My Charity System made me too OP

The aurora above them twisted, not into cold light but into a vast, spiraling chorus of colors—fractured, jagged, and beautiful. Each shard of their battle, each refusal, each scream of defiance had been woven into its song. The Hall was no longer a court, no longer a gallery of judgment. It was a cathedral of resonance, alive with memory.

The chains underfoot loosened, no longer binding, but shifting into a path of broken links that hovered in the air like a bridge. It stretched upward into the aurora, leading into the unknown heights of the Tower.

Naval wiped the blood from his knuckles, smirking despite his trembling arms. "Hah… figures. Break a mirror, build a bridge. This place really likes symbolism."

Milim sat up, wings flaring as her grin widened. "Nah, this place just likes us. Finally smart enough to realize we're awesome."

Roselia's gaze lingered on the aurora-path. Her voice was soft, contemplative. "No. Not us. It likes that we answered. That we didn't silence what we were, or what we could've been."

Liliana nodded, her threads still shimmering faintly as they linked to Leon's chains. "It listened. And now… it wants more."

Leon stood at the head of the path, his marrow flame still flickering jagged and raw. For the first time, he didn't try to smooth it, didn't try to control it. He let it crack and burn and sing, in harmony with the others.

He turned, looking at each of them in turn. Naval, grinning through his blood. Milim, fire still dancing in her hair. Roselia, serene but fierce. Liliana, steady despite the tears on her cheeks.

"Then let's give it more," Leon said, his voice firm, carrying the marrow's song. "Floor by floor, answer by answer. Until the Tower itself remembers why it was built."

The Hall shuddered one final time—not in denial, not in trial, but in welcome. The aurora bridge blazed brighter, beckoning them upward.

Naval shouldered his blade. "Guess that's our cue."

Milim bounced to her feet, fire licking at her heels. "Next floor, next fight. I call dibs on breaking the first thing we see!"

Roselia smiled faintly, shaking her head. "You'll never change."

Liliana's hand brushed Leon's arm as she whispered, "We'll be ready. Whatever waits, we'll be ready."

Leon's marrow flame pulsed once, steady as a heartbeat. He stepped onto the bridge, his allies following close behind.

The aurora swallowed them, the Hall's song fading into the distance.

And the Tower waited, listening, hungry for the next answer.

The light did not release them gently.

The aurora folded inward, pulling them through a tunnel of color that felt less like passage and more like being unspooled, every strand of their essence tugged taut. The marrow flame inside Leon howled, not in protest, but in recognition. Naval gritted his teeth, his fists clenching against phantom pressure. Milim laughed at the sensation, sparks flaring from her hair as if the Tower itself were tickling her. Roselia closed her eyes, serene, as if letting the current write its story across her stars. Liliana's threads spread instinctively, weaving through all of them, keeping their selves from unraveling.

Then—impact.

The light tore apart, and they stumbled out onto the next floor.

It was not a battlefield. Not a court. Not a hall of mirrors.

They stood on a vast plain of stillness, a horizon that curved in every direction. The sky was an endless sheet of glass, and beneath their feet lay bones—millions of them, layer upon layer, all arranged as if they had been frozen mid-step while climbing. Each skull's mouth hung open, as if caught in the act of screaming an answer that was never heard.

The silence was total. No wind. No echo. Only the weight of forgotten climbers who had made it this far and gone no further.

Milim's grin faltered for the first time, her fire dimming at the edges. "…Creepy."

Naval kicked at one of the brittle femurs, watching it collapse into dust. "This ain't just creepy. This is a damn graveyard."

Roselia's stars shimmered faintly as she whispered, "No… not a graveyard. An archive. These bones are… echoes too. Voices the Tower didn't answer."

Liliana's threads hovered, brushing against the skeletal remains, and she shivered. "I can feel it. The silence here isn't empty. It's heavy. Like every voice was taken in but never given back."

Leon crouched, his marrow flame dim but jagged, flickering across the bones. He touched one of the skulls, and for an instant—a heartbeat—he heard it.

A whisper, frail and desperate: I defied. I screamed. Why did no one hear me?

Leon drew his hand back sharply, his jaw tightening. He looked out across the plain, at the countless bodies that had become nothing but unanswered resonance.

"This floor," he said slowly, his voice carrying against the silence, "isn't testing us with reflection or combat. It's showing us the price of being ignored."

