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The Obsidian Spire pierces the heavens, a jagged monolith forged from ebon stone fused with arcane alloys that shimmer like trapped starlight. Legends claim its foundations were laid by titans, each cyclopean block etched with glyphs humming with dormant power. Its true height remains unknowable—storms wreathe its upper reaches, lightning cascading across crystalline protrusions that siphon energy into pulsating sigils. No mortal has mapped its full ascent; those who attempt the climb confront shifting stairways, gravity-warping chambers, and the Tower's cruelest trick—the higher one climbs, the more the Spire grows, stretching toward infinity like a waking nightmare. Ancient lift mechanisms riddle its structure, powered by crystallized dragon breath or the sacrifice of memories. Guilds war for control of its lower sanctums where time dilates—spend hours in a vault hunting spectral librarians for forbidden knowledge, emerge to find decades have passed below. The Spire's architects left no records, only the Hollow Choir—phantom voices in the walls that offer truths in exchange for blood. At certain altitudes, the stones breathe, extruding obsidian parasites that rewrite climbers' flesh into living maps charting unseen paths upward. The promised prize? The Godforge Crown resting in the apex chamber, said to grant dominion over the Spire’s reality-altering heart. Yet the final challenge isn’t traps or beasts, but the Spire itself—to reach the summit, you must convince the tower you deserve to exist. Many ascend. Few remain. The Spire consumes the unworthy, absorbing their essence into new labyrinths. Those who vanish leave behind shadow-echoes that guide or sabotage future climbers, forever part of the eternal climb.
