Tower Of — Trample

"One last step," she said softly. "The final trample. It will not hurt. It will simply… erase. Every scar, every failure, every desperate gasp you made in my tower. I will grind them all into dust. And in that hollow, clean space, you will find the cure. Not a potion. A perspective."

"The Orb is not an object," she said. "It is an act." Tower Of Trample

"There," she cooed, looking down at you. The toe of her shoe was inches from your lowered face. "This is your natural posture. On your hands and knees, trembling. Below my gaze." "One last step," she said softly

"Put that away, little worm," she sighed. "I do not fight. I judge . And I find you… insufficient." It will simply… erase

She tilted her head, genuinely curious. "You endured all of that… for others ?"

The staircase ended in a vast, circular chamber. The floor was a mosaic of crushed velvet and crushed bone—a pattern of boots, sandals, and bare feet overlapping in eternal, violent dominance. In the center stood a dais, and on the dais, a woman.