Tower of Champions [LitRPG]

A soul-wrenching scream tore from the Garden Servant's throat as blood and other unknown fluids burst from its shattered eyes.

"I'll kill you!" it roared, swinging its cleavers with abandon.

Each strike carved through space itself, Authority of Slaughter pouring from every angle.

"Do not speak before god," the Variant's voice echoed from nowhere.

"Silence!" the pig bellowed defiantly.

And then—its mouth tore clean from its face.

It wailed, cleavers still clutched tight, as blood erupted around it.

A surge of crimson—drawn from nothing—enveloped the creature, regenerating its destroyed features. Eyes reformed. Flesh stitched itself whole.

It glared upward.

The silver sea still stretched endlessly. The fractured moon still loomed overhead. Above it, the all-seeing eyes, now fractured, yet still impossibly vast.

"Do not look at god."

Its eyes burst again.

Another scream split the void.

"I will not be—"

"Do not speak before god."

Boom!

Its mouth exploded—more violently than before. Blood and vapor sprayed outward.

The Servant's howls twisted into gurgling grunts as it clung to its cleavers, muscles trembling with wrath. Still, it regrew. Still, it stood.

"Do not stand before god."

An almighty pressure dropped upon the creature.

Its legs bent at grotesque angles. Bone snapped. Joints twisted. Its enormous frame collapsed face-first into the water.

But it never released its grip.

Crimson blood surged, coating its body, restoring its form again.

Its breathing quickened. Rage distorted its face.

It didn't wait for full healing.

It spun, unleashing wild arcs of red in every direction. Reality splintered under the force.

Cracks raced across the horizon. The moon flickered.

The Servant swung upward—again and again—blades trailing crimson fire.

Crack!

Darkness enveloped the world.

The darkness shattered—and light returned.

The silver ocean remained, but the moon had changed. Now it was blackened, split. Golden fragments shimmered across its surface like dying embers.

The pig raised its head. "Is that... a sun?"

No.

It squinted. The glow was wrong. Too fractured. Too cold.

"Another moon," it muttered.

There were no all-seeing eyes this time. But it knew.

It wasn't free.

Its gaze dropped, scanning the calm waters. No Variant in sight.

But it had learned.

Each world had a Variant.

"To leave, I just kill them," it muttered.

Slaughter was its purpose. No one bested it in that.

Cleavers gleamed. Muscles coiled. It searched the reflections. Watched for ripples. Its body, now whole, pulsed with aggression.

"Show yourself!"

Silence. Not even an echo.

Then—splash.

It turned—eastward. Nothing. Another splash—opposite side. Still nothing.

Splash! Splash! Splash!

The sounds came faster. Untraceable. All directions.

The perfect waters rippled, distorting the broken moon.

The Servant spun—eyes wide, cleavers ready.

Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

Its grip trembled.

"If you won't come out, I'll force you—"

Pang!

The left side of its face caved in, crushed under unseen force. It dropped to a knee, cleavers scraping the water for balance.

The weapons bled. Its face began to knit back together—slowly this time.

Breath ragged. One eye wide, twitching. It scanned the waters.

Yet, nothing revealed itself.

No enemy. No presence. Just its own reflection, broken by ripples.

"Everything should just die!" it roared.

It launched skyward, spinning in a frenzied cyclone.

Its cleavers slashed in every direction, each strike birthing arcs of blood-red light.

It didn't stop.

The sky tore. The water screamed. Its reflection shattered.

And then—

Pang!

The Garden Servant's massive form crashed into the shallow waters. Blood and liquified grey matter burst from the caved-in side of its skull. Still—it clutched its cleavers.

Still, it tried to rise.

Pang!

It staggered back, its enormous gut rippling as if struck by a collapsing star.

Another strike—PANG—and its stomach burst.

Filth and intestines poured into the once-pristine water, turning it thick, black, and boiling. As if the world itself rejected the Servant's pollution.

It didn't stop. Its skull reformed. Its teeth ground together. Rage burning brighter than pain.

"Curse you—"

Crack!

Its right arm bent backwards, bone tearing through the flesh like a javelin from inside. Blood geysered into the air. The creature writhed, flailing, but still the cleavers didn't fall.

Its head snapped from side to side, searching—blindly.

Nothing.

Then—a whisper.

"Psst… over here."

The pig's gaze whipped up.

Above, beyond the ruptured sky, it saw what it hadn't before.

A second dimension, veiled inside the void. Torn open by its earlier strikes.

There, within the shattered heavens, it saw—the ruined battlefield.

Its own body, tightly bound by snow-white chains. Scott—or a Variant—stood nearby, war hammer in hand.

Realization hit like ice.

It finally understood the Variant's question.

"Which will break first?" it repeated in a daze.

Its body?

Or its mind?

"Ah, looks like you can finally see me," Scott said calmly, gazing down through the dimensional tear. "Hope you're enjoying yourself over there."

He gestured lazily to the Garden Servant's restrained physical form.

"Because I'm having a swell time over here."

"You vile swine—!"

Wham!

Scott drove the war hammer into the creature's belly.

The projection screamed—its agony raw and wretched.

Its form twisted in pain.

"Imagine you calling me a swine," Scott chuckled, shaking his head.

He turned away from the projection and focused on the physical form. His gaze narrowed on the cleavers.

Cracks lined their surface—but already began knitting shut.

They're not forged from divine ore, he thought. But something similar…

They regenerate too fast to destroy.

If I can't damage the weapons. Then, I'll have to sever them from their own.

Scott raised his hand.

The chains constricting the Garden Servant slithered, tightening around both arms—narrowing around the elbow.

The flesh bulged, swelling grotesquely.

Pop!

Both arms exploded, flinging blood and meat across the ground. Before the gore even landed, Scott blurred, reappearing midair above the right arm.

War hammer raised.

A gravity-imbued strike smashed into the exposed bone.

It didn't break—but it rang. The bone was denser than the cleavers themselves.

Scott didn't hesitate. He struck again. And again. And again.

Always the same spot. Precision like a blacksmith at a forge. Repetition like a ritual.

He didn't hear the projection's screams.

He didn't care.

The strikes continued unabated, relentlessly targeting the same spot.

Then—a crack echoed.

Scott smiled.

A thin crack had manifested on the blackened bone. He lifted the war hammer higher than ever before.

And slammed it down.

"No!"

This time, the Servant's voice reached him.

The bone shattered with no resistance.

The cleaver wielding hand—now severed—vibrated violently, as if wailing.

The detached arm withered instantly, devoured by the cleaver itself. The blood glow across the Servant's body dimmed. The blood-soaked aura around the cleaver retreated like a tide into hidden crevices.

Then—an ominous sound echoed. The groan of ancient hinges.

Scott looked up.

One of the colossal crimson gates had closed.

He grinned. "I was right."

Of the twin gates, only one remained open.

Scott's eyes burst again—merely glancing toward the god behind it.

He didn't flinch. Another pair replaced them instantly. He ignored the distant wails echoing from the projection. Instead, he turned to the left arm.

Without hesitation, Scott launched a brutal flurry of blows at the bone of the creature's remaining arm. Each strike carried more fury than the last, his war hammer howling through the air like a divine verdict.

"My lord!" the pig shrieked, its voice ragged and broken.

"The Vermin of Madness seeks to close the gates to your wondrous slaughterhouse! Judge them! Crush them! SLAUGHTER—ack!"

The bone shattered, and the regenerative glow vanished. The bloodlight drained from the cleavers.

For the first time, they fell.

Then—the second gate began to close.

The pig, now mutilated and powerless, screamed, its howls long and wild.

This is the end, Scott thought.

That's when he heard it. A voice—not his own.

"My loooord! WAKE UP!" the Garden Servant bellowed one final time.

And something answered. A low hum rippled through the world.

And then—a sound that didn't belong.

A breath. Deep. Slow. Massive.

Scott's form shuddered. He tried to look up, but his body refused.

Then—pressure descended.

The pig's form detonated on the spot. The cleavers crumbled. Neither left a trace of their existence. Yet the weight only grew stronger.

A force beyond comprehension pressed down. Not physical. Not spiritual.

Universal.

Like the laws of existence had awakened—and decided everything must be eradicated.

"Do not look at god!"

"Do not stand before god!"

The voices came fractured, like broken glass whispering through time.

Scott's bones cracked. His skin split. His muscles trembled.

Still—he fought to keep his head level.

He could sense an almighty gaze slowly focusing on him. Something—some entity—was about to see him.

Crack!

His authority disappeared against his will. Erased before it could manifest.

Scott's knees buckled. His arms trembled. No strength remained.

No will could resist the unfathomable voices, presence, and pressure.

Yet, Scott remained steadfast. He bit on his lips, his teeth sinking deep into them.

I'd rather die than bow to you, Scott screamed inside his mind. I'd rather be erased than submit.

The voices grew louder.

"Do not exist before god!"

"Do not resist god!"

"WORSHIP GOD!"

Boom!

Scott's knees touched air—moments from collapse. His thoughts blurred.

Then—a voice. Not his. Thundered across the area.

"Go back to sleep, ****." It said with a displeased grunt "I didn't give you permission to appear here."

Instantly—the pressure vanished. The sound of gates slamming shut echoed through the void.

Silence fell.

Scott collapsed, clutching his chest, breath heaving.

He raised his eyes. The sky was whole. The heavens, intact.

All signs of fracture—gone.

And there, floating in midair, a colossal message hovered.