Only I Awaken The Forbidden SSS-Rank Dragons

Aleron stepped forward into the brilliance of a new world. Gone were the blood-soaked stones and fading corpses of the last floor. Before him stretched a glasslike meadow of crystalline grass, each blade catching sunlight and refracting it into rainbows. The wind here smelled of dew and ozone. High above, a golden sun bathed everything in a calm, warm glow.

But peace was a lie.

The silence shattered as the first creature emerged. It looked like a deer, graceful and thin, with long limbs and silken fur that shimmered like glass. But its eyes were hollow voids, and beneath its chest pulsed a core of twisted energy.

The creature's legs bent backward unnaturally, and as it opened its mouth, no sound came—only vibration. The ground beneath its feet cracked with each step.

Dozens more emerged, moving as a herd. The Crystalmourn. Beasts formed from living gemstones and void. As they moved, their bodies resonated with harmonized frequency, making the air around Aleron hum.

He didn't wait.

With a burst of origin energy, he leapt forward, claws extended. The first strike shattered the lead beast's chest. Its gem core cracked, then exploded into shards that cut through the air like shrapnel. Aleron twisted midair, deflecting some of the shards with his wings.

The others reacted instantly. Their resonance deepened. A single unified note rang out, shaking the entire plain. The grass shattered. The air warped. Aleron growled as the frequency dug into his bones.

But he did not falter.

He slammed into the herd, spinning in a whirlwind of claws, wings, and tail. For every strike that landed, another beast fell. Their crystalized hides were tough, but his strikes carried star-forged momentum. The battlefield became a field of shattered beauty.

Still, the frequency grew louder. The final beasts combined their cores, forming a single resonant pulse meant to collapse his consciousness.

Aleron roared, channeling energy through his voice. The soundwave he released tore through their harmony. Their resonance faltered, then cracked, and the final Crystalmourn collapsed in silence.

The moment their bodies turned to stardust, the ground split beneath him. Aleron dropped into the next world.

He landed on solid ground. Heat pressed against his skin—not the suffocating burn of lava, but the dry, unyielding heat of a desert sun. The sky above was clear, almost too blue, and the horizon shimmered with heat mirages. Beneath his feet was cracked white sandstone stretching as far as the eye could see.

A gust of wind swept across the desert, bringing with it a metallic stench.

The sand moved.

Creatures slithered from beneath it. Long, serpentine beings with segmented bodies of ivory plates and faces hidden behind bronze masks. Their eyes burned with orange fire, and their bodies radiated heat.

The Scorcheaters.

One launched itself at him like a spear. He sidestepped, grabbed its body, and slammed it into the ground. But it coiled and tried to wrap around him. Another came from behind.

He twisted, letting his wings flare wide, lifting him briefly. He spun and sent a shockwave down with his tail, breaking both creatures' backs.

But more came—hundreds.

They attacked in coordinated spirals, each movement synchronized like a dance of death. Their bodies glowed with internal magma. When injured, they self-ignited, turning into flaming bombs.

Aleron fought from the air, weaving between explosions. His skin blistered. His scales cracked. Still he pushed forward.

He drove his claws through their heads. He ripped them apart mid-coil. He stomped them into the sand until fire ceased erupting from their bodies.

Eventually, the sand stopped moving.

A moment of stillness passed.

Then the world peeled away like a mirage.

The next floor opened.

Aleron landed in a city.

Not a ruined one—an intact one.

Towering walls of gold-trimmed jade, streets lined with statues, spires crowned with suns that moved slightly in time with the real one above. But there were no people.

Only dolls.

Each figure stood still, like a mannequin of flesh, hair, and silk robes. Their eyes were closed. Their hands clasped together. As Aleron moved, one opened its eyes.

Then another.

And another.

Hundreds of eyes turned toward him.

The Porcelain Choir.

They began to sing.

The sound was hauntingly beautiful, harmonized and ethereal. Yet Aleron felt his energy siphoned with every note. His body slowed. Muscles trembled. Vision blurred.

He bared his teeth and surged forward. His claws struck the first singer—and shattered against its skin.

Porcelain. Reinforced by divine magic.

He struck again, harder, pushing origin energy through his body. This time the singer cracked and fell, but the others intensified their melody.

They moved now, gliding along the streets, each motion like a practiced dance. Aleron was forced to dodge and strike between verses. His mind grew heavy. The songs conjured illusions. In one, he saw his village burning. In another, his mother turned to ash.

He snarled, rejected them all, and blasted them apart.

One by one they fell. Some shattered from within. Others imploded under his wings. The streets filled with silent debris.

When the final note died, the floor faded.

He landed in water.

Not an ocean or river—but a vast basin, knee-deep with perfectly still liquid. The sky above was golden. The horizon curved like a dome. Reflections shimmered everywhere.

He felt weightless.

Then they came.

Figures formed from mercury, tall and formless. Faces shifting between human and alien. Their bodies glimmered with chaotic energy.

The Amalgama.

They moved without sound. Their limbs shifted into blades, tendrils, hammers. Every step they took sent ripples through the basin. Each ripple distorted Aleron's senses, making depth perception meaningless.

The first struck from the side. He caught the limb and threw it, but the creature reassembled mid-air and came back with three arms. Another lunged from beneath the water.

Aleron focused inward. Let instinct guide him.

He struck cleanly. The mercury burst apart, then tried to reform. He burned the remains with raw energy, and the creature dissolved.

The others became more aggressive, forming walls of shifting metal to trap him. One enclosed him in a dome of mirrors.

He punched outward, once. Twice. On the third blow, the dome cracked. He burst through, unleashing a wave of power.

He became a storm of destruction.

Blades formed from mercury shattered. Screams filled the air, not from mouths, but from the very essence of the Amalgama. Aleron chased them through the water, slaying them before they could adapt.

The water turned dark.

The final Amalgama stood still, watching.

Aleron landed before it.

They stared at one another.

Then he struck.

The creature split in two.

The waters calmed.

The world brightened.

And then he rose into the waiting light of Level Nine.

His body pulsed with residual energy. Blood ran down his sides. His scales were damaged. Yet, his eyes were sharper, his stance more stable. He stood ready.

He had conquered four floors, each more twisted than the last.

And still, he moved forward.

With his wings half-spread and fists clenched, Aleron paused as one final gust of heat from the desert floor followed him upward, merging into the tranquil air of the next level. The floors were evolving. He could sense it. Each trial wasn't just physical—it was chipping away at something deeper.

He allowed himself no time to dwell on the thought. The Tower waited.

He exhaled slowly and tightened his grip. Something within him stirred—a pressure that hadn't existed before. Not just power. Not just rage. A calm resolve. He understood that he was being forged. Shaped. Every strike refined not just his body, but his will.

The star energy within him had begun to hum again, resonating with the tower's trials. It wasn't just a source of strength—it was a catalyst. He wasn't becoming powerful only through killing. He was awakening.

He stretched his neck and rolled his shoulders, shedding the stiffness in his limbs. His eyes glinted with renewed clarity.

Behind him, the remnants of the previous floors shimmered, collapsing into stardust.

Ahead, the portal to the next stage pulsed like a heartbeat.

Aleron didn't hesitate.

He stepped forward.

And as he moved, he noticed something new—the faint glow of constellations above. Stars moved ever so slightly in rhythm with his heartbeat. The tower was watching. No longer a silent observer, but a force that reacted to his every action.

He wondered briefly if there were others like him climbing different towers, facing their own trials. But the thought passed quickly. He wasn't here for comparison. He was here to reach the peak.

The floor beneath him changed one last time, sending him through the tower's core toward his next trial. The faint whispers of power, now familiar to him, tickled at his consciousness.

He closed his eyes for a breath, then opened them with renewed fire.

Let the next battle begin.

Aleron didn't know waht to expect from level 9 but he could tell it would be anything but easy.

Only through sheer will power and true strength had he been able to complete the levels so far within the span of one minute!