No! I don't want to be a Super Necromancer!

Damien was focused intently on the seventy-first step when a sharp, agonizing scream ripped through the air in front of him, shattering the heavy stillness of the climb.

His head snapped upward just in time to see one of the drow, slender, marked with House Six's crest, burst into flames.

The fire consumed him instantly, swirling upward in a violent column of red-orange before collapsing into a small, pitiful pile of ash that was then swept cleanly away by an unseen force.

Damien narrowed his eyes and scanned the line of figures above him. The drow who had once climbed confidently now appeared visibly strained, their skin glistening with sweat, their movements no longer fluid but labored.

Some of them had begun to turn noticeably red, as though they had been standing for hours beneath the desert sun. Their breathing grew heavier. One was gripping the step railings as if his balance might betray him at any moment.

Damien tilted his head slightly, thinking. He felt the atmosphere carefully, tasted the subtle change in the quality of the air, felt the shift against his skin, the slight shimmer of something more aggressive clinging to each step.

"Fire," he murmured, a soft note of amusement threading his voice. "Of course. The next trial is fire energy."

He gave a quiet laugh to himself, the sound dry and bemused. Of all things, fire was the least concerning.

He resumed his ascent, choosing to ignore the scattered murmurs and flaring panic of those above him. His focus remained on the pressure, not because he was indifferent to the fire, but because he had yet to complete his learning.

The pressure on the seventy first step was horrifying.

He could feel his body shouting for him to quickly finish the steps in one rapid dash, but he resisted its demands.

There were still small adjustments happening in his body, his shoulders compensating for micro-vibrations, his breathing cycling with more efficiency, his necromantic core now pulsing in rhythm with the fluctuating weight around him.

He still had more to learn. And the stairs were not finished teaching.

Five minutes passed in steady quiet, and then another scream fractured the silence. Damien did not look up this time, but he knew it was one more drow turned into ash.

He heard the flutter of movement as more figures began retreating downward. When he did glance up again, he saw seven drow moving quickly back down toward the base of the stairway. They no longer had any intent to continue.

Their bodies were flushed, expressions stiff with suppressed panic, garments half-singed from failing to withstand the ambient heat.

They had chosen to survive. They would not reach the golden step, nor receive the inheritance, but they would live to talk about what they had seen.

Damien's steps continued at a calm, methodical pace.

By the time his foot touched the hundredth step, he paused briefly, not from exhaustion, but out of acknowledgment. The air here was hot, uncomfortably so for most. His body was completely relaxed. To him, it felt like standing next to a hearth.

Twelve drow had quit.

He could still hear their voices faintly below. Whispers and muttering drifted up from the base of the stairs where they had settled in, forming a small cluster of disappointed spectators.

"Nyxara's already passed the two hundredth," one voice said with awe. "She's already entered the ice region."

"I saw her just a few minutes ago," another added. "She was on the two hundred fiftieth, not even breathing hard. She didn't even stop during the fire steps. Her skin didn't even sweat."

"Vathrian's next, I think. He's stuck on the two hundredth, though. Still trying to regulate himself after the flames. His house training must've focused more on darkness and shadow techniques. No heat resistance."

"I saw him panting. Actually panting."

"Lyrisa's not far behind. She's on the one ninety-fifth. I think she's struggling, but she hasn't stopped yet."

"And that human?" a scoffing voice asked. "That weakling is still alive? I thought he would have burst into a bloody pulp long ago."

A short pause.

"He's on the hundredth step," someone said, disbelief heavy in their voice.

"What? Seriously?"

"No joke. Right there!"

"That bastard actually made it. But he looks like he was about to collapse. He won't last twenty steps on the fire steps!"

"Maybe he's just lucky. Or maybe he's hiding something."

Damien heard it all, and none of it troubled him. Their words didn't slow him, didn't bruise his pride or ruffle his focus. They could talk. Let them. He had more pressing matters to attend to.

He placed his foot on the hundred and first step.

For the first time, he felt it.

A lick of heat crept against his ankle, curling upward like a curious tendril of flame. It didn't burn. But it did touch him. He tilted his head thoughtfully, recognizing the exact moment his immunity began to fail. He smiled faintly.

"Oh?" he said softly, intrigued. "So this fire energy is stronger than my resistance. Excellent."

To most, that would have been a threat. To Damien, it was an opportunity.

He did not hurry. He did not falter. He took another step and felt the heat intensify, still subtle, but clear. It wasn't just ambient heat. There was active energy being pushed into the environment, pressure layered with fire intent, the very steps infused with purpose.

But it was too weak, there was nothing much to learn.

He moved forward again.

With every single stair he climbed, his body absorbed more of the fire energy. At the hundred and third step, his fingertips tingled. At the hundred and fourth, he felt the warmth against his ribs. By the hundred and fifth, he began analyzing the fire itself, its movement, its nature, its weight.

It was alive.

It wasn't mindless destruction. It had rhythm, pressure, density. Fire here had form, structure, an invisible logic that was being offered to him in increments. Not forced. Offered.

By the hundred and tenth step, Damien no longer felt like a climber. He felt like a student.

He could feel the heat properly, and he could deepen his understanding of fire energy there.

Each movement upward brought him a new lesson.

The way the energy flowed against his skin. The way it surged in his lungs as he inhaled. The way his necromantic core adjusted to prevent damage. The death energy within him, although passive, shifted and cooled what the fire touched, creating an interplay of opposites that refined both sides.

Every step of fire added a drop to his comprehension.

He could have run. He could have skipped half the steps and reached the two hundredth without a bruise. But that would have been wasteful. This was not a trial of survival. This was a staircase carved by a grand teacher.

And Damien would not miss a single word of the lesson.

His steps slowed, and he began to ponder about the deep truths of fire energy and feel it reflected within his body.