Naval's grin was gone now. "So what, we're supposed to… give them their answer?"

Roselia lifted her hand, her stars pulsing in the still sky. "Not just give. Carry."

The plain of bones trembled faintly, as if the Tower stirred, listening again.

And then—shadows began to rise from the skeletons, faint at first, then clearer, each one shaped like climbers of old. Their faces were empty, their mouths moving soundlessly, desperate to speak but lost to silence.

Milim stepped forward, her fire reigniting, though it flickered with unease. "Looks like we don't get to walk this floor quiet. If they can't be heard…" She clenched her fists, violet flames burning in her palms. "…then they'll try to make us listen by force."

The first shadow lunged.

The still plain cracked like glass beneath their feet, and the silence shattered into a thousand hungry echoes.

The Tower demanded—not just their answer, but their acknowledgment.

The first shadow struck like a spear of silence. Its form flickered, edges dissolving into static, yet its intent was razor sharp—its hand aimed for Leon's throat, not to crush, but to choke the marrow flame into quiet.

Leon moved without thought. His flame flared jagged, intercepting the phantom's hand. The shadow recoiled, its arm shattering like brittle glass before reforming again, screaming silently.

"Yeah," Naval muttered, slipping into stance, his fists swelling with iron-blue aura. "Definitely not the friendly type."

He drove a punch into the air. The shockwave cracked across three shadows, bones clattering underfoot as their forms fractured—but even as they broke, their fragments reassembled, crawling back together like desperate words refusing to vanish.

"They don't die," Roselia said sharply, her stars fanning into a constellation around her. Her eyes shone as she tracked the reassembling fragments. "They're not meant to. They're persistence made manifest."

Milim growled, violet fire licking across her arms. "Then we hit them harder!" She launched herself forward, smashing a blazing knee into one shadow's chest. It exploded into shards, the plain beneath erupting with spiderweb cracks of glassy light. But even before Milim landed, the shards twisted, reforming into a silhouette that reached for her back.

"Milim!" Leon's flame lashed out, pulling her free. He felt it—the shadow wasn't striking her body, it was striking her voice, trying to strip her laughter, her fire, from her existence.

Liliana's threads snapped forward, weaving into a wide lattice that caught several shadows mid-lunge. They strained, pressing against the glowing silk, their jaws opening and closing with soundless agony. Liliana's face was pale. "They… they want to be heard so badly, it's tearing them apart. That's why they attack—they're trying to claw their way into us."

Leon's marrow flame pulsed, his teeth gritted. The shadows weren't enemies. They were echoes with no resonance, no reply. Forgotten climbers who had screamed their truth and received nothing.

If they fought like normal, they'd be trapped here forever, just like the bones beneath them.

"Don't silence them," Leon said suddenly, his voice carrying like a flare. "Answer them!"

The marrow flame spread through his chains, his voice cracking into the silence: "I hear you!"

The nearest shadow froze. Its faceless head snapped toward him, trembling. For the first time, its mouth formed words they could hear—a ragged, broken sob of relief. The shadow dissolved into light, rising like dust into the aurora-sky.

Naval blinked, then snorted. "Tch. Guess we're preachers now."

Roselia's stars brightened, weaving into a constellation of listening ears and open mouths. She raised her hands, her voice calm but firm: "You are not forgotten." Three shadows froze, their forms shaking as starlight filled their mouths. They broke apart, soaring upward as glimmers of song.

Liliana added her threads, glowing softly as she whispered: "We'll carry your voices." The threads sank into shadows, steadying them, giving them enough to unravel peacefully.

Even Milim paused, fire dimming into something warm as she stomped her foot, shouting: "Yeah, you got heard, okay?! Now stop creeping me out!" The shadows closest to her burst into laughter—fragmented but true—before fading.

Leon exhaled, marrow flame steadying, its jagged edges weaving with theirs. The battlefield shifted—not a graveyard of silence anymore, but a chorus beginning to stir.

The shadows were endless. But with every answer, every acknowledgment, more rose free, carrying their resonance into the sky.

And beneath it all, the Tower's silence trembled—not empty now, but waiting, hungry for the climbers' true chorus.

Leon clenched his chains, his flame burning like cracked glass.

"Then let's make sure none of them go unheard."

The plain erupted into battle—not of destruction, but of recognition.