My Charity System made me too OP

The flood came.

From every skull, every brittle ribcage, every step frozen mid-climb, shadows spilled upward like smoke that refused to disperse. The plain became a storm of voiceless figures, all clawing, reaching, pressing forward with mouths stretched wide in mute agony.

Leon's marrow flame roared, jagged and uneven, answering them one by one. "I hear you." Every word he gave peeled another shadow from its silence, lifting it into light. But for each one that dissolved, ten more rose.

Naval bared his teeth in a grin that didn't reach his eyes. "Figures. Damn choir doesn't end." His fists slammed into the ground, the shockwave not to destroy but to amplify. The echoes of his strikes rang like bells, booming across the plain. The shadows near him stilled, their heads turning toward the sound as if—finally—someone acknowledged their rhythm.

Roselia stepped into the storm, stars orbiting her like lanterns in a dark sea. Her voice was a steady chant, not loud, but unwavering: "You lived. You fought. You mattered." The constellations spread wider, painting shapes in the glass-sky. Shadows clustered around her, trembling, their forms softening before breaking into threads of starlight.

Liliana's face was pale but resolute, her hands weaving furiously. Threads stretched from her body to each ally, then from them into the storm itself. "We're carrying you," she whispered, every syllable binding a shadow, steadying its frantic movements. The threads gave shape to what had been lost, long enough for the shadows to sigh and dissolve.

Milim was the wild counterpoint, shouting and laughing even as her fire blazed. "Fine! Fine! You win—I'm listening!" Her flames burst upward, a flare so bright it forced the shadows to turn toward her. "Now shut up and let it out already!" The nearest ones cracked, laughter spilling from their empty mouths before they unraveled into violet sparks.

And Leon—Leon anchored it all. His marrow flame burned ragged, every flicker an admission, every jagged note a reply. His chains spread across the plain, vibrating with resonance. Not smooth. Not perfect. But real. His voice rose, raw but firm:

"You were not ignored. You are not forgotten. I hear you."

The words echoed through the Tower like a bell tolling.

The storm of shadows surged higher, but now not with hunger—with release. One by one, their silent screams broke into sound—snatches of words, sobs, laughter, fragments of songs—as they dissolved into the aurora above.

The plain of bones trembled, not cracking this time, but singing. The brittle remains below them thrummed like strings, carrying the voices upward in a vast, uneven chorus.

And for the first time, the silence broke—not shattered, but transformed.

The Tower was no longer hungry. It was listening.

Leon stood in the center of it all, his chest heaving, his flame burning like broken glass against the dark. His allies stood at his sides, their light interwoven with his.

Naval wiped sweat and dust from his forehead, smirking tiredly. "Preachers, huh? You just dragged us into a damn sermon."

Milim punched his shoulder, grinning weakly. "Shut up, you liked it."

Roselia's stars dimmed back into her, but her eyes were wet. "They were heard. That's all they ever wanted."

Liliana's threads wavered before fading, leaving her trembling but smiling. "We carried them far enough."

Leon looked up, into the aurora where thousands of freed voices now sang together. His marrow flame pulsed in time with them, no longer jagged, but resonant.

And from the horizon of bones, a new bridge began to form—not chains, not glass, but a woven path of light, shaped by every voice that had been freed.

The Tower stirred again. Waiting.

Hungry not for silence, not for screams, but for the next answer.

The bridge did not rise in silence.

It sang.

Each step of woven light pulsed with fragments of voices—laughter cut short, oaths spoken before death, screams of defiance, whispers of love. Every echo freed below had left its mark here, layering into a path that shimmered like the spine of a constellation stretching into the aurora.

Naval whistled low, though there was no bravado in it this time. "Guess the Tower's taking notes."

Milim stomped on the glowing path experimentally, fire sparking beneath her heel. "Heh. Finally something that doesn't creak like it wants to kill us." Her grin returned, but it was softer, almost protective. "Kinda feels like they're carrying us now."

Roselia lifted her gaze to the endless glass sky, stars blooming faintly around her. "Not carrying. Walking beside us. This is their answer as much as ours."

Liliana wiped her face with a trembling hand, threads still flickering at her fingertips though she tried to still them. "We gave them resonance… but they gave us direction."

Leon remained quiet, marrow flame steady and harsh in its glow. Yet for once, it did not gnaw at him—it sang in harmony with the bridge's light. He turned to his companions, his chains rattling softly as he stepped onto the first glowing link.

"Then we don't stop," he said. His voice was low, but it carried. "Every step forward is another answer."

The bridge shuddered beneath him, not in denial, but in agreement.

One by one, the others followed. Naval's stride heavy, Milim practically bouncing despite her exhaustion, Roselia with quiet reverence, Liliana leaning on her own threads for balance. Together, they walked into the aurora once more.

As they climbed, the plain of bones below began to dissolve, each skeleton unraveling into sparks that joined the chorus above. The graveyard became sky. The silence became song.

And higher still, where the aurora curved into unseen heights, a new sound stirred—deeper, older, resonant enough to rattle through marrow and chain alike. Not the cries of climbers. Not the whispers of shadows.

A voice that was the Tower itself.

Milim's eyes widened, her grin sharpening. "Finally! Something big enough to hit."

Naval rolled his shoulders, but his jaw was tight. "Or something big enough to hit us."

Roselia's stars trembled, her hands clasping before her. "No… this isn't battle. This is… declaration."

Liliana gripped Leon's arm, her whisper urgent. "It knows we're changing it. And it's about to answer us back."

Leon's marrow flame surged, jagged sparks scattering into the air. His eyes locked on the heights ahead, unblinking.

"Good," he said. His voice cut through the bridge's song like a blade.

"Let it answer."