgment descends. Your resonance is unratified. I will measure it—and if it falters, I will unmake it."

The Tower trembled again, not with collapse, not with song, but with the weight of trial.

Naval set his stance, blade burning anew. "Leon… seems like someone doesn't like your verdict."

Milim cracked her knuckles, violet fire swirling. "Good. I was getting bored again."

Roselia frowned, stars tightening into a shield. "Careful. This isn't just another Throne. This thing is born from the marrow itself."

Leon's marrow flame pulsed hard, answering the Arbiter's challenge. He looked at his allies—bloodied, weary, yet ready—and then raised his gaze toward the looming figure of judgment.

"This Tower doesn't need sanction," Leon said, his voice steady, marrow chains thrumming to his words. "It needs memory. It needs voices. If you want to unmake that, Arbiter…"

His flame surged, chains coiling like a storm around him.

"…then you'll have to measure all of us."

The Arbiter Below lowered its hand, the shard of eternity glowing brighter.

"Then let the Trial begin."

The shard in the Arbiter's hand fractured—not breaking, but multiplying. Splinters of eternity spun outward, each one a needle of voidfire that froze the marrow-flame air and anchored the battlefield into something older than law itself.

The chains around Leon rattled, not from weakness but from being pulled into the Arbiter's domain. Every resonance, every echo he had cultivated in the Tower—Fracture Requiem, Absolute Return, Karmic Loop—was dragged forward, dissected by invisible scales.

The Arbiter Below's eyes burned like verdicts written in stone.

"Your flame rises against the marrow it was born from. Memory or not, no resonance can persist if it cannot withstand the countermeasure."

Naval didn't wait for permission. His blade, sheathed in bloodlight, cut through the air toward the Arbiter's torso. But when it struck, the Arbiter's form simply reconstituted, as though Naval's strike was entered into record but dismissed as inadmissible evidence.

Milim roared, wings of violet fire ripping space as she punched. Her blow landed—shaking the world, cracking eternity's shards—but the Arbiter absorbed it, flames twisting into a mirrored fist that slammed her back into the marrow wall.

Roselia spread her arms, summoning constellations that had guided Leon's path since Rank 54. They circled him, weaving memory into shield. Yet even her stars bent as the Arbiter's shard-flames rebalanced them, like scribbles erased into neat, sterile lines.

Leon stood still, his marrow flame burning higher, chains thrumming louder—refusing to be "adjusted." He understood. This wasn't just a battle of power. It was a trial of resonance: whether his echoes could stand when stripped bare against their counterforce.

"Then measure me," Leon whispered, marrow flame bursting into the full cadence of Shell Pulse. Each chain rang like a bell, each note drawing his team back to their feet.

Naval wiped blood from his lip and smirked.

Milim cracked her neck, fire surging hotter.

Roselia steadied her shield and set her gaze.

The Arbiter Below raised its shard once more.

"Trial of Memory begins. First measure: Origin Pulse."

A wave of annihilation surged forth—one designed to erase the very foundation Leon had built his Tower upon.

And Leon… stepped forward to meet it.

Leon thrust both hands outward, marrow flame surging into a torrent of echo-light. The chains of his Shell Pulse rattled and snapped taut, each link resonating with the sound of the Tower's countless battles.

The Arbiter's Origin Pulse came as a formless tide, white and black interwoven, meant not to strike but to erase. When it collided with Leon's marrow flame, the battlefield shook as though two verdicts were being read at once—one declaring negation, the other remembrance.

The clash spread in concentric rings. Naval was driven to one knee, blade quivering against the pressure. Milim dug her claws into the marrow stone, violet fire flaring to keep herself rooted. Roselia's shield cracked with starbursts, but her constellation-songs refused to shatter.

Leon took another step forward, marrow flame burning hotter with each echo called forth.

"Origin Pulse isn't yours to annul," he said, his voice shaking with strain but layered with defiance. "It's not just my flame. It's every fight, every memory, every echo I claimed in this Tower. That foundation is beyond judgment